duck story

tiny-duck  asked:

Is there a story behind your tags some are very elegant sounding

My tags are references to my goddesses, and those tags I fill with imagery I associate with them. It’s a virtual shrine thing, so that there’s always something to remind me of them. 

I’d be happy to answer questions about any meanings behind the tags.


anon gave me a challenge; asked for a bit of Carl Barks with nice-guy-Gladstone but then I remember this part of A Christmas for Shacktown (W OS 367-02), which is a sweet holiday classic where the ducks are trying to raise twenty-five dollars to get the kids in the poor part of town a toy train!


Calm, brisk, winter-into-spring landscape in the Netherlands, close to the Channel, with wildlife throughout.

anonymous asked:

I'm finding it harder and harder to get motivated to write. Do you have any tips on how to write more/be more motivated to write? Thank you!!

there’s a couple of different ways to be motivated to write in my opinion and they often overlap:

  1. slow and steady wins the race: write every day. even just a sentence. open your story, jot something down, follow it to the end of the thought. be persistent, be kind to yourself. it will get easier over time. you are forming a habit of writing, and there is no pressure to publish your work. take your time.
  2. the daydreamer: play with the idea in your head. follow it through its various iterations. once, twice, three times if you need to. tweak as you go, write it down in your dreamy state.
  3. the journalist: carry a notebook everywhere you go. keep all your ideas in it, even the ones you don’t think will go anywhere. sleep with it by your bed so you can grab it when you wake up in a cold sweat with the best idea you’ve ever had. 
  4. the lightning bolt: write when the inspiration hits you. do not stop, get it all down on the paper immediately so you don’t lose it. if it’s easier, speak out loud into a google doc or some other transcription software. this is helpful when your hands can’t keep up with your brain.
  5. the researcher: find something you like and think would be interesting to write about. pick characters and a situation. research extensively, become very familiar with your topic, taking notes if you’d like. reorganize the notes into your story
  6. the dream journaler: a combination style. carry a notebook and write something in it every day. even silly little stories about ducks or princesses that you would never share with anyone. just write for you and learn to love the writing process
  7. the people pleaser: writes bc other people are holding them accountable. maybe they enjoy the time crunch of a deadline or maybe look for validation. a little higher pressure, but there is nothing wrong with that.

most importantly, do not forget why you write. do you write because you enjoy validation? there’s nothing wrong with that. tbh that’s why i write most of the time. do you just love the clicking of the keys or the feeling of dragging your pencil or pen across paper? that’s cool too. do you love creating? do you create for others? or do you just write for yourself?

find your reason for writing and hold onto it. don’t let anyone take it from you. at the end of the day, you’re the one who has to be satisfied with yourself and what you choose to produce, whether you publish it or not. 

hope that helps friend ~Nicole


I had to redo the original piece since I accidentally messed up my original Barks Duck piece. I had to use a few references Carl Barks’ other works to get the lining and coloring down just right.
I’m still trying to figure out if the background should be a random Cave of treasures, inside the Money Bin, or a full view of Duckburg including the Money Bin in the background?


So today, my mom tells my dad in the afternoon that there were baby ducks stuck in the sewer. Apparently they fell down the hole and we’re calling out to their mom. Their mom disappeared. I guess she was in such distressed that she left.

Anyways, my dad goes outside and so do I. We hear them calling out. My dad pulls the grate from the drain. There are like 7 babies down there. So at first we tried a net but they would fall right through the holes.

So then we tried a basket with strings and we made sure it went right below the waterline. We threw bread. I went online and found the breed of duck then I found the mother calls. So I played it on repeat. They started coming out and my dad caught them with the basket.

So we caught all of them. Then I wanted to go to the park because it’s across the street from my house. Usually there are a lot of ducks there. So we went looking for a duck that is all black with like two or three babies. I put them in a small pet crate.

I looked for about 30 minutes and then I found the mother with another mother and her own set of babies. The babies were calling out. The mother would turn her head and look right at me and the crate. I let them out. I backed away and the mother came towards them. She wagged her tail. She seemed excited to have her babies. She went and smelled them. She didn’t attack them or anything of that sort. So they must have been her babies because they would follow her.

So I’m glad I saved them and found their mom. Thanks to my dad, my neighbor, and myself!

So I was on my friend’s phone because I had to look something up and I was about to go into her pictures wheN SHE NEARLY TACKLED ME IN ATTEMPT TO GET HER PHONE and she was like: “Don’t look at my pictures!!” and I was like ‘what you got on there, nudes or some shit?’ And so I finally got the phone from her and in her camera roll there were LITERALLY HUNDREDS OF PICTURES OF DUCKS


First Kiss (Fakiru fic)

Neither could recall when the feeling began.

Their fingers interlocked, even as they pulled away to tease fingertip to fingertip. Not a molecule between them, even as their uneven paces hurried through the store.

Searching, hoping to find an unoccupied corner. Every moment was tense, like the pair were off to commit a crime.

Ahiru’s lips were dry. Her tongue poked out to wet them again. Something in her mind begging and pleading for him to stop walking already so she could pull him down and-

Fakir’s eyes darted between her behind himself and the path ahead. If only they could find somewhere to roost, even just a moment. Would it be brief, though, if they started-

He paused. She bumped into him. Their feet were still clumsy, despite all the time they’d spent together with their minds synced by the pen.

Without a drop of ink, she could hear his voice through their hands. She could feel the heat of his cheeks without so much of a peek. She could feel his heart churning, flopping over and over with nerves. Or was that her own?

A gentle tug pulled her nearer to him. They’d stopped once more near the front of the little shop. Her flyaway skirt jingled a nearby jewelry stand. He was facing her now, eyes dead set on hers. His hand, rough with history of sword fighting and training grazed her cheek. Cupped it in that way that held her entire being.
Cheeks ablaze, her own hand cupped over his. She gazed longingly, icy bright eyes now dimmed and glossy, unable to make out anything but the outline of his form.

“Your face is so damned soft,” He spoke finally, voice sarcastic and more rude than he intended. “I.. Like it that way,” Fakir fumbled with his words, never breaking his gaze from hers.

Their moment was interrupted with a soft chuckle from the old lady behind the counter. Immediately, the two broke away, their hands falling into place again as they exited the shop quickly. Never buying a thing.

For some reason, they ran. Down the street and through the dark corridors of the town. All familiarity abandoned them, as they searched for somewhere other than home.

Somewhere private, somewhere alone. Somewhere safe to just-!

The churning was back. Ahiru felt almost sick with excitement. Hazey eyes locked on his form, all she could focus on was following his lead. Sending her pleading, begging thoughts through their hands held so tenderly and close.

He could hear her. Oh god, he could hear everything she wanted. Without pen or ink or parchment or book. But maybe those were his thoughts to. How much he was dying, just to-

Fakir turned, tugging her close. Ahiru’s eyes were wide with adoration and begging still.

And yet he paused.

Fingers curled in thought, his head turned as a silly grin spread across his ever serious face. Could he really? Did he deserve her? This beautiful, adorable girl pleading for- for-!

Anxiety had the best of him. His mood was dropping as the saturation of his cheeks rose.

“Pretty please, Fakir? With a ducky on top?” Words stumbled out of her mouth, before Ahiru could stop herself. Was that her own voice? “Please?”

That was it. Once his head turned, their lips drew together in a quick little peck like magnets drawn together. Unsteady and unsure if it even happened, they tried again. This time, the magnetic force stronger and both could feel the gentle tug. Noses bumping every time either drew back.

As she drew back, Ahiru let out a shaky little sigh, before leaning in and stealing a third kiss.