Wow I guess that like a lot of you i am super hyper giga exited by the remake of Ducktales. The psychological approach of the characters is just perfect, i hope they will keep it that way. :o So here is a Young Donald following his uncle in the jungle..
So I’m mad at myself because I came up with another Au.
Imagine if you will,
Quackmore and Hortense have just passed away. The Duck Family and Matilda are grieving. Matilda, unable to tear herself away from the only remaining family she has. (She refuses to count Scrooge, she’s still angry at him.)
Matilda talks to the Duck family, to Elvira. She’s still on Scrooge’s payroll whether he realizes it or not, she makes decent money. She’s younger, and she loves the twins so much. Maybe it would be better if she raised them?
Elvira isnt sure, Quackmore and Hortense didn’t have wills, so there is no clear guardian established for them. She pleads her case. They’re literally all she has left.
Elvira agrees, and so does the duck family. Its not like Matilda is going to steal them away. She’ll still get to see her grandchildren.
However, that is exactly what Matilda does. With nothing left tying her to the states, she takes her newly appointed charges, and goes home. To Dismal Downs. The family Castle.
She raises them there for years, desperate to try and keep any sign of adventure out of their minds. Homeschooling, chores, and a small dying town keep the children distracted and unaware of adventure as a possibility.
She’s intent to keep them safe, so much that it borders on smothering. The children grow up Scottish. They dont meet Scrooge until they’re young teens.
Scrooge tries to meet them when they’re 11. Elvira is angry and distrustful of him. After all, she trusted Matilda, and she only gets pictures of them once in a blue moon. Letters from Matilda formal and polite, with only academic achievements noted on how they’ve grown as people.
Scrooge spends two years looking for his sister before realizing she’s still on his payroll. He tracks the payments home. They were under his nose the whole time.
I have more ideas on this, but I’m at school. I’ll type them up later.
Huey, Dewey, and Louie could have grown up calling Uncle Donald “Dad,” and no one would’ve been the wiser.
It was a thought Donald had years after he’d officially adopted them. He’d been given custody of the boys when they were just shy of a year old. At that point, they’d already been taught that he was “Unc,” “Unca,” or “Dondon” if they were being adventurous that day. No need to correct what was already there.
(Also, as soon as he claimed parenthood, he gave up on his sister. Years later, when he really had given up, they were all much older, and it was a non-issue.)
The thing is, everyone knew. It took an idiot to look at Donald and the boys and think for one second that Don was anything less than their parent. It was something that teachers and principals and neighbors figured out fast. It was evident in the way Donald said “my boys” and in how Huey, Dewey, and Louie would talk about him to others.
(Donald still worried sometimes about “only” being their uncle, but the line between “uncle” and “father” was very, very blurred to the triplets.)
And everyone just knew. It was why, when Webby called him “Uncle Donald” for the first time, she’d been so distressed. It had been an accident, the nephews had just said it, she wasn’t thinking, sorry Mr. Duck—
But Donald had ruffled her hair and chuckled and said, “‘Uncle Donald’ is just fine,” and then held her through what might’v been the tightest hug he’d ever received.
Because it was more than just a nickname. It was a title, and those permitted to use it were family. Whether Donald had gained a niece or a daughter that day, and the boys a sister or a cousin, was irrelevant. It meant the same thing.
Once, when he was young, Donald accidentally called Scrooge “Dad.”
Donald hadn’t even caught himself, but Scrooge did. “I’m your uncle, lad, not your father.”
Donald had looked up at him and nodded dutifully—“Yes, Uncle Scrooge,”—before running off to play with his sister.
A barely notable moment, but right then, for both of them, titles became very important. Scrooge, for the rest of Donald’s time with him, had always introduced him with others while making sure they knew the relation (“This is me nephew, Donald.”)
(Never, ever, “my boy.” Donald and Della may have spent the latter years of their childhood under his roof, but Donald was never quite his boy the way Huey, Dewey, and Louie would eventually become Donald’s.)
“Uncle Scrooge” meant simply that, nothing more, nothing less. Scrooge didn’t think something this small would come back to bite him.
When Donald and the boys moved into the mansion, Scrooge, like everyone else, quickly acclimated himself to the bond between Donald and the boys. It wasn’t until the incident with Webby that the word “uncle” became a point to ponder.
(And, how. She’d been living with Scrooge for years, and even now, it was very clearly “Mr. McDuck” with her. Dare he even try to forge that kind of bond with the girl? He felt as though he’d need to earn quite a bit of forgiveness before he could be “Uncle Scrooge” in the way his own nephew was “Uncle Donald.”)
“Uncle” as a term alone now carried weight. The triplets, bless them, gave it freely. From the moment they set foot int the mansion, he’d been “Uncle Scrooge,” like the boys hadn’t even considered keeping their distance from a member of their own family.
(But then Dewey had gotten upset, and taken it away—“I guess family is nothing but trouble, right, Scrooge?” —)
Donald kept it from him less than he might have expected, but he’d also become very adept at weaponizing such a term of endearment. Most of the time, Scrooge was simply that: “Scrooge.” And, he could live with that. It put them on an even playing field, at the very least (no matter that it also disregarded any kind of familial closeness).
But then sometimes he’d call him Uncle Scrooge, and it would make Scrooge inwardly wince. He did it when he brought the boys, it was the first thing he’d said. But it hadn’t been an endearment. It had been accusatory. Mocking, in a way. Donald had never been one to pull his punches.
(They haven’t worked through everything yet. Donald still called him “Uncle Scrooge” in that scathing, subtle way that the boys missed but Scrooge himself couldn’t ignore.)
But, sometimes. Sometimes Donald would look at him and call him “Uncle Scrooge” like he had as a child, with no ill intent. Scrooge lived for those moments, really. It would never be the same, he knew that. Donald was a grown man and didn’t need any more raising, and the children had Donald.
Beauty and the Beast (2017): How It Could Have Been Better
Let me start by saying this: I like the live-action Beauty and the Beast. For the most part, I think it’s well done and all its choices work well. It can’t replace the animated version, but it’s good. That said, I still would have liked some things to be different. With a few changes, this version could have come even closer to equaling the animated version. If I had been given the screenplay to write a final revision before the movie was made, here are some of the changes I would have made.