I recently began writing Flintheart/Scrooge after years of liking it. I guess I had enough of the lack of fanfic for the pairing. So here are two for y'all to enjoy. They're also available on my FF.Net profile.Title: One Scotch, PleaseFandom: DucktalesPairing: Flintheart Glomgold/Scrooge McDuckGenre: angst, dramaRating: PG-13Warnings: Some language, implied sex, "Terror in the Transvaal" spoilersSummary: A day in the life.
I dream of fire/Those dreams are tied to a horse that will never tire
And in the flames/Her shadows play in the shape of a man's desire
-"Desert Rose" by Sting
When you are the world's secondrichest duck you are expected to hate the man that tops you. You are silver and he is gold. You are K2 and he is Mount Everest. You are rubies and he is diamonds. You are expected to hate your rival, because at second place you are still not the best.
Flintheart Glomgold did indeed possess a rivalry with Scrooge McDuck. He attempted to outplay, outwit, and outlast him so many times he did not bother remembering the exact number. Although it may have appeared it at times, however, he did not hate the man. By contrast—he loved the man.
He could never allow his darkest secret to escape his Pandora box. He worried what his mother, the only woman that ever genuinely loved him, would have reacted if she learned of his sexuality before she died. His father did, however, when he discovered a naked Flintheart in the moors with another, also naked, boy, trying to hide behind a boulder. Out of his home he went, and into the streets at thirteen years old. As much as his father was concerned, Flintheart never existed; there was no way he helped raise, let alone helped conceive, a "bottomfucker," as he called it. Penniless, he boarded a ship en route to South Africa to start anew.
Flintheart often wondered if it was all of his father's fault. When it came to a deformity or a condition, it was often blamed on the mother. But the egg was mostly a vessel to carry the baby, unlike the sperm, which supplied the "goods," so to speak. Even if the egg was poor quality, it was still a poor quality vessel, for the most part. Perhaps it was his father that made him a homosexual. Perhaps that was why he was so embittered against his father.
His first years in South Africa were an emotional hell. Once he decided to mine himself into riches, he wanted to avoid being around other miners. What if he found one handsome, much more handsome than another man was supposed to find another man? And what if he gave into those feelings? The other miners solicited with the natives to retain their European manliness. Homosexuals and native men were pussycats; heterosexual sex produced lions. Flintheart wondered if he was ever a big enough man to begin with. He did not possess the stereotypical homosexual qualities, the effeminacy and the whatnot, but that did not mean anything to anyone if his orientation was exposed for all of the Transvaal to see. He had to lie about everything about him. Eventually it became more a habit than a lifestyle choice. He had to lie to survive.
He found a solution to mining with others: he would try to hide as well as possible in the crowd, similar to a hunting lioness, locate a man, and pounce on the man's findings. Eventually it became more a habit than a lifestyle choice. He had to steal to survive. Often, however, he would be caught and sent to jail or tied to a water buffalo as punishment.
It was during one of those times that he met Scrooge for the first time.
Initially he was just grateful to be off the water buffalo, to be on his feet again. This other duck, which appeared to be the same age as him, provided the perfect opportunity to move on from Kimberley, to continue lying and stealing to survive. His first victim would the young man that rescued him. His mind was set in stone the moment he noticed the young stranger's mining gear, and offered to be his guide in the area to gain his trust.
His name was McDuck, Scrooge McDuck from Scotland, as he proudly stated without any prompting or questioning. Flintheart opted not to reveal his name. Not only did he want to not be identified after he stole Scrooge's goods, but he wanted to remain anonymous if something did happen between the two ducks. Telling Scrooge his name would hurt him no matter what happened in the end. For all Scrooge knew, he was just a nameless Boer.
The two ducks were silent during the beginning of their ride. Flintheart wanted to avoid looking at Scrooge. He was the first duck he encountered ever since immigrating to South Africa. The other men were tempting enough, but a fellow duck had no chance.
It did not help that when he first glimpsed at his rescuer that his heart was already pounding. Flintheart originally attributed it to the adrenaline rushing though his body after being tied to a bloody water buffalo, but it continued as he sat prostate on the cart. The passenger took occasional glances at his driver to test his hypothesis, and his heartbeat definitely skyrocketed with each one. Scrooge McDuck was without doubt a quite handsome boy, after all.
He closed his eyes, partially to block the Transvaal's brutal sunlight. He imagined Scrooge and himself still in the cart, only instead of still driving on, Scrooge impeded. As Flintheart only had one extremely odd encounter that did not last long at all in his relationship resume, his mind struggled to conjure what would occur between two duck men. It scrambled to have Scrooge throw his large hat onto the ground and exchange a kiss with him. Finally the disrobing began.
Flintheart was enjoying his fantasy when he heard someone refer to "the Afrikaner." He opened his eyes. Scrooge asked him where he came from. Flintheart replied Scotland, just like you. Scrooge said that he did not sound Scottish. Flintheart said that that was what you get when for speaking only Dutch for so long. After a short moment of silence, all Scrooge commented was how interesting that was.
Their conversation continued for the afternoon's remainder. The more they talked about home, traveling, and adventure, the more attached Flintheart felt to Scrooge. It was wrong to connect to his victim, but they were so similar to each other it was uncanny. Even their physical appearances were akin. The only differences between the two ducks that Flintheart could recognize were how they tried to strike it rich and their sexual orientation.
As they sat by the campfire that night, Scrooge spoke on and on about his dreams and ambitions. If there was one thing that peeved Flintheart about Scrooge, it was that he never seemed to shut up.
Scrooge mentioned in between bites how he was going to earn his fortune fair and square. Flintheart's stomach was unsettled during this monologue, as there was no such thing as "fair and square" for the homosexual. The homosexual could never be himself, or be treated as an equal, because he was given an unfair card in life. That meant for him no giving into his crush and no benefit of the doubt if something did happen. Scrooge, as far as he was concerned, needed to be taught two lessons he learned as a homosexual: that life was unfair, and that he should trust no one.
He decided to strike when Scrooge was fast asleep, slumbering like the baby that everyone, from boy to girl, from gay to straight, from hero to villain, was at one point. Oh, how he ached to be that baby again, to be loved and not have to resort to dishonesty to live!
As he loaded the last items back into the cart, he noticed how Scrooge appeared so cherubic as he slept on the dirt. He may have no longer been a literal baby, but his face still retained youth under toughened skin. It was as if Scrooge shed away his insecurities, the few he had, when he slept. Flintheart wished he could at least kiss the most handsome man in the Transvaal, if not the entire world, but that would foil his plans. What if Scrooge woke up, discovered another man was kissing him? It was too risky.
The last thing he did was kick dirt into the fire. Even while he lived in Scotland, poor little Scroogey probably slept with fire in the fireplace and porridge filling his tummy. When he was homeless, Flintheart was warmed by rubbish and slept with acid eating away his stomach. How unfair that was! He placed the dirt coated logs into the cart and sped away to Johannesburg.
Flintheart hoped he would never sight Scrooge McDuck ever again. He was wrong.
No one was ever handsome or cute when they were angry. When Scrooge confronted him that afternoon, he appeared to be possessed by a devil, perhaps the devil. Whereas Scrooge was most vulnerable while asleep, Flintheart was such while afraid for his life. Why Scrooge did not shoot him, let his body bake and decompose in the Transvaal sun, was beyond him. Death would be preferable to the humiliation supplied by tarring and feathering and imprisonment. But that was Scrooge's decision, not his.
You hate anyone that places you in jail, loved one or not, and Flintheart felt extremely bitter over what Scrooge had done to him. He wanted to hate, abhor, the man, the very name Scrooge McDuck, but something within him kept him from hating him completely. After all, didn't he bring this onto himself? It was his fault Scrooge hated him. Flintheart thought about this as he sat in prison, as he toiled in diamond mines, as he bought the diamond minds and brought the miners that made his life hell work themselves to death under his thumb, as he made his first million, first one hundred million, first billion...
Flintheart Glomgold had made it. Flintheart Glomgold had made it big. Flintheart Glomgold was living proof that a poor man can become a rich man, and especially that a homosexual can make it in the world. He was the richest man in all of South Africa and all of the African continent… But not the world. That title was McDuck's.
Flintheart had everything, except for two: the title of world's richest duck, and a man's love. He could never have both; he would have to choose. He could never have Scrooge's love, so he chose the title. He was going to show Scroogey how far he came.
A lifetime of lies and thievery warped Flintheart. He employed deceit and violence to get as close as possible to the top. He could not help it if he utilized the same tactics with Scrooge. He tried to steal his money, his ex-girlfriend (that being said, Goldie would make an excellent beard…) and his discoveries. When he was overwhelmingly passionate about accumulating wealth, he became the ruthless monster everyone regarded him as. Only after the thrill and the adventure did Flintheart revert back into his private, sensitive self.
Flintheart felt worse about hurting Scrooge with each encounter. Every time he competed against his rival he was conning Scrooge once again, breaking his own heart once again. Maybe if he wasn't kicked out at a young age he wouldn't had turned out like this. Maybe if his mother didn't die when he was a boy he wouldn't had turned out like this. Maybe if he wasn't even born a boy he wouldn't had turned out like this.
Every night, the true Flintheart, the sensitive, vulnerable thirteen-year-old, emerged. He lay in bed, head on pillow, glasses on night table, and stared at the ceiling. Tears rolled down as he imagined the elder Scrooge, a heart fluttering image, forgiving him for everything. He wanted to tell Scrooge his true feelings. Surely Scrooge would understand…
…If only that could happen. If only that was so easy in real life…
A dry teared Flintheart fell asleep, smiling as he dreamed of Scrooge's reciprocity. At least it could happen so easily in his dreams…
"Come in, McDuck."
Scrooge entered Flintheart Glomgold's office. It appeared smaller than McDuck's own, but with all the animal skins and mounts removed, it was actually larger. He arrived at Flintheart's elephantine desk after dodging a pouncing stuffed leopard.
A green glass bottle and two clear glasses rested on the desktop.
Flintheart cleaned his glasses and put them back on. "Care for a drink, McDuck?"
A shaken head. "Knowing you, it's probably drugged."
Flintheart emitted a single laugh. "Well then, more for me!" He poured a clear spirit into a glass and drank. "Seems fine to me!"
Scrooge crossed his arms and hmmphed. "I would like to know this right this instant: why did you summon me to South Africa? And at no cost to me, at that?" Normally Scrooge adored deals like this, but Flintheart was never one for charity.
He drank again. The glass was now half-full. "I need to discuss something with you."
"And you couldn't do it by phone?" Even if it cost money to parlez-vous, at least he wasn't within feet from Glomgold. Scrooge felt this would not end well.
A shaken head. "I wanted to see your reaction first hand."
Scrooge's stomach pained. This was definitely not going to end well, whatever Flintheart wanted to pull on him. "Well, I'm right in front of you, Flintheart. What do you want, then?"
One large chug later, the empty glass made a thud when it hit the desk. Flintheart adjusted his glasses and cleaned them again even though he already did so minutes earlier. Scrooge tapped his foot and frowned. He opened his mouth and swiftly shut it back up again. He rehearsed the whole scene in his head multiple times over the years but only now did he experience stage fright.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all…
Scrooge growled. If there was only one thing he hated more than wasting money, it was wasting time. "I'm waiting, Flinty…"
Flinty. He heard Scrooge call him that countless times before, but now it began to eat him up. Damn him for that. Damn him for that bloody pet name…
Scrooge's face softened. "Flintheart? What's wrong, man?"
Flintheart's crying was initially soft, muffled by his face-obscuring hands. Then it progressively became more childlike, more wild, as if Flintheart was crying over not enough presents and sweets on his fourth birthday party.
Scrooge expected something to occur, but this was not it. He slowly repeated his question. He felt more uncomfortable and confused with each sob. It couldn't had been something he said—unless, something he said broke the stallion's spirit…
Living with his nephews softened him. Even though his interests remained the same, and he was still rough and tough (especially for a man his age), the boys also brought out his paternal side, one he thought would never emerge, let alone develop. As awkward as it was to counsel another old man, let alone another old man that was his rival, his parental side begged to intervene.
Scrooge forwarded a hand onto Glomgold's shoulder. "Flintheart."
Apart from shivering upon contact, he still cried.
Scrooge's free hand played with his collar. "If something I said… hurt you in anyway, well I, uh… apologize…"
Flintheart ceased. "You don't know the half of it, McDuck…"
"Hmm? …What do you mean, man?"
Flintheart's arms dropped to his sides, his eyes red and wet. He looked like a pathetic old man, not the confident, prideful Flintheart Glomgold Scrooge McDuck was familiar with.
He sniffed, and said without emotion:
"I'm tired of living a lie."
Scrooge blinked. "What?"
"I'm tired… of living… a lie," he repeated, become more hysterical each time. "I'm tired of living a lie… I'm tired of living a lie! I'm! Tired! Of! Living! A! Lie!"
Flintheart cackled. The other duck pulled his hand back, but not before Flintheart pulled it and its owner towards himself. He only managed to kiss Scrooge twice when McDuck pulled back and slapped him.
McDuck shook, shocked and flushed. "What the bloody hell was that?"
Glomgold's palm rubbed his sore temple. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, McDuck," he calmly replied.
Flintheart impulsively lunged over his desk and grabbed Scrooge's hand again. McDuck squirmed as he said:
"McDuck, the reason I brought you to South Africa today is because I thought the time was right to tell you I love you. Yes, I have loved you since the moment I first saw you! I have waited many years to kiss you like I just did!"
Scrooge's bill quivered and his head shook frantically. His pupils shrunk. His heart beat and his blood pressure rose. "N-n-no… N-n-no! No! Are you telling me, Flintheart Glomgold, that you—"
"Yes, McDuck! I'm gay, a homosexual, a faggot, a queer, a… Bottomfucker!" He said, stating the last term with absolute disgust. "And you, Scrooge McDuck, are the man I love! I believe it's obvious that this disgusts you, Scroogey?"
He grunted as he pulled back. "Disgust is the mildest word for it!" Scrooge raised his free hand to slap him again.
"Save your sissy slaps for another time!" Flintheart cried out before letting go. "If you were a real man, you would have punched me out!"
Scrooge backed up. "Why me?" He yelled. "Why are you in love with me, of all the men in the world?"
"You and me are not so different at the end of the day," he said, "We fought to the top and we still fight for it to this day. We have loves that we can never have to keep: you with Goldie, and me with you! We are both handsome, clever, cunning! You are my dream man! In fact, I have dreamed of you in particular since the day I've met you! …"
Scrooge shivered. "Please tell me I'm dreaming!"
"This is no dream! Why, I only have two regrets: that I wasn't born a girl, and that I've hurt you over the years…"
Scrooge turned green. He hoped he could dash to Flintheart's trash can in time.
His smile was sad as his eyes moistened again. "And with that, I am done…"
Scrooge noticed his rival removing something from his coat pocket and gasped. He swiftly recomposed himself before stating:
"Flinty put the gun down."
He aimed the revolver at his temple. "I should've seen this coming. You've won, Scrooge. You're the one that will die on top…"
"Flinty, put the gun down!"
"Why should I? You're actually my complete antithesis! I'm nothing compared to you, Scrooge! I've been a scoundrel, an outlaw, an abomination since the day I was born! You are a saint compared to me! I was never as good as you, and I never will be as good as you! You've won! You've won!"
Scrooge shook his head. "Flinty! Put the gun down! You're not thinking clearly! I'm not in love with you in 'that way,' but you still have the same right to live as I do! You're still human!" He pointed to the floor and stomped his foot. "Now, put the gun down!"
Flintheart shook his head. Tears rolled down his face. It was time to end this internal, eternal suffering… permanently. His finger began pushing against the trigger.
"Flinty, put that bloody gun down!"
Scrooge pounced, grabbed at the gun. Both men struggled, grunting as they competed in a tug-o-war over the revolver.
A gunshot filled the office.
Flintheart Glomgold, splattered with blood all over his face, beard, and clothing, stared in horror. Instead of his temple, the bullet struck McDuck's. He killed him. He killed the man he loved. He expired immediately, without emitting a cry or a groan. The lifeless eyes shook his soul.
To hell with riches, which could always go to someone else anyway. To hell with his servants, who always attempted to spit in his meals anyway. To hell with everything, which amounted to nothing anyway. He did many horrible things in his lifetime, but causing Scrooge McDuck's death was the worst. There was no way he could live with this.
Tear faced Flintheart placed the bloodstained revolver to his head, closed his eyes, gulped, and pulled the trigger.
Okay that second one I swear nearly brought me to tears! Dear lords you know how to write sad! Poor Flintheart.I can understand your feelings about there not being enough out there. I've recently begun to write fanfiction for the Three Caballeros (Panchito/Jose/Donald) and I am probably the only one. It's difficult when you are the one of the very few out there who likes a couple/fandom but hey in the end you just have to write what you love^_^. You never know, you might inspire others to write.
1) I love your icon. Three gay Caballeros indeed :D2) I've been told I'm good at writing tragedy. I once wrote this Pikachu and Ash friendship!fic and I got messages from grown men cursing me out for making them cry. XD3) Yeah, I know the feeling. For the longest time, I was the only person in one of my fandoms that admitted to liking my OTP. It's an Italian Disney property so I may or may not post some of my work for that pairing here. Even though it's an obscure series, it would keep this community alive longer.4) Thank you very much for the feedback! I wasn't expecting to ever receive feedback on this community! @_@5) I like Donald/Daisy (my most popular fic in the Ducktales fandom so far is a baby!fic for that pairing), but Panchito/Donald/Jose also strikes my fancy. Where may I locate your fics? :D
1)Thank you so very much^_^. It's not my art but there isn't really any fan art with the three of them with a slashy feel so I grabbed it. 2) Getting grown men to cry is impressive. I confess I'm a bit more fluffy with a side of angst in there. 3) I think you should take a chance, sometimes just getting it out there might spark something^_^. 4) No problem:). There is actually another Disney Slash Community on livejournal which is kind of active although not really (and people don't really review there either). The best place I've found so far is Deviantart although people don't always give feedback either. You'd think that people would try to encourage writers to write more.5. I actually support all pairings (although I have my favorites) but I loved the Panchito/Jose/Donald pairing so much that I decided to pick up the flag and try my had at writing the fandom (since very few others were). You can find my work either at my livejournal, over at deviantart gallery, but I also have them over at ff.net: Here.