Chapter 1: The Mysterious Time Traveler
It started when a little girl appeared on McDuck Manor's doorstep. She appeared to be about nine or ten — a little duck with white feathers and a big pink bow in her short hair to match her almost doll-like dress. Though one might wonder what this shy-looking young thing was doing visiting the personal home of Scrooge McDuck, richest duck and greatest treasure-hunter in the known universe, her presence wasn't that odd in and on itself. She could have been some kind of girl scout, or a lost wanderer looking for directions, or the neighbors' daughter (…well, she could have been that last one if the McDucks' closest neighbors hadn't had one, single, despicable child).
But there was one thing about the mystery girl that intrigued Webby, who had been watching her from atop one of the garden's firs. And that was that when we said, earlier, that the girl appeared on McDuck Manor's doorstep, that was no flowery metaphor. She had quite literally appeared into the property in a flash of bright pink light that looked an awful lot like magic, looking dazed and confused.
Yet considering how much money Scrooge spent every year to buy magical protections for his house (including a top-of-the-line Anti-Teleportation Ward), that should have been impossible.
Unless this hadn't been teleportation at all?
Taking a split-second decision, Webby dropped her binoculars, leapt down from her hiding place, and ran to the younger girl, who noticed her assault all too late and was tackled to the ground with a yelp.
“Who are you?” she asked in her gruffest 'sci-fi war veteran' voice. “How did you get here?!”
“I-I don't know—” stammered the other girl, clearly terrified and on the verge of tears.
Webby wondered whether she might have been faking, but concluded it was unlikely such a young girl would be that good an actress. Even the Siren in Ithaquack hadn't been that convincing as an innocent little girl, and she was a mystical creature who had had many centuries to practice the art of deception. Consequently, she pulled back and softened her expression.
“Alright, can you tell me what happened? You don't have to explain it, just tell me what you saw.”
“O-Okay…” sniffed the girl. “I was just out in the garden, looking for Quacky,—she's my favorite doll—and-and-and I heard someone calling my name and there was this big flash and—and I was here—and you were there! Where—where is here?”
“Oh? Er… welcome to McDuck Manor!” answered Webby with a theatrical wave of her hand, gesturing at the dollar-sign sigil hidden throughout the decoration. “Home of Scrooge McDuck, the richest and toughest duck in the world! You're… not from around here?”
The younger girl stared strangely at the pale stonework of the Manor and frowned.
“…No it's not!” she finally said.
“What do you mean??”
“This isn't McDuck Manor… it can't be!… It does look like something Uncle Scrooge would own, but… it's not.”
“I assure you it very much is, er,… what did you say your name was?”
The girl with the bow blushed.
“Oh, sorry, I forgot my manners… gee, Granny would be mad. How do you do? My name's Webbigail Vanderquack.”
As though playing tea party, pretending to be a grown-up, the newly-introduced Webbigail emphatically extended a hand to shake. Webby took it in her slightly larger palm.
“Well, glad to meet you, Webbigail. Hi! I'm W…” Webby froze. “Wait, what?! …Come with me!”
After a minute of running — and Other-Webby, Webby had to give her that, was a lot closer to keeping up with her than one would think looking at her tiny frame — the two girls arrived in Webby's bedroom. Wordlessly, Webby motioned for the other girl to sit on her bed while she took out a polaroid camera from an overflowing cardboard box. Before she knew it, Other-Webby had had her picture taken and posted up on Webby's humongous mystery board, right next to Webby's own picture, with a handwritten comment: Another Webby?!?
As she completed this operation, Webby let out a small sigh of satisfaction and turned back to face the mysterious girl.
“Mystery board,” she explained. “It helps me think.”
“It's… very neat,” Other-Webby awkwardly commented.
“I know!” squeed Webby before turning serious again. “So. You say you're Webby Vanderquack, and judging from the color of your irises and your involuntary body language, you're not lying.”
“But the problem is, I know for sure that I'm Webby Vanderquack.” Webby's eyes widened. “Unless my memory's been modified and you're the real Webby and I'm just an evil robot duplicate unaware of my true nature?” She took a pin from the mystery board and pricked her finger, drawing a drop of blood. “Whew! Okay, no. I'm real. That's a relief. But… are you?!”
Other-Webby shrunk back with a frightened look.
“I-I'm not letting you prick me!!!” she warned Webby.
“That's okay,” said Webby in a concerned voice, taking her by the hand.
She held on for a few moments, her comforting smile frozen on her face, to the point that Other-Webby began to think it was a little scary.
Then, abruptly, she let go.
“Right, you have a pulse,” she declared. “Neither of us is a robot duplicate. …That's always good to know. So what does that leave for options? Hm… how old are you?”
“N-nine,” answered Other-Webby, shyly.
“I'm fourteen,” said Webby. “So… are you me from the past? Are you a time-traveler? I don't remember all this, but that could just be a Silver-Class paradox messing with my memory, and you do look a little like me at your age — I wore my hair shorter back then, too, heheh… but, I dunno about this… my beak's always been sharper than that, and, er, no offense to you, but when I was nine I already could have wrestled free from the way I tackled you, earlier. …Er. Sorry about that, by the way.”
“It's alright,” said Other-Webby, “I understand. I could have been anyone. A robber, a spy… I could have been Magica in disguise!”
“Yea—wait,” Webby froze. “You know about Magica De Spell?”
“Sure,” shrugged Other-Webby. “She's a very mean lady. She kidnapped me once, can you imagine? Uncle Scrooge was so worried!… Her niece is nice to me, though.”
Webby grinned dreamily, thinking of her wonderful, wonderful girlfriend. “You can say that again.”
Other-Webby would have answered, but there was a sort of lazy rumble on the door, like someone trying to knock but not quite brave enough to actually put any strength into it.
“Hello? Webby?” said a whiny, male teenager's voice. “You in here?”
“Uh, yes… give me a sec.” said Webby.
“Louie? Louie Duck?” asked Other-Webby, looking absolutely stunned.
“Yes,” Webby said, bending down to whisper in her ear, “but please don't let him know you're here.”
Like some sort of impossibly cute cartoon character, Other-Webby widened her eyes like saucers and immediately clasped her hands on her small, rounded beak. Webby gave her a silent thumbs up and then motioned for Other-Webby to hide in her cupboard, which she did.
Putting on her most innocent air, Webby then opened the door.
“Yes? Louie? What is it?”
“Me and the guys, we were wondering if you'd like to join us at Funzo's… they've installed a new game, and it's all about adventure and stuff! You fight Yetis, Terra-Firmians, mountain goats, and Count Dracula Duck! So we, er, thought you'd be into that. Me, I'm more into the free drink you get if you win the game with a high enough score. Great gimmick, but bad business, that. They're underestimating people's willingness to cheat at stuff if there's a soda on the line.”
“Er, most people wouldn't cheat for a soda.”
“Okay,” shrugged Louie, “they underestimate my willingness to cheat at stuff it there's soda on the line. …Does getting an expert adventurer to play for you count as cheating?… Anyway, you coming?”
“Er, sorry, Louie,” she said distractedly, “I'm a bit… busy. With my… mystery board.”
Out the corner of her eye, Webby noticed the picture of Other-Webby, right there in full view. In what she hoped was an inconspicuous move, she took a few side-steps to stand between it and Louie's eyes, hoping he hadn't noticed yet. Probably not. Fully taking in your surroundings was probably one of the things Louie considered more trouble than it was worth, unless it was in a business setting.
Webby's fears rose fever pitch as Louie raised a suspicious eyebrow at her, but the duckling in green then proceeded to turn on his heels and walk away with these parting words:
“Okay, have fun being all weird and stuff, I'll just be out there, raking in the free ice-cream sodas and making a fortune. Bye!”
“That's Louie Duck?!?” Other-Webby asked as soon as she was let out of the cupboard. “But he's so… so… and was he wearing a hoodie?!”
“Er, do I take it the Louie you know… doesn't? Wait,” Webby started. “How did you see him?”
“Looking through the keyhole,” answered Other-Webby, with a hint of timidity coloring her white cheeks. “I know some people say it's a naughty thing to do, but Granny said it can be a very practical skill, if you know when to use it. Like if you're working as a maid outside the office of a Brutopian dictator, that was the example she gave. …Granny says strange things sometimes.”
Webby looked curiously at her more innocent, younger self; clearly her Granny Beakley hadn't yet told her about her past as Agent 22. Which was another difference between her and Other-Webby, actually; for her part, Webby had grown up on stories of S.H.U.S.H. and F.O.W.L.. (Her favorite had always been the adventure with the vampire who had a golden gun and a giant laser, even though Granny had said Director Von Drake hadn't really approved of that one.)
“She does here too,” Webby told Other-Webby in answer to her remark. “But then, sometimes, things seem strange simply because you don't know enough about their context. Finding context for mysterious happenstances is the whole point of a mystery board, see, that's why I—”
“Webby?” said a different muffled voice from outside the room, cutting off the end of her sentence. “Can I come in?”
Gulping, Webby glanced meaningfully at Other-Webby, who jumped back into the cupboard without a work.
“Er, sure!” Webby called out as she made sure the cupboard was locked.
Her bedroom door flew open, and a tall teenage duck with a large pink lock of hair and intriguing black eyes walked in.
It was Lena De Spell.
And she was stark naked.
The younger Webby watched with bated breath and saucer eyes, her heart racing. She didn't have the faintest idea who that girl with the pink hair might be, and it made it all the more awkward to see her like this — which would already have been off-putting enough. Other-Webby had never really seen another naked girl at all. Well… there had been her polar friend, the penguin Skittles, but the penguins in her world din't wear clothes at all, besides which, there was really nothing to see — nothing like the — she blushed to even thnk the word — the b — the female attributes on display on the other duck's chest.
But Webby wasn't through being surprised, not nearly. Breathing as timidly as a mouse, and still as a still-life painting, she observed as Lena De Spell, a wry smile lighting her face, crossed the distance between her and the older Webby and gave her a peck on the cheek before sitting down on the bed next to her.
“Webby,” she began.
“Webby,” she said,“Y-yeah?”
“The triplets are off at Funzo's… Scroge and Launchpad are away on business…” she listed off. “And your Granny and Mr Duckworth have gone fishing with Donald… Know what that means?”
“That you're going to go off hiking to not be the only one left behind?” asked Webby with a forced smile.
“What? No!” laughed Lena. “It means we have the whole Manor to ourselves!!”
“Oh,” peeped Webby, growing visibly flustered as the naked teenager snuggled closer to her.
“Which means—” the other finished, her voice soft and sensual, “that we can be together as much as we like with no fear of being caught!”
Beads of sweat formed on Webby's forehead. Taking this to be mere embarrassment mixed with arousal, Lena smirked and added:
“You can even be loud, if you like.”
Webby gave a nervous laugh, then gulped as a predatory Lena pinned her to the bed and leaned in to kiss her.
Lena held the kiss, and, lifting her right hand from Webby's shoulder, playfully began to undo the smaller girl's shirt buttons. Soon Webby's chest was completely exposed. Other-Webby watched with a strange fascination, and found some consolation for her comparative tininess in the fact that her other self's breasts were no larger than her own — both were relatively purebred ducks, with just enough mammalian blood to have nipples at all, and not a drop more.
“Leeenaaa…” moaned a distressed Webby as the tall girl's free hand fondled her feathered chest, tickling the areolas of nipples that were fast hardening.
Lena smirked once more.
“I like it when you say my name,” she observed, caressing Webby's cheek with the back of her hand before turning her attention to a much lower spot.
“No—Lena—you don't unders—eep!” she struggled to speak as Lena slid her hand up Webby's skirt and tickled the outer folds of a certain part of her female anatomy.
Other-Webby, on whom it had just downed quite what was happening, thought she might well faint by this point, but she couldn't look away from the keyhole somehow, transfixed at the adult spectacle unfolding a few feet from her. It wasn't just her natural curiosity, though there was that; the tableau was evoking feelings within her, strange and seductive feelings that, at her young age, she hadn't yet had felt very often…
Finally, Lena frowned and interrupted her ministrations.
“What is it?” she asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
“Lena, we're not alone,” Webby urgently whispered, darting her eyes at the wardrobe.
Lena took a moment to react, then leapt back from the bed. There was a flash of bright pinkish light and when Other-Webby got a clear look again, Lena was no longer naked, but covered in a long, purplish… it looked somewhere between a dress and a bathrobe, and was a bit of awkward fit, but it got the job done of hiding what it was meant to hide.
“I am so sorry———” said Lena, looking both at Webby and at the wardrobe.
A distressed Webby jumped to open the wardrobe, from which the tiny shape of Other-Webby shambled awkwardly. It was quite obvious that Lena had not been expecting the little girl to be the unwitting voyeur, and her face was the very picture of surprise.
“H-hello…” said Other-Webby in a small, contrite voice. “I… I'm so sorry… I didn't mean…”
“No, no, it's my fault, I'm sorry,” Lena was quick to cut her off. “You shouldn't have had to, erm, see… that…”
“Lena, this is me from—well, I think another dimension,” her Webby introduced. “Me from another dimension, this is Lena De Spell. My girlfriend.”
Once again the smaller Webby's eyes widened more than should have been physically problem.
“G-girlfriend?!” she repeated, incredulous. “That… that's… you're a girl! And so is she! That's not how… ”
“Riiight,” the older Webby said slowly. “It's the 1980's where you're from. Okay. Well… yeah, it is perfectly okay around here. And we're living proof.”
Other-Webby looked at them silently for a little while, as if coping with this revelation. The two other girls looked at her in askance, not daring to interrupt her thoughts, until finally she spoke again, deftly changing the subject:
“Er, Miss Lena, how did you do that just now? With the dress? Are you a fairy?”
“No, I'm… well, I suppose you'd say a witch,” the teenager explained, grateful to have found another topic, “though it's a little more complicated than that. The long and short of it is that I know all the magic Magica De Spell knew. Though I have less practice.”
Other-Webby tilted her head.
“'Knew'?” she asked. “You speak like she's… she's… not around anymore.”
“Oh, she's not dead,” the older Webby reassured her with a laugh, and Other-Webby thought it was quite off-putting how her other self used that word — dead — back home, it was one of those words you didn't really say aloud, not unless you were a grown-up and things were really serious. She didn't really know why, that's just how it was. “But she lost her powers a few months back after attempting to take over Duckburg.”
“Oh,” Other-Webby said simply, nodding. “…You're not afraid she'll come back?”
“…A little,” said Lena, warily. “But… my… circumstances… make it so that I could feel it if she got stronger again. For now she's as muggle as you and I.”
“Ah, it's just a word we witches use to talk about people without magic,” Lena explained. “Funny, I thought most people knew it these days… there was a witch who wrote a book series about a magic school, and she used the word in it… Harry Ducker? Doesn't ring a bell?”
“Lena,” Webby reminded her girlfriend. “1980's.”
“Oh, right,” chuckled Lena, apologetic. “Sorry — Webby.”
“Well…” Other-Webby articulated, purposefully crossing her arms in a pout, which was quite adorable, “I don't think I like being called a muggle. It doesn't sound like a very nice word. Do you?” she asked her other self.
“Eh, it's just a word,” shrugged Webby. “But besides… I'm no muggle. Lena's bene teaching me magic! I have a gift for it, it turns out!”
She raised her right hand. Around her wrist was some kind of blue bracelet — Other-Webby didn't think it looked too bad, but it certainly didn't look like much for a magical artifact — but then Webby frowned in concentration and the bracelet began glowing with power.
“Ooooh…” she said. Then a pause. And then: “Can you teach me?”
Okay, things got a little more heated there at the beginning -- though you'll still have to wait a while longer for a real lemon. This was more, like, a newborn citrus seed. …Also, witchcraft! If it wasn't clear, since Lena has been resurrected as a "real" person, she doesn't need Magica's medallion anymore to do magic; she has her own powers.
“Well! First, before we begin trying to teach you any actual magic,” said Lena, “we're going to have to check whether you're actually magical.”
“Oh, can't just anyone learn?” asked Other-Webby, curious. “I thought—”
“Oh, no,” the witch-girl answered, shaking her head — which made her pink hair-lock sway in what Webby had always thought was an extremely cute way. “I mean, kinda; anyone can become a sorceress. Learn a lot of potion recipes, get some magical artifacts to help you out. But to become a real witch, you have to be born that way. Or-or made.”
“Made?” repeated Other-Webby, innocent.
Lena winced, and her girlfriend gave her a sympathetic look. They hadn't discussed the subject since Lena's resurrection; it's not that Webby wasn't dying to find out more about it, but there was a tacit agreement that her origins weren't… something Lena liked to talk about. Still, after letting it slip like that, they owned Other-Webby some manner of explanation. If you couldn't trust yourself with those secrets, who could you trust?
“I wasn't… born as a real person,” Lena began, guiltily. Webby took her hand, supportive, and gave a small, encouraging nod. “Magica… created me. From her own shadow. She had lost her body at that point, so she needed some kind of golem to be her eyes and ears in the world. That ended up being me. But—”
“—she made one, fatal mistake,” Webby took over. “She made her puppet self-aware, and—well—seriously—that never works out. Just ask Gyro Gearloose! So obviously Lena was redeemed by the power of love and she helped defeat Magica and had to sacrifice herself, except then I found a way to bring her back to life as a real duck and then Scrooge adopted her and we all lived happily ever after…”
Lena gave Webby an ironic smirk.
“…give or take a giant monster attack or two,” Webby quickly completed.
The two teenagers then looked at their younger visitor. She seemed so pure and innocent—and even if they'd explained it in a simplified, and relatively straightforward way, Lena's tale was a pretty grim story—romantic happy ending aside, naturally. So how was a child like that going to take this information?
Surprisingly, Other-Webby didn't seem overly disturbed. In fact, she looked positively—well—she looked—she looked just like Webby did when she was super excited about having learnt about some new manner of exotic manslaughter, yet had a confused sense that looking too overjoyed about it wouldn't be proper. Yep, that was definitely the same girl.
“Look, whatever you're thinking, just say it,” said Lena in a mock-weary tone.
“YourejustlikearealSmurfette!!!!” squealed Other-Webby as she finally let it out.
“…I'm sorry, what?”
“It's a cartoon where I'm from,” Other-Webby explained. “It's about these blue little gnomes who live inside mushrooms in a forest and have lots of fun…”
“Ooh, sounds like Erklings,” said Webby, appreciative. “They're man-eating elves from Germanic folklore who lure orphans to their village with communicative laughter and then feast on their tender flesh.”
Other-Webby looked only mildly put-out, and continued: “…No, in the cartoon they're called Smurfs; and they smurf like this. ‘Oh, smurf smurf, Mr Smurf, I'm Smurf Smurf. Let's go smurfing today!’ Just… all the time.”
“Sounds… confusing,” said a nonplussed Lena. “Anyway, I'm not really seeing the point.”
“Shh, she's getting there,” Webby shushed her. “I do that a lot too. Give lots of background info and then explain why it's relevant. I've… gotten a lot of flak for it.”
“Literally anyone but you.”
“…You were saying?” Lena then said aloud, motioning for Other-Webby to continue.
“Yes, thank you, so these Smurfs have an enemy who's an evil wizard, and in one story he made a fake girl Smurf out of clay, and he called her Smurfette, and all the Smurfs fancied her, but then she turned on Gargamel, that's the evil wizard, you know, and then she became a main character! And you're like that!”
“Smurfette?” Lena repeated with amused disgust. “Hello the 80's.”
“Right… you're the future,” Other-Webby said, remembering the time difference from her own perspective. “I keep forgetting.”
“Well,” said Lena, “I suppose I am a little bit like her, yeah. Kinda. I don't talk sbarf though.”
“Smurf,” Other-Webby corrected her like an outraged fan.
“So…where were we?” said Webby, changing the subject. “Oh, right, you were gonna test Other-Me for natural magic.”
“Right,” nodded Lena. “Normally she should have it, if she's really another version of you… you're really magical. But you never know. Er… so it's very simple, just give me your hand, and I'll try to… reach out inside you, get a feel of your magical core, if you have one. It… may feel a bit weird, but don't worry, it's completely safe. If you feel really uncomfortable just tell me. Got it?”
“G-got it,” nodded Other-Webby, hesitantly putting her right hand forwards.
Trying her best to inspire confidence, Lena gave her a warm smile and took it in her own, larger palm. She then closed her hand around the younger duck's and pushed her magic into the girl's body.
“Eeep!” squeaked Other-Webby as her cheeks colored…
Just like Webby, the first time that Lena had made love to her, the witch-girl noted, not without amusement.
“It-it-feels—” stuttered Other-Webby, shaking.
Her body was beginning to glow pink from within with Lena's magic; yet it wasn't quite the same pink as when Lena used her powers on her own. There was something in the younger Webby that she had awoken. Traces of purple laced the pink…
“Strange? Peculiar? Liberating?” asked Lena, her eyes shining in wonder.
Other-Webby closed her mouth and nodded vigorously. The light gained in intensity, it was no longer pink at all, but a full, vibrant purple, radiating throughout her body from the pulsating glow of her little heart.
Lena held on to this moment for, perhaps, longer than she strictly needed. The sight was mesmerizing enough for its occult beauty—and to top it all off, there was the arousing sight of a flustered Webby.
Even if—Lena let go—even if it wasn't… her Webby. She was some form of counterpart to Webby, yes, but this girl was her own person, she wasn't Webby. Lena suddenly felt very guilty about how she'd enjoyed the sight. She turned to her real girlfriend to give her a sheepish look—but—the look on Webby's face when she caught it… the left hand holding the hem of her skirt, not quite daring to plunge inside but desperately tempted, all that told her one thing.
She'd enjoyed it too.
Their eyes met.
It was obvious neither quite knew what to make of this, but they quickly had to put it out of their mind as the subject of their attention shook her head, the light in her receding until it looked as though it had never been there.
“…Wow,” she said. “That sure was… something. So… does it mean I'm magical?”
“…Do you even have to ask?” chuckled Lena.
“Come on!” squeed Webby, leaping closer to her younger self. “I'm gonna teach you so much STUFF!”
The “Smurfs” cartoon *is* from the 80s, isn't it? I think it is. Anyway I don't know if the DuckTales creators meant it that way but Lena did remind me of Smurfette's backstory, so I'm pretty happy I got a chance to mention it in the story. I'm sorry I was so late to this update, but y'know, real life. You gotta have priorities, and fun as it is, writing smutty DuckTales fanfiction probably shouldn't be one of them. Like before, I'd be hugely thankful if you'd comment to tell me what you think of my nonsense!