En 2-3 días hice 7 drabbles/viñetas de Shokugeki no Sōma (y están concluidos!), más un One-shot que aún sigo escribiendo y lleva más de 6,000 palabras sobre el desenlace de la batalla Sōma vs Asahi vs Erina (cosa personal, es que llene de muchísimo coraje con Erina en el 304, perdóname Sōma :/). Y a excepción del One-shot, los drabbles/viñetas me tienen con la misma sensación desabrida que el manga, no encuentro satisfacción en ellos a pesar de que los hice con cariño.
Tsukuda amigo, ¿te sientes así también o qué? En fin, como están concluidos, a ver si decido subirlos todos como una sola historia de varios capítulos inconexos o de forma separada. Montones de OoC, pero da igual, creo que le hice justicia sin querer a lo que estamos viendo en el manga con estos personajes, lol.
Affectionate - Gyro slowly comes to find that when he entered in this relationship, it was basically being with a giant lap cat
Rating: K
Word count: 896 words
Me? Being dead for months and then returning with a ship I’ve never written for before at 2 AM in the morning on a school day? It’s more likely than you think.
The first time Launchpad had splayed across his lap, it’s kinda hard not to notice the solid pressure of his legs. Still, Gyro’s attention had been fixed on the screen, engrossed in this show that covered molecular structures on certain atoms so he could mutter his own comments at the bits that they failed to cover.
“Amateurs, all of them,” he grumbles, not really doing anything to the legs pinning him on the sofa, and it’s because of this that Launchpad got to nap for an hour without fuss.
The second time Launchpad slumped over his lap, he had wanted to push him off, but he did the mistake of looking down. For all his snappish nature, he’s not a monster. Gyro was still getting used to the idea of being in this relationship and he privately admits that maybe, there were some areas he could... use more information on. Like how to be... comforting, and all that.
Launchpad had a quiet sort of sad look. He didn’t say anything, for Gyro came to learn that for all of the pilot’s open personality, he could be surprisingly tight lipped when it came to personal troubles. Something must’ve happened, and Launchpad wasn’t too keen on opening up just yet. But he is seeking out... comfort, he presumed.
Gyro’s beak twisted into a faint scowl, but it lacked any bite. He didn’t say anything, merely getting back to reading some reports. It’s only coincidental that he ‘averted’ his gaze long enough to catch the relieved look on Launchpad’s face from the corner of his eye. His stomach did an odd sort of flop, which he vehemently refused to see it as anything other than his body’s biological response to a lack of proper nourishment.
The third time it happened, they were watching some sort of comedic movie. Usually, Gyro would never bothered in wasting his time. He found them rather foolish in nature, and could never understand how people would laugh at the tomfoolery on the screen. It lacked any educational purposes, most of the so called humor were not actually humorous and honestly, they were much better ways to spend a Sunday afternoon.
But Launchpad had insisted, flashing him those eyes that he vowed to study on, for he still needed to figure out as to why he found himself... softening enough to concede anytime he used it on him. Gyro felt like he was setting himself up for two hours of pure mental torture, but he found himself surprised that this comedy movie had some merits in being humorous.
Was he laughing? Of course not, but he could not deny moments where he felt... tickled, he supposed. A surge of something that made his beak twitch. Reactions where it happened as naturally as it could be with him.
Launchpad, on the other hand, found it absolutely hilarious. There were some parts where his laughter had been a little nerve grating, but Gyro believed that a happy Launchpad is better than a... not happy Launchpad. Both made his heart do this little jolts, though after categorizing them, he much preferred the feeling associated to a happy Launchpad.
At some point, he was laughing so hard that he keeled over to wriggle across his lap, gasping for breath between guffaws. The weight of his partner on his lap can be a little uncomfortable but shoving him away was the last thought on Gyro’s mind.
The fourth time mimicked the others in the natural placement of the moment, but this time around, something had... changed between them. They had learned more about one another, explored their boundaries, gaining each other’s trust. Launchpad certainly had his work cut out for him, but he never gave up on Gyro, even during moments where he personally admits made him rather difficult to deal with.
He stayed with him throughout it all, which he thinks was what finally made him more open with Launchpad.
So he merely looked up from his book to stare down at Launchpad, who had a wide smile across his beak. He then closed his eyes with a sigh, looking like he was setting himself up for a great nap. Gyro would have left him be for a couple of hours, but Launchpad shifts, eyes still relaxed shut as he reaches up blindly to find Gyro’s hand. Rather curious, Gyro allows his fingers to be tangled in the mass of Launchpad’s orange hair.
“Mmmm...” Launchpad mumbles, sighing happily as his body went limp.
Experimentally, Gyro flexed his hand, digging through the surprisingly soft hair till they brushed his scalp. This time, his partner truly sighed in appreciation, nuzzling slightly into his lap.
“Cat,” Gyro huffs, a bit of fondness seeping into his tone. “Of course you are.”
Launchpad didn’t reply, merely tilting his head into the petting. Gyro continued this mindless petting until Launchpad lifted one hand to rest on his shoulder. Wordlessly, he gently kneaded it, a silent offering of the same show of affection.
This sort of... lazy intimacy was something Gyro still needed to learn more on, but he doesn’t mind waiting for the sort of moments that they’ll have in the future. In fact, deep down, he would even say that he was... looking forward to it.
Differences - Donald likes to compare the little size differences between him and Launchpad
Rating: K+
Word count: 873 words
Just a short piece for me to explore more on this pairing, as well as indulging in a favorite trope of mine
One of the things that fascinates Donald the most in this relationship is their differences in stature. While he’s like any other average duck, Launchpad is built like a tank. Not only is the pilot tall, his barrel chest and muscle packed body could even make bodybuilders green with envy. When he stands next to him, with their respective builds and clothing choices, they really do make an odd pair that had heads turned more than once.
Donald finds it a perfect fit.
For starters, he’s at the perfect height that when he goes to snuggle with Launchpad behind closed doors. His head rests comfortably on his partner’s chest, where he can hear the strong, steady heartbeat. Donald isn’t ashamed to say that he had fallen asleep to that sound more than once. With a pair of warm arms wrapped around him, even his occasional bout of insomnia is powerless to the call of sleep when he’s in this position.
Being at this height also meant that, when it came to kissing, they’d find different ways to make it unpredictable and exciting. Sometimes, Donald would tap LP on the shoulder, asking him to bend down cause he has something to say, only to plant a quick smooch on his beak. It’s always worth it because Launchpad would turn a delicious shade of red, being left an adorable flustered mess for a few minutes.
Other times, Launchpad would seemingly get caught up in a fit of spontaneity, and Donald would find himself lifted off the ground till he’s at the ideal height for his boyfriend to kiss him. The smaller duck would wrap his arms around the strong neck, letting himself be suspended till Launchpad breaks the kiss and places him back on the ground. He’s left in a bit of a daze, while the other sports a shy grin until he’s gestured into bending down for another kiss.
Donald also likes to hold Launchpad’s hand sometimes, if only for the sole purpose of comparing their hand size. His partner might be bigger than him, but his hand is surprisingly about the same size as Donald’s. Maybe his fingers are a little longer, a little larger but it’s the optimum size to slip his fingers into his and grasp his hand.
And from holding his hand, Donald is able to feel that, below the layer of smooth feathers lays a hand that’s rough from heavy work. He knows that Launchpad is a pretty capable mechanic, and he has worked on various vehicles. Donald imagines that using various tools, working with pieces of gear and metal would have that effect on someone’s hands. It’s perfect the way it is, to him.
Then there’s the fabled boyfriend jacket. Donald has heard it in passing, and it’s only after he started dating Launchpad that he understands what that means. He’s far too small to own anything that his boyfriend could wear, but he’s able to don anything Launchpad has. Of course, he’d be absolutely swimming in it. Launchpad had called him cute once for wearing his aviator jacket, and Donald recalls the scent of pine, smoke and grease-- a scent that’s synonymous with the pilot, so that’s really not a bad thing.
He also comes to find that, he’s apparently at the perfect height for Launchpad to rest his elbow on. When they’re sitting close together, Donald would occasionally find himself playing his boyfriend’s arm rest. It’s not necessarily annoying, so he usually lets it stay there until he wants it off. His way of telling Launchpad so is to poke his sides, which elicits little yelps and giggles. Just hearing those pure sounds restore his tolerance levels time and time again.
But if Donald had to choose, the bit he loves the most with their obvious height difference is the way they get to spoon each other in bed. One would think that he’s automatically the small spoon, but with a partner like Launchpad, there’s no following the norm.
Sometimes it’s him who has his head tucked into the crook of Launchpad’s neck, curled up into a ball that’s completely covered with one muscled arm. Just like when they snuggle, he’s at the ideal spot to listen to his personal lullaby-- the steady thump thump thump that signifies the life of the one who’s managed to capture his own heart and cast a light to his bleak world.
Then, during the times where Launchpad wants to feel comforted, to be shielded by the cruelties of the world if only for a single night, he’d be the one who would bury his face into Donald’s stomach, with his arms wrapped around his waist. Donald would try to hug him as far as his arms could stretch, giving little assurances through rubs and hums that would loosen the tension in those firm muscles. He always considers it a victory if he’s able to hear the slow, deep breaths of slumber within the hour or two.
Donald is small and Launchpad is tall, but they fit in a way that makes it feel like this is the natural way of things. Their size difference, temperaments, love-- it is what it is, and Donald won’t have it any other way.
Realizations - Drake has been living with Launchpad long enough to realize a lot of things
Rating: K
Word count: 1110 words
First attempt at this pairing! It’s a bit shaky, cause I’m reusing an old drabble I wrote years ago to fit into this context. I could never resist some good old domestic moments. I quite like how it turns out, so I hope it’ll be enjoyable to read!
Launchpad likes to shake the pepper two times and the salt once on his eggs, with a smear of butter on one toast and grape jelly on the other. It’s a simple observation for a Sunday morning – it has Drake realizing that he may know more about Launchpad than he does about himself.
Drake has come to memorize his routine – after a night of crime fighting, Launchpad would sleep at around 7 AM, rising before noon. Sometimes he’ll stay in bed longer, if he’s feeling particularly cuddly. If it’s a slow night, or there’s no super villains mucking about St. Canard, he’d be asleep by 10 PM. Nights like these would have him sleep soundly, waking up at a time that Drake finds criminally early. His irritation would be appeased by the soft kiss on his forehead, and letting him sleep in for an extra hour or two while Launchpad deals with Gosalyn in the morning.
He knows exactly how Launchpad likes to take his coffee – two cubes of sugar and enough creamer to turn the black liquid into a light brown. Drake wonders how he’s able to process that sludge, but then again, the pilot’s favorite joint is Hamburger Hippo.
And speaking of that processed food chain, Drake knows Launchpad’s orders by heart. If he’s really hungry, he likes to order four double burgers, two large fries, one apple pie and a large soda to wash it all down. If it’s just a casual stop to refuel, he’ll eat two regular burgers, medium sized fries and a large soda. Drake feels like his own arteries are getting clogged when he watches LP consume his order, but he also understands that for someone of his stature, he needs to eat a lot to keep in tip top shape.
“Could you pass me the sugar pot DW?”
“Here you go.”
Out of all the household chores, Launchpad prefers to do the laundry. Sometimes he’ll bring their clothes to the local laundromat during a particularly busy week, but Drake could also find him hanging out their clothes during a weekend morning. Cooking falls to him, since they want the meal to be edible. Though, as bad as a cook LP is, he makes for a good assistant in the kitchen.
Drake has come to find that when Launchpad is in a mood for one reason or another, he tends to have his eyes focused on anything other than him. He knows better than to ask if he’s fine – perhaps, during the early stages of their relationship he made that mistake. Now, Drake will merely sit by him, not saying a word as he places his hand atop of his. It’s an exercise in patience, for his very nature wants him to fix his sidekick as quickly as possible, but the payoff often ends with LP opening up to him.
“Where’s the strawberry jam again?”
“It’s in the cupboard. Top right.”
The masked vigilante knows when his sidekick is worried for him. He often hovers closer, spouting off questions that acts a subtle probe to know how he’s doing. LP thinks he’s being sneaky when he casts glances during the moments where he thinks no one notices, but nothing escapes Darkwing Duck’s ever observant eyes (well, for the most part). Sometimes it can be a little aggravating, as he doesn’t want anything to distract him from taking down their foe. Then there’s the moments where he feels a blossom of warmth, for it’s a reminder that he honestly has someone who genuinely cares for him.
Darkwing Duck sees the insecurities that Launchpad tries to hide. He wonders if LP realizes that he’s the sort who needs validation from others to feel good about himself. Sure, he’s able to shrug off snippy comments and insults like he’s shedding off his aviator jacket, but when it comes to moments where he truly worked hard for, he could feel the hopeful gaze behind his head. Darkwing (or Drake) will make sure to offer some compliments, maybe even pat his back or pull him into a hug. Seeing his face light up is always a wonderful thing to witness.
“Want me to wash your plate for you?”
“Yes, that would be nice.”
Drake knows his he looks like in bed – a simple T-shirt and boxers, with his hair mussed up when he buries his face into the crook of his neck. Launchpad might be bigger, but he finds himself being the big spoon more often than not. He also know his scars – both physical and psychological – since Drake has traced them with ghost soft touches during those low, intimate moments and have held him in his arms after he awakens from a terrible nightmare, trembling in quiet sobs.
And he’s come to see that Launchpad is an endlessly complex individual. He could be clumsy but then he’s knocking out a villain who got the jump on him. He speaks before he thinks, but he also knows the right things to say when Drake’s having a bad time. LP is cheery and energetic, capable keeping up with Gosalyn when she wants to play. He has a body that many would find intimidating, but he has a heart to match it, for he wouldn’t harm a fly.
He can be so strong that it leaves Darkwing reeling because this man is a fan of him to the point that he wants to be his sidekick and he could be so fragile that Drake wants nothing more than to scoop him up in his arms and shield him from the cruelties of the world.
“Hey DW? Mind handing me the comics section?”
“Yeah sure.”
It strikes Drake suddenly, as he hands LP what he asks for while he keeps the news section for himself, that even though he knows everything about his partner, even though his civilian days have turned to almost mundane commentary about the littlest things as he waits for something interesting to happen, that he wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.
This isn’t where Drake expected to end up but perhaps he can spend the rest of his life like this.
“Hey… LP?”
“Yeah, DW?”
Drake stares at his paper, feeling his cheeks warm up. It’s still an awkward phrase for him to say, as it still astounds him that he has someone that he can say it to. Those words often felt stuck in his throat, leaving him a stammering mess.
He could feel Launchpad’s gaze, and finally he pushes out, “Thanks.”
I love you.
Drake lowers his paper just enough to see his partner’s wide, beaming smile.
Distractions - In which Fenton bumps into Launchpad at the gym and proceeds to have an internal crisis
Rating: K
Word count: 1011 words
First writing piece for this fandom! This is inspired by a post I saw by @laneypenn. I’m a little nervous, but I hope this is an enjoyable read!
So, Fenton figured that, to help him with future tests on the suit, and during his own heroic exploits, it’s best to build up some muscle. While he’s perfectly capable on performing outstanding feats in the suit, in the event that things go haywire, it would be nice to not be completely defenseless. Not to mention, there’s the variable on whether the physical state of the user would give an affect towards the overall performance output.
If there’s a chance to be a better Gizmoduck, he’s going to give it a shot.
Even if he came to that conclusion, and rallied up enough confidence to head to the local gym, that still doesn’t stop his nerves from acting up when it came the time to step into the building. Fenton is painfully aware at how scrawny he is when compared to the other patrons. It’s a bit intimidating, walking through rows of training equipment and seeing buff dudes going at it.
He swallows, looks down before he slaps his cheeks. Alright. He’s here with a purpose. Who cares how others might see him? He’s Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, the one who dons the suit to be Gizmoduck. This is for the good of Duckburg, in the end.
The little mental pep talk brings back a bit of his confidence, but when he reaches the weights section of the gym. he’s struck with the realization that he doesn’t know where to start. What is an area that he should work on first? Scratch that, what is the first thing he should do before he even begin in working out? Fenton knows that the standard is to warm-up, but what’s the best way to do so? And for how long? And after that, what should he--
“Fenton, buddy!” A sudden voice interrupts his rapid train of thought, instantly derailing it as he swivels, a little wide eyed. Fenton relaxes just a tiny bit upon recognizing the friendly smile of one Launchpad McQuack, but it doesn’t last long.
“Who would’ve thought I’d run into you here!” Launchpad says, placing down some dumbbells on the rack. This simple motion allows Fenton to get a close up view of some well defined muscles. Like, it’s pretty blatantly obvious that Launchpad would have some muscle on him, being barrel chested and all that, but he didn’t expect... this.
The pilot has shed his signature aviator jacket for a tight navy blue tank top and black shorts that truly did his figure some justice. His arms were out for the world to see, and Fenton nervously admits that they’re a very nice sight. Instead of his usual baseball cap, his orange hair is tied back into a simple high ponytail that looks quite cute and blathering blatherskite he’s been staring for too long--
“Fenton? You okay there?” Launchpad asks, his brows pinched in concern.
“I’m fine! Peachy keen!” Fenton says, giggling nervously at the end. He can feel the warmth creeping up his cheeks.
“Well... okay then!” And just like that, Launchpad sports his friendly smile, one hand resting on a hip. He tries to keep his gaze solely on the other’s face and not other distracting parts of his body (which is everything cause now he’s realizing there’s a slight flush to LP’s cheeks, probably from exercise and that’s also a little bit very much cute gAH).
“So, what’cha doing here?” Launchpad asks, this time crossing his impressive arms over his even more impressive chest.
Fenton swallows, suddenly feeling a little insecure. He taps his fingers together, gaze downwards. “I’m here to, uh, well, work-out?”
“What a coincidence! Me too!” The brawnier duck grins, before leaning in. Fenton tries to not stare down at the expanse of chest. “Like, sometimes things can get a lil’ dangerous when you’re out on an adventure with Mr McDee, if you know what I mean.”
“Y-Yes. I imagine that can happen.”
“So I gotta be, y’know, prepared in case something happens. I don’t want anything bad to happen to Mr McDee and the kids, yeah?”
Launchpad wears an indescribable look for a moment, but Fenton could see the earnest desire behind it. He’s not keeping himself in shape solely for a splendid body image. It’s more to be ready for any sort of obstacle that comes in the way of Mr Scrooge and his family. To keep them safe.
Not for himself, but for others. Just like what sparked his own desire to shape up.
“Say Launchpad...” Fenton looks up, steadily meeting his open gaze. “Can you show me how to properly work out? I’m new to this, and I could use some pointers...”
Launchpad’s smile could probably be a power source on its own right, for how bright and sunny it is. Fenton swears he felt his spine creak at the force of the friendly slap to the back, but it’s worth the pain for the enthusiastic reply.
“Of course buddy!” Fenton then finds himself engulfed in a one armed hug. He’s made aware of the solid, warm mass of muscles. “I’d love to help ya out!”
“Thank you so much!” He manages to squeak out, feeling that traitorous warmth sneaking up again. “I’ll try my best to keep up!”
Launchpad laughs, deep and rich. “Don’t worry. We’ll start small, and work our way up!”
He could feel the rumble of the laughter, and he had to untangled himself from the hug before he internally combusts from these observations. Fenton smooths down his feathers before looking up.
“So, what should I do first?” Knowing that he has a friend who knows what he’s doing, it alleviates some of his worry. With Launchpad’s help, Fenton feels like he can truly do this.
The friendly arm is back on his shoulders. “Well, first things first we’ve got to get you all warmed up! I’ll help ya stretch, ‘kay?”
Fenton feels like he’s going to die doing this, but it’s for the good of Duckburg. He just has to keep his eyes on the prize, and not Launchpad’s muscles.
Hey uh, idk if you take requests or prompts or whatever, but I've just been thinking about the first time Donald's birthday rolls around after Della's gone. He's shared his birthday with his twin his whole life and now, he can't :'(
First of all, yes, for the time being, I am accepting prompts! Secondly, how dare you come into my inbox and gouge out my heart with a spoon??? Finally, please suffer alongside me by listening to this whilst reading this short piece!
Birthday - Is it a day to celebrate, or a day to remember of all that he has lost?
Rating: K+
Word count: 982 words
Donald doesn’t have to look at the date when he woke up that morning to know what day it is today. He remains in bed, feeling the springs of the old mattress poke his spine as he stares at the ceiling. After what seems like forever, he finally sits up, swinging his legs to the side of the bed, where he becomes motionless when his gaze does slip to the calendar.
9th June.
Their birthday.
Well, it’s now only his birthday, isn’t it?
He remains quiet, lost in the memories that he tries so desperately to bury, for it’s still too soon, too fresh to pick apart. Donald sucks in a deep breath, slaps his cheeks several times before he gets up. His body goes on autopilot as he performs his daily duties-- making sure the toddlers are fed and changed, go through the jobs listings for an opening that he could take and silently despairing over this month’s expenses.
He’s painfully aware that his savings are draining fast, and he’ll need to have a steady source of income if he wants to keep the nephews with him. They need him, as much as he needed them. Donald had contemplated on contacting his Uncle Scrooge before he’s reminded -- like repeated stabs to the chest -- that the reason why they’re in this position in the first place is because of that selfish, reckless old miser who didn’t care--
Donald reels those emotions in before he loses control. Huey, Dewey and Louie needed him to be the responsible one. It’s just the weight of what he’s expected to do is more prevalent today, as he’s reminded that he’s well and truly alone in this. He massages his forehead, then continues about his day. At least he manages to smile a little, when Louie tried to crawl towards him.
After putting the toddlers to bed, Donald gazes at them for a long time before he slowly exits the door. With slow steps, he heads off to his bedroom, though pauses upon seeing the moonlight streaming through the living room window. He finds himself going to it, and gazing up at the night sky. There’s a sprinkle of stars visible, with the moon shining ethereally.
The moon is always there, every single night. Regardless of what happens on Earth, it’s always going to be there.
Donald stares at it until his vision blurs. His own tears twinkle under the light as he slumps against the window, shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. At that moment, the sure knowledge that life will be going on with or without her, that time only really stopped for him when he received that terrible news last year, hits him like a sledgehammer to the chest.
His twin sister is go-- missing. Never to share a birthday with him ever again. Donald will never get to see her bright, smiling face when he presents to her a gift that she always assures worth more to her than any treasure that they find. He will never get to feel the rush of love and adoration when she hands him her gift after experiencing fond annoyance for she just had to prank him beforehand.
Never again will he get to argue with her on the flavor of this year’s birthday cake. Donald can never see her stick her tongue out at him when he suggests vanilla, cause of course her twin brother had to pick the most boring flavor ever. He’ll never be able to reason with her that chili coconut rum cake is a disgusting flavor and excuse me for wanting a cake that their friends could enjoy because–
–she’s not here to celebrate their birthday anymore.
Donald has grieved so much over the past year, but there’s still a gaping hole in his heart, a permanent reminder that a constant fixture in his life is no longer present. It hurts so much to know that one day, Huey, Dewey and Louie would want to celebrate his birthday, when they’re supposed to celebrate their mother’s birthday too.
And that brought on a fresh wave of tears, a heavy sort of pained emptiness that threatens to consume him whole.
The triplets will never get a chance to plan for a surprise birthday party for their mother.
Huey, Dewey and Louie will never have the opportunity to make birthday cards that begins with Happy Birthday Mom! that ends with we love you Mom!
One day, Donald would have to tell his nephews that they have no grave for them to bring flowers to for her birthday. He tries to believe that she’s still alive, somewhere but with each passing day, it sounds like he just doesn’t want to accept the reality that he’s the only living member left in his family.
She’s lost in the stars, probably never to be seen again.
Donald cries till there’s no more tears to shed. He remains there, trying to gather his willpower to survive another day. If not for him, than for his nephews sleeping soundly in the other room. That thought helped him finally settle as he rises to his feet. His head hurts, his eyes are puffy and his heart feels empty. Perhaps he should wash his face before he attempts to catch some sleep.
Before he leaves, however, Donald casts one last look into the night sky, where the moon is.
If he’s able to make one wish on his birthday, then he wishes that his twin would know that he loves her, and misses her terribly and that she could be alive here to celebrate their birthday together.
That’s more than one wish, but Donald thinks he can be a little selfish today.
“Happy Birthday Della…”
...
From the lunar surface, a lonely woman stares at the Earth, today’s date flickering on the cracked monitor of the control panel.
Birthdays - Throughout the different phases of his life, birthdays carried different meanings to Launchpad
Rating: K
Word count: 714 words
A quick short piece before college hell consumes me. Happy Birthday you funky disaster of a pilot whomst I love
When he had been a small child, birthdays were like that one day of the year where it can’t be anything but a good day. Launchpad recalls the way his mom made him a birthday breakfast -- she hadn’t been the best of cooks, but his hungry stomach never discriminated -- before his dad took him out on his plane. He might not have won the safest dad of the year award, but Launchpad found that being in the plane when his dad performed stunts beat any thrill ride.
Then they spend the day doing anything that he wanted. One year, he had them watch all the episodes of Darkwing Duck to bring them up to speed before the new season premiered. Another year, they went to the park because fall came early and he had wanted to feel the crunch of the leaves beneath his favorite blue boots.
(Fall remained as his favorite season, and it never failed to stir up fond memories when he hears the distinct sound).
After his birthday dinner, his parents would finally hand him some presents. It was never anything too fancy, but to him, it had been things that he would cherish for years to come. Launchpad still had his blue teddy bear, faded but cared so lovingly, gifted by his mom on his fifth birthday. The Lego set his dad gave him might be missing a few pieces, but most of them were still in the original bin, tucked away in his old bedroom back home.
When Launchpad grew a little older and made friends of his own, birthdays showed him that there were people other than his family who cared enough for him that they want to celebrate it. While it had been too profound of a thought back then, he never understood the significance until he became an adult who lived on his own and had time to reflect.
There are people who genuinely want to celebrate the day he was brought into this world. They wanted to celebrate the fact that he lived, and continued on to live till the next year. Launchpad, who had came to mature in his own way, now appreciates the concept of people he considered friends and family to remember his birthday than the actual celebration itself.
A single birthday wish, be it through texts, phone calls or expressed verbally, is worth more to him than any birthday gift. He’s not saying that he wouldn’t appreciate physical gifts, it’s just he had reached a point in his life that just the thought of being loved enough that his birthday mattered to others is often times enough of a gift for him.
Different people have their own lives to deal with, but they carved a spot in their time and memories to remember that hey, Launchpad McQuack was born today. I love and care for him enough to wish him another year of living and being a part of my life. It still leaves him a little breathless, at times.
Now, birthdays to him are moments where he lets himself be surprised by life. He learnt that they can’t always be good days, but the good memories will always outweigh the bad. Launchpad can go through this day, not knowing what to expect and that in itself can be quite exhilarating.
For going in without expectations meant that when something does happen, it often gives him the strongest of emotions. And these feelings would remain with him for as long as air still fills his lungs. Birthdays are just another chapter in his journey through life, and Launchpad is always prepared to add a new page to it with his friends and family.
[This year, he would add the moment of indescribable happiness and love to it when Mr. McDee and his family threw a surprise party for him. Launchpad will remember the scent of chocolate from his birthday cake as the kids rolled it in, the taste of the birthday meal that Mrs. Beakley made, the sound of everyone singing Happy Birthday to him, the hug that Mr. McDee gave him, and the sight of his family being so positively happy that he’s happy that they’re celebrating his existence in their lives for as long as he lived].
