kiko8900

Latest Posts by kiko8900

If I'm being honest, Maxley pisses me off. I mean, weren't they like enemies in the movie? Like don't get me wrong, I love it when people ship villain x hero I'm all for it but. Maxley is something that shouldn't be together. As for Yax...It's not like I *love* the ship but it has a special place in my heart.

But that's my opinion Idk

It's a strange thing for me to say, but I feel like the Maxley and Yax are very overrated and annoying ships...

I mean, it's annoying that I find things about those ships (mainly the Maxley) that Max himself does on his own tag, can't there be a minimal drawing of Max without any ships?

If queenie had a voice

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Fandom:

DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)

Characters:

Mark Beaks, Emma Glamour (Disney),(mentioned) Falcon Graves

Additional Tags:

Physical AbuseBlood and InjuryVerbal Abuse

Language:

English

Stats:

Published:2025-04-12Words:2,225Chapters:1/1Kudos:1Hits:4

Should have done it from the start

1anon1

Summary:

I always wondered what happened after Louie's eleven? Like with Mark beaks and Emma glamour. It must've been anything BUT good...oh no

Notes:

⚠️ BLOOD WARNING ⚠️

If there is any grammatical errors, let me know in the comments I couldn't edit it 😭

I would draw art to go with it but I wasn't born to draw🥲

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

Work Text:

Everything felt so still.

The music died and the flashing lights had faded. The once crowded hall-room of chatter and applause to those who would perform vanished and had been replaced with complete silence. only the echoes of the party remained, lingering like ghosts in the empty space.

Half-empty glasses were scattered across the tables, the faint scent of perfume and expensive champagne still clinging to the air. Everyone else had already left.

Mark beaks sat on the steps, he hadn't really moved from this spot since it was revealed he bought his mothers phone from Falcon Graves. He didn’t really have anywhere to go to. His hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, his jaw tight. His feathers still bristled from the energy of the night, but it wasn’t excitement keeping him wired—it was something heavier.

Across the room, his mother, Emma Glamour, stood near the bar, swirling a glass of wine between her fingers. She hadn’t left with the others. Of course, she hadn’t.

She was watching him. Studying. Calculating. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Then, finally—

"So." Her voice sliced through the air, cool and sharp as a blade. "That was quite the little… spectacle."

Mark didn’t answer. His grip in his pockets tightened.

Emma took a slow sip from her glass, eyes never leaving him. "Tell me, Marcus—was THAT supposed to impress me?"

Mark’s jaw clenched. His fingers curled into his hoodie pockets, he felt his nails biting into his palms, but he didn’t care. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t move.

She took another slow sip from her glass, savoring the moment. “But I’d have to admit,” she mused, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against the bar table, “I expected some embarrassment. Maybe even a little shame. But instead you're just… sulking”

Mark exhaled, looking away from her. “Yeah? And whatdda expect?” His voice came quieter than he intended it to be, but his voice was still laced with bitterness.

Emma tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Oh, I don't know. Maybe for you to finally grasp what absolute disappointment you are.”

She gestured vaguely toward the empty ballroom, where Mark's hover-board was sitting looking disheveled from the aftermath of its burning. "Did you think this little stunt of yours would make you look clever? That people would see you as some brilliant mastermind?"

Mark’s feathers bristled, but he stayed silent. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

Emma hummed, setting her glass down on the bar with a soft clink. She took a step closer. "It was pathetic, Marcus. Absolutely pathetic."

His breath hitched. The words struck like a slap, but he forced himself to keep still. Keep quiet.

Emma, of course, noticed. She always did.

She smiled. "Oh, come on. Nothing to say?"

Mark swallowed hard. His head dipped slightly, eyes burning holes into the floor.

Emma scoffed. "No witty comeback? No desperate attempt to prove yourself? Hmph." She shook her head, turning away slightly. "I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You always crumble the moment things get real." She then turned with her back facing him, pouring another glass.

Mark’s hands twitched. His throat felt tight.

He knew where this was going.

It was always like this.

And yet, no matter how much he prepared, no matter how many times he told himself it wouldn’t get to him—

It always did.

Mark barely breathed. The silence stretched, pressing against his chest, thick and suffocating. He could feel Emma’s gaze on him, the weight of it heavy, like she was peeling back every layer he had, searching for the weakest point to sink her claws into.

Emma took a slow, deliberate sip of her wine, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, she spoke.

“You know what I don’t understand?” Her voice was smooth, almost bored, but Mark knew better. “Why you even bother embarrassing yourself like this.”

Mark’s feathers bristled, but he kept his head down, his fingers twitching in his pockets. He could already feel the familiar ache forming behind his eyes, the way it always did when she started talking like this.

Emma swirled the wine in her glass, her tone growing sharper. “All that effort. All that scheming. And for what? A burned-out hoverboard and a shattered reputation?” She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “Pathetic.”

Mark’s jaw locked.

Emma sighed, setting her glass down with a deliberate clink. “I mean, honestly, Marcus. Did you really think you could fool everyone? That people would look at you and see anything other than what you are?”

Mark stayed quiet.

Because he knew what was coming next.

Emma’s voice dropped, slow and cutting. “You are not clever. You are not impressive. You are not—” she gestured vaguely at him, as if he was something distasteful “—anything”

Mark exhaled through his nose, staring hard at the floor, his vision blurring at the edges.

Emma took a step forward, her heels clicking against the polished floor. “But I suppose that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?” she mused. “No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you’ll always be nothing more than a desperate little boy, grasping at something just out of reach.”

Her voice softened, but not out of kindness. No, this was worse. It was that sickly-sweet, condescending tone. The kind that made his skin crawl.

“I mean, really. You bought my phone?” She let out a light, cruel laugh. “What did you think was going to happen, Marcus? That I’d be proud of you?”

Mark’s hands curled into fists inside his hoodie pockets. His nails dug into his palms, sharp enough to sting, but he barely felt it.

Emma’s expression remained cold, indifferent. “You have NO ONE, Marcus”

The words cut deep. They always did.

Mark squeezed his eyes shut for half a second, trying to swallow down the lump forming in his throat. He couldn’t let her see. He wouldn’t let her see.

He forced a breath, forced himself to smirk, even as his chest tightened. “Y’know… for someone who doesn’t care, you sure have a lot to say.”

Emma’s expression didn’t shift, but something in her eyes flickered.

Then, she smiled. A slow, dangerous thing.

“Oh, Marcus.” She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

She leaned in just slightly, voice lowering to a near whisper. “I love watching you fall apart.”

Mark inhaled sharply.

There it was.

There it always was.

Mark’s heart was pounding now, his entire body tense, and all the words he’d been holding back surged to the surface. The tears he fought to keep buried, the frustration, the rage—it was all mixing in a vicious storm inside him. He couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

“Shut. Up,” he spat, his voice hoarse with the weight of the emotions. It was quiet at first, but sharp, cutting through the silence that Emma had maintained between them like a jagged knife.

Emma didn’t flinch, not even for a second. Her eyes held a glint of something—amusement? Contempt? It didn’t matter. She was waiting for him to break, and now she knew she had him right where she wanted him.

“I said shut up,” Mark repeated, louder this time, his voice trembling with the force of the words he was struggling to contain.

But Emma only smiled, her lips curling into that cruel, knowing smirk. “Why, Marcus? You can’t handle the truth?” she taunted, her tone cold and condescending.

His hands were shaking now, his body trembling as the weight of everything crushed down on him. The sting of her words, the way she just...dismissed him, it all became too much. The silence between them felt suffocating, each second like another weight pressing on his chest, dragging him under.

“Just... stop,” he pleaded, but it barely came out as a whisper, too weak, too broken to have any power. He wanted to get up and leave, but he was rooted to the spot. Every part of him screamed to get away, but he couldn’t. Not when she was still standing there, her words swirling around him like a hurricane, dragging him deeper into the chaos.

But Emma wasn’t done yet. She leaned in closer, her voice sweet like poison. “You know, Marcus,” she started, her words slow and deliberate, “It’s almost sad, really. You think you can win me over? That buying my phone will suddenly make me see you for what you want me to see. But it won’t. Nothing ever will.”

Mark’s breath hitched, and that was it—he couldn’t hold it in anymore. His chest tightened as the heat of anger burned through him, and in one swift motion, he slapped her drink from her hand.

The glass hit the floor with a sharp crack, red wine splattering across the polished tile like blood. For a moment, everything went still again.

Emma looked down at the broken glass, then at her soaked hand. Her brow lifted just slightly. “Huh…”

Mark didn’t wait for the next cruel remark.

Something snapped.

He Lunged forward.

“SHUT UP!”

He slammed into her before she had a chance to react, and they both went stumbling back. Emma’s heels skidded across the floor, her wine-slicked hand reaching out instinctively—but there was no grace in the fall. No composure. They crashed into the bar table behind her with a thud, bottles rattling on impact, and then—

They hit the ground hard.

Mark landed partially on top of her, his breath knocked out of him as they both sprawled across the floor, tangled in the aftermath of it all. For a second, there was only the sound of heavy breathing, the sharp sting of impact, the echo of their bodies colliding.

Emma groaned beneath him, not out of pain, but more like disbelief. Or rage. Maybe both.

Mark didn’t move.

He stared at her, wide-eyed and shaking, chest heaving.

He hadn’t meant to—had he?

But something in him refused to feel guilt for it. Not yet. Not after everything.

Emma’s lip curled slowly, and her eyes burned into him with something more dangerous than fury.

But Mark barely flinched. He grabbed her wrist and shoved her back. “You think you can just say whatever the hell you want to me?!”

“I can,” she hissed, eyes blazing. “Because it’s true.”

Emma pushed him again—this time hard enough that he stumbled, and as soon as he did, she followed it up with a kick to his shin. It wasn’t graceful, but it made him grunt in pain, and it threw him off just enough for her to grab a handful of his hoodie and yank him forward again.

He grabbed her by the wrists, trying to pry her off. “Let—go—!”

“I should’ve done this years ago!” she snapped, forcing him off balance.

The two of them staggered, grappling like two animals—nothing clean about it, nothing elegant. Just raw, ugly rage. Mark’s hoodie bunched in her hands, and his feathers were a mess, sticking up from her clawing fingers. He tried to wrestle free, but she struck him again—her palm colliding with his jaw this time, sending his head snapping sideways.

“You’re insane!” he yelled, shoving her back again with all his strength.

And this time, Emma lost her footing completely. Her heel caught on a piece of broken glass, and she tumbled backwards—landing hard against the bar with a dull thud. Bottles rattled again, one falling and shattering against the floor.

Mark panted, chest heaving, eyes wild. His cheek stung, his fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t even realize he’d been hit that hard. His breathing was erratic. He couldn’t even see straight.

Emma pushed herself up from the bar, slowly. Her eyes were narrowed to slits now, her chest rising and falling. Her hair was disheveled, one of her earrings was gone, and her wrist was red from where Mark had grabbed her—but she didn’t care. She didn’t feel it.

She backed up slowly, until her spine hit the edge of the bar.

Still watching him.

Still seething.

Then—without breaking eye contact—her hand slid to the side. Resting near one of the untouched plates left over from the catering table. Her fingers brushed over it.

Mark froze for half a second.

He knew that look.

“You’ve got nothing, Marcus,” she said, breathless, her voice trembling with rage. “And you never will.”

Her hand gripped the plate.

And before Mark could react—

CRASH!

The plate sailed through the air and shattered against his face.

It hit with a sickening crack—white shards exploded in every direction, cutting across his cheek and forehead. He staggered back again, stumbling into a chair that toppled over with him. His vision swam. Blood ran down from a shallow cut just beneath his brow, warm and fast.

Mark lay there, stunned. Hands trembling. Breathing hard.

Emma just stood there, still by the bar, hand slowly lowering from the throw. Her chest was still rising and falling, her knuckles white.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

And for a few seconds, neither did he.

Because something had broken.

Not just the plate. Not just the silence.

Something deeper.

And this time, it wasn’t going to be that easy to glue it back together.

Notes:

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

1anon1

waow

subscribing to a fic isn’t enough I need the author to blast a bat signal into the night sky whenever they update

Idea I had for a while, like.. imagine if it was that simple, and they kept looking for an exit a bit too long.

I loved this thing I saw lol

I love Mark so much and you're one of the few people who writes for him these days. Thank you for giving us the Mark representation we need!

Aw stop your so sweet 💕 He's one of my favourite characters in ducktales/in cartoon history. And even though he's done bad things (nearly killing people in the process) there has got to be a reason for it and y'all can't change my mind. 😤 I feel so bad for him 😭 he needs a redemption fr

Thanks again for the ask❤️

Hey so i really love your work and stuff, so i wanted to tell you that! Totally keep going!! =]

Quick question:

Do you like these silly's

Omg yess! I love Quacker jack the best!Though I haven't actually watched the original Darkwing duck cartoons (Please don't kill me, I'll watch it soon 😭) I love the art and animations people make with them. I love these goofy goobers😃❤️

(Thank you so much💗I appreciate it)

After a lot of tuts from Pinterest later:

Wait y'all, I think I found the reason why Mark beaks can't come up with anything/new ideas. Not cause he's not creative...

Because he's a parrot -_-

*puts a png of Oswald the Lucky Rabbit next to Jax*

Hmm, Perfect

I don't look like every @#$%ing cartoon rabbit out there! He looks NOTHING like me. Are you guys stupid or something?

Join or don't idc🤷‍♀️

https://discord.gg/JHGJhv9b

Just want my mom to get to safety!! Can you do this!! My mom is exhausted from this disease and can't do anything My mom needs your help at this time more than ever I hope you can help me save my mom's life please I don't want to lose my mom 🙏🙏https://gofund.me/b5922332

‼️ EVERYONE ‼️

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

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 🍉

NOW PEOPLE ‼️

Sometimes, asking for donations on Tumblr feels like shouting into the void, with nothing left but tagging people in the hope that someone will notice. The sense of despair grows with every ignored plea, like drowning while screaming with no one to hear. If you can help, please consider donating—every little bit makes a difference.

They're the same picture

[ 91 ]

◀ | ◼ | ▶

welcome back gangle !

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:2025-03-28Updated:2025-03-30Words:1,763Chapters:2/?Kudos:2Hits:14

Inner demon's

1anon1

Chapter Management

Edit Chapter

Chapter 2: A day at Waddle! (And also to see how much Marks inner demon's get the better of him ;P)

Summary:

Mark Beaks has everything—money, success, a company with his name on it—but none of it feels real anymore...none of it mattered, it never did.

——————————————————————

Chapter Text

The building’s doors slid open, revealing the sleek, high-tech office lobby that bore his name. But Mark felt like a stranger in it. ‘What are you doing? You’re just standing here like an idiot. Walk in already.’ He swallowed hard, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag before finally stepping inside.

As soon as he stepped in, he was met with the usual chorus of greetings-employees flashing polite smiles as they walked past. He then gave them his signature finger-guns. It was an effortless charm he could pull off but…it felt so robotic, and hollow.

His chest tightened as he moved through the space, it was filled with people who actually belonged here. With his heart pounding against his ribs it made it harder and harder to focus, but he managed to ignore it, forcing a smile to everyone he saw. After all, it looked like he had everything under control…no one knew how bad he was really falling apart.

Mark walked forward, but he wasn’t really there. His mind spiraled elsewhere, his thoughts turning sharper, harsher, as he made his way toward the elevator. ‘You don’t belong here. You’re just playing pretend. They’re all working, actually earning their place here—so beaks, what are you doing here?’

His chest tightened again, his pulse hammering in his ears. The world around him felt distant—blurry faces, muted voices, the artificial brightness of the office space that suddenly felt too sterile, too wrong. He barely noticed the people passing him, barely registered the weight of his own footsteps. He was sinking, drowning under the crushing weight of failure, failure, failure—

A light tap on his shoulder snapped him back. He blinked rapidly, suddenly aware that he had stopped in the middle of the floor. Miss Taffy stood beside him, tablet in hand, one perfectly arched brow raised.

“I was going over your schedule,” she said, her tone careful. “Are you listening?”

Mark forced a grin, shifting his duffel bag like that would somehow make him look more composed. “Yeah, yeah, totally. Hit me with it.”

She held his gaze for a second longer before continuing.

“Okay, well, after this, you’ve got the…”

She rattled off meetings, calls, and appointments, but the words blurred together, slipping through his mind like static. He nodded along absently, pretending. Just like always.

°°°

He was now in his office, he felt so tired.

Mark sat at his desk, staring at the untouched food beside him. A perfectly plated meal—probably expensive, probably something he once would’ve snapped a picture of just to flex online. But now, it just sat there, untouched, because the thought of eating made his stomach twist. He hadn't eaten in a while, why couldn't he just eat? ‘You don't deserve it, that's why’

He leaned back in his chair, letting his head tip against the headrest, eyes drifting to the ceiling. His office was pristine, sleek, designed to impress—but to him, it just felt cold. Lifeless. It was supposed to be a reflection of his success, of the empire he built, but right now, it felt more like a cage. A glass box where everyone could see him but no one really could.

The office buzzed faintly outside his door—muffled conversations, ringing phones, the steady hum of productivity. People working. People actually doing something. Meanwhile, he was slumped in his chair, hands limp in his lap, the glow of his computer screen casting sharp shadows on his face. His inbox was flooded with emails—some urgent, some not—but all of them felt equally impossible.

He let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face.

“Get it together Marcus.” He mumbled.

‘Just answer one. Just one.’

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but his mind felt blank. No words came. ‘...your pathetic’ The pressure in his chest returned, squeezing tighter, heavier.

A notification popped up—a meeting in ten minutes. He was supposed to pitch something. Something new. Something exciting.

Mark swallowed hard, staring at the screen like it had personally betrayed him. “What the hell am I even doing anymore?”

°°°

The office was nearly empty by the time Mark finally left his desk. The once-busy space had died down, the usual chatter replaced by the quiet hum of the cleaning crew working in the background. The city outside his window still glowed, alive with people who had places to be, things to do. But up here, in his high-rise office, it was just him.

He made his way to the elevator, each step feeling heavier than the last. His duffel bag dragged at his shoulder, and his body ached—not from work, not from anything physical, but from the sheer weight of existing. He should be relieved that the day was over, but there was no comfort in that. Just the knowledge that he’d have to do it all again tomorrow.

The elevator doors slid shut, enclosing him in cold, artificial lighting. He let out a breath, pressing his forehead against the mirrored wall. His reflection stared back, exhausted eyes dull and unfocused. ‘This is you. This is what you’ve become.’

His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag. The silence pressed in. He was going home to an empty penthouse, to another night of nothing, to a bed that felt too big and a life that felt too small.

The doors chimed open to the parking garage. He didn’t move right away, just stood there, staring out at the empty lot. The thought of driving home, of going through the motions yet again, made his stomach sink.

For just a second, he considered turning around. Maybe going somewhere—anywhere—just to feel something. But the thought passed just as quickly as it came. He stepped forward, letting the doors slide shut behind him.

Mark’s footsteps echoed through the parking garage, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls in an eerie, hollow rhythm. His car sat in its designated spot, sleek and expensive, yet it felt like just another meaningless possession. He unlocked it with a lazy press of a button, the headlights flashing briefly before settling back into stillness. He hesitated before getting in, gripping the door handle, staring at his own reflection in the tinted window. The version of himself staring back looked drained, like a ghost of someone who once had energy, drive—purpose.

He finally slid into the driver’s seat, the familiar leather cool against his back. The moment he shut the door, the world outside faded into muffled silence, leaving him alone with his thoughts. His fingers hovered over the ignition button, but he didn’t press it. Instead, letting a tired groan, exhaling a slow, shaky breath and resting his head on the steering wheel. ‘What are you even doing at this point?’ The thought looped endlessly in his mind, gnawing at him. He had everything—money, fame, success—yet he had nothing that actually mattered. And that realization felt heavier than anything else.

He sat there for a while longer before finally started the car, the engine purring to life, but he didn’t move. The GPS screen glowed, waiting for a destination, but he had nowhere to go. His penthouse wasn’t a home—it was just another empty space, another reminder of how hollow everything had become. He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white, his breath unsteady. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, the thought crossed his mind—what if I just kept driving? No destination, no plan, just…away? But he knew better. No matter how far he went, the weight in his chest would follow. With a tired sigh, he put the car in drive and pulled out of the garage, disappearing into the city lights like just another passing shadow.

‘YOU are the reason your like this’

——————————————————————

Notes:

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

1anon1

shows up

ruins everything

immediately dips

THAT'S MY SUPERHERO 👏💯

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

I ain't crying, you're crying 😭

His appearance aged even just a bit shook her to her core. It was just due to losing someone so dear to him, but the change felt like he would one day fade away as well

Um hi chat.

So I was looking through my ducktales feed (it was some of the older posts) and I just have a question. But who the shat is "Frank" ...I've seen that name in old blogs, old posts. Someone tell me who he is 😭

Don’t be shy, greet him.

McMystery at McDuck McManor - The villains on Louie’s one-hour guest list~ (& Black Arts Beagle)

Like Uncle like nephew I guess

2024.06.05

Mark beaks: I don't see how this day could get any weird- and here we go

*Gladstone Gander and Mark beaks holding a baby whilst sitting on a bench*

Magica Despell: Gah! What the- Dude! That is so messed up!

Mark beaks: I know right? I mean, future me, wearing sandals?

Magica Despell: No! I mean your gonna steal Gladstone from me! It's supposed to be "Magicstone" not "Beakstone", you home wrecking womaniser!

Mark beaks: And it looks like I didn't stop at men.

*Mark and Magica getting married. Mark wearing a dress and Magica wearing a suit*

Magica: Ah! *Sobs*

Mark beaks: Agreed, always thought I was the one wearing pants in this relationship