heythatsdeep: ginyang98: donaldtheduckdad:miilkyprism:heythatsdeep:squorkal:donaldtheduckdad
heythatsdeep: ginyang98: donaldtheduckdad: miilkyprism: heythatsdeep: squorkal: donaldtheduckdad: atruedonaldist: donaldtheduckdad: squorkal: heythatsdeep: Growing Pains The boys are in their late teens here. OH MY GOSH THIS HUET MY HEART!!! HOW DARE YOU?! @heythatsdeep POOR DONNIE OUCH!!!! DON’T YOU CRY YOUR BOYS ARE GROWING UP- (… buff.. HuEy you know what you’re doing with me) @squorkal @donaldtheduckdad @heythatsdeep am i allowed to do this @atruedonaldist BLESS! DONALD IS CRYING AND… SMILING (you draw him with lil tuffs I just can’t) Beautiful! @atruedonaldist Oh good!! He’s smiling. I feel better now. Yes! You’re aloud! Thank you for mending my heart. @atruedonaldist Yes you certainly are allowed to do this! It’s the best ever look at him he’s pulled himself together!! (took him maybe 10 minutes to do so but he got there in the end) @atruedonaldist and @heythatsdeep Am I allowed to do this? @squorkal and @donaldtheduckdad, is this cool? Just memories… He was their earliest memory. He was the tall, massive, somebody dressed in yellow, blue, red, and white that held them in his arms. He gave them food, warm baths, and kisses galore. He taught them how to walk. He taught them how to talk. They had, consequently, had always looked up to him. He was always so tall, so far above them. When they moved in with their Great Uncle, when their dynamic started to shift – because it had there was no escaping it, he still remained tall to them although he had, as parents tended to do, diminished in their eyes. Donald knew this would happen. It was a part of growing up, of gaining independence, and it was what he wanted for them. Independence was the goal, being able to get out of trouble was the aim. But he had…as parents tended to do, never stopped seeing them as those three, small eggs, or those three, small ducklings that came to him when hurt or scared. His favorite stuffed toy lost its head. Donald found a needle and thread, stitched to it near perfection, and how Huey smiled, kissed him on the forehead, as he jumbled his thank you to dank you. He jumped off the sofa, and it went as well as expected. Fortunately, there were no broken bones, but a slight bump on the top of his head. The red lump appeared harmless, and Donald had taken no chances. After a fitful, wrestling doctor’s appointment, he fastened him in the back seat and smiled calmly at him. “What an adventure, eh?” Dewey giggled, and reached for him, tiny hands closing and opening for his own. He didn’t like naps. He liked to sleep but not the process of having to go to sleep. While his brothers slumbered on their mats in front of the television, Donald rocked him back and forth, holding him to his pounding heart. Louie whined, whimpered, and hummed as his resistance started to crumbled. His dark eyes stared at Donald. They blinked and twinkled, and they looked familiar to him, familiar to a stare that once looked at him the same way. But soon his eyes closed, and his breathing grew shallow with tiny, snotty snores. Just memories… How awful it must be, he heard someone say, to realize those days were fleeting snapshots? “Unca’ D?” Huey’s hand, large and strong and so much bigger than the memories supplied, rested on his back, “Unca’ D, what’s wrong?” They wouldn’t understand. They were still kids, and at the same time, they weren’t kids, not anymore. He sniffled, raising his head to smile reassuringly at them, and wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, “Oh, don’t worry about me,” he said in a shaky note, “just memories.” @miilkyprism *sobs like Donald* This. So beautiful. So sweet. Oh. It’s. OK. I. can. Handle. The feels. It’s… It’s OK. Miilky how dare you… Omg I have tears of joy in my eyes but I can’t cry in my college over ducks… AAAAAH I’ve still got so many feelings about this… -- source link