#so I just like to imagine Donald going all out with decorating the house and even tries to help Willow make her christmas gift for Santa

[sikyurame]

Kinda wanna attempt to write a story about Willow’s first christmas with Donald and Gyro

But asdfgg effort…

[fahrni]

Saturday Morning Coffee

Good morning from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina! ☕️

This is our final morning here. It’s been a super fun week having our daughter, son-in-law, and grandkids with us, but eventually you have to rejoin the routine. 🏖️

The New York Times

Donald J. Trump, twice impeached as president and now twice indicted since leaving the White House, surrendered to federal authorities in Miami on Tuesday and was arraigned on charges that he had put national security secrets at risk and obstructed investigators.

So it begins. Will this be the thing that takes TFG down? One can only hope the most corrupt President in the history of the United States is finally held to account.

I’m not holding my breath. I suspect he’ll get off with a slap on the wrist, run for President again, and if he wins go on his whirlwind tour of revenge and dismantling of our democracy. 😡

iamthatis • Reddit

Today’s a much sadder post than that initial one eight years ago. June 30th will be Apollo’s last day.

Wow. Reddit is really being a bunch of caca heads. I understand the need to charge for their API use, I really do. They’re not currently profitable and want to go public, which is really strange to wrap my brain around.

As for Apollo and all the other tools and clients written to make usage of the platform better, I’m sorry you’re getting a really bad deal and hope you land on your feet. ❤️

Platformer

Today, let’s talk about the Reddit protests that temporarily took down the site today — and how, after years of working successfully to devolve power to its user base, the company wound up regretting it.

I guess all the subreddit moderators making their subreddits private really hit the site hard at the same time. 🤣

The New Republic

Starbucks has banned Pride decorations in its stores halfway through Pride Month, the company’s workers union revealed Tuesday, in a stunning cave to far-right anti-LGBTQ fury.

Pathetic. Why are you caving to a small group of extremely vocal, hateful, people?

I don’t have anything additional to say on the matter. It’s just too pathetic. 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

Time

Now, the Australian government is trying to tackle the problem by placing a ban on swastikas and other Nazi symbols. “There is no place in Australia for symbols that glorify the horrors of the Holocaust,” Australian Attorney General Mark Dreyfus said on June 8.

Good for Australia. The United States could learn a thing or two from our Aussie friends. We should do the same here and while we’re at it ban the Confederate flag. They’re not symbols of hate and oppression and have no place in a civilized nation — not that we’re being too civilized these days. 🇺🇸

Mac Rumors

In macOS Sonoma, currently in beta, you can create individual web apps for any website that you frequent in Safari, and have them sit beside other apps in your Dock.

I’m fairly certain this is Safari playing catch-up to the likes of Chrome but it’s nice to see it happening.

Next thing you know Apple will be embracing React Native! 🤣

9to5Google

In an unexpected announcement today, Google Domains is “winding down following a transition period,” with Squaresquare taking over the business and assets.

This is kind of wild and seemingly out of the blue. Now the mass exodus begins. I’ve heard great things about Porkbun and Hover. I’m still using Namecheap.

Six Colors

One of the lessons to be taken from the Apple silicon era is that the chips are what they are. An M2 performs more or less the same whether it’s in a Mac mini or MacBook Air or iPad Pro. So when I say that Apple’s new 15-inch MacBook Air is more or less identical to the 13-inch M2 MacBook Air, I really mean it—at least in terms of how it works.

I’m still using my 2019 company issued x86 MacBook Pro with the janky keyboard. When I get back from this lovely vacation I’m finally going to setup my brand spanking new M2 MacBook Pro.

I’d imagine — given I haven’t use an Mx based Mac yet — the new MacBook Air would be an excellent computer for me. It has a better price point and would feel blazing fast compared to my 2019 model. What I’m saying is, it’s a great option for anyone. Especially if you’re after a lightweight computer. 🍎

Ars Technica

Body mass index has for decades been used as a shorthand for assessing body fat and weight-related health risks. But for about just as long, critics have noted the simple calculation is laden with problems; BMI doesn’t actually measure fat mass, account for its distribution, or how those differ by age, gender, ethnicity, race, and how those differences affect health risks.

Finally! I’ve shared my feelings on the BMI in the past, unfortunately I can’t find that blog post to link to here. It’s nice to see someone finally push back on it. 💪🏼

CNN

South Carolina resident Sophia Celentano commutes to her New Jersey summer internship by plane, weekly, revealing on her TikTok account that it’s actually cheaper than renting near her advertising gig’s New Jersey office.

If I wasn’t so frightened of heights and flying I could see the benefit of doing something like this. There was a point when I’d spend one week a month in Seattle and I always enjoyed that time. I’d get a direct flight on Alaska Air from Fresno to Seattle on Monday morning and return home Friday evening. It was always a long week but it was also rewarding to stay in close touch with my Visio friends.

Hi Bill! 👋🏼😃

[s-creations]

Oh, That Imagination

Kids will always have active imaginations. But how the adult handles it depends on what the child is afraid of.

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros         Rating: General Audience         Relationships/Pairings:  José  Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles Additional Tags: Growing up, Uncles with their Nephews, Facing Fears, Worries, hunting a creature, Krampus (character), giving a speech, watching a scary movie, protecting the boys, the passing of time, names OCs.

Part of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

Author Note: I finished Student Teaching and passed my Content Test, so I’m getting back into writing! I do have a new job lined up for the school year. We’ll see how consistent I stay with uploading. XD

“Unca Donald, Unca Donald, Unca Donald!”

 Even with the loud warning call, Donald still staggers when something blue collides against his leg. “Dishes! I’m doing dishes. Go and sit on the counter please.”

 6-year-old Dewey gave a quick nod before clamoring up. The older duck impressed by how quickly the duckling could climb. 

 “Now, what can I help you with?”

 “Benny said there’s a-a monster living in the sewage of Duckberg! I wanna go catch it!”

 Donald let out a low hum as he washed the soap from the glass. This was twice in two weeks that neighbor Benny had told some story about some ‘creature’ they had seen. Dewey, always on the lookout for new adventures, ate each story up with determination and gusto.

 “I see, very interesting. What does this monster look like?”

 “Like...Like an alligator. Only bigger!”

 “Ooooh, that sounds scary. And you’re going to catch them all by yourself?”

 “Yep!”

 “Well, aren’t you brave. Are you going to bring them back to be studied for science?”

 “I’m gonna do it to rub it in Huey’s face. Cuz he says the creature isn’t real. But I’m gonna prove him wrong!” 

 “It sounds like your afternoon is full.”

 “It sure is! Oh, wait, I wanted to ask you if we have a large net that I could use?”

 “I don’t think we have a ‘large’ net. You’ll have your bug catching net.”

 Dewey let out a contemplative hum. Hand resting on his cheek while his pointer finger tapped out some unknown tempo. A habit he picked up from José. “That’s not great. But I suppose it’ll have to do.”

 “Look at you compromising. What are you going to use as bait?”

 “Do we have any old lunch meat?”

 “No and you’re not using what we have in the fridge.”

 “You’re ruining the search Unca Donald! I need bait.”

 “How about you take Tio Panchito with you? He had to help his grandpa search for farm animals when they got out of their pens. Didn’t have to use bait to get those animals back.”

 “Tio worked on a farm?” Dewey’s eyes lit up hearing this new piece of information.

 “Spent a few childhood Summers there.”

 “What did he do?”

 “Why don’t you go and ask him? I’m sure he would be more than happy to share stories with you and your brothers.”

 “Okay, bye Unca Donald! I’m gonna learn about cows!”

 Donald silently laughed as Dewey raced out of the kitchen. Childhood stories continued during dinner and only ended when the triplets were put to bed. 

 “So...should I question why Dewey furiously ran at me this afternoon? All while screaming his demands for me to tell stories?” The rooster asked as Donald joined him and José on the living room couch. 

 “Apparently, Benny had seen some ‘creature’ in the sewer system. Dewey determined that he was going to hunt said being down. I told him you would help in the search because you’ve helped with finding lost farm animals. That caught his attention and now you know the outcome.” Donald sighed as he leaned against the other, relaxing. 

 “Do you think the thrill of the hunt will call out to Dewey tomorrow?”

 “We’ll see.” Donald replied back simply.

 The hunt did not call out the next day. Dewey focused on creating a backyard zoo, he didn’t have time to worry about some creature. A few days later, a pet iguana was rescued from the neighborhood sewers. It appears Benny had actually seen something. It just wasn’t the towering creature he’d claimed before.

 ________________

 The holidays were busy for all the adults in the household. Donald focused on getting the shopping done and holding down the fort while the ducklings raced around during their school break. Gleefully talking about Santa and what present they’re excited most about. José would be gone for weeks on end leading up to December 25, helping with numerous flights to make sure he had that day off. Starting from October through December, this time saw Panchito with booked weekends of different performances to help get other families into the festive feeling. 

 Even with having busy and exhausting schedules, they made sure to make time for the triplets. Baking, decorating the house, helping them pick out gifts for the other family members. Every year it was the goal to keep the ducklings as happy as possible.

 Which is why Panchito became worried when 7-year-old Louie started acting...strange. Almost what the rooster would call ‘stressed’.

 The duckling had started being overly helpful around the house. Doing more tasks than what would be required. Going out of his way to ask if he could help. And, most worriedly, he’d become quiet. Not in his normal way of just relaxing in front of the television. But almost fearful that he was being listened to by some unseen stranger. Eyes even darting around as he moved through the apartment. 

 Unfortunately, Panchito wasn’t able to approach this possible problem until a weekend late into the duckling’s break. 

 The rooster let out a sigh as he collapsed onto the couch. Thankful that he was done until the New Year’s celebrations he had the coming weekend. But he was able to relax for the rest of the week to celebrate Christmas. Cautious footsteps drawing closer caused Panchito to open his eyes. Finding Louis standing nervously in the middle of the room.

 “Hola Louie, what can I do for you?”

 “Um, do you need me to get you anything?”

 Panchito raised a brow. “No, I’m fine. Why don’t you join me until dinner’s ready?”

 “Oh, um, that’s okay. Maybe I should see if Uncle Donald needs any help.”

 “You’re on break. Why don’t you just sit for a while?” The duckling frowned, eyes darting around before settling onto the couch. Still tense. “So, how has school been? I haven’t heard you and your brothers talk about it for a while.” 

 “Uh...good.”

 “Just good? ...Try out any new schemes lately? I know Uncle Donald isn’t so thrilled when you do that. But you always have such clever ideas, makes me laugh.”

 “Nope, I’ve been good! No crazy plans from me!” 

 Panchito sat up a little more when Louie started shouting at the ceiling. “Okay Louie, what’s going on. Are you feeling okay? Did something happen at school?”

 The duckling dressed in green wrung his hands as he peered around. 

 “...Abby told me about the Krampus…” Louie eventually whispered.

 “The who?” 

 “The Krampus! He’s the opposite of Santa Claus! A big creature with long horns and wears a cloak! And he comes after bad boys and girls! He takes them away in his large, greasy bag and they’re never seen again and-” 

 “Okay, Louie, come here. You’re getting yourself worked up.” Panchito easily and quickly moved the duckling onto his lap. Wrapping arms around the smaller form to help keep Louie grounded. “Breath with me. We’re going to take a few deep breaths, okay?”

 Louie gave two quick nods. They remained this way for a few minutes, Panchito holding the duckling close and controlling his breathing for Louie to follow. The rooster only pulled away when Louie had calmed down enough to talk. “Okay, so, you were told a scary story. Why are you worried?”

 “Because he goes after bad kids and I know I’m...not good.”

 “Why would you say that? You’re a wonderful kid!”

 “But I get the most detentions and I’m lazy and I know I don’t do my homework when I need to and-”

 ‘Louie… Yes, we would like you to work a little harder than what you do now.  But you’re not bad. You...take risks. You have a point of view that I’ve never seen before. You’re a clever kid. And, well, between you and me.”

 Panchito leaned closer. Louie’s eyes widened with curiosity. “You fight the system and you don’t let them beat you down.” 

 “...Does that mean I don’t have to wash the dishes?”

 “Don’t push your luck. What I’m trying to say is that you’re not bad. You just think differently than others. Plus, if you’re this worried, this might be a sign you should help out more. But I doubt any Krampus will come after you.”

 “Really?”

 “Really… Also, you know your uncles and I would beat up any creature who dares try to hurt you.” 

 Louie laughed. Beaming and squirming as Panchito placed a kiss on his cheek. Christmas Day arrived with no mysterious creatures knocking in their front door. Louie was still safely tucked away in his bed. Joining his brothers with running out to the living room and unwrapping presents. Curling next to Panchito as all enjoyed the afternoon glow while watching a marathon of movies.

 ________________

 Huey took to the Junior Woodchucks like a duck to water.

 From day one it became a large part of his identity. He carried his handbook around with him everywhere. Writing his own notes and entries to add to the already thick volume. Gleefully patting his knees as he patiently waited for whatever uncle was going to take him to the weekly meetings. Even learning how to iron his uniform to keep it in tip top shape. 

 Dewey may complain that the eagerness was annoying. But nothing seemed to damper Huey’s spirit.

 Until Huey was tasked to write a speech. As he was top ranked among the troop, he was given the honor of addressing the new member that would be joining that year. A banquet being held with the duckling presenting a speech of his own at the beginning of the event. The duckling was absolutely thrilled at first. Telling everyone he could about the great honor bestowed onto him. 

 All in the family thought he would triumph over this just like many other things in his life. 

 José was humming softly one evening, making his way to the kitchen when he heard sniffing coming from the bathroom. The door opened a crack and, taking a risk, José peered in. He found 8-year-old Huey, curled up by the tub and far away from the door. A stack of paper was at the duckling’s feet. Red rimmed eyes glaring at said stack. 

 “Huey?”

 Said duckling’s head snapped up hearing José. Wiping his eyes frantically. “T-Tio José…”

 “Criança doce, what is wrong?” José  entered, leaving the door open in case Huey wanted out.

 The duckling sniffed weakly. “...I’m scared.”

 “Of what?”

 “My speech…”

 José frowned, knowing how excited Huey had been only a few days ago. “Can you tell me what you are scared about?”

 Huey let out another sniff. His hand starting to hit the side of the tub as time went on. Which José put a stop to by reaching out to take the duckling’s hand. “I’m scared...that people are going to laugh at me. I keep practicing my speech to make it perfect and I read a bunch of tips but… All I can think about is messing up and people mocking me. Then my scout leader will see me as a failure and strip me of my badges and-”

 The parrot pulled the duckling closer, humming a lullaby softly. Huey instantly clung to José, burying himself away in his guardian’s chest. It took a few minutes before the duckling finally relaxed, slumped against the older, hand still keeping a good grip on José's shirt. 

 “Huey, I would like for you to listen to me. Can you do that for me?” José received a nod, “I will help you with your speech. But you have nothing to worry about. Your scout leader seems to be nothing of the kind who would take away what you’ve achieved. And no one will laugh. We all know you will be doing your best.”

 “...But what if my best isn’t enough?”

 “It always will be Huey. Never doubt that.” José peered up hearing the floorboards creek. Finding Donald standing in the doorway wearing a look of worry. The parrot gave a quick shake of his head. A silent message that he had a handle on the situation. Donald gave a nod of his own before sneaking off. “Feeling better?”

 “...A little. I’m still scared.” 

 “That is fine. How about we make some cookies? I think I saw your Uncle Donald heading that way before. And while we are doing that, you can show me your speech.” 

 Huey sniffed weakly. Pulling back slightly to look up at José. “Chocolate chip?”

 “Of course.”

 The duckling smiled weakly and nodded. Donald greeted the two with wide arms and a smile when they walked in. Huey beamed as he was picked up and given a sturdy hug from his other uncle as José started the process. But uncles gave Huey their undivided attention when he gave his speech. The other members of the family joined them as the cookies started to bake. Dewey and Louie keeping their ‘helpful’ comments to themselves and clapping along when Huey finished. 

 At the night of the banquet, Huey beamed as he gave a flawless speech. His family cheered the loudest.

 ________________

 “This is such a bad idea.” 

 9-year-old Louie huffed, rolling his eyes as Huey bemoaned at his flawless plan. “If you’re going to be a stick in the mud, then don’t watch.”

 “But I want to see it.”

 “Then what’s the issue?”

 “The movie is PG-13! We need parental guidance to watch.”

 “You know they won’t let us watch.” Dewey added.

 “But-”

 “You get two options here Hubert,” Louie interrupted. One hand holding up a finger to keep Huey quiet. The other holding the latest zombie movie that had just recently been release to DVD, “You either watch with your mouth shut. Or you leave and keep your mouth shut in the bed while you listen to the amazingness that is this movie from the closed doors. What’s it going to be?”

 Huey frowned. But he ‘zipped’ his bill closed and crossed his arms. Which the green-hoodied triplet took as keeping his mouth shut. With a nod, Louie popped the movie in and sat next to his brothers. All three were huddled together in the closet. Eyes glued to the small t.v. screen that was crammed in with them as well. The movie menu soon appeared and Dewey pressed play.

  Donald let out a content sigh as he relaxed further between his partners. Panchito clinging to him as Donald’s head was tucked under the rooster’s chin. While José was curled up at Donald’s side, using the duck’s chest as a pillow. That night was quiet and calm. There was a weekend ahead of them that was just filled with nothing. A relaxing time with his partners and kids. It was going to be great…

 A chorus of screams sounded from the triplet’s room. All adults were up and racing out in only a few seconds. Even hard to wake José was on full alert. Donald reached the door first, flinging it open. Fully expecting to see an intruder standing in the middle of the bedroom. Only to find Huey and Louie, sobbing as they clung to each other on the younger triplet’s bed. Dewey was waving his plastic sword  at the open closet. His entire being was shaking as wide, fearful eyes were on the open space. 

 “What is going on here?” Donald called out over the noise. 

 “There’s a zombie in the closet!” Louis answered.

 “It touched me!” Huey added.

 “I’m fighting it off!” Dewey finished. 

 “What- okay- Dewey stop swinging that around!” Panchito walked over and pulled the sword from the duckling. Collecting the blue cladded triplet as he continued to shake.

 Donald gathers the other two. Both of them desperately slings to the protection that was their uncle. José took to the closet, making sure it was empty. The parrot raised a brow, finding the t.v. that was still on and playing a movie. 

 He reached in to eject the movie and brought it out for the other two to see. “Donald.”

 The duck looked it over. Frowning, seeing the topic, letting out a slow breath. It was clear the triplets were in no condition to have a stern talking to. Plus, he was honestly too tired to worry about it at the moment. “Okay...let’s go back to our room.”

 The other two adults nodded. José turned off the lights as he was the last to leave the boy’s room. Donald rested himself back into the middle of the bed, only with more bodies pressed around him. Panchito cleverly left the bedside light on before he laid down on the bed, Dewey resting on his chest. The triplets flinched when José walked in.

 “It is just me.” The parrot assured. 

 Donald let out a sigh as he gently preened the top of each head. “You’re safe here. Nothing’s going to get you.”

 The bed was pressed further down as José laid down. Huey clamoring over into the parrot’s hold. Donald was free to wrap both arms around Louie. Three voices began to hum a familiar lullaby in hope of calming the triplets further. Even with their comforting presence, it took awhile for the three to fall asleep. It was not the way Donald wanted to start his weekend. But he should have known nothing he plans ever goes his way. Even with this hiccup, he was happy to have his family close. Falling asleep with a smile on his face.

 Donald was able to take his pent up frustration on the idiot who had allowed children to rent a horror movie. Panchito coming as back up to make sure the duck didn’t kill anyone.  

[ffangirlingsince2001]

End of the Tunnel: XV

Description: It’s almost been a year since Fred Weasley was lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, and for George Weasley it might as well be an eternity. He is lost in the dark, no color to be found. Until suddenly there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: Fluff

MASTERLIST

***

Seven months later Hannah was staring at herself in the mirror, taking deep, calming breaths as she shook with excitement. Four women were rushing around the room behind her, panic pulling them back and forth as they struggled to get ready in time, but Hannah could only daydream, still wearing nothing but the satin robe Caroline had handed her that morning.

She had been dreaming about this day since George knelt down on one knee, and it would have been here much sooner had the combined forces of Mrs. Weasley and her own mother not demanded the celebration be grand. They had whispered about eloping as they laid in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, but the idea had always vanished at the thought of their mothers’ wrath.

Now the day was finally here.

“Hannah, my god, do you even want to get married?” Sloane cried out when she finally noticed the daydreaming girl. Hannah giggled as she was yanked away from the mirror and to her feet by her maid of honor. They twirled around the room, laughing as they bumped into the edges of furniture. Sloane pulled Caroline into their little dance, and when the two mothers returned, they found a pile of giggling girls rolling among the bedsheets.

“It’s almost one,” Mrs. Weasley gasped, staring at the three girls, including the bride, who were the furthest thing from ready.

“I thought that was what magic was for, waiting until the last minute,” Caroline quipped from the sheets.

“It is, but last time I checked you don’t have any,” Sloane replied, tapping the younger girl’s nose before pulling her towards the wardrobe where their dresses were hanging.

When Hannah was younger, she had wanted nothing more than yellow bridesmaids’ dresses. When her mother took her to the shops, she took great pride in running her fingers over the yellow section of the store, determining exactly what dresses they would wear as they began the wedding procession. Today, that was a dream that would not be coming true. After a great many hours of fighting between what she had dreamed of for years and what present her secretly wanted. Sloane had finally stepped in and chastised her for her loyalty to nostalgia and that was all that was needed for the yellow dresses that refused to be any other color became powder blue. The color Ginny had informed her was Fred’s favorite color.

While her childhood bridesmaid dresses had been forgotten, her dress certainly hadn’t. The skirt was layers and layers of tulle that floated about her legs. The bodice was beaded into patterns of flowers, and the shimmer contrasted the stark white of the skirt. She let Sloane magic diamonds into the curls of her hair until she looked like the fairy queens she had read about in fairytales as a child. As she transformed, she stared out the window to the real fairytale, George.

He was waving his wand across the courtyard, summoning things beneath a silver tent. She craned her neck to see what appeared, but the angle was too harsh to ease her curiosity. So, instead she watched George. He wasn’t in his suit yet, opting instead for his sleep shirt and a pair of plaid pants she had bought him for Christmas. His feet were bare against the morning dew that hadn’t yet evaporated in the July sun. If she had been within earshot, she would have chastised him, worried he was going to catch a cold. Instead, because she wasn’t, she merely watched him, not entirely sure she could believe by the end of the day she would be Mrs. Hannah Weasley.

The last time she had dreamed about getting married had been Year 5 when Donald O’Donoghue had asked to hold her hand during recess. It was the only moment she had deviated from her yellow dress obsession, when he told her his favorite color was lime green; however, after realizing his hands were very sweaty (and viewing the dress options in his choice color) she realized they were not a compatible match. She had had other boyfriends of course, but she never was able to imagine them at the end of the aisle. She hadn’t even been able to imagine George, and now that the day was here, she kept pinching herself. He was so perfect, and so wonderful, and so incomparable that the fact he had chosen her was a miracle in itself.

Suddenly, he looked up and smiled as he caught her smile through the glass. She smiled back, heart still fluttering at the little grin he seemed to save just for her. She waved and tragically caught the others’ attention, who gasped before collectively yanking the curtains closed.

“You can’t let him see you,” her mother scolded, and she rolled her eyes, raising her fingers to peak out once more, disappointed to find he had disappeared from view.

“We’ll be okay,” she whispered, smiling when she caught a butterfly escape the confines of the tent and traipsed through her open window. It landed on the skirt of her dress and somehow, she knew it was all his doing, a small message that the butterflies were real. She felt herself tearing up, laughing softly to herself at the possibility that it might not even be him, but a simple butterfly.

“Oh dear, Hannah, are you alright?” Molly asked, taking her hand as she crouched down beside the teary-eyed girl.

“I just love him, y’know,” she whispered and suddenly Molly was crying along with her. They laughed as they wiped away their tears, muttering nonsense about eyeliner they both knew would be long gone by the end of the ceremony. “I’m glad you’re okay with me,” she whispered, and Molly instantly dried her tears, replacing profound joy with confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I’m not like you, our children might not, and I’ll never understand everything,” she rambled, tears gathering again, and Molly pulled her into a bone crushing hug.

“Don’t you ever think that. I love you like my own, and it doesn’t matter as long my son is happy, and you make him happy,” she replied and then they were both sobbing quietly amidst the chaos of the morning.

A knock at the door startled them, and they both quickly dried their eyes as Caroline answered the door. A blond boy poked his head in and any worries that were left about the day melted away at the sight of her best friend.

“Can you give us a second?” she asked, and the woman filed out of the room, only Sloane pausing to kiss him hard enough his lips were printed with the lipstick she was wearing. When the door shut, she stood, and they stared at one another in comfortable silence.

“You look beautiful,” he finally said, and she laughed, brushing away a tear that threatened to fall. “I’m not kidding, and I’m glad it’s George. I never thought I’d say it, but if the first person who decided to care about me has to marry anyone, I’m glad it’s him.”

“My, my, when did you get so sappy?” she teased, if only to stop herself from shedding more tears and he rolled his eyes.

“Leave it to you to make fun of me for being heartfelt for once,” he replied with the same deadpan expression he always used in response to her teasing. She rolled her eyes and in two steps she was hugging him. He hugged her back and she smiled; it was all she needed to know that everything was going to be perfect. “Listen, this isn’t totally why I’m here,” he said, pulling out of the hug with a mischievous grin.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m the distraction.”

“The distraction?”

“For this,” he said before spinning her around to a freshly apparated George, wearing a suit and a blindfold. She giggled, stepping forward, barely aware of Draco leaving the room as she took George’s hands in her own.

“Hi George,” she whispered, and she could practically feel him shaking with excitement. She reached up to touch the fabric covering his eyes. “I like the blindfold, very kinky.”

“It’s the only way he would distract them,” he replied, “These people and their traditions.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Doesn’t matter of course, I don’t need to see you to know you look beautiful.” She could only blush, sure if she opened her mouth, he would know how choked up she really was. Even with the blindfold he was entirely too handsome. “And it doesn’t matter how pretty your dress is, because by the end of the night of the night I’m going to rip it off you.”

“I think you mean gently unlace it.”

“Are you marrying someone else today?”

“No.”

“Then when have you ever known me to unwrap something gently?” Now she was glad for the blindfold, that way he couldn’t see how brightly she was blushing. The sound of storming up the stairs caught her off guard and she suddenly felt like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“I can’t wait any longer, kiss me,” she gasped, panicking as the footsteps got closer. While she wanted to admire the little lopsided grin, he gave her, she took his silence as a moment to kiss him before shoving him back as he apparated back to his part of the house. When the door swung open, she was alone once more, only her guilty smile suggesting he had been there.

George landed in his room and ripped off the blindfold. Ron and Draco looked at him and he grinned. Bloody hell, he was lucky. Just as he had said to her, he didn’t need to see her to know that she was the most radiant thing he had ever seen. He just knew, he could sense it by the way her skin touched his and the way she felt when she kissed him. He adjusted his cufflinks, admiring the newest addition to the clock before making his way outside to the tent he had spent all morning.

It had been a task, convincing Hannah to let him decide the decorations, but once she had agreed it had been a breeze. It was easy pleasing the love of his life, especially when he had the best interrogators working in his favor. Sloane had pressed her for details about everything she wanted and then some, finding out all the creative workings of her mind before passing every bit of knowledge over to him. Now, butterflies that left gold trails drifted around the room and vines of orchids twisted into pillars that held up the tent. The white benches held their friends and family, some (his dad) already crying. He made his way around the room, checking to make sure everyone was seated, too nervous to sit around and wait for the ceremony to begin.

At the front, beside his teary father was an empty seat. He stepped forward, wondering who the seat could be saved for when his heart jolted. Emblazoned in gold across the back was the name that had once haunted him, and then a small table card caught his eye. He lifted it up with shaking fingers and almost began to cry in front of the entire congregation. In Hannah’s terrible handwriting were the words, “Wouldn’t want him to miss it.” He looked up, searching for whoever had placed it there and was only met with a wink from Malfoy. He offered him a grateful smile before placing the card down once more and taking his spot at the altar. He hadn’t chosen a best man, knowing that no one could replace who it should have been and having Malfoy as the other groomsman was the last thing he would have expected, but nothing could have been more perfect. No one had protested when the choice was made, and the confused boy had even been invited to family dinner for the rest of eternity.

Suddenly, the music began, and the crowds stood to watch as Caroline and Sloane made their way down the aisle in powder blue dresses. He lovingly shook his head at his soon to be wife. She never failed to surprise and replacing the yellow she never seemed to stop raving about with powder blue was certainly one for the books.

And then there she was, smiling at him like an angel. His eyes filled with tears to match hers, and he let them slide down his face without shame, because there she was, the beginning of profound joy and the end of the tunnel.

The End

[oveliagirlhaditright]

What are your favorite KH headcanons? Just in general, nothing specific :)

It’s funny... I can think of headcanons when I’m writing or whatever--or just at the spur of the moment--but when asked for them, they all disappear from my mind. Uhh... let’s see what I can come up with.

Because Kairi has had a different hairstyle that every year that we see her, I headcanon that she changes her hair every year.

I also headcanon her birthday is September 17th (the day KH1 was released in the U.S. This is also SoKai Day), since Sora’s birthday is the day of the Japanese release and because it makes Kairi a Virgo. She somewhat reminds me of a Virgo. And apparently an Virgos and Aries (which Sora is) can be good together, so...

I imagine that Riku is rich, just because he has a balcony in the KH manga. So is Kairi, for being the adopted daughter of the mayor in my mind (I get into that just below). Sora, however, is probably middle class. For this reason, hangouts with the three usually happen at Kairi or Riku’s house. But sometimes Sora’s still... And these three totally snuck into each other’s houses after dark--through bedroom windows--all the time, and no one can tell me any differently.

And, like most of the fandom does, I headcanon that Destiny Islands’ mayor is Kairi’s adopted father... even though that’s never exactly said. It’s said that the girl who arrived during the meteor shower was at the mayor’s house, but that could have just been for the time and she eventually got relocated somewhere else. But nah. I also headcanon that the mayor adopted her.

I like my headcanon of Xion liking doilies for some reason.

And my one about Roxas being able to cook, too.

For some reason, I adore the idea that Riku can’t cook to save his life.

I also don’t think that Sora is dumb, and I’ll fight people on this. And at this point, I’m kind of stealing another’s headcanon... but I like the idea that Donald and Goofy teach Sora school things he’s missing on their travels together.

I can also get into the headcanon that Sora’s dad passed when he was young (sadly). Since we hear him mentioned in BbS, but don’t hear him calling Sora to dinner alongside Sora’s mother in KH1 or anything like that. 

I definitely headcanon that there are a few islands on Destiny Islands--since it’s Destiny Islands plural--but that they’re probably small, so that the kids still feel “trapped there”.

I imagine that Sora and Riku’s parents put up some of the Play Island stuff absent in Dark Road.

Until proven otherwise, because of the character files, I’m headcanoning that Roxas, Lea, Xion, Isa, and Naminé are all living together now (with Lea and Isa acting as their parents). Probably in the Old Mansion that they fixed up. But on the flip-side of that, I think that Sora and Kairi’s parents accepted their kids’ Nobodies and Replicas as their own, and they sometimes stay there.

I also want to pretend that Isa made a bigger effort to make things up to Roxas and Xion.

I actually don’t think Naminé would jump on the drawing train as most fans seem to think she would. Rather... since drawing is actually tied to traumatic memories for her, I think she’d want to get as far away from it as she could at first. And it would take her friends showing her that she could make good memories with it too, that would finally make her an artist.

Terra and Aqua came from other worlds than the Land of Departure (and how I wish we’d get information on that!). Right now--even though it’ll never happen in a million years, since this series isn’t even Disney--I’m writing that Aqua is originally from “Antar” from the Roswell series, but that’s more fanfiction territory. More likely than not, I want to believe that Terra and Aqua are from worlds that fit their names.

Strelitzia is bisexual. I don’t care that Player canonically is a guy at this point, thus probably making her het. Shh.

Speaking of bisexuality... I think that Sora is. I could maybe even headcanon Riku as that now.

Naminé would totally wear baby blue, if Nomura ever lets her get another outfit.

Xion probably eventually picks up some artsy thing that she can do too, to better fit in with Kairi, Naminé, and Aqua. In the novels, she wanted to make a lucky charm but didn’t know how to. So I can see it.

I don’t think this is a headcanon, so much as it is canon that we haven’t seen yet (since Nomura has slightly talked about this in interviews, even if he’s never going to do anything with it now). Rinoa exists in the KH universe. And it’s because something happened to her during the fall of Radiant Garden--that Leon really is beating himself up about--that he changed his name. And it’ll only seeing her alive and well again, that will get him to change his name back. And he eventually will (or maybe even has in my headcanon). And, yes: the letter he got in the KHII credits was totally from her, telling him that she was alright. Rinoa is also why he has wings on the back of his jacket.

Yuna, Rikku, and Paine aren’t actually tiny fairies, but Maleficent turned them into that... And this is so I can ship KH Tidus and Yuna, yeah. But I swear if you listen to one of Rikku’s lines, it sounds like she might be implying this.

While I think originally, it was Aerith that Cloud was trying to save in KH1 (...for some reason. Since she’s fine in the KH verse), fans have now convinced me that it was actually Zack, so I hope we eventually get the FFVII characters in KH’s story eventually resolved.

Some people argue that all of Traverse Town with the TWEWY characters was a dream--or maybe it’s that they argue Joshua saving his friends through Sora and Riku’s help was the dream--but in my book, it totally happened.

Naminé is an honorary member of the Destiny Trio and Sea Salt Trio.

Kairi and Naminé see each other as sisters, and Sora, Roxas, and Ventus (and Vanitas, if he ever comes back and is redeemed) see each other as brothers. But Sora and Roxas miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight slightly see themselves as more closely linked brothers, and same thing with Ventus and Vanitas.

I also see Xion as a third sister for Kairi and Naminé. Most of the fandom disagrees with this. And I understand why. Most of the fandom sees her as Sora’s sister (and maybe even then sistered to the other boys. And sometimes I now do this--sort of because of peer pressure--but I’ll also have her be a shared sister between the boys and Kairi and Naminé, even though Sora and Kairi themselves aren’t “related”. But I hate that when I do this, it ruins my RokuShi dreams. So it’s probably part of the reason that I usually don’t). But I still see Xion as closer to Kairi than Sora. I know she was supposed to be a Sora clone (but it didn’t really work and she was a failed clone of him), but she mostly defined by his memories of Kairi. And that’s who she chooses to be and how she sees herself. But people then argue that it’s Sora’s memories of Kairi, though, not Kairi herself. And I get that.... But I still think she’s closer to Kairi. Why? Because Sora was actively trying to make her Kairi. And I’m sure some of himself slipped into there, as parts of a writer--so to speak--shows up in all their work, whether they intended it or not. But for example... let’s say that Sora hates chocolate and Kairi loves it. Since he was trying to make Xion like Kairi, he would therefore have her like chocolate, even though he hated it. So that’s one more point for Xion moreso being like Kairi in my book. I also... when I first played Days, she reminded me a lot of Kairi, partly because of some of her snarky lines. It’s only recently that I’ve looked at Days and seen some Sora in her--and realized that also could have partly come from him--but I still stand by what I said.

And while we’re on the subject... after everyone got their own hearts and bodies at the end of KHIII, I don’t think pairings like RokuShi or RokuNami, or whatever else would be insert of self-cest at all. Really, I don’t ever think it was. Because KH rules state that it’s your heart and how you see yourself that governs everything around you... but especially not after KHIII resolved this. So it kind of ticks me off when people still bring up this argument.

Because this plot hole bothers me... Kairi totally remembered Merlin when she trained with him in KHIII.

Most the rest of these will probably be about Kairi. Since you all know she’s my girl, and I think about her a lot.

I pretend that Kairi did somewhat have an edgy stage, and still somewhat is. Maybe because I somehow combine that with tomboy in my head. IDK. Speaking of--though not that this is really “edgy”--I’ve written that Kairi likes Queen at least twice. Just pretend that Destiny Islands has Queen. Haha.

I also believe that even after Kairi became more girly in KHII, she still has some tomboy to her: like how even though she wears a dress in KHII, she still has sneakers on, and how her school bag isn’t decorated at all when Selphie’s is. She’s also a fighter, of course (not that that necessarily makes a girl a tomboy -looks at Buffy-). I imagine out of the three, Naminé is the girliest, Kairi is a mix of tomboy and girly-girl, and Xion is a tomboy. 

I think Kairi, Naminé, and Xion would all have great relationships with each other. Naminé and Xion, because they both know what it’s like to be “Nobodies” , told they shouldn’t exist, and forgotten (Kairi knows this, too), and have suffered (though Kairi has too, of course). They’re also both slightly shier. Kairi and Xion because they both can be snarky (though Xion not as much), are more outgoing and both fight, and are maybe pretty evenly matched right now (they’d probably spar a lot). And Kairi and Naminé, because they’re like the extroverted and introverted version of each other. And I imagine Kairi could convince Kairi to try things more, while Naminé would get her to chill the F out about things.

Kairi and Xion are probably both protective of Naminé, since she’s been so abused and they can fight and she can’t.

Sora, Roxas, and Ventus might be protective of Xion. But for me, Roxas is because of shipping reasons.

Back to the girly-girl Kairi thing... While pink probably is for sure her favorite color now, she still likes purple and other colors. And will use them.

I also just... don’t see her wearing makeup. I know other fans do, and that’s fine. But I don’t. Mainly because it doesn't look like she ever is in the game. I think that’s part of her tomboy coming through still. She cares about her hair, her clothes, perfume and whatever else, but she doesn’t care about makeup.

I used to headcanon that Aqua and Xion would become best friends--and they still could--but Melody of Memory maybe hinted at something else.

...I think this is everything right now.

Edit: And pretty much every headcanon that bluerosesburnblue comes up with for the KHUX world is right up my alley.

Edit 2: Destiny Islands maybe isn’t as technologically un-advanced as I and some had originally thought, but it’s still not modern day Shibuya or anything like that.

Edit 3: A lot of Destiny Islands’ culture is based on Japan.

Edit 4: This isn’t a “headcanon” at all. But I love to joke with the fandom, that Naminé and Xion might as well be Sora and Kairi’s daughters. LOL

Edit 5: And because of that one scene in KHII, where Kairi, arguably, hits Riku in the arm, if you look close enough--and that one translation of the KHII manga, where Kairi tells Riku not to be such sourpuss--I headcanon that these two somewhat play off just how much they mean to each other. But really, they love each other of course. I mean that platonically.

Edit 6: And I want to believe Minnie and Daisy could eventually go on an adventure with Kairi or something. I like the headcanon that Daisy’s a magician, too--since Minnie is strong with light magic--even though it’s not true. Haha.

Edit 7: Sora says Kairi’s name over and over again at the end of KHI and tells her “I love you” at the end of KHIII.

Edit 8: Riku is Sora’s best man at Sora and Kairi’s wedding. He’s also the “uncle” and godfather of their kids. 

Edit 9: Speaking of, Sora and Kairi have a daughter named “Sakura”. But it’s pronounced like how you would say “Sum” (but drop the “M”, of course) and then “Cora”. “Sumcora” (but without the “M”).

Edit 10: Kairi’s a Disney princess.

Edit 11: Max Goof exists in the KH universe, as do the Three Caballeros, who Donald is friends with.

Edit 12: Terra and Naminé are friends.

Edit 13: This is completely unoriginal--and just “Riku” backwards--but in fics, I often call Riku Replica “Ukir” (I pronounce it “You-Kai-Err”, because I’m too lazy to come up with anything else and don’t want to steal other people’s ideas. And Repliku probably did want to be the opposite of Riku, so... -shrugs-

[saokpe]

HDLW Sibling Week 2020 - Day 7: Free Day!

Well guys, we finally made it to the end! This has been one hell of a week, definitely in my personal life, but even more so here! The mods at the HDLW Sibling Week tumblr have been amazing this week, I can't give them enough praise for both their choice of prompts and their support of the various artists that participated in this event! Artist's submissions that you can see reblogged over at their tumblr blog @hdlwsiblingweek2020, so please give those a look if you haven't already. I am also eternally grateful for the positive response these fics have gotten, it really was what kept me going throughout these hectic collection days. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you!

This final fic is definitely my most ambitious of the week, hence why it took all seven days to work on and is being posted a couple hours later than usual (sorry!). A story meant to make reference to all of my previous HDLW Sibling Week fics but also work as a stand alone story of sacrifice and action! I love how it turned out, I hope you all do as well! (Sorry for the long message, please enjoy...)

A Drawn Out War

My feet slam and echo across the hollow chambers of the remains of McDuck manor. I clutch my weapons between my fingers, its sharp edges scratching along my already weathered and distraught palm. My clothes torn, my pristine pale face vandalized with the war paint my quivering expression wore. My feet keep moving, the nagging voice at the back of my head begging me to surrender, my resolve not allowing that cowardice to take over. She could be anywhere, yes, ready to pounce, ready to relieve me of this stress I allowed myself to carry, ready to aim her barrel between my eyes and allow me bliss. I don’t want bliss.

The wooden hallways I stalked threatens to turn, a sudden panic overtaking me as the idea of what hid at the other end drenched me. “I wonder if my brothers are still in the game?” My head cruelly asks, the thought dragging every step I attempt to take. I reach the hallway’s turn, the corner of my eye catching an odd construct. The continuing alleyway housed not tensed air but instead an elongated line of walls made completely out of blankets. My curious gaze is promptly stolen from me, however, as the moment I reach the odd monument’s presence, my leg is clutched. The fear from before returns to me like the shots I have so cautiously tried to avoid, the creature which held me knocking me over and dragging me to the now horrifying display of incorrectly used bedspreads. Darkness finds me, my heartbeat slamming over my chest with the power of the gun I loosely dragged with me. As my body finally halts, taking my bearings, like a cornered animal, I begin to shoot wildly.

Foam hitting cloth bangs the pitch black room, the sound of life grunting and ducking the only other element attracting my senses. Soon the ammunition halts, the clicking of an empty magazine the only thing my weapons shoots. 

My heavy panting fills the silence, soon the sound of a match lighting and the bright flame it produces return my sight. My distressed eyes look across, seeing the multicolored walls decorated crudely with the bright orange bullets I dispensed. I continue to dart, looking for who my captors may be, seeing two uncannily familiar faces looking back. Both sharing the look of blood curdling adrenaline as I, Louie and Huey stare down at my prone body.

“HUEY! LOUIE!” I bolt back, clutching them between my aching arms. The little strength afforded to me wasted as I revel in the long lost warmth of my brothers. “I thought you two for gonners after what happened at the kitchen!”

“Almost but,” Huey begins, stopping as he drags his candle closer to my sullied face, “-it seems we all survived.” A well deserved smile stretches over him.

I part from my re-discovered family, “Where are we?”`

“Cushion Island.” Louie, a tang of grizzled seriousness, answers. “After she separated us, I started reconstructing it as a safe haven, taking a new design philosophy into consideration. We’ve been hiding out in here for a while, amassing enough resources to be able to fight back. Looking for you as well.” The kid shares a knowing glare with his eldest twin. 

“I’m just happy Webb-” I attempt to, in my newly found excitement, say before finding a hand forcefully placed over my beak. Looking over to where the arm originates, I see Louie, still not dropping the solemn urgency in his gaze, tilting towards me.

“Don’t say her name.” He whispers, “She’ll know.” His hand slowly begins to part.

“What do I call her then?” Seeing the consequentiality of the room rise, I emulate their murmur.

Huey lowers the wax candle to the middle of the circle we had created throughout the conversation, “We’ve been calling her Worerdurk.”

“Ok then,” I allow the new information to season, “I’m just happy Worerdurk hasn’t, y’know, gotten to any of us.” My voice heightens as it attempts to avoid the severity of the situation. “It’s almost been a full day, she must be getting frustrated by now.”

“I don’t think so.” My hoodie wearing brother’s clarification almost overlaps my prediction, “Our sister isn’t that weak willed, she’ll wait as long as it takes.”

“Like a predator to their prey.” Huey finishes, his eyes dilating as he recollects. Both keep silent after, allowing me to think the situation over. What they have seen I can only imagine…

Their silence is not well utilized as before I could get a response out, the thin walls ripple and shake. The sound of distanced footsteps reaching us. Our eyes bolt open, their pupils staring at each other as we prepare for action.

“She’s here.” My silver tongued sibling addresses Hubert.

“I’ll get the weapons.” The cap wearing and increasingly calm Huey bolts deeper into the tunnel of blankets.

I turn to worry, keeping vigilant for any type of indicator of danger. This paranoia leading me to notice Louie a bit less jumpy, uncharacteristically so. His sitting body hunched over a picture.

I crawl over, raising my neck over his as I attempt to view the celluloid. Though harder to see in the miniscule candle light, the object identifies itself as a picture of us, dressed in humorously designed attire. The photo is far from methodically composed, streaks of blurred action carved to it as I rebelled against my sweater. I chuckle at the recent memory.

“Where’d you find that picture Lou, I thought Uncle Donald threw all those out.” I inquire.

“We found it while trying to smuggle guns from Worerdurk’s room, she had it framed.” He remains stoic, halting his answer as his drowsy eyes continue to stare over the picture a bit longer. “She takes this game so seriously, you think she can be talked out of it?”

“I don’t know.” My answer reins honest.

… A moment of shaky stillness follows my response, interrupted by the sudden movement of my triplet’s hand as he crumbles and hides the picture, turning to me swiftly after.

“Does your gun have any darts left?” Louie looks to me.

“No, I’m tapped.”

The answer brings out an annoyed grunt from the analytical adventurer. “It’s worthless to try to escape without guns. We’ll just hope Huey is faster than Webbs.”

“I thought we couldn’t say her name.” A second of my jittery concern asks.

He remains silent as the correction reaches his ears. Thought overtakes him, the footsteps getting louder and faster, its banging only matching the intensity of my beating heart. It raises further, and further, and further. The sound of incoming danger scratching over me, the thinning quiet only adding to the stabbing dread. My fingers clench into themselves, my spine straightens, my brow furrowing in shaky anticipation. The slamming steps boom, one after the other. I shift the anxious glare I wore across the room, my head nagging for an escape, eventually finding solace in my brother. Who, against any type of common sense or logic, wore a smirk, a begrudged smile. Why?

A figure darts to our corner of Cushion Island. I toss my body back as I analyze if the silhouette was friend or foe. Luckily, the candle light reveals the identifiable outfit of Huey Duck. Louie’s smile fades.

“This is all I could find, she's right on my tail.” Alarm laces his words. Quickly dropping a collection of plastic pistols, rifles, and ammunition over the cushioned floor, Huey begins to haul various items towards himself. Footsteps approach. As I stare over my brothers, their faces contorting and biting in determined vigor, two pistols are thrown over my lap. “Those are yours.” 

“Thanks..” I take both weapons, along with their accompanied darts. The weight pulls my arms to the ground before leveling them. Scanning the pistols I am able to assess their strength, weapons worthy of battle. Additionally, I notice their dramatically fitting color scheme, the right sporting vibrant red and green while the left a light blue and pink.

The sound of a long rifle clicking sounds from Huey, who while fiddling with his weapon asks, “You taking anything, Louie?”

The green adorned duck exhales heavily, “Don’t think so.”

The question’s originator sighs, standing as the answer delivers. 

“That’s stupid, how are you gonna protect yourself without a gun?” I ask, the oddity of the response forcing me to question. “Are you not that good of a shot?”

My brother restores the smirk from before, the incoming attacker’s noise scratching over us, yet he walked closer to it.

Huey pulls my shoulder, raising and dragging me to Louie’s opposing direction.  “He’s a great shot, actually.”

“We need to wait for Louie.” I attempt to reason, my feet slipping behind my older brother, my sight distancing from my younger. 

“He’ll draw us some time.”

“What?! No!” The situation’s condition punctures. The anger of it giving me the strength to break from Huey’s grip, the force shooting me closer to Louie, my feet continuing the travel. Not soon after the arms I escape stretch and lock over my abdomen, my sprint halted as I am once again pulled away.

“Dewey, it’s alright.” I stop my resistance as Louie speaks. “Just doing my part of a deal.” His words spewed with such confidence yet they only read to me like self-righteous nonsense. “You’ll win anyways, it’s not that big a deal.” 

Just as he finishes, the blanket walls that separated the room Louie stood over begins to ripple and open, a figure walking in as the footsteps halt. I don’t get to see the menace as Huey, with one final tug, emerges out from Cushion Island with me in hand. I separate as we bounce over the wooden flooring of the relatively better lit mansion hallway. 

“We need to run, you got your weapon?” Huey asks, slowly returning to his feet.

I struggle to find any will to return to my feet, the burning anger and sorrow encompassing all my energy. 

“Dewey!” 

My trance is broken, the sorrow suppressed as anger refuels me. I bolt to my feet, clutching the dual pistols in my unstable hands. I take a deep breath, the first intake of air I’ve dared take in the last minute. “Let’s go.”

The two of us race back the way I came, almost immediately after, the horrid sound of Webby’s guns firing echoes from the now desolate Cushion Island. My feet stumble, my teeth grinding onto each other in sizzling rage. I shake my head, holding my tongue as I return to a full sprint.

“Stop!” Huey drags his feet. “Look.” He points to the remaining stretch of the hallway.

I step besides him, looking forward to the sight of an almost invisible piece of string stretch taught along the two walls.

“Let’s just step over it.” I suggest.

“Look closer.” 

I return to analyzing the continuing path, noticing what my brother refers to. The same piece of twine repeated across the rest of the house.

“How did she even find the time to do this?” My shocked and agape mouth sounds off.

An eerily familiar family of footsteps fastly approaches. “Dewey! Huey! I know you’re there!” An arrogant and maniacal Webbigail boasts, her shadow stretching and distorting as it begins to turn towards us.

“Quickly! The lights!” Huey orders.

The instructions delay trying to reach my understanding but I eventually look over to the chandelier hanging near the alleyway’s middle. My arms raise, haphazardly aiming before laying two bullets in its direction. The second stray shot crashing across its top, knocking it out of balance and out of frame. The set piece falls harshly across the wood, the bulbs it hung shattering onto the walls and ground. Blinding all nearby with its lack of light.

“Come on! Over here.” I hear a voice call to me from my left, the still readable figure of Huey Duck hiding behind one of the drawers the house had a plentiful variety of. I throw myself, ducking alongside him.

“We need a plan.” I begin, my whisper falling to the increasing vibrations of the approaching Worerdurk.

“Yeah…” Huey dives into thought. Mumbling as he thinks of what to do.

My patience pounds across my head, my hand readjusting in fidgety anticipation. My neck turns as I wait for my smarter half to adjust to the situation, looking off to the hallway, searching for danger in the ink black darkness. As I scan the environment, two green dots stare back at me. My heart rips from my chest before I return to hiding.

“She has her night vision goggles, hurry up!” I don’t attempt to hide my desperation in the whisper.

“Don’t rush me!” he retorts, quickly slamming his feathered palms over his beak as the screech echoes, alerting any still breathing creature in the house. “Dammit…  I got a plan.”

“Tell me! Quickly!” I disobey his previous scowl.

“You only have one chance Dewey,” A pair of hands fall over my shoulders, “-take our sister down.” The hands squeeze before my body is hurled where Huey once was, the sound of his body scurrying past me blasting. I look over, the silhouette of my hat wearing brother dashes into the hallway. 

Gunfire instantly commences, the streaks of wind the darts produce flying over me. My body curls, the intensity of the moment shooting between my bones, the fear washing and twisting every miniscule detail of my body; forfeiting control of my valor. 

“No!” I yell to myself. Too much has been sacrificed, Louie tried to reason with her, Huey survived for my sake and now he’s fighting alone because he put his trust in me. “I CAN’T GIVE UP NOW!” 

I raise my body over the drawer, placing my arms across as I wildly shoot forwards. The pistols alternate shots, my left hand firing first, the red and green, the gun brave enough to attack first. The beaming green dots of my sister’s goggles shift to me before darting towards my brother, who’s weapon shoots aimlessly at her.

My guns don’t let up, my shut eyes doing little to help the cause. My fingers press and release in unison, the foam ammunition bouncing from all surfaces it can find, my continuous onslaught only hesitating when a loud grunt strikes me. 

“I’m out!” Huey screams, grunted pain in his begrudged announcement.

My soul sinks. I lower my body behind cover once more, my right hand finishing to press the trigger, it clicking, empty. I look down to it, tossing it aside as a million different thoughts flash my mind. I stare the hardly visible blue and pink dart gun down, the last remaining, one final shot. I exhale before tossing my body back over the wooden shelf, taking both of my overfilled hands to aim. Between the eyes, the two glowing beams that glared me over. The whirring of a gun ready to begin shooting sounds from my target, the artillery she carried ready to riddle my body in plastic. 

“Dear o’ sibling of mine…” I whisper, the previously suppressed sorrow stationing in my right index finger which sadly levers.

My final dart shoots ahead, dashing between the wind which pulled against it, vanishing to the darkness upon release.

“Ow!” A high pitched Webby screams. A palpable anticipation takes hold of all in the audience. A wait of the outcome, of the winner's disclosure. “Aw man! You got me!”

The reveal deafens my ears, my already limited view doubling, my head dizzying.

“YOU DID IT DEWEY! YOU WON!” A secondary voice congratulates.

The room begins to spin, my body’s excess of adrenaline leaving my body sluggish upon its departure. Consciousness begins to leave me, my body dropping as quickly as my increasingly heavy eyelids. Before I fall, however, I scream out, raising my left hand, the blue and pink pistol still loosely attached to it, “Heck yeah I did!” 

My brain shuts down.

Dewey eventually woke up, where he, along with his brothers and sister, was forced to clean up the mess their little Nerf war had caused. Despite that particular drawback, Dewey still proves proud of his cooperative victory over the once thought unbeatable Webbigail. The perfect end for a particularly perfect week.

Thank you all so much for reading through this rather long week finale, if you have yet to read the rest of the week’s submissions, all are posted on this AO3 link

[sophfandoms53]

42.) “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Webby?

Lena slowly made her way to Webby’s apartment, her thoughts running all over the place. How on Earth is she supposed to tell Webby that her friend is dating her ex-boyfriend? And also doing all this behind her back?

She groaned, “Ugh this is gonna suck.” Lena knew deep down this news would hurt Webby but also knew she wouldn’t show it. That’s just kind of how Webby acted since everything happened 3 months ago. She just didn’t react on the outside and kept it all inside. Lena hoped that, at least for this, Webby would just let herself cry.

Lena heard her phone going off, saw the contact was Violet and answered, “Yeah, Vi?”

“Are you at Webbigail’s?” Violet asked.

“Yeah I’m a block or so away. What about you?” Lena responded.

“Just finished parking, I’ll meet you at the door.” Violet answered.

The girls said goodbye and hung up. The goth took a deep breath, “It’s now or never.”

Violet waited for Lena at the steps of the building, shaking her hands anxiously. She doesn’t even know how any of this happened. She wasn’t even aware that Dewey and Shelly were spending time together, then she just randomly finds the two canoodling one another.

The sabrewing was frozen in her tracks when she saw the two in that type of position, especially in a public setting. Then again the duo were around their other friends. But regardless. It still shocked her. Why wouldn’t they say anything? How could they do something like this behind Huey and Webby’s back? It all just didn’t make sense.

She pulled out her phone and looked at the image again. It wasn’t anything too bad, just Dewey with his arms wrapped around Shelly’s torso, her sitting on his lap and one of his hands up her shirt, but it still made Violet feel uneasy that this is something they didn’t tell her or the family about. Then again, considering the circumstances between them, Huey and Webby, Violet could kind of understand. Regardless, having to tell Webby this? It’s not gonna be easy.

Although, Violet had to admit she suspected Shelly had some interest in Dewey. She remembered back at McDuck Manor during their annual Christmas party the year before, she had a conversation with Shelly in regards to that.

The purple bird had her eyes on the blonde hair duck all night. She came to notice Shelly giving the blue cladded brother a certain look for some time now. Kind of odd, considering he was still happily dating Webby. It wasn’t even just a look. Every time the blue ducks spoke to each other Violet could’ve sworn she’d seen a light blush brush across Shelly’s face. Violet began to wonder if it’s something to actually be worried about.

She then noticed the red brother just sitting by the table, chatting with his Uncle Donald. She wondered if Huey noticed Shelly’s recent odd behavior with his brother. Probably not. If he did, he’d probably make it obvious it bothered him. Even if it wasn’t something Huey noticed, that didn’t mean Violet couldn’t question it.

The silence of her thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of Dewey’s voice,

“Aw dang it! I dropped it again!” He complained loudly, picking up the elf from the ground.

Webby jumped in front of him and laughed, “Ha! That’s another two points for me!”

Despite them being 19, Dewey and Webby still had their child-like nature around the holidays. They just enjoyed being around their family. “I don’t like this game. Every year you rig it!” Dewey laughed.

The pink bow wearing duck just shrugged and snatched the elf from his hands, “I will not confirm or deny! But this elf is now mine!” She ran off with the elf doll out of the room.

“Oh no you don’t!” Dewey chuckled as he giddily chased after his girlfriend, almost knocking his mother down in the process.

“Dewey! Be careful with the decorations!” Della yelled.

“Sorry mom!”

The pilot rolled her eyes playfully, “Oh those two.”

Half-way through the chaos Violet’s eyes traveled from the duck family up to Shelly, whom was sitting on the window sill and noticed the blonde’s eyes followed the blue brother as he left the room. Now it was time to question things. Violet made her way towards Shelly and coughed to gain her attention.

Shelly looked over at Violet, “Oh hey, Violet. You need something?” She took a sip of her egg-nog.

Violet raised an eyebrow, “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Just before, you were staring at Dewey. I saw you the whole time.”

Shelly’s eyes widened in disbelief and confusion, “Okay first, no I wasn’t. Second, if anyone was staring, it was you looking at me. Seriously Violet where is this coming from?”

The sabrewing shook her hands as she got aggravated, “Shelly, you’ve been acting weird around Dewey for weeks now. I’ve noticed it and I’m just worried.”

The blonde raised an eyebrow, “You’re worried? About what?”

“That you have feelings for Dewey.”

An obvious blush made its way to Shelly’s face. But despite her now red cheeks, she continued to deny the accusations, “Even if I do have feelings for Dewey, which I don’t by the way, it wouldn’t even matter. He’s with Webby and they’re happy.”

Violet pointed out her red face, “That blush says otherwise, Duckling.”

Shelly groaned in annoyance, “Rgh! I don’t need this from you Violet.” She stood up and began to walk away, “Dewey and I are just friends, and it’ll always be that way. Don’t try to make something out of nothing.”

The purple bird grabbed her arm, “Hold on. I’m not trying to cause a problem… I’m just trying to make sure you won’t do anything dumb.”

Shelly rolled her eyes, “Has anyone ever told you, you suck at being empathetic?”

Violet smirked, “A few times.”

“Violet? Violet?” Lena’s voice rang through her ears and Violet was pulled out of her thoughts. She looked at the goth, “Oh hey Lena.”

“You okay? You seemed kind of zoned out there.” Lena asked in concern.

Violet brushed it off, “Yeah, yeah I’m good. I was just thinking about something, that’s all.”

Lena nodded, “I’ve been in my own head too. I don’t know how we’re gonna tell Webby.”

“We’re just gonna have to say it. It’s not going to be easy for her to take but we don’t have much of a choice. Better she hears it from us than anyone else.” Violet admitted.

Lena nodded, still nervous, “Yeah.. yeah you’re right.. Well.. now or never right?”

The two looked at each other for a moment then at the door. Lena brought her hand to the door and rang the bell three times. Her breath was caught in her throat. Words could not describe her stress at all. She could only imagine how Webby would take this news. Lena herself doesn’t even know how she feels about it.

Violet noticed Lena’s states, “Relax. The more you panic, the harder it will be to tell Webbigail.”

The goth took a breath, “Okay okay okay. I’m okay… I think..”

The door then opened to reveal Webby, who was actually smiling at the sight of her best friends, “Lena! Violet! This is a surprise! What’re you guys doing here?” She looked… okay. Her hair was out of its ponytail and wet, implying she was just finished with a shower, she had a pink tank top on with white pants, but she had noticeable bags under her eyes.

When the duo didn’t respond, Webby got worried, “Did something happen?”

Lena started to laugh nervously, “Wha-at? Why would something happen? Can’t we just come down and visit our fellow best friend!”

Webby could see through Lena’s fake enthusiasm and crossed her arms, “Okay, what happened?”

The goth sighed. She gently grabbed Webby’s arm and took her inside the house, “I think it’s better if you sit down.” As Lena sat Webby down, Violet closed and locked the door.

Webby and Lena sat down on the couch, Violet grabbed a chair and they sat in silence for a few moments.

“So.. what’s going on?” Webby asked.

Lena spoke, “Before that, how are you doing?”

The pink duck raised an eyebrow, “I’m good, why?”

“Pink, you know what I’m talking about.” Lena said annoyed.

Webby’s face fell, knowing exactly what Lena was referring to. The break-up with Dewey took its toll on her, Webby wasn’t gonna deny that, but she had so much support from the family that she’s able to say she’ll be okay. But every now and then, it still hurts and she cries about it. Not that she’d tell. She’d gotten so good at putting up a ‘I’m good please don’t worry’ facade.

“By that face, we are going to take that as not so good.” Violet said, shifting her folded legs.

“No, no. I’m alright. It is what it is. I hope Dewey the best, that’s all.” Webby said, shaking her hands.

Lena growled, “Well you might not hope he has the best after what we tell you.”

Webby felt something irk inside her, “So this IS about Dewey? Oh my god.” She rubbed her forehead annoyed, “Lena, I get it. You’re mad at him for what happened and how he handled it. I understand. But it was 3 months ago, I’m tired of being mad. And I’d appreciate it if you got over it. I adore that you care but.. I’m sure Dewey’s moved on and has his own life.”

“Webs.. did you forget what he almost did to you? Did you forget that he left you?” Lena pressed, becoming confused at her best friend’s attitude.

“No, Lena. I didn’t. I just.. being mad isn’t gonna get me anywhere.” Webby responded.

“Oh for goodness sakes! Stop beating around the bush Lena!” Violet groaned getting annoyed at seeing the two of them bicker, “Webbigail, Dewey and Shelly are dating.” She blurted out.

Webby took a double take, “Wait what?”

“Violet!” Lena exclaimed, “That wasn’t gentle! Seriously! That was so abrupt!”

“Well one of us had to say it! And you were on a different topic all together!” Violet said pointing at Lena.

Webby just stared at Violet, “Dewey and who are dating?”

“Shelly, Webs.” Lena responded.

“Shelly…” Webby’s voice got quiet, “and you know this, how?”

Violet and Lena looked at each other with a sigh. The Sabrewing took out and unlocked her phone, quickly found the picture and showed it to Webby.

Her eyes scanned the photo. To be quite honest.. it hurt. Seeing her ex-boyfriend holding her friend in such a way. Shelly was supposed to be one of her best friends and yet… she does this..

And Dewey the look on his face.. The way he was looking at Shelly in this photo was the same way he used to look at… her.

“How long?” Was all Webby could ask.

Violet shrugged, “Not too sure but, definitely a few weeks.”

“Webby?” Lena leaned towards her best friend, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.. yeah.. I’m fine.. just...” Webby sniffed and looked over at Lena, her eyes glossy with tears, “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Webs I’m so sorry. Dewey’s-.” Lena was cut off by Webby saying,

“So happy.”

“Wait what?” Lena and Violet said in unison.

“Aren’t you.. mad? Webby, they’ve been hiding their relationship from all of us! Are you okay?” Lena raised an eyebrow, incredibly confused.

“Look at him Lena.” Webby said, grabbing Violets phone, “I haven’t seen Dewey with a smile like that since everything happened.. and Shelly…” she seemed to have paused.

“What about Shelly?” Violet questioned.

“I knew it…” Webby said, “I had a feeling Shelly started to see Dewey in a different light.. I even spoke to Dewey about it but.. at the time, he said such a thing was impossible.. Little did we know..”

“You noticed it too?” Violet asked, feeling a little grateful it wasn’t just her who noticed that Shelly gained feelings for Dewey long before all this.

Webby nodded, “Yeah.. It was kind of obvious but.. maybe that’s just because I was with him.. so when any girl looked at him I would notice…”

“So… you’re not mad?” Lena asked.

“I mean… I’m hurt.. but… not mad. I can’t be. Who am I to get upset about a relationship that has nothing to do with me.” Webby said, giving Violet back her phone.

“Webby. Webby. Webby, you guys broke up three months ago. Are seriously telling me you’re not at all mad that in the matter of three damn months, Dewey already started dating someone else????” Lena was utterly lost.

“That’s Dewey.” Webby shrugged, “Don’t misunderstand Lena. I’m upset, and I wanna talk to Shelly about it, but… Getting mad at who Dewey dates is a waste of time.. what he does it’s just… it’s not my business anymore.”

“Wow… you took this a lot better than we thought you would.” Violet said.

Webby rolled her eyes. Of course they thought she’d freak out. A certain person entered her mind and she looked at them.

“How is Huey taking this?”

[zdbztumble]

Alright, let's see SoKai for the ship meme. :P

General:

Rate the Ship -   Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs

How long will they last? - Well, they’ve eating the paopu fruit at this point, so their destinies are intertwined forever.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - Interesting question, because it’s pretty clear that Sora, at least, has a crush on Kairi at the start of the first game, and it’s probably mutual. It was probably a gradual growth of friendship into romance over the course of their childhood and adolescence, with the first game at the tail-end of that transition.

How was their first kiss? - “They ate the paopu fruit - they basically kissed!” That was nearly every commentary on that scene in KH III. A real kiss would be classic Disney material, probably on that tree on Destiny Islands at sunset.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Sora. Immediately after a life-or-death struggle at the end of an adventure. It was awkward. Bernard’s proposal at the end of Rescuers Down Under awkward. Kairi loved it.

Who is the best man/men? - Riku, to the extent you can say it had a best man (see below.)

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - If I accept any of the games past KH II in this exercise, then Namine.

Who did the most planning? - I’d like to think they got married at Disney Castle, with Merlin or the Fairy Godmother officiating, so it was all planned out by the classic Disney playbook - think of what you saw at the end of Cinderella, The Little Mermaid, etc. That’s also not a terribly organized wedding with a lot of assigned roles, though.

Who stressed the most? - Donald, because he and Chip n’ Dale got into a fight over how to decorate the Gummi ship for sending the couple off. He ends up with his head stuck in the axis of a gear while Chip n’ Dale take over.

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Thanks to the world order, a whole lot of people weren’t invited, because they weren’t allowed off their worlds. Sora got around that by using Summon magic (with help from the Fairy Godmother.)

Sex: Are you mad? This is Disney!

Who is on top? -

Who is the one to instigate things? -

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? -

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? -

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public (I’ll go this far with them) | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children: Again, fankids aren’t my thing.

How many children will they have naturally? -

How many children will they adopt? -

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? -

Who is the stricter parent? -

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? -

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? -

Who is the more loved parent? -

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings?

Who cried the most at graduation? -

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? -

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Sora makes the most attempts, assuming (incorrectly) that he picked up some skills from Little Chef. It rarely goes well.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - I don’t imagine either of them are picky.

Who does the grocery shopping? - It’s pretty strange, thinking of them in domestic situations like this when nothing like this happens in the games. I’ll say they split it.

How often do they bake desserts? - Again, Sora tries, and rarely succeeds, so he doesn’t try often.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Fruit!

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Sora.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Sora. Whether he’s got access to the Gummi ship or not, he likes that Bistro.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Sora. Good thing Kairi knows magic now.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Who needs to assign chores when Aero, Gravity, and Magnet can take care of a room in no time?

Who is really against chores? - Neither’s against it, but they can both be lazy.

Who cleans up after the pets? - No pets. Who has time for pets when you have to keep saving the multiverse?

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Again, magic.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - The bigger stress is having five minutes’ peace to actually have guests over.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - It’s called Munny, and you don’t find it in the couch, you find it in the corpse of a Heartless.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Man, these domestic ones are a stumper. Sora, I guess? Seems like the kind of guy who’d lose track of time.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - No dog to take out.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Decorate? When the Gummi ship’s available, they can just go to Halloweentown and Christmastown! And the other doors are there too, so...

What are their goals for the relationship? - To stop getting screwed over by Nomura Get back home to Destiny Islands and enjoy some peace.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Sora.

Who plays the most pranks? - Sora.

[clouds-of-wings]

How to have an argument without offending a Swede

Italians get worked up when discussing pasta sauces. The Brits and French have arguments for fun. But in Sweden, even raising your voice is like taking a glass and smashing it on the floor. Here is The Local's guide to the delicate art of having a discussion with a Swede.

This is interesting, I fully approve of point 4-6 actually, I could deal with 2 and 3, but 1..? That would be difficult for me.

Full text under the KR because Paywall…

How to have an argument without offending a Swede

Italians get worked up when discussing pasta sauces. The Brits and French have arguments for fun. But in Sweden, even raising your voice is like taking a glass and smashing it on the floor. Here is The Local's guide to the delicate art of having a discussion with a Swede.

If you're British or French, debate is almost a national sport. People play 'Devil's advocate' (or l'avocat du diable) just to stoke up the passion in the room. If someone loses self control and raises their voice a bit, that's OK, at least between friends. It's a sign of engagement, a sign that they care.  

In reserved, conflict-shy Sweden, however, things are very different.

You only have to compare the angry jeering in the UK's Houses of Parliament to the staid Swedish party leader debates on TV,  or seminars at Swedish universities with the way UK students are trained to to argue for positions they disagree with. You could also study Sweden's softly spoken court lawyers with their bombastic, adversarial UK and US equivalents.

Swedes hate to express disagreement and after eight years living here, I feel that they don't, or perhaps can't, separate intellectual disagreements from actual personal conflict (as I instinctively would as a Brit). For a Swede a disagreement is a disagreement, and therefore unpleasant, no matter what it is about.

There's also less of a tradition of argument as competitive sport. There are no winners once a debate gets heated. People just feel upset. The Norwegian writer Karl Ove Knausgård describes going to bed after a boozy supper with literary Swedes thinking he'd had a great evening, only to wake to find his hosts feared relations had been irreparably broken.

The positive aspects of all this can be seen in the lower levels of hypocrisy in Swedish national life. A figure like UK PM Boris Johnson is so steeped in Oxbridge debating culture that he can breezily dash off articles both for and against leaving the European Union. In Sweden, this would be almost unfeasible.

So how should you approach holding discussions with a Swede?

1. Know the consensus

Swedes hate people talking about it, but as a foreigner in Sweden it's fairly clear that the fabled 'opinion corridor', or åsiktskorridoren, is no myth. There is a span of acceptable opinions and people start to feel uncomfortable if you move outside them.

For big topics, it's quite easy to learn where the boundaries lie.

For the vast majority of Swedes, whether on the left or right, you probably can't get away with, for example, expressing your admiration of US President Donald Trump, arguing that it's bad for children to go to daycare before they're three, arguing that children don't need bicycle helmets, or that it's OK to drink moderate amounts of alcohol when pregnant. For reasons I don't fully understand, it's also appears unacceptable to argue that the state alcohol monopoly Systembolaget has a woefully poor selection of wine. At least, no one will agree with you if you do.

Once you know where the boundaries lie, don't cross them. People won't think you're controversial or interesting, they'll think you're an ass.  

As it happens, the corridor can shift. Eight years ago, it was absolutely not OK to discuss setting concrete limits for immigration or the ethnicity of criminals. In 2015, that dramatically changed, with politicians of both left and right suddenly competing to tighten up border controls, and the media pumping out stories of sexual harassment by asylum seekers.  

2. Let the Swede lead

The demand for consensus is not limited to the big political issues, but runs deep into things like house decoration, music taste, food and films. Swedes have a natural instinct for knowing what any group thinks about any topic, and assessing what the bounds of opinion are likely to be. This is tricky for a newcomer to grasp, so the best advice is to let the Swede lead. Wait until you have a good idea about what the people you're with think before storming in with your own opinions.

3. Expand and reinforce, don't contradict

Say the discussion gets into what a horrific let-down the last series of Game of Thrones was, and you thought it was well-written, with imaginative plot twists and a satisfying end. Don't contradict your companions head-on. Instead think of something you also felt was a weakness, or add details and new observations to the discussion of the shortcomings advanced by others in your group.

Conversation in Sweden is about arriving at a richer, more nuanced picture of what it is assumed everyone present agrees to be the case, not deciding who or what is right and wrong.

Swedes pride themselves on their ability to ask searching questions, and you can see why, as it is one of the best ways to safely engage in discussions when you disagree with the majority position. Ask your friends what they thought was the worst let-down, or why it is that this or that plot decision was so wrong-headed.

4. Don't interrupt (or do so very sparingly)

Conversation in Sweden doesn't have the same cut and thrust as it does in the UK and some other countries, where it is more common to interrupt, talk over others, or slip in quick details or additional facts that support or contradict what the speaker is saying.

In Sweden, interrupting others is seen as rude, and talking over them ruder still, particularly if you raise your voice to do so. If you've ever been to a Swedish work leaving do, or wedding, you'll have seen how everyone in turn stands up to make a short speech. Imagine group conversation as a less formal version of the same thing.

When someone is speaking, let them finish. The group will then naturally look around for the next speaker, which is your time to make your contribution.

This means of course that when you do speak, you shouldn't go on too long, as there's no way for your companions to shut you up without being rude. Swedes have a natural sense of how much social space each member of a group is getting and will try to make sure it's as evenly shared as possible.

5. Don't raise your voice

It's perhaps telling that the word 'skrika' in Swedish doesn't distinguish between 'shouting', 'screaming' and 'shrieking'. There's a level of raised voice which Swedes experience as aggressive which some other cultures would see as only a sign of mild agitation. If you raise your voice during a discussion, it's almost as if you are banging your hands on the table, so if you can possibly keep yourself under control, don't do it.

If you actually are angry and want to actively offend or put down another person, it's still wrong to raise your voice. It is socially acceptable in Sweden to be quite direct and even rather unpleasant (more so indeed, than in the UK, where it is bad form to drop the pretence of bonhomie and having a 'sense of humour').

If you raise your voice, you lose. A Brit or American might secretly congratulate someone who stands up and loudly but brilliantly tears strips off someone whose behaviour has been out of order. A Swede would be crippled with embarrassment. Swedes have a reputation for passive aggressiveness for a reason.

6. Don't fall back on lazy stereotypes

Perhaps the best way to annoy a Swede as a foreigner is to bang on incessantly about the "opinion corridor" and "Swedish passive aggressiveness". Don't do it.

Some of the least reserved people I know are Swedish. I know Swedes who revel in controversy, compulsively interrupt others, and get overly heated and shouty at the drop of a hat. I do feel though, that Sweden isn't perhaps the easiest country for them to live in.

Ironically, in the parts of Malmö I live in, where nearly half the population voted for the Left parties in the last election, talking about the opinion corridor is itself outside the opinion corridor.

So if you don't want people to think you're a closet Nazi, pretend it doesn't exist. Everybody else does.

https://www.thelocal.se/20190821/how-to-have-a-discussion-without-offending-a-swede

[mtraki]

Prompt: 'palm reading' by @prowlingthunder

The man had been watching him for more minutes than Arthur was comfortable with— and with far more skill at disguising it than he was used to seeing out of the usual lawman or bounty hunter— so he made his way across the saloon floor and offered to buy him a drink.

He was tall and lean, of a height with Charles, maybe, and built a lot like John. Lanky, but none of it awkward or gangly. Introducing himself as ‘Donald’, he carried himself with quiet composure and a pair of pistols at his belt. He was a riddle, this man.

“You got business with me, Donald?” Arthur asked pointedly, “Otherwise I dunno why you been eyeballin’ me…”

Shrugging easily, the man fiddled with the sleeves of his smoke gray jacket, “Given the alternatives, friend, I’d say I’m better off looking at you than anybody else. Especially since I’m getting a free drink out of it…”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, we ain’t friends,” Allowing some of the familiar snarl to enter his voice, the outlaw sat forward in his seat, “make no mistake about that…”

If Donald sensed the threat in Arthur’s tone, he was completely unaffected by it, “So you’re the sort of man who buys drinks for men not your friends?”

“Don’t see how it’s your business how I spend my money.”

“Certainly not, nor how you choose your friends, mister…?”

“... Kilgore.”

“Mister Kilgore,” Donald nodded to himself, “But if you didn’t come over here to discuss how we might go about becoming friends, why did you bother? I imagine if you were keen on telling me to stop looking at you, you’re the sort of man to tell me outright instead of dithering about first…”

“You sound awfully sure you know the sort of man I am, Mister Donald…”

“I’m awfully sure I’ll find out before the day is done, Mister Kilgore.”

Their look held, and the still quiet in the rest of the saloon only increased the tooth-edge strain of the moment.

“You cannot be serious…”

Catherine did not spare the girls a bit of her annoyance while they grinned at her, all except Mary-Beth, who was still pouring over her left hand, enraptured, as if she too could see all the ‘palmist’ had said it foretold.

“Sounds a bit to me like you’re scared, Miss Catherine,” Jenny teased.

Scoffing, the pale-eyed lady fixed her a look, “What in the world might I be afraid of out of a con-artist?”

Tilly and Jenny exchanged a brief smile, that Catherine suspected she was not supposed to catch, before the former answered, “Maybe you’re scared she’ll see a future you might not like?”

“Maybe a future like Mary-Beth’s over there,” Karen cackled, “with a man and a big old house…”

The girls were in such a good mood, the lady didn’t want to bring them down, but really, a palmist of all things to tease her with? “The only thing she’s going to see in my palm are new callouses on soft skin and make up some nonsense from there.”

“If it’s all nonsense,” Jenny smiled, “what’s the harm?”

“I don’t want to be party to or paying for a silly story told to me under the pretense of some occult wisdom or insight. It’s an affront to my intelligence.”

“You’re right, Jenny,” Tilly nodded, “she sounds scared.”

Rolling her eyes, Catherine noticed the palmist— a beautiful middle-aged woman with dark olive skin, wearing an elegantly embroidered white blouse under a dark blue vest, and a bluish skirt, both embroidered and decorated with silver coins, and a red scarf tied over her thick black hair. Her tawny eyes were knowing, almost laughing.

It truly tested her patience.

Setting her jaw, she marched over and sat herself down on the little stool across from the keen-eyed huckster, “… Best make it a good one for these silly girls, soothsayer.”

“Only the best for you, my dear.” The woman purred, grinning broadly as she slid the coins handed to her into her purse.

He couldn’t help it. Arthur started to laugh— a dry chuckle high in his chest. Donald was sitting much at his ease, hands nowhere near his person to draw a weapon, and Arthur’s were on the table. The stranger wasn’t even trying to call his bluff-- Donald wasn’t intimidated in the least— and Arthur confessed to some small admiration for that bone-deep self assurance. Donald knew exactly the sort of man he was, what he was capable of, and where he belonged in the world. He had no need to defend himself against Arthur’s or anyone’s inspection.

Donald’s reedy laugh joined his, not a note of it mocking, and the big outlaw allowed himself to like him just a little. Maybe they could be friends. Eventually.

“You rode up on that gray war horse out front, didn’t you?” Donald gestured toward the windows that faced the street-front, “I ain’t ever seen a horse like that this far west, Mister Kilgore. How’s he handle the heat?”

“He handles it fine. Likes it better this way than the southeast where I got’em.”

“Cavalry or Artillery?” “Excuse me?” “He was used in the war, wasn’t he? Was he cavalry mount or artillery draft?”

“Oh…” Arthur shook his head, “Dunno. Probably cavalry, way he handles an’ thinks.”

Nodding, Donald said, “It’s one of the nicer things about those breeds: they think. Not like my borrowed Morgan.”

“Morgans are pretty hot,” The outlaw waved his hand absently, “No attention, all run. I like a more solid mount, myself.”

“Must not need much in the way of speed or distance...”

“He’ll go all day,” Arthur amended with a shrug, “But he ain’t winning any races.”

Smiling at the lady who brought them their full glasses, Donald asked, “You had him awhile then?”

“Less than a year. Had a paint mare before him.” The big outlaw did not mind that his fond memories of Boadicea showed in his voice.

They raised their glasses to each other briefly. Donald drank the whiskey readily, though confessed he ‘usually drank brandy at home’.

“Where’s that?”

“Graysea,” Was the easy answer, then he gestured toward the ceiling with his free hand at Arthur’s expression, “Michigan.”

“Cold up in those parts, I hear.”

“Especially now,” Agreed the other man, “I can’t say I miss the weather, but I’m hoping to be back in time for Christmas.”

“Here for work, then?”

“Yes, and I’ve left a family-- three young ladies who’ll be missing me, I imagine.”

Grunting in his chest, Arthur gestured for the barman to bring them another round before prompting, “Some business to drive a man from that…”

Something cold and sharp was threatening to twist free inside him, thinking about this man leaving his family miles behind him for other obligations…

But that was the way of the world, wasn’t it? Surely everyone knew that as well as he did…

It was with effort Arthur relaxed the fist on his thigh under the table.

“Five thousand dollars is hard to turn aside when you’ve a house to keep and young ladies to care for and protect, my friend.” Donald smiled casually, meeting Arthur’s gaze. He didn’t even lower his voice to mention it--not that he’d be easily heard by anybody other than Arthur as the evening crowd rolled in the doors.

“Jesus Christ!” The outlaw sputtered before lowering his own voice, not wanting to attract the wrong sort of attention, “Fi--five… thousand?! For what?!”

And just who was this man that felt sure of himself enough to tell a complete stranger— and a man who looked and dressed like Arthur did— about it in plain language at first blush?

Donald reached into his jacket and pulled out a small photograph, which he showed Arthur, “For her.”

Admittedly, it was a much different, far more interesting foretelling than what Catherine had overheard of Mary-Beth’s.

So far there was no man, children, or old houses— except the very shrewd guess that she’d come from a man and an old house. Which, honestly, could have applied to any number of women— especially ones with manners, diction, and hands like hers.

More than the words themselves— which Mary-Beth was listening to enraptured, and even Tilly and Jenny had stopped their giggling and paid keen attention (Karen continued to snigger and scoff)— Catherine was intrigued by the palmist’s methodology. The way she alluded and prodded for information in careful questions and vague statements, slowly piecing back a narrative that the information she’d gleaned or guessed about her client she’d actually foreseen in her hand. It was very well done, and the lady confessed to some small admiration for the skill of this ‘Madame Nazar’.

They’d mostly talked carefully around her past— how she had left behind the house of her father, with whom she did not get along, who was very wealthy and moderately influential. There had been a few odd statements concerning “multiple romantic liaisons and suitors” as well. Now, Nazar was making vague mentions about a “journey” when she suddenly stopped and carefully inspected the lines of her palm.

“… You will be betrayed,” She said gravely, looking up into her pale eyes, “You will be betrayed by one you have chosen to trust, and you shall lose all you sought to gain when you began.”

“... Who is she?” Arthur breathed, already knowing.

It was a photo of Catherine. There was no mistaking it. She was seated in a chair at a small round table with a large bouquet of flowers in a vase at the center, dressed in high fashion with her hair coifed to perfection, piled dark and silky upon her head with a fancy comb. Her pose and expression made it very much seem like the shot was a candid photograph, and yet Arthur suspected it was a carefully planned artifice. He’d seen her surprised— genuinely surprised— and she was a little too composed in this image.

“Catherine-Louise Schofield,” Was Donald’s answer, watching the outlaw’s face in a way that had Arthur wondering with twisting guts how much he’d given away already, “Seems she’s gone missing… You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”

“... Friend, that sounds a little bit like an accusation…” Dragging his eyes from the photo, Arthur met Donald’s sly look with a scowl.

“Not at all,” The other man replied casually, putting the photograph in his jacket again, “But if you did know something, I’d be prepared to pay you four hundred dollars for anything that points me in the right direction…”

A chill settled over Arthur, “You goin’ around makin’ this offer to everybody?”

“No sir, I’m not quite that foolish or desperate,” Donald smiled, and then indicated Arthur, “But you look like the sort of man who keeps an ear to the ground to find what he needs. I’m just wondering if you’ve heard anything that might help me.”

“What makes you think she’s in these parts? Woman like that looks like she might be more comfortable in New York or Europe…”

“Her father, Mr. Schofield, has connections there and around here. Seems a lot of people want in his good graces or want to remain there. He said he received word that she was this way instead of any other.”

“Alive?” Arthur’s mind whirred frantically, trying to figure out who it was that had given her away. Someone in town? Mr. Walker or his mousy wife? Someone in camp?

“I haven’t heard otherwise,” The man in the gray jacket leaned forward, folding his hands on the table, “I’m thinkin’ a pampered lady like her isn’t going to be doing so well for herself this way.”

“If she’s this way at all, she’d surely be staying in Blackwater,” Arthur mumbled, gesturing with one hand toward the door of the saloon, thoughts still racing. How many men like Mister Donald had old Daddy Schofield hired? How many people had Mister Donald here already talked to? Catherine hadn’t necessarily been shouting from the rooftops about who she was and where she came from, but there had been more than a few situations where her name in the right ear had made things easier for herself and the gang.

“I’d agree with you,” Was the shrugging reply, “except she’d be easily found there. Miss Schofield is known for being rather clever— too clever for her own good, in the words of her father. Too clever to be where she’s sure to be found, I suspect. No, I’m thinking she’s somewhere else…”

“Like where?”

“Not sure, but I’m certain wherever she is, she’s not alone. Woman like that will have protection…”

Arthur accepted his drink from the bartender and drank it thoughtfully before speaking again, “You suppose she’s with some man out in the wilds? Woman like her?”

“Woman like her? No,” Donald shook his head, “she’s got a whole host of men at her beck ‘n call. Men addled by her beauty and charms to support her and defend her— I was warned that she would be anticipating his sending us. I expect she’s made her preparations.”

“You think all this up yourself?” Arthur laughed, despite the growing knot in his belly.

Four-hundred dollars was good money, especially just for information…

Blinking, Catherine laughed lightly, “How dramatic!”

“Who?” Mary-Beth asked, more curious than concerned. Tilly was frowning, and Jenny’s face seemed to threaten violence. Karen had stopped scoffing.

“I cannot say for certain who.” The woman shrugged, “But assuredly, it would be someone with the means and motivation to do so.”

The girls didn’t seem satisfied, but Catherine decided this silly adventure was concluded and carefully withdrew her hand, “I must thank you for your insight, Madame. This has been most instructive…”

Nazar’s look was pointed, but not harsh, that knowing look still in her eyes and tugging at her lips, “You are quick to discount me, but I advise you think well on what you have learned.”

“Oh, believe me,” Catherine smiled back, “it will be long on my mind.”

Without another glance back, Catherine went to where they’d left the horses.

When Donald didn’t answer, Arthur sighed and started to climb to his feet.

“…Well, my friend, it just so happens,” He said, “I heard some things that might help you.”

Four-hundred dollars was good money, the sort that would guarantee a good lead eventually—especially around these parts. Donald was smart enough, or experienced enough, to scent a good lead from a bad one at face value. There really only seemed to be one way to benefit from this situation.

“I knew it wasn’t a vain hope you might say so, Mister Kilgore.”

“Call me Arthur.”

“Alright, Arthur.”

Adjusting his hat, the outlaw indicated the street, “Your morgan tied up outside?”

“Certainly. Are we leaving?”

“Might as well tie up this business quick-like. Pretty sure you’ll find what you’re looking for a few minutes out of town. I’ll show you if you’re up for the ride.”

“Lead the way.”

Arthur hesitated, “That ain’t such a good idea,” With a jerk of his chin at the bartender, Arthur frowned, “Like you said: she’s like as not got all sorts of fools in her pocket…”

“… We’ll leave separately then.” Donald was quick to catch on, nodding, the gleam in his eyes seeming to approve of Arthur’s foresight, “Where do I meet you?”

“Other side of the arroyo south of town there’s a fallen in building with half a roof. Only real landmark ‘round here.”

Then Arthur walked out, noticing Donald approach the bar, asking something about the whiskey they’d been served.

It only took him a few minutes to ride out to the meeting place, and there he dismounted, leaving Slim loose to investigate the scrub while he waited in what little shade could be found. Afternoon marched on, and though autumn had come to the desert, the sun remained hot during the day. That would change as they drew closer to winter. Resigning to wait, Arthur sketched out his still-fresh memory of his meeting with the man from Michigan. If things went well, he’d see little of him afterwords. Which was a shame—parts of Arthur still suspected the two of them could have been friends.

Some time later, even despite the drone of industry that could still be heard from town, it was impossible to miss the approaching hoof-beats and the nervous disconcerted nickering of the morgan horse as they approached the dilapidated construct.

“You weren’t kidding,” Arthur smiled ruefully, “Poor thing must spook at its own shadow.”

“You weren’t either,” Donald replied, “about this being the only real landmark.”

“Sure. Lemme tie him up here so he don’ spook off while we’re lookin’…”

The hunter didn’t protest when Arthur took his reins as he dismounted to hitch the anxiously dancing horse to one of the standing posts, “Looking?”

“You got binoculars?”

“Of course.”

Looking over his shoulder, Arthur said, “There’s a mesa further south. Take a look up there. See if they’re millin’ about…”

“’They’…?”

Already following his instructions, Donald dug in his saddle bags, withdrawing a nice pair of binoculars, and brought them up to his face to inspect the terrain to the south. Arthur stepped to his side and touched his shoulder with one hand and pointed with his other to the familiar plateau. “There. See ‘em?”

There wasn’t much choice in the matter…

“…Yes.”

While Donald’s eyes and hands were occupied, turning to focus on where he’d indicated, Arthur dropped his pointing hand and took the opportunity to bury his belt knife in the other man’s windpipe from the soft spot under his jaw, to the hilt. Choking on six inches of steel and his own blood, the hunter’s hands were still quick to abandon the optics, letting them simply fall, and reached for his gunbelt.

“Shhh-shhh, Donald…” Arthur muttered, knocking the faster hand aside and interrupting the other by yanking the knife out in a spray of blood, slashing down through the throat, and jamming the knife bodily between the third and fourth ribs, “No reason to get the town in a fuss…”

A gunshot would draw attention. A fleeing horse would as well. The morgan smelled blood and danced aside, tossing its head, snorting harshly, but remained fastened to the post.

Bright blood throbbed in time with the dying man’s pulse, filling the air with the scent of iron, soaking into both Donald and Arthur’s shirt as the killer held his victim upright, slowly lowering him to the desert floor. The parched ground gladly drank up the blood that pattered down onto it.

Donald’s eyes locked with Arthur’s even as his mouth worked uselessly, his voice cut open with his throat to prevent him from shouting.

“…It’s bad business, partner.” Arthur told him quietly, his own voice devoid of inflection.

With that, the mysterious hunter, Donald, from Graysea, Michigan, passed from this world.

Arthur did not think about the daughters and wife that would not see him at Christmas time, and would not be benefiting from five-thousand dollars— or any income from the man of the house, at all. Instead, he concerned himself with the task of checking his possessions— a dead man had no need for cash and valuables, after all, and taking his effects would help disguise this situation as a simple anonymous robbery.

He was not too surprised to see that Donald did not carry the four hundred dollars on his person. He was not that much a fool. Maybe it was waiting in his hotel room, or a deposit box in the bank. Both out of Arthur’s reach right now.

The others knew right away there’d be nothing good coming of approaching Arthur now. If his being covered in blood and dirt without an animal carcass to show for it didn’t deter them, the look on his face surely did.

All save one.

She was perhaps the very last person he wanted to see. Especially now.

She knew it as well, but that nobody would give him more than a glance, much less ask after his welfare, Catherine’s ire was sparked, as well as her alarm and curiosity.

“What—” He turned and stepped quickly to avoid her, but she maneuvered deftly to stay with him, “—what in the world—”

“—It’s nothin’ Miss Ca—” He cut her off, his voice rough. He’d have to tell her, but now wasn’t the time.

His tone and obvious falsehood only increased every aspect of her vexation, “—Don’t be absurd! You’re covered in blood—”

Too late she heard his tone sharpen in warning. “—Ain’t nothin’ you need to concern—”

“—Is it human blood—”

Something about the way she was needling him, some quality in her voice just now, as well as the incessant pressure, rubbed him raw inside. A blister of bitterness in his memory. She wasn’t the first woman to disparage him his actions…

Thoroughly aggravated, the outlaw loomed over the lady, his mouth a tight line as his brows cinched together.

“Yes.” Was his admission, his voice cold and quiet, “It is. If you didn’t know, Miss Catherine, that happens sometimes in the outlaw life—”

An angry, likely humiliated flush bloomed in Catherine’s cheeks and she began to protest, “—I’m well aware—”

He talked over her, his voice growing in volume and open anger with every word, as if they were being pumped fresh from the open sore that had flared to feeling inside him, “— so as to keep safe our free way of life. We do as needs doin’, Miss Schofield. I’ll do whatever necessary to keep these folk safe, and I ain’t gonna go out of my way to mind your ‘delicate sensibilities’ whilst I do it. I ain’t gonna dissemble with you ‘bout that. If you feel strongly about it, miss, I advise you to mind your peace!”

The sudden quiet informed that much of the camp had overheard. Catherine’s face remained expressionless, however, as she watched his face, remaining silent long enough for the usual camp activity to resume.

Also long enough for Arthur to feel the niggling discomfort of guilt for his outburst.

"... Don't do that." Her words cracked with frost, "Don't look at me and see somebody else— don’t speak to me like I'm someone else."

"Well I'm sorry—”

“—You're not sorry! You don't understand at all what I mean. But I see you, well enough, and I thought that was your own blood. I thought you were hurt. Don't confuse me with some noble soul who cares about the general suffering of others, Arthur. You're making it enough trouble worrying about those in my vicinity..."

Clearing his throat, uncomfortable with her inspection of the deeper goings-on of his self, Arthur reached into his satchel and wordlessly handed her the photo he’d taken from Donald.

“… Man from Michigan showed me this,” He explained quietly, “Offered me four-hundred dollars for any information I could give him. Says your father hired him.”

Her expression was closed, despite the sudden blood-drained pallor of her skin, “… I see. Are you hurt?”

“No. No, I’m fine…”

“That’s good,” The lady nodded and handed him back the photo, “… You should wash up before Miss Grimshaw finds you like this.”

Without another word, he turned to do so.

Catherine chewed her lip, turning over these troubling tidings in her thoughts. She would need to plan wisely and keep even more sharply aware of any news…

More than once, however, her thoughts snagged on the fact that Arthur Morgan had killed a man, seemingly in cold blood, for her.

For her freedom? Or simply to keep her?

Or should she take him at his word— that he’d done it to protect the Van der Linde gang?

[zukoromantic]

Late Secret Santa 2018

So I am technically a week too late with this, but better late than never... right??

MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES!!!

This is for the DuckTales secret santa thing and I got @im-sacred67 !! (They seem like a really cool person, I hope you have a merry christmas my friend uwu!) Along with a couple of other things they enhoy the Webby x Lena which is mY JAM so here we go.

So at this point Webby and ONLY Webby knows that Lena is her shadow. I went for that as I didn't want to fill this thing with my angsty headcanons, I figured that wouldn't make for a nice tone as a gift. SO HERE WE GO I GUESS??I hope you somehow enjoy this, whoops

-----------------------------------------

"Webby, that's... still not actually how you're supposed to do it, I told you." Huey cringed at the sight of Webby landing safely in front of him after decorating the giant Christmas tree in a way that others would have considered 'dangerous'.

Dewey who had been hanging some candy canes on the lower branches of the tree took a few steps back until he was standing next to his brother. He took a look at their work. "I think it looks awesome", was all he commented.

One look at Huey made Webby be able to tell he was more than ready to contradict that statement. Before even being able to open his bill however, Donald approached from behind and wrapped his arms around the two of the trio.

"Ooh", he started, "we're not gonna fight on Christmas day. I think the tree looks-", he paused for a second. "Um, very pretty!"

Webby had to supress a grin at Huey rolling his eyes.

"Don't be so down, Hubert. There is no wrong way to get Christmas spirit into the house. Or - the mansion I guess."

In that moment the door was being opened in a loud manner.

"Hey everyone!"

"Hey Launchpad!", Dewey greeted him back.

"The tree's looking great once again!", the pilot said.

Webby watched as everyone started talking and chatting about this special gathering. She decided this was the perfect time to withdraw from the group. "I'm, uh, gonna go", she said, knowing nobody noticed anyway during the mess that their talking seemed like.

Without anyone following her she went upstairs to her room. Once she had entered she locked the door and breathed out in relief.

As she took a few steps forward she made sure to keep an eye on her shadow until the light was behind her in a way that made it appear on the wall in front of her.

"Lena?"

No response.

"Lena", Webby said now with more certainty. "I know you can hear me."

She watched as her own shadow started to change its figure and turned into the silhouette of her best friend. It wasn't an unfamiliar sight by now yet it still never failed to amaze her.

Even when she started to speak it gave Webby a weird feeling. "What is it?", she asked, slight anger in het voice.

"Lena, do you really not want to celebrate Christmas with us? It's gonna be so much fun, I promise!"

Lena sighed. "Webby, I really don't. You know I never celebrated Christmas before and I don't want to make everything awkward. Besides, do you think now is the right time to tell everyone that the shadow of your uncle's greatest enemy is still around? In... in a way at least..."

A frown formed upon Webby's face. So far Lena had not wanted to tell anyone that she was still present. She had said that she didn't want to upset anyone. At least not yet. Webby knew that was stupid and still she had to respect her best friend's decision. However that did not mean she couldn't try and talk her into reason.

"But it's so magical!", she insisted. The Duck family had seen more questionable things during their adventures, an old friend returning would not spoil the mood, she was convinced. Celebrating without the whole family present - or at least as present as could be - did not feel right. Lena was a part of the family, despite what she thought.

"I believe you... I just don't feel like it, okay?"

Even by the few features that her friend had been left with Webby could see the sadness on her face. She sighed in defeat. What was the point? She wasn't going to convince Lena any time soon. And even if she could she didn't want to force her friend into doing something that she didn't feel well about. She sat down onto the red carpet of her room and just stared at the ground. "I guess I just really want you to have fun again. You know, like back before the whole Magica-taking-over-thing."

"What?", Lena asked, judging by her voice a bit shocked. "No, no, I am having fun, believe me! Don't worry about me!"

Webby raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Because being trapped in the two-dimensional world of shadows without interacting with anyone is so much fun?"

"I am interacting. With you. Remember? Besides, do you have any idea how terrible it was to constantly have aunt Magica - I mean, Magica at your throat? I wasn't free either back then, I constantly had the pressure of listening to every single stupid word she said. Now I can hang out with you and don't have to worry about her anymore in any way. It's like a vacation to be honest."

Though even the motivating look on Lena's face couldn't quite bring Webby to smile. "But - wouldn't you rather spend your time with your family? And I'm not talking about Magica. I mean the family you actually belong to. You know, us."

"You know, you keep saying I'm a part of the family. What makes you even say that? What do I even have to do with all of you in your eyes? I mean, yes the triplets are nice and I did talk to Scrooge and your grandma a bit, but - the only person I'm actually, you know, close to, is..." Lena didn't finish her sentence. She looked away. Webby wasn't sure if shadows could cry. But if they could, she was pretty sure Lena was close to it. The sadness, almost fear, in her eyes made Webby feel a stabbing pain in her chest. Lena really thought she did not fit into this family. This huge crazy family. With nephews, housekeepers and butlers. With pilots slash drivers and granddaughters of employees. Why wouldn't someone who saved all of them from certain doom and - more importantly - a close friend who meant a lot to them not have a place in this? Why couldn't Lena see that? Why didn't she see how amazing and special she really was?

"You know what?", Webby asked. "If you don't want to celebrate Christmas with a big family, then let's just spend a little more time together now. Just the two of us. You are supposed to celebrate Christmas with the people you love the most after all." As soon as those last words left Webby's bill she felt her cheeks blushing a little. She wasn't even exactly sure why.

"But isn't everyone going to wonder where you are?", Lena asled with an undertone of slight disbelief.

"Don't worry, I'm sure we still have some time. They're quite the crowd so I don't think they'll realize I'm gone too soon. Besides we were only planning to eat dinner in, like, 45 minutes."

Lena gave it a short chuckle. A sound that made Webby's heart jump. "What's so funny?", she wanted to know, grinning already.

"Oh, nothing special. This only reminded me of our first meeting. When we ruined Ma Beagle's birthday and the triplets came looking for you because you weren't at the beach anymore. They were totally freaking out at the playground."

Webby couldn't help but laugh too. "Pfft, yeah, that was fun."

As quickly as the joy had found its way into Lena's eyes however, it left them again already. "We were always having fun. Before I met you, I didn't even know what 'having fun' actually meant." She chuckled again. "Sorry, I'm being super cheesy right now."

Webby looked into her eyes. "It's okay", she said, moving a bit closer to the wall that the silhouette of her friend could be seen on.

A few seconds they just sat there, looking into each other's eyes. Webby fully took the moment in.

"Lena?", she broke the silence.

"Yeah?"

"I miss you. I miss you a lot." Webby felt like she was close to tearing up. It was true. She missed her friend so much it hurt. She missed her everyday. Every time she saw the triplets having a good time, every time she was having a good time herself. It always reminded her of how Lena couldn't be having such a good time along side her. It just didn't feel right. If they were supposed to be a team how could she be having fun while Lena was trapped on walls and floors, only catching a glimpse of this world's beauty and colors. It wasn't fair. She wished she could just tell uncle Scrooge and they would all find a solution together. After all, as one of the most famous adventurers of all time - and probably the oldest duck in the world - he had to be able to figure something out. If only Lena would let them.

"You don't have to miss me. I'm right here, remember? Actually, as your shadow, we're now closer than ever. No reason to be down", Lena was trying to cheer her up.

"I know. But you're not really... You know, actually here." Webby placed her right hand on the wall next to the image of her friend. A compassionate look on her face, Lena slowly put her own hand in that spot. It might have been her imagination but Webby was sure she could feel the hand touching her own.

"Trust me, I am here. And I mean - I'm more than honored to be your shadow."

Webby was going to smile at the comment, but she just couldn't. Not the loving words could fill the slight feeling of emptiness inside her chest. She knew it was ridiculous. Lena was right after all. She was around. Webby didn't actually need to miss her. Yet she just couldn't help but feel sad. "I do believe you", she said. "I just wish you could be here. You know. Like for a hug."

Lena startled back at that last sentence and what had felt like her hand before was now nothing more than the cold wall. As a slight wave of disappointment overcame her, Webby removed her hand from the spot as well.

"I guess", Lena said and Webby wasn't sure but she felt like what she saw in her eyes now was guilt. Guilt? Because of what? Because of Webby? Did she feel bad for her now? That wasn't how things were supposed to be. Lena was the one who needed her life back, not her. After a split second however her expression changed into a slightly more positive look. "You know... I suppose tomorrow or whenever this whole Christmas thing is wrapped up, we could, I don't know, tell Scrooge about - this whole thing. If you want to that is."

Webby gasped in excitement. Though she was suspicious as to whether Lena was just saying this out of guilt or not. "You mean it?"

"Well, you probably do have a point, don't you? I mean maybe the old man can do something after all." She began to smile while she was speaking these words. But it wasn't a forced smile that was only trying to reassure Webby. Ahe knew that smile well. This was a true smile, she could tell. And it was this moment that made her be certain that Lena was not saying this simply out of guilt. She wasn't entirely sure what that look in her friend's eyes was however. If she had to choose she would have said it was hope. Hope that perhaps she would be able to actually be around again. Not just as a shadow but as a whole being. As herself.

Webby was overcome with such a sudden wave of joy, she would have hugged Lena if it had not been for the circumstances making it quite difficult.

"You won't regret it, I promise!"

"Let's hope so." And there she was again. There was the Lena that Webby knew. Not as sad, not as scared, not as sorry. Just Lena. The sassy girl who always managed to be cool and would always be able to think of a clever come-back to anything under any circumstances. Webby could not supress a grin. That was the Lena she wanted to see again, the Lena that she hoped she was going to see more often from now on. Once she regained her physical form everything would be fine like it used to be, except better. They could go back to going on their little adventures together and Lena would finally have a family. One that actually cared about her. One that made her feel home. With all those thoughts, Webby was almost sure she cared about Lena more than she herself did. Well somebody had to.

"So, I believe you should be heading back to the others then. We don't want them worrying too much again, do we?"

"You're probably right..."

It was hard for Webby to loose her gaze from her friend, but eventually she managed to step towards the door. Before unlocking it she gave Lena one last look. She smiled.

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too."

After she had opened the door and exited her room she checked if her friend was still there. But as she looked she had to realize that her shadow had gone back to its usual shape. There was no Lena. Just the result of the light not being able to enlighten the space behind her. It was funny to think about, considering she knew how much more to her shadow there really was. At least for now. If she was right, uncle Scrooge would know - or somehow find - a way to get Lena back her physical form. And if there was anything she was certain about as of this moment, it was that things would somehow work out. They would find a way. As family. After all, that's what they always did. That was just a fact.

Merry Christmas!!

[douxreviews]

Pride and Prejudice (2005) Review

"Your hands are cold."

This version of Pride and Prejudice is not well loved by die-hard Austen fans. It changes things and speeds up the timeline of the book to a brisk and unbelievable pace. Keira Knightley is too flirty and Matthew Macfadyen isn’t up to the role, or so the common complaints go. For my part, I love this movie. It’s not my favorite version, but that’s about the worst I can say about it.

The script takes liberties with the characters and the social edicts of the time, it’s true, but in my opinion, all is done for the greater purpose of making the story relatable. The film manages to translate the feel of the book to something modern audiences will easily understand without losing the essence of the time period. It’s actually quite impressive. 

For instance, an early scene shows Lizzy and Charlotte Lucas gossiping under the bleachers at a dance. Miss Elizabeth Bennet would, of course, never do anything like that, but the result of the scene is that Charlotte and Lizzy’s closeness is established instantly without taking time away from moving the plot along. In a similar fashion, Lizzy’s flirtation with Wickham rapidly discloses her romantic interest in him and her open weeping in front of Darcy shows how comfortable she is with him, all without taking up valuable time.

The idea continues with costuming and set direction. Miss Bingley’s gown for the Netherfield ball is an excellent example. I don’t believe spaghetti straps were invented at the time, but the different fashion of her dress communicates how fashionable she was in comparison with the more old-fashioned dresses of the Bennet sisters. Netherfield is decorated sparsely, in line with the relative minimalism that is considered elegant today. A fashionable home in Regency period England would be overrun with art, statues, and other decorative objects, but today less is more, thus the minimalistic Netherfield looks far more fancy and rich to us than the cluttered Bennet house.

This is also the most overtly romantic of all the Pride and Prejudices. Elizabeth and Darcy in the field at dawn is like a dream. It’s clearly a departure from Austen’s original text, but, let’s face it, we read/watch Pride and Prejudice for the romance. Its light satire and well crafted characters are all well and good, but we love the damn thing for Elizabeth and Darcy. What’s the harm in acknowledging that and giving the audience a bit of what they want?

The film boasts my favorite Bennet family. Brenda Blethyn (thankfully) dials back the annoying on Mrs. Bennet. She is still an embarrassment to her older girls, but she is less obnoxious to the audience than the Mrs. Bennet of the 1995 miniseries. All the Bennet women, in fact, are fantastic. Rosamund Pike plays Jane who is (for once) actually prettier than Elizabeth. The story makes a rather big deal of Jane being the prettiest one, but in virtually every other film version, it seems the casting director couldn’t help but make the heroine the pretty one. I like the levels of pretty Jane and Elizabeth have in this movie. There’s no denying Keira Knightley is gorgeous, but Rosamund Pike is more traditionally beautiful. Pike’s Jane is very good. She isn’t as annoyingly perfect as other Janes. It might be my imagination, but I think she plays her a little dim as well, which works.

Kitty (a pre-pixie, pre-peroxide Carey Mulligan, if you can believe it) is also slightly different than in other versions. She is more of a hanger-on to Lydia than a partner in crime. Jena Malone’s Lydia is less obnoxious than other versions, although I don’t think she quite nails the character. Honestly, I’m not sure anyone has. Julia Sawalha (1995) came the the closest, but she is just a little too annoying. For me, Mary Bennet (Talulah Riley in her first film role) is the true standout. While other Marys have simply been punchlines, Riley brings something very real to the character. She feels left out by her sisters and is desperate to carve out a niche for herself in the family and in local society. She is always the overlooked one.

I must admit I haven’t liked Donald Sutherland since I found out Joss Whedon disliked Donald Sutherland. And yes, before you ask, I would jump off a bridge if Joss Whedon told me to. That said, Sutherland’s mumbly performance of Mr. Bennet might be the worst I’ve seen. He did get the character’s laziness down, but in certain scenes, he is almost indecipherable. Enunciation. It’s a thing.

Despite Keira Knightley’s excellent performance, Jennifer Ehle remains my favorite Lizzy. She’s just truer to the character. As far as Matthew Macfadyen goes, his performance is flawless excepting the fact that he is not Colin Firth. Had the 1995 version of Pride and Prejudice never been made, I think Macfadyen might have gone down in history as the quintessential Mr. Darcy. Sadly, he lost the crown to Firth by a decade. You just can’t do better than Colin Firth, sorry.

As for the more supporting characters, the Bingleys and Georgiana Darcy are good, but I prefer those in the 1995 miniseries. They just don’t get enough screen time here to really stand out. I do like the goofiness Simon Woods brought to the role of Bingley and the mean girl-ittude of Kelly Reilly’s Caroline. As for Tamzin Merchant (Georgiana), I still haven’t forgiven her for how annoying she was in The Tudors.

Judi Dench is a god, which should be news to no one. The only better Lady Catherine I can imagine is Maggie Smith. It should be noted that both are way too old for the role (remember Lady Catherine is supposed to have a daughter in her early twenties) but to hell with that. When one can fit Judi Dench into a movie, one does.

Speaking of excellence in casting, for once (FOR ONCE!) supposedly plain Charlotte Lucas is not drop-dead gorgeous. Claudie Blakley is adorable and excellent in the role. She is completely likable but adds Charlotte’s desperation for a husband in undertones. That’s largely unseen in other versions. Other Charlottes come across as man-stealing bitches. Most characters in the film have an earnestness about them, even the redoubtable Mr. Collins. He is less of a punchline here than in other film versions, even than in the book. He is still obnoxious, god knows, but it’s dialed down to a believable level.

Bits and Pieces:

Many reviewers criticized the movies for using an ampersand instead of the word “and,” accusing the filmmakers of deviating from Austen’s standards. These reviewers should take a look at Austen’s personal letters. She uses ampersands constantly. 

Emma Thompson did uncredited rewrites on the script. Love her.

The soundtrack to this movie is one of the most sinfully beautiful pieces of music I’ve ever heard. I listen to it all the time. It’s particularly good for bubble baths.

Favorite Moments:

The Bennet girls rushing to be ready to greet Bingley and Darcy and then pretending that they’ve just been sitting calmly

Bingley practicing proposing to Jane (kindly played by Darcy)

Elizabeth and Darcy in the field

Darcy pacing outside the Bennets’ house as he waits for Mr. Bennet’s word of approval. Darcy is cutest when he’s at his most awkward. This goes for all versions.

four out of four cold hands

sunbunny

[rebellingstagnationblog]

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas - World of Color

6,073 words. Four character's POV's. And a whole lot of feels.

—…—…—…— Scrooge McDuck —…—…—…—

Drake, claiming to have skills of a True Outdoorsman — the capital letters very strongly implied — had disappeared into the forest for about an hour with only Launchpad and Gosalyn for company. Scrooge was fairly certain that these "True Outdoorsman" skills were invented rules of survival from the mallard himself, but the group had managed to bring home a healthy sizable tree, so he didn't press the issue. He had certainly seen stranger things; who was he to judge Drake's Wilderness Knowhow?

(The mallard had a way of speaking that allowed you to hear the grammar and punctuation in his sentences; it was impressive, really. Scrooge had never met anyone who was so verbally precise.)

Everyone crowded around the tree as Launchpad righted it in its proper place, some remarking on its high quality — which caused Drake to preen — and others unpacking the decorations from their boxes.

The owners of the cabin had offered to provide a fully decorated tree with all the other included amenities, but Scrooge had declined. And he was grateful for that decision now. Decorating the tree had been a long standing tradition in the McDuck household.

He glanced over to Donald, who was untangling the string lights, muttering under his breath when he encountered a particularly difficult knot in the cable.

Scrooge was not an overly affectionate man. But Christmas seemed to bring out his sentimentality in full force. As he observed his nephew, he had little trouble in imagining Donald as a younger — and much smaller — duckling, decorating a tree with his twin sister.

—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—

"Uncle Scrooge!" came the small distressed voice of Donald from the sitting room where Scrooge had left the children not five minutes ago. He removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his bill before loosing a long sigh.

"I'll call you back, Carl."

"We are closing soon, Mr. McDuck."

"Ten minutes."

He threw the receiver down and scooted back from his desk which was covered in official papers dotted with red pen marks.

How difficult was it to decorate a tree? It was fairly straightforward; why was he being called away from his work again to tend to these children? He hoped Hortence and Quackmore would return from their shopping excursion soon. He'd already wasted far too much time on the Duck family last night when he'd welcomed them to the mansion and they'd all gone to dinner to start their Christmas holiday. Scrooge had important — time sensitive — work to complete. If he couldn't get all his paperwork filed properly by today, he couldn't take out the loan, and he'd have to completely scrap his trip to the Maldives.

'This,' Scrooge thought as he replaced his glasses and stomped down the hallway, 'is why I'm not going to have children.'

"What now, lad?" he snapped as he entered the sitting room. "Time is money, which I do not have enough of."

Donald and Della stood frozen, looking up at their uncle in trepidation. Della was half wrapped in string lights while Donald sat amongst boxes of carefully wrapped ornaments, a pout on his small face.

Della suddenly grinned and continued to untangle the lights. "Of course you have enough money, Uncle Scrooge! You live in this big fancy house. And you have servants!"

"Aye," Scrooge acknowledged, glancing between the twins to ascertain why his presence had been requested. "But money is not just about living costs, lass, it's about investments. I hardly expect a child to understand." He waved away whatever Della was going to say and focused on Donald. "What did you need?"

The boy sniffed and pointed at Della. "She's not letting me help! She says—"

"That is what you called me for?" Scrooge thundered. "I have paperwork that needs filing in," he checked his pocket watch, "thirty minutes and you pull me away because you can't get along with your sister?"

Donald shrank under the force of his uncle's ire, but Della dropped the string lights and put her hands on her hips. "Don't talk to Donald like that!"

"Then let him decorate somethin' on this blasted tree!" With that, Scrooge turned on his heel and returned to his study, slamming the door shut behind him.

After convincing the bank manager to stay for an extra half an hour, Scrooge managed to get all his paperwork approved. Feeling lighter, he emerged from his study to search for Duckworth. He had to be around somewhere; Scrooge needed the car at 8:00am sharp tomorrow morning.

While hunting for his butler, Scrooge passed the sitting room where he'd left the kids. He should probably check on them, make sure they hadn't killed one another or set the place on fire, or whatever other mischief children got themselves into.

The room was intact and the tree fully — though sloppily — decorated. The lights weren't evenly dispersed, the ornaments weren't spaced very well, and the whole top half of the tree was bare. As if that was as high as they could reach. Why didn't they use a ladder or step stool? After a quick glance around the room, he realized there wasn't one.

Something like guilt clawed at him. They had probably been too afraid to ask for anything after he'd yelled. He deserved this sad little tree with it's cluttered decorations; it would serve as a reminder to keep his temper in check.

He turned, desperate to make his escape before anyone wandered back into the room, but was stopped by Donald, who was standing in the doorway. His eyes were wide, hands fiddling with the star that was supposed to sit at the top of the tree.

Scrooge took a shaky breath before smiling sheepishly. He didn't know why he was so nervous. "Seems yeh figured out who would decorate the tree."

Donald nodded, eyes dropping to the star in hand. "Just need to put the star on top. But I'm not tall enough. Della went to find Mrs. Beakley cause I couldn't find Duckworth."

"I could help ye, lad," Scrooge heard himself say. Donald's eyes snapped up to his face, hesitation written in their depths. It wasn't until then, when the possibility of rejection was before him, that Scrooge desperately hoped for forgiveness. He didn't deserve it, but he wanted it. If only because it would wipe the fear from Donald's face.

"I-I don't wanna bother you," Donald said haltingly, as if choosing his words carefully.

Scrooge kneeled down so the boy wouldn't have to crane his neck back to look at him. Donald clutched the star to his chest as if afraid it would be torn away. Scrooge schooled his expression into what he hoped was a soft one.

"'Tis not a bother. And — I'm sorry fer yelling at you. Sometimes my temper gets the better o' me."

Donald's eyes brightened in understanding. "Mine, too! Mom says I gotta learn to control it, but sometimes I just can't."

Scrooge chuckled. "Yeh come by it honestly, lad. The McDuck temper is legendary."

"Really?"

"Oh, aye. Yer ancestor for whom your named, Donald McDuck, would grow so angry when playing golf that James II outlawed the sport."

Donald's eyes were round, this time in amazement, and he took a step closer to Scrooge. "The whole sport?"

Scrooge nodded. "The whole sport. Yer mother, too, has quite a temper on her."

"Mom?" Donald asked.

"'Tis probably why she wants you to try and control it. But don't let her fool you; she's a spitfire."

Donald smiled and the guilt unclenched around Scrooge's heart, replaced with a warmth.

Glancing down at the star in his hands, Donald sighed then straightened his shoulders, looking up at Scrooge. "Will you help me put the star on the tree, Uncle Scrooge?"

He grinned. "O' course, lad." Scrooge hoisted his nephew up onto his shoulders and walked over to the tree, leaning in close so Donald had less space to stretch across.

Securing the star, Donald watched to make sure it would stay in place as he asked, "What's Mom done when she's angry?"

Scrooge chuckled again. "There was an incident at Killmotor Hill where she chased away the United States Army with just a broom."

Donald leaned forward to look at his uncle in upside down shock, causing Scrooge to burst out laughing.

"I couldn't find Mrs. Beakley— hey!" Della ran into the room. "You got the star on!"

"Uncle Scrooge helped," Donald said, looking back up at the tree.

Studying it again, Scrooge found he didn't mind the haphazard decorating at all. "Yeh did a good job, kids." When he glanced down, he found Della studying him, but after a moment, she smiled and leaned against his side. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders and keeping his other hand on Donald's knee, Scrooge admired the tree.

Until Donald looked down at his sister and said, "Uncle Scrooge was telling me stories about Mom's temper."

Della's eyes glittered mischievously as she led Scrooge to a nearby armchair. With a child on each armrest, Scrooge regaled them with his memories until his sister and her husband returned.

—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—

It hadn't been the last time Scrooge had put business before his family, he was ashamed to admit. But he eventually saw the error of his ways and asked for forgiveness, which he'd always been granted. More times than he rightfully deserved.

Setting his cane aside, Scrooge reached for the string lights, saying, "Let me help you, lad."

Donald glanced up, the darkness on his face clearing as Scrooge took up the fight against the decorations. "Thanks," he said.

"Happy to help," Scrooge said with a smile. Donald easily returned it.

'There are worse things than being accused of than sentimentality,' Scrooge thought as he untangled the string lights with his nephew.

—…—…—…— Donald Duck —…—…—…—

Once the string lights had been detangled, Donald had taken one end while Dewey had taken the other, carefully weaving the small colored bulbs through the branches. It was an impressive tree, just the right fullness with no bare spots and standing at the perfect height in their living room. Donald was highly suspect of Drake's methods, but you couldn't argue with his results.

He gave instructions to Dewey as he wrapped the lights around the tree, showing his nephew how best to wind the string within the bowels of the boughs and how to highlight different branches. Donald had become rather protective of his tree decorating process over the years, especially the lights; that had been his job since he'd been young.

But he had to pass his knowledge down, and Dewey was the most receptive, having the same high standards and careful eye for detail as his uncle. Huey was too excitable, too impulsive, and Louie had never been one to take charge. So Huey laid out the ornaments while Louie and Scrooge untangled more lights that they then handed to Dewey and Donald.

Dewey took Donald's instruction well to the point where Donald was able to allow him to complete the top of the tree himself. The other two gave their opinions, which Dewey would accept if they were right, or disregard if it went against his instinct.

Sitting next to Daisy on a nearby loveseat, Donald put an arm around her and she immediately curled into his side. He watched his nephews with pride swelling in his chest, more grateful than he had words for that they were getting to spend another Christmas together.

—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—

Donald stepped out of the cab, the knot in his gut loosening when he saw the mansion standing in front of him, stately with white drifts of snow piled along the facade. Shouldering his bag, Donald bid his driver a merry Christmas before approaching the house. Once he set foot inside, where the warmth enveloped him like a blanket, the smell of gingerbread so strong he could taste the bite of spice on his tongue, Donald released a sigh as his lingering anxiety melted away.

He was home.

Just in time for Christmas.

He'd been told that he would have to spend the holidays at the Duckburg naval base to help with their influx of charity events, but the toy drive had finished early and Donald had been able to convince his superior officer to give him the night and the next day off so he could see his family. He had to report back at 0600 the day after Christmas, but it was worth it to be able to spend the holiday with his boys.

Stashing his coat in the closet, Donald left his bag by the front door and wandered down to the sitting room that had been used for family Christmas festivities for as long as he could remember. The mansion was adorned in its customary garlands, holly berries, wreaths, and numerous Christmas trees.

Donald had probably missed decorating the family's tree, arriving so late on Christmas Eve, but that didn't matter. His boys did.

Having reached the sitting room, Donald poked his head in.

Uncle Scrooge was handing the boys presents, wrapped in gilded papers and ornate bows, the kids eagerly piling them under the tree.

"This weird shaped one's for you, Dewey," Louie said, holding it out for his brother's inspection. Dewey took the long package, studying it before placing it alongside the others.

"Aren't you gonna shake it or anything?" Huey asked, setting down a rectangular present to he could face his brother.

"Ye aren't supposed to shake or peek at your gifts before opening them, lad," Uncle Scrooge berated.

"But that's the fun part!" Huey lamented.

Uncle Scrooge scowled. "I'll station Duckworth at this door all night if I hear any more talk of peeking at the presents. It's tradition to open all the gifts on Christmas morning with the family."

"It's not gonna feel much like Christmas without Uncle Donald," said Dewey, pushing a pile of presents farther under the tree.

"Aye, I know, lad. But he's doing important work that he can't be pulled away from."

"At least his presents for us came!" said Louie, nudging Dewey. "That way he'll still kinda be here with us."

Dewey sighed. "But it's not the same."

Thoroughly warmed by his family's affection, Donald stepped into the doorway. "Good thing I got the day off, then."

The boys whirled around, identical grins on their faces as they cried, "Uncle Donald!" in unison. They scrambled over to the door, all three leaping into his arms. Donald caught them with practiced ease and nuzzled each of them individually.

"Welcome home, lad," Uncle Scrooge said, a smile on his beak. He walked over, patting Donald on the shoulder. "How long will ye be stayin' for?"

"Just for tomorrow," Donald said, grinning down at his boys. "I gotta be back at the base on the 26th."

"But you'll be here for Christmas!" exclaimed Louie.

Donald nodded and the boys cheered, squirming out of his embrace to drag him over to the tree.

"We had to decorate without you, but whaddya think?"

"We got your presents! See? And we have some for you!"

"Wanna help us put out the milk and cookies, Uncle Donald?"

Even as the chaos of three excited boys on Christmas Eve descended around him, Donald couldn't wipe the smile from his beak. It had been months since they'd been together, and he'd missed them all desperately. Even though he knew that they were well looked after by Uncle Scrooge, Donald still felt guilty that he missed so much of their lives. But hearing snippets of it now in between their high emotions of the holiday soothed the ache of separation.

It was sensible Uncle Scrooge that reminded the boys that they needed to be asleep for Santa to come. Donald took them up to their room and tucked each of them in.

Huey and Louie fell asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows, but Dewey stayed awake, his large eyes reflecting the light filtering in from the hallway.

Smoothing a hand through his feathers, Donald smiled softly. "Go to sleep," he said gently. "I'll see you in the morning."

Dewey smiled and curled onto his side, closing his eyes.

Donald stayed for a few more moments, carding his fingers through Dewey's downy feathers.

He was sure Dewey was asleep when the young duck suddenly whispered, "I love you, Dad."

That happened sometimes. When the boys were sleep deprived, nervous, or sick, they'd slip and call him "dad". He never corrected them, even though it was probably disrespectful to Della. The happiness that surged through him when he was given the honorary title always held his tongue.

Leaning down, Donald pressed a kiss to Dewey's forehead and whispered, "I love you, Dewey." That seemed to be what he needed, because in the next moment, Dewey was fast asleep.

His smile still plastered on his beak, Donald crept out of their room.

When he went down to the kitchen to grab something to eat, Uncle Scrooge was there with a plate already prepared.

—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—

"What do ya think, Uncle D?" Dewey asked, leaning against the back of the loveseat, eyes fixed on the tree. "I do okay?"

Donald studied Dewey's handiwork as Huey and Louie separated the ornaments by color, arguing over whether they should color block the tree or mix them.

The lights were on, the tree glistening against the evening light. They were evenly spaced and wove in and out of the branches expertly, the innermost illuminating the tree from within and the outermost sitting delicately on the branches.

Donald glanced up with a smile. "Looks good."

"Eh," Dewey said with a shrug. "Needs some improvement, but that's what next year's for."

"Next year I'll let you do the whole thing on your own."

"Yeah?" Dewey asked, his eyes wide in excitement.

"Yeah." Donald tousled Dewey's feathers. Dewey half heartedly batted his uncle's hand away, but was grinning as he rejoined his brothers.

Daisy snuggled more securely into Donald's side as the two settled into watching the kids decorate the tree.

Donald may have missed some of his boys' childhood while with the Navy, but he was glad to have spent the majority of their lives with them. He wouldn't have traded it for anything.

—…—…—…— Goofy Goof —…—…—…—

Christmas had always been Goofy's favorite holiday. It was a day instilled with generations of family traditions that his father had passed down to him, and which he, in turn, had passed down to his son.

Max had not been as passionate about tradition when he was younger. Truth be told, it was where many of their arguments had come from. Goofy wanting instill a lesson, and Max wanting nothing to do with it, more concerned with seeing his friends or going to parties or just too afraid of what the Goof name, and all of its history, would do to his image.

Thankfully, Max had outgrown that resistance. For the most part. There were still a few lingering Goof family idiosyncrasies that made him hesitate.

But Christmas wasn't one of them.

Oh, he never matched Goofy's exuberance for the holiday, and he had never been thrilled about all the yard decorations. For the most part, though, Max was on board for all things merry and bright.

Taking stock of the ornaments the Duck triplets were categorizing, Goofy and Max glanced back to the tree every few minutes to gauge how many of them would fit onto the branches. Luckily, it was a large tree, so Goofy didn't anticipate too much trouble.

But he let Maxie take the lead.

He wanted to see what his son had learned over the years, and dealing with foreign ornaments that didn't have any significance to the Goof family was the perfect test.

—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—

Setting down the box of garland, Goofy turned to observe Max's progress with the tree. But he tripped on something mid-turn and tumbled to the ground, coming to rest underneath the pine's low-hanging branches.

As he shook his head to clear it, he felt a small hand curl around his shoulder.

"You okay, Dad?" Max asked.

"Sure am!" Peering up at the tree, Goofy's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why're all the ornaments on the bottom?"

"Do you like it?" Max studied it himself, smiling. "I put the ornaments on in groups. See? All the reindeer are together. And the snowflakes. And all the snowmen."

Goofy righted himself and looked closer. There was logic to it, even if it was overly crowded. But it wasn't, technically, correct.

Tree decorating was one of the Goofy family traditions that had been handed down through the generations. There were measurements for how close ornaments could be in relation to one another, color schemes to follow for the lights and ornaments, and contingencies if tinsel was added. None of which Max had adhered to.

But Goofy didn't want Maxie's enthusiasm crushed for decorating "wrong" when he'd been so careful about how he had wanted the tree to look.

He could live with Max's haphazard methods.

As long as they made it less congested at the bottom. Waffles, their family cat, would destroy all of the low-hanging ornaments if they were in reach.

Grinning, Goofy tousled Max's hair. "Looks mighty fine, son! Yeh even got the flyin' reindeer above the others who ain't flyin'."

Max nodded. "They should be flying higher, but I can't reach."

Goofy climbed to his feet and held up his arms to showcase his height. "I can help with that!"

"Okay!" He plucked the reindeer from its branch and Goofy scooped him up, holding him steady. Max leaned forward, his deft fingers choosing a new branch and hung the ornament carefully.

Goofy took a step back to admire their handiwork, cradling Max to his chest. "Whaddya think?"

"More of the reindeer need to fly higher. And the snowflakes can fall from the top of the tree to the bottom!"

Goofy grinned and squeezed Max briefly. His boy was a natural. "Sounds like we got us some work to do."

Over the next half an hour, Goofy and Max repositioned all of the ornaments, Max deciding where they should go and Goofy holding him up to the height he needed. He'd gently point out the best places for a few of them, eventually getting his son to see the empty patches of green as invitations for more ornaments. Ultimately, Max's decisions were the final ones, and if a few ornaments were a little too close to one another, or if the colors weren't diverse enough, well, new Christmas traditions could be put in place.

"What about them presents at the bottom?" Goofy asked, eyeing the last small clump of ornaments.

"Presents go under the tree, Dad," Max said resolutely.

"O'course." They were still too close to one another. Would Max see that himself? Or would Goofy have to coax him?

"But," Max wriggled out of Goofy's grip, walking up to the tree, "they're more spread out."

Goofy beamed and allowed Max to rearrange them himself. Every now and then, Max would take a step back to decide where to hang the ornaments, just as Goofy had done with him.

When he was satisfied, Max stood next to his father. After a final sweep, he nodded and glanced up, waiting for Goofy's approval.

"Sure is a pretty tree," said Goofy with a smile. Max grinned, his eyes shining.

"Let's make some lunch then we can decorate the mantle."

"Can I hang my own stocking?" Max asked, already halfway to the kitchen.

"Don't see why not."

Max practically bounced the rest of the way to the kitchen, Goofy right behind.

—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—

"No, Gos, the reindeer go near the top," Max said, gently grabbing Gosalyn's hand and guiding it upward. "They fly, after all."

"Okay. And snow falls so that makes sense," she said, tapping the snowflakes Max had already hung around the tree. She picked up another ornament and held it up. "Where does Santa go?"

"Oh, anywhere," Max said, noncommittal. He stepped back to eye the tree then held out his hand to Louie, who supplied him with a glistening red bulb. "It's Santa. He can do whatever he wants."

"Of course," Gosalyn said, smiling at Max fondly. He rearranged two snowflake ornaments before hanging the red one in between them.

Part of Goofy wanted Max to still be small enough that he needed help reaching the top of the tree. For Christmas to be just the two of them, Goofy instilling traditions into his son. To perpetually be living his childhood years over and over so they would always be together.

But another part — which was getting bigger with each passing year — was happy to have this now. To have friends and family they were close enough to to spend their Christmas together. To see Max grown and making his own way through the world. To be excited for new traditions.

"And the presents," said Goofy, stepping forward and handing Gosalyn an ornate group of wrapped packages piled on top of one another, "go along the bottom."

"Because presents go under the tree?" she ventured, smiling at Goofy.

"A-hyuck! They sure do!"

"You're a natural, Gos." Max winked down at her.

"Not to brag, but I have decorated a tree before." She hung the presents on a low branch.

"Well, sure ya have," Goofy said. "But not the Goof way."

"Less a science and more an art form." Max held out his hand and Louie gave him a golden bell.

"Between the Goof ways and lessons in True Outdoorsmanship, I think I'm gonna have my hands full." Gosalyn sat back on her heels.

Then.

Her eyebrows drew together. Her head cocked to one side. Eyes zeroing in on a spot. She extended her hand and Huey gave her another ornament of stacked presents. She weighed it, fingers taking in its shape, then leaned forward, placing the ornament very near the spot Goofy had been eyeing himself.

He grinned down at her when she glanced up for approval. "I ain't too worried."

—…—…—…— Drake Mallard —…—…—…—

Finding and cutting down their Christmas tree had not been the Ordeal™ of years past. Drake might have dragged out the selection process a little, citing bad bark or not enough nettles or too few branches or the shade of green being unsatisfactory ("It needs to be Christmas Tree green, not pale spring frost green. That tree will be an embarrassment if we drag that back to the cabin.").

Selecting the right tree had never been for the feint of heart.

And if he got to spend more time with Gosalyn, well. That was purely coincidental.

Besides, you couldn't argue with their tree of choice. The already majestic pine was glowing from the inside out with the lights woven through the branches. The ornaments broke up the mono hue of the perfect green shade, complimenting it with brilliant crimsons, dazzling golds, and oceanic blues. And this masterpiece of Christmas tree decorating had all been assembled on Drake's flawless canvas.

It looked very good, sitting nestled in its nook in the cabin. Drake couldn't deny that, even though decorating the tree had never been his particular area of expertise. That had fallen more under Launchpad's purview. And Gosalyn's. As she'd gotten older. As a kid, she had been a walking hurricane and much more invested in the gifts.

But as the years had passed, she'd gotten better. Had found ways to direct her chaos and made it into something beautiful. It had been a chaotic ride, and there were years Drake was grateful just to have survived the holiday season. But Gosalyn's passion for it had never wavered, and she'd taken on more and more responsibility as she'd gotten older.

—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—

"Lookin' good, Gos!" said Launchpad before the sound of the front door closed with a reassuring thud. Drake glanced at the roast in the oven before heading out to the hallway.

Where Launchpad was not standing.

Drake eyed the shopping bags abandoned in the hall with a frown then glanced toward the living room.

Launchpad was removing his winter coat and gloves as Gosalyn zoomed around the room at 100mph, grabbing an ornament, running up the ladder, placing it on the tree only to leap down, move the ladder, and do it all over again. How she had so much energy, Drake would never know. She'd been decorating for hours and showed no signs of stopping.

"Uh, LP?" Drake said, putting his hands on his hips. "Did you plan on giving me the groceries before everything defrosted and we all died from food poisoning?"

"Sorry, DW," Launchpad said, having the decency to look ashamed. "I wanted to offer Gos some help in case she needed a boost."

Drake braced for impact.

"I resent that!" snapped Gosalyn as she jumped down from the ladder and wrestled it to a different location. "Just cause I'm short doesn't mean I can't decorate a tree."

Launchpad gripped his gloves. "I just thought—"

"Give it up, LP," Drake said. "She's on an independence kick." Drake didn't bring up that he had also offered to help her and had gotten a very similar response. "You can put the groceries away, though. Before they hit their expiration dates."

"No problemo." Launchpad draped his winter wear over the back of the couch and followed Drake to the kitchen, scooping up the bags as they went.

"Boy, Gos really isn't a little kid anymore," Launchpad said as he handed Drake the refrigerated items.

"Of course she is!" Drake opened the fridge and started making room on the shelves. He was tempted to tell Launchpad that he'd bought too much food — again — but the pilot's appetite was so great that most of it would be gone by the end of the week.

"I mean, sure, she's still a kid," said Launchpad, "but she's growin' up. Won't be too long before she doesn't need to use the ladder to reach the top of the tree at all."

She had gone through a growth spurt lately. In fact, she was quickly approaching Drake's height, which wasn't fair. Was he destined to be the shortest member of the Darkwing team? He never could catch a break.

"Yeah," Drake conceded, "but not for a long time."

Launchpad smiled knowingly. "Not that long. She's gettin' more independent, insisting she can do things on her own. Like decorate the tree."

"That's just because she's too stubborn to ask for help."

"Or she wants to see if she can do it without help."

Having finished putting the food away, Drake snapped the refrigerator door closed and whirled to face Launchpad. "What are you getting at?"

Launchpad shrugged, opening a cabinet door to shelve the cereal. "Nothin' really. Ya always hear that watching a kid grow up goes by fast, but it's even faster than they say." Launchpad gathered the empty grocery bags with a grin. "Guess we should enjoy the moment while it's here." With that, he left the kitchen, heading down to the basement.

Drake remained where he was, trying to piece together the conversation they'd just had.

Sure, Gosalyn was getting older, but she wasn't an adult. She wasn't even a teenager, but the jump to that stage of her life was closer than Drake liked to think about. Yes, she was taller, she was starting to look at high schools to attend within the next year, and recruiters were trying to get her to try out for higher level sports teams. She didn't ask for help with homework as much anymore (when she could be bothered to do it), and had started to adopt better budgeting skills, saving her allowance for larger purchases.

But her room was still a disaster. And she couldn't be bothered with the kitchen at all. Heck, Drake still had to tell her when to go to bed (her time management needed some work. Because it was nonexistent).

Older, yes.

Not grown.

She still needed Drake to guid her into adulthood. And, yeah, it was probably gonna go fast, like Launchpad said.

But at least they had this. Here. Now.

Any time he got with Gosalyn was more than he'd ever expected and far more than he deserved.

Returning to the oven, Drake checked on their dinner as Gosalyn poked her head into the kitchen.

"We got anymore ladders?" she asked.

"What did you do to the one I gave you?" Drake leveled her with a glare.

"Nothing! It's not tall enough to get the stupid star on top."

Drake went to the nearby cupboard and pulled out three plates. "Sounds like you could use the height of a certain pilot."

"But I wanna do it!"

"Gosalyn, it's not a sign of weakness to ask for help."

"That's rich coming from someone who never asks for help."

He spun around, his beak open. "I'm getting better!"

"Yeah, right." Gosalyn shook her head. "You're the most 'I work alone' person I've ever met."

Drake paused, observing his daughter. Hearing the very words he'd professed years ago repeated by her in regard to him….

Yeah, okay, he wasn't getting better. He was obsessive and had a hard time letting things go. Old habits were hard to break. So, sue him.

Didn't mean he should pass that along to the next generation.

"Look," he said. "It's not a question if you can do it on your own. I know you can. Launchpad knows you can. But there's someone willing to help you and it'll make your life a little easier. So, why not take them up on it? Sometimes it's nice to know you're needed, especially when the requester can do something by themselves."

Gosalyn studied him for a moment before saying, "So that's a no on the ladder?"

"Go get Launchpad!" Drake snapped, turning to gather utensils as the timer on the oven went off.

After setting the table, Drake wandered to the living room to gather the others and found them by the tree, Gosalyn perched on one of Launchpad's shoulders and carefully affixing the star to the top.

"Nice job, Gos!" Launchpad said.

"Yeah, well done," Drake said, winking at his daughter when she glanced down at him. "Dinner's on the table."

Launchpad set Gosalyn back on the ground and shot Drake a smile on his way to the kitchen. Drake smoothed Gosalyn's wayward bangs as she passed and she batted his hand away.

Before entering the kitchen, Gosalyn faced Drake, straightening and looking him in the eye. "I still need you, you know. I just… like to know I can do stuff by myself."

Drake smiled. "I know, sweetie. Still nice to hear, though." He tweaked her beak and she rolled her eyes even though she was smiling.

—…—…—…—…—…—…—…—

"Can you help me, Launchpad?" Gosalyn asked. He grinned and walked over to her.

"You could probably reach the top on your own," Huey observed, gauging Gosalyn's height to that of the tree.

"Maybe," Gosalyn conceded, allowing Launchpad to lift her onto one of his shoulders. "But Launchpad's always willing to help."

"Sure am." He stepped close to the tree and Gosalyn easily put the star on top, not even needing to stretch to reach it.

Launchpad had been right, as he usually was. Her childhood had gone by far too fast. At least they would always have Christmas. Their holiday traditions would always be theirs.

When Launchpad set her back on the floor, Gosalyn wrapped one arm around Launchpad's shoulders and the other around Drake's. "I love you guys," she said.

Launchpad squeezed her shoulder before Drake wrapped her in a hug, kissing her cheek.

Yes, he did need to stretch up to reach her cheek. She had outgrown him, but being the shortest on on Team Darkwing had its perks. And he wouldn't change Gosalyn for the world besides.

The tree now complete, a hush fell over the room as everyone admired it.

Donald and Daisy held hands.

Scrooge stood beside Donald, a hand on his nephew's shoulder.

Huey, Dewey, and Louie sat in front of their uncles, leaning back against their legs.

Goofy had an arm around Max's shoulders.

Drake, still holding onto his daughter, glanced at her and she met his eyes.

"I'll always need you, Daddy," she said softly.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat, Drake nodded and ran a hand through her hair. Something within him settled into contentment as he turned to look at the soft glow of the tree.

[machetelanding]

Author's note: The unceasing, unjustified and often unhinged attacks against first lady Melania Trump make me want to offer her some words of comfort in the form of an open letter.

Dear Melania,

We’ve had many great first ladies, married to presidents of different political parties. These presidential wives have been known for different accomplishments and many have made positive marks on our nation, working for a range of worthy causes.

You follow in that proud tradition. However, I don’t know of any first lady who has had to endure the ferocity of rhetoric and sheer brutality of attacks that you have. I’m sure it isn’t easy.

When you suddenly found yourself cast into the role of first lady you managed to stay true to who you are in a world where the many in the antagonistic, combative and outright hostile media have constantly sought to play a game of “gotcha.”

When they couldn’t find anything of substance on which to fault you, members of the media and their friends in Hollywood went after your clothes, your accent and even your Christmas decorations. They’ve shown us just how low they’re willing to go, and it’s ugly down there.

Through it all, you’ve been an example of grace and silent strength. In spite of the onslaught of attacks, you’ve stayed focused on what’s most important to you and you’ve avoided being provoked by your critics.

This takes unimaginable restraint that most of us don’t possess.

You’ve kindly asked that your critics focus on what you do and not what you wear. What woman hasn’t experienced that feeling – judged by how we look rather than what we say and what we accomplish?

Those on the left are constantly telling us we need to do more to level the playing field for women. Asking that they focus on your actions and not your looks shouldn’t be such an unreasonable request in 2018.

But then again, you’re not just any woman. You’re the woman who married Donald Trump – Public Enemy No. 1 in the eyes of “the resistance.”

Your “Be Best” campaign addresses well-being, social media use and opioid abuse facing many of our nation’s children. These are serious issues and you deserve the thanks of all Americans for taking them on.

You’ve received a lot of backlash for promising to take on childhood cyberbullying in the wake of your husband’s confrontational Twitter habits. You haven’t been shaken, proving that you are your own person, and as first lady you are going to take on causes that are important to you.

Feminists – especially celebrity feminists – are always telling us that as women each of us needs to be our own person. But I guess that doesn’t count if the person is someone they don’t like.

The same celebrities who tell us we are a nation of immigrants and claim to be defenders of immigration in all forms have thought nothing of mocking your Slovenian accent. How many of them speak six languages, as you do?

Earlier this year late-night comedian turned anti-Trump stooge Jimmy Kimmel mocked the way you read a children’s book during the White House Easter Egg Roll.

Actress and bitter anti-Trump activist Chelsea Handler last year falsely stated that you can “barely speak English,” and for that reason, she’d never have you on her Netflix show, which has since been deservedly canceled.

And Victoria’s Secret model Gigi Hadid attempted a shameful imitation of your accent during her time on stage at the American Music Awards last year.

Hypocritical Hollywood and the wealthy stars who boast of being so inclusively pro-immigrant seem to have a bad case of Trump Derangement Syndrome.

Over the last two years, your shoes and your clothes have been a source of fascination and fixation by the media. Most recently on a trip to Africa where you visited schools, shelters, and hospitals to focus on child welfare, it was your outfits on which the media chose to focus.

They compared you to Michael Jackson, Indiana Jones and Carmen Sandiego on Twitter after you wore a tan suit, black tie and hat on a stop in Egypt.

And who can forget what was infamously dubbed “stiletto-gate?" You were criticized for wearing heels while boarding a plane to visit Texas to tour the damage It’s been two years since your husband was elected president and America knew it was also getting a new first lady. Though it’s not a spotlight you sought, you’ve embraced your role, tuned out your critics, stayed focused on your family and won the admiration of many in this country.done by Hurricane Harvey.

That you changed into sneakers on the plane didn’t attract nearly as much media attention. Maybe they’re all just really jealous of your shoes.

It’s interesting how some of those who most strongly denounce sexism have no problem applying it to you. If Hillary Clinton had been elected president, can you imagine the media endlessly commenting on and criticizing the clothes, hats, shoes, and hairstyle of “first gentleman” Bill?

It’s in times of great adversity that we learn what we’re made of, and over the last two years, you’ve shown us who you are and what you’re made of.

We hear a lot of women tell us what it means to be a strong woman. By your actions, you show us what it means.

Keep being true to yourself.

Sincerely,

Lauren DeBellis Appell

On behalf of millions of Americans who are proud to have you represent our country.

[peachhoneii]

The Way the Cookie Crumbles

Rating: K+ Fandom: DuckTales 2017 Shipping: None (for now) A/N: I wanted a duck dad fist fight, and by George, I was going to get it. Tagging: @donaldtheduckdad, @robinine-blog, @spacedpanini (again for reading through all my ramblings) Summary: It was an unspoken rule within the Woodchucks to never, ever sell their annual popcorn bags on Chickadee cookies territory. Huey wisely adhered to this rule, preventing catastrophe year after year, but the JWG didn't tell him what to do when Chickadee ranks invaded Woodchuck popcorn territory.

Fortunately for Huey, his Uncle Donald wasn’t fond of rules in the first place.

When Huey initially requested to join the Junior Woodchucks, Donald saw no problem. Although he’d been barred from ever joining -- something about his temper, the counselors said, he knew it was impossible to deny Huey something he truly wanted. Of his boys, Huey asked the least.

Besides, Donald reasoned, the Junior Woodchucks’ reputation was foremost the most reputable reputation in all of Duckburg. They went to the recreational center to sign the registration forms. He dragged the pen over the signature lines, pointedly ignoring the counselor’s wary stare. Huey bounced eagerly at his side, clutching the end of his shirt as they returned to the desk, and by the end of the day, Huey was a bonafide Junior Woodchuck.

This decision was one of Donald's best. His boys were resourceful in their unique ways, but there was something about the JW that set Huey apart. He’d always been responsible, energetic, and observant.

The JW cultivated those traits, honing them to perfection, and sharpening them to levels that made Donald’s head spin. Huey’s resourcefulness relieved Donald, but the questions around the houseboat tumbled his brain. Did you know in 1895...Your great-grandfather founded the ….on and on, he went, but Donald didn’t have the heart to stop him.

Still, the Woodchucks was a good trade. Donald occasionally imagined what life would be like had he had a girl around the house, a little girl running up and down the halls, and shivered. She’d wear the traditional Chickadee uniform with its sash and multitudinous badges.

Worse, they’d have to sell cookies.

Coworkers, current and former, rushed around the city in search of potential buyers. Each wanted to sell more than the other. And why? Fifty boxes sold won their little chickadee a Rockerduck Powerwheel Jeep. Seventy-five boxes won them a trip to the Glomgold Inc. Tour - contract applied. One hundred boxes won a trip to Ollie land and so forth.

From what Donald was told, the amount of cookies sold provided a substantial amount of prestige in the organization. Awards were given at the end of the year, made from actual gold.

“Gertie Greylag wanted little girls to be equally efficient to little boys,” one parent elaborated during a monetary exchange.

This was preceded by a no holds barreled brawl. Another parent smashed through a previous transaction attempt just as Donald was reaching for the peanut butter tagalogs. He saw the parent’s head make an almost perfect 90 degree turn, but they bounced back quickly, flattening their hands on the ground and reaching their legs around the attacker’s neck.

“Buy my little girl’s peanut butter tagalogs! They’re 20% sweeter!”

“Impossible! You can’t tamper with the boxes, and he was mine first!”

Donald wisely tossed the exact amount of cash on the battling parents and grabbed a box of peanut butter tagalogs. A crowd formed a tight ring around them, and he wanted to disappear before the cops rolled in.

He learned early on it was equally dangerous to buy a box of cookies despite being easier than selling it.

Schools held annual fundraisers, but they could never match the vindictive competitiveness that was Little Chickadee cookie sales held from January 1 to the middle of March.

The time period relieved Donald of any responsibility. When popcorn season started on March 12, he and Huey visited the local supermarket to set up shop with Huey’s troop. Their sales weren’t high, but the cash intake was accept for Junior Woodchucks.

Separating the seasons and operating on a different item circumvented any potential clashes that could arise from the long standing rivalry between Woodchuck and Chickadee.

Their experience proved the system efficient.

“Where do you want to set up the table, Troop Leader Wolff?”

“Ah. Put it near the doors, but not in front of the doors.” A jovial, black wolf, Robert “Bob” Wolff grabbed the table cloths, “And set out the flavor display. We want them to know their options.”

Donald rolled into the parking lot with healthy drinks and snacks. He’d done this for six years now, and each year was better than the last. Saturday was the best day to sell popcorn.

The day of relaxation and errand running; adults rarely snapped at the children for their children hungered for tasty caramel corn, kettle corn, unbelievable butter corn, and the ever popular dark and white chocolate drizzle. The boys stacked the bags and display on the table, taking their seats behind them, and chattered amongst themselves.

“We can get maybe twenty bags, 22 tops.”

“I was hoping for thirty.”

Huey drummed his fingers on the table, “I think we may get 25. We may not earn our Life of a Salesman badge, but we won’t have to worry about not getting recognized for our efforts.”

Water precipitated on the ice chests propped along the supermarket wall with sandwiches and beverages stuffed inside. Donald was wiping his forehead when he saw the minivan zoom into the parking lot. A shiny cultured shade, its screeching stop grabbed everyone’s attention.

A carmine pump stepped out of the car door, and a voice unlike any other rang sharply, “Hurry girls! We don’t have all day. Set up over there, go, go.”

Donald’s visual acuity of 20/10 and higher was required to dissect the flurry of sandaled and tennis-shoe clad feet. Girls marched out of the minivan on all sides. In their hands were oversized paper brown bags they lifted without strain while the woman click-clacked to the trunk. A table and its cloth she stuffed underneath her arm and toted around until she found the spot she wanted -- the right side of the automatic doors to their left.

The girls huddled the brown bags behind the able as the woman set the table cloth on the table. Bright, orange lilies decorated the grassy green backdrop of the cloth. She pulled display after display onto the table, reaching quickly to snatch another out of the bag closest to her.

Cookie boxes followed and were arranged in punctilious formation; thin mints at the top, samoa/caramel delites and peanut butter patties/tagalongs in the middle, and do-si-do/peanut butter sandwiches and shortbread trefoils were the foundation. She did the same with the less popular flavors on the other side of the table; assuming someone would be interested for an oddity or two, preferably five.

As this storm descended upon them, Donald watched in ominous silence. There was something familiar about the woman; something he could not pinpoint his finger on. Was it her blond hair? No. Or her black feathers? No. Her distinct lisp; pronounced with every dribble of spit that splattered off her tongue struck him familiarly.

Folded chairs were unfolded, and metal scratching on concrete grated their ears. Be it familiar or strangely coincidental, they knew what was about to come.

“Right after twelve, good work!” She snapped her fingers, “And you said we wouldn’t make it.”

A grey rabbit whose brunette hair was plaited with lavender ribbons spoke, “You were driving three times the speed limit.”

“Yes, but we arrived before twelve.”

“Dad isn’t gonna be happy if you get another speeding ticket.”

“He won’t know that I’ve gotten one.” She glared at the girls, “And don’t tell your parents.”

The violet tinted skunk step forward, “Troop Leader you said we could get some snacks.” The woman gasped lightly and fished through her clutch purse, revealing a twinkling platinum credit card.

“Does Dad know you have that?”

“I was given strict instructions to use this card for your benefit, little miss.” She gave the skunk the card, “Get healthy snacks, y’hear me? We may be selling cookies, but we don’t need to raise our blood sugar levels.”

The grey rabbit stared at him, shook her head, and followed the girls into the supermarket, “You really are something.”

“And you’re wasting time, dearie.”

With a frown, she walked backward, revealing a brown wallet she held in her hand. The woman gasped as the girl giggled, running after her friends as the automatic doors closed, reflecting her cheeky expression.

“You’re despicable.” She gritted her teeth, “You are despicable, Babs Bunny,” as an afterthought, “and don’t forget to get my bottled tea!”

Holding a second ice cooler, he observed the woman. Her blonde hair - no, synthetic, a wig, brushed softly against the wind. Black feather glistened under the sun, indicating a special oil moisturizer product. He glanced at Huey’s white feathers. He winced. Light reflected and bounced straight into his eyes. Stepping back, he shield his eyes to see where the line formed and spotted her neck.

What he thought was the traditional white neck line of the American black duck was something brighter, more expensive than he originally thought. A pearl necklace.

“What would the girls do without me?” She contemplated aloud, accent thick with a well articulated lisp, “I need to make sure we sell enough to beat that loud mouth chicken.”

No. Donald’s chest palpitated. No. What did it matter that the extremely low chances were adjacent to impossibility? They were adjacent, not actually impossible.

It was the lisp. Donald hadn’t pushed it back as much as he allowed it to slip away. It’d been a relic of a former life, set aside for something more. He refused to believe the truth in the moment. There was a brief span of absolute nothingness in Donald’s brain before he started to move, started to open his mouth, and questions were spat out with demands trailing quickly behind.

Huey shouted his name in confusion. Wolff tried to pull his arm. One was too quiet, and the other, too slow.

She - he raised his head, and his brow arched contemplatively. Defiance crossed over his expression and chest; his high heel pump tapped impatiently.

Donald stood in front him with clenched fists, having abandoned the ice cooler near the table, and gritted his teeth.

“Daffy Duck.”

“You have grey feathers.”

Donald bristled, “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Spittle popped off his bill, “We’re selling cookies.”

“This is our turf.”

“Your turf?” Daffy scoffed, “This is the Duckburg Supermarket. It is open to all Chickadee and Woodchucks, as long as the required paperwork is signed, and bad for you, I have my sales permit!”

His bill twitched, “We were here first!”

“So?” Daffy straightened one of the displays, and waved flirtatiously at an approaching couple, “Our Chickadee cookies are absolutely delectable. They won’t crack your teeth like those popcorn kernels.”

“You can shove your cookies right up your -,”

“Uncle Donald?”

Spinning around Huey’s pensive expression locked him. He searched from one bill to the other, unasked questions ready to shoot at him, and Donald gulped. Daffy clicked his tongue and returned to the table.

At a loss for words, the question hung precariously between them. Donald thought of what he could say, of what was suitable for a twelve year old boy. He readied the response, whatever its content, when the automatic doors slid open.

“This...this person...is...an…”

“Daffy, we’ve talked about this.”

The grey rabbit and other girls came behind. She dropped the bag of bananas, apples, kiwis, and cans of coconut milk on the table; crossing her arms, she glared irritably at them, “Dad said if you get us banned from another supermarket you’ll be taken off as troop leader.”

Daffy’s arrogance dwindled briefly, “Children are meant to be seen, not heard!”

“We’re selling cookies. We’re gonna have to talk and be seen.”

Noticing their presence, the girl offered her hand to Donald and Huey.

“Sorry, my name’s Babs Bunny.” She glanced at Daffy, “And this is our troop leader.”

Huey gripped her hand back, “Um, aren’t there male troop leaders?”

“Listen kid, when you look me, you want to look your absolute best.” He popped a heel up, “And I like the height the heels give me.”

Donald’s glare dissipated at Babs, “So, you’re here to sell cookies?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, “We got banned from Acme Acres Supermarket,” she cut Daffy’s gasp off with a sharp glare, “we thought we could sell a little in Duckburg, but we forgot popcorn season started today.”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“We don’t?”

Huey shook his head, “We don’t have a lot of bags in the first place, and this is a great hour to sell.”

“Wait, like, you guys have popcorn?” A blond-haired loon pushed through, “Like actual popcorn, please tell me you’ve got chocolatey caramel crunch!”

“Shirley!”

“Like Daffy, it isn’t for me. Pops and Grams love ‘em!” She pulled out a twenty, “I’ll take four bags.”

“Four?”

“Come on, like two bags would keep ‘em happy.” She rolled her eyes and ran to the table where Troop Leader Wolff and the others applauded their first customer of the day.

“Do you think they have the cheese flavor collection?”

“Yeah, we set up a few minutes ago.”

“Merci beaucoup, beau canard!” Hugging him fiercely, the violet skunk raced after Shirley, and was soon followed by the rest, having finished their preparations. Dollar bills and change jingled in their pockets.

“You’re telling me you could’ve bought your own snacks?” Daffy said, “Why did we have to use the card?”

“Because none of us wanted to spend our money on things we knew Dad was gonna buy us, plus, we knew you’d sneak the card.”

Daffy glared and watched as Babs walked to the table.

“So, Huey, do you have classic caramel and unbelievable butter?”

“And who are you buying for?”

“Dad and Buster love unbelievable butter.”

“Oh, right.” His shoulders shot, “And don’t forget my classic caramel!”

“Sure, Daffy.” She smiled at Huey, “I’d like to see your order arrangement.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! The organization is so specific. It’d really help.”

Like their friends, they too went to the table, leaving the adults to themselves.

“I destroyed the dairy aisle.”

“Wait, what?”

Daffy sniffed, shrugging his shoulders, “And the bread aisle, and the fruits, vegetables, yeah, I destroyed 70% of the supermarket.”

“How?” This was Daffy. This was the little, black duck who refused to follow social norms and other rules of propriety, “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but how?”

Crossing his arms, he looked away, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You got into a fight with another parent, didn’t you?”

“No one insults my sweet, darling Babs.” He glanced where she and Huey munched on popcorn, “She’s the light of my life.”

“Doesn’t she have a brother?”

“Buster is my joy. Babs is my pride,” he clarified.

“Wait, I thought she was the light?”

“That’s what I said, my light and joy.”

“Buster is your joy.”

“Who asked you?”

Donald’s eye twitched, and on the right side of his head a headache started to throb.

The last time they’d seen each other, Donald succeeded in destroying Daffy’s white grand piano. In retaliation, Daffy smeared what Donald wanted to believe was mud across his piano keys, as well as booby-trapping the lid.

His fury knew no bounds.

Daffy’s laugh followed him right to the enlistment office.

“Uncle Donald?” Huey ran to them, “Hey, Uncle Donald!”

“Huh, yeah?”

“The Woodchucks and I discussed it.” He beamed brightly at him, “Troop Leader Wolff said we could buy some of the Chickadee cookies.”

“I want ten boxes of Do-si-dos!” Troop Leader Wolff opened his wallet, “And five thin mints, my husband loves ‘em.”

Daffy’s and Donald’s tense glares didn’t go unnoticed.

The long-standing feud between Chickadee and Woodchuck was longstanding. Huey researched the subject vigilantly, spending late hours at the local library when the official Woodchuck archives failed to offer the information he sought. Clinton Coot and Gertie Greylag were close friends, having grown up as next door neighbors, and chose to nurture a healthy relationship between Woodchuck and Chickadee.

Huey theorized the rivalry started after Greylag’s death, ten months after Coot’s, where the grieving members lashed out at each other. It was only then did their healthy, friendly relationship began to weaken.

His research didn’t produce any instances of disaster on one side or another. The rivalry was nothing more than a myth, but this didn’t stop the higher ups for making the tactful decision to maintain a respectable distance during cookie season.

Having purchased four boxes of Chickadee smores, Huey sat along the wall, breaking his personal vow to not snack before his proper lunch.

“What’s Daffy? Your dad’s roommate?” Marshmallow, chocolate, and graham-cracker was mushed together in crunchy delight, Huey stared at Uncle Donald and Daffy, engrossed in unstimulating conversation, “He really knows how to walk in those heels.”

“He’s more than my dad’s roommate.” She sipped her strawberry soda, “He’s my dad’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend? You said he has a girlfriend.”

“He does.” Babs grinned, “He has a boyfriend and a girlfriend.”

“How does it work?”

“It’s simple.” She leaned on the wall and let the soda take hold, “Dad goes out with Lola every now and then, she sleeps over. Daffy goes out with Tina every now and then, and sometimes,  he stays at her apartment. But we have family dinner, and Dad and Daffy sleep together sometimes.”

All new and different, Huey looked at her as if he couldn’t believe what she was telling him, but she spoke with such normalcy that he couldn’t think of doubting her.

“How’d they meet?”

She shrugged, “The post office. It’s been six years now, and I like it. Buster was already living with us, so it was like we found the last piece to the puzzle...or the last piece found us,” she chuckled, “he said he was crashing but just ended up mooching off Dad. But it’s nice. Dad loves him, and I know he loves us.”

Huey bit into another smore, “Uncle Donald hasn’t dated. I don’t think he’s ever dated.”

“Aw, well, I thought the same about Dad, but he and Mom got along enough to make me.”

“How?”

“They weren't married.” Babs explained, “I think they grew up in the same Brooklyn neighborhood.”

“Do you get to see your mom often?”

“She’s a flight attendant, but she sends us tons of souvenirs and photos.” She showed him her phone, “She passed over Ithaquack.”

He checked the photo and grimaced, “Yeah, that’s Zeus.”

“You’ve met him?”

“My family visited Ithaquack,” visited being a loose term.  “We met Zeus and Storkules.”

“Is he as big of a jerk as he is in the myths?”

“Yep, pretty much. Uncle Scrooge beat him at every competition, but then we beat Storkules, who’s my uncle’s best friend.”

Huey stared back at Donald and Daffy. They didn’t appear angry anymore although Uncle Donald’s fists were still partially clenched, and Mr. Daffy’s arms were still crossed against his nonexistent bosom.

“I think they know each other,” Babs said.

“I think so too.”

She slid her phone into her back pocket, “Daffy used to play piano at the Ink & Paint Club.”

“What’s the Ink & Paint Club?”

“I dunno. Dad gave him the look, so he didn’t tell me the rest.”

Huey pulled back, staring at Uncle Donald and Daffy. Irritation tip toed around their bills and the corner of their eyes, and Huey dug for his JWG.

“Huh. Always wanted to see one up close.” Babs got out her LCG, “It’s dense material, ain’t it?”

He flipped through the pages, “Right here,” tapping under the bold print, “the Ink & Paint Club is a legendary Hollywood nightclub known for its numerous celebrity patrons and famous, occasionally infamous performances.”

“One of the most infamous performances was Looney Sailing Piano Duel.” Babs read the article in her LCG, “Known for its merrie melodies these piano duels were regularly performed with vulgar violence and obscenity. The last act resulted in both performers being hooked off the stage, which was how all performances ended.”

“It doesn’t identify the performers.”

Babs shrugged, “Daffy can be obscenely violent, and stupid. He didn’t mention a partner though.”

“The JWG says the last performance included,” reading on he twitched in disgust, “a booby-trapped upright piano. One of the performers was thrown under a grand piano lid, with the top smashing down on them.”

“Both performers were dragged off stage after the booby-trapped piano exploded, destroying the stage, but leaving the audience roaring with applause.”

“It sounds crazy,” Huey closed the book.

“It sounds fun.” Babs wondered aloud, “I don’t see why Dad cut Daffy off.”

"Mr. Duck!”

Mr. Duck, the black feathered one, clutched the underside of his bill in pain. He’d fallen backwards. His precious pumps clicked and snapped in two on the way down. He didn’t stare up at Mr. Duck, the white feathered one, in shock or even disappointment. A slow, wicked curve took hold of his bill, and he sneered, twisting his delicate hands into fists.

“You do know this means war,” he spat.

“Bring it, bub.”

Mr. Duck, the black feathered one, wrapped his hand firmly around Mr. Duck’s throat, and threw him to the ground, punching him right in the eye. The white feathered Mr. Duck shouted in pain, clutched his wounded eye, and rolled on the ground as they scuffle progressed.

“Oh no,” Babs stood and whistled, “come on girls, you know the routine!”

“Wait, Babs!”

But the girls knew what to do, grabbing the tables and bags, they ran to the minivan and tossed them inside. Mr. Wolff ran to separate them, but they were too fast, too strong for the hot-headed ducks. A small crowd formed around the fighting drakes, and Babs ran back, hissing at Huey.

“Take off your badges and hat!”

“But why?”

“Ya’ want those people to know it’s a Woodchuck - Chickadee brawl?” Glaring at him as if it was the most obvious thing, she ran to the tussling ducks holding a small device in her right hand.

Huey was about to ask what she was doing when Shirley threw him a pair of ear plugs. She motioned quickly for him to put them in, and he did without question. He was about to ask what she was doing when she blew into the whistle, and the most annoying, screeching sound came out.

But Huey was deaf to this sound. He watched as Donald and Daffy clutched their ears in pain, curling on the pavement, and the observers who were also ducks ran off in shock and horror.

“Sufferin’ succotash!”

“Turn it off! Turn it off!”

Her breath carried for thirty seconds. Lowering the whistle, she glared and pointed to the minivan, “Get. In. The. Van. Now.”

“But -,”

“I said now!”

Mr. Duck looked back at Mr. Duck and saw the amazed, amused stares beholding them. He grabbed his broken pumps and scurried to the minivan. Huey didn’t get to say goodbye or even wave goodbye before the minivan burnt rubber out of the parking lot, and out of the city.

“Uncle Donald?”

He lied on his back, arm covering his eye, “Yeah, Huey?”

“Are you...are you okay?” He moved Uncle Donald’s arm and winced.

“That bad?”

“No, no.” The crowd started to disperse, suddenly bored with the weak conclusion, “You may want to put a steak on that eye though.”

Donald groaned, covering his darkened eye again.

The drive back to the mansion was uneventful. Fortunately, the authorities were not notified, and the Woodchucks grabbed their belongings and returned home. Troop Leader Wolff was amazed. He’d heard of Donald Duck’s temper, but hadn’t experienced the full length of it. As he said, as long as no actual harm was done, there was no need to worry.

“Let's not make a repeat of this, okay, Donald?”

“Sure, pal.”

The drive back to the mansion was uneventful. Huey replayed each event in his head, trying to spot the actual moment his uncle’s anger was ignited, but the more he replayed, the harder it became. The second Mr. Duck appeared something was off about Uncle Donald. He didn’t restrain his obvious dislike for the man; it was impossible for him to completely conceal his dislike for him. Huey liked to think he had given it a try for his sake.

He sighed.

“Sorry.”

“Huh?”

Uncle Donald gazed into the rearview mirror, “I’m sorry for ruining the popcorn sale.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, Uncle Donald.”

He gave him a look.

Huey laughed, “No seriously, you didn’t. Some folks bought the last of the popcorn to watch the fight, so you helped us out.”

“Great.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Huey fidgeted in the backseat. Along with the fight, the Ink & Paint Club cropped in his head. His uncle didn’t discuss much about himself. Huey knew better to ask a direct question about his uncle’s past. He might not have looked the part, but Donald Duck was notorious for evading difficult questions.

But still, Huey knew he had to try.

“Did you know Mr. Duck used to play piano?”

“Huh, you don’t say.”

“Babs talked about him.” He drummed his fingers on the faded cushion, “He’s her dad’s boyfriend, and he used to work at this club he told her about.”

“Oh did he now?”

“Yeah, he didn’t tell her too much, but she said it was the Ink & Paint Club.”

He made a right. His grip tightened around the wheel, “Ink & Paint Club, never heard of it.”

Huey swallowed his gasp. Uncle Donald never lied, except for the time he told them about the potty fairy; Huey knew what his uncle did with their waste. He was horrified.

It wasn’t his place to ask. Although his uncle’s tone didn’t end the discussion, Huey sensed this was the end, and he looked through the window as they drew near to the manor.

He wasn’t upset. Just a little disappointed.

It was then his gaze flickered to the ice cooler, and widened.

An excited grin punctured his disappointment.

Louie was elated to have his phone returned to him. He asked no questions when his brother went upstairs to wash up for dinner, ready to resume Ottomon’s Empire season two. He didn’t check the contacts, the call log, or even the browsing history. Of his brothers, Huey was the one he didn’t have to worry over. His phone was returned perfectly intact, no cracks or smudges; it even smelled of fresh wildflowers.

Lounging in the home theater with Dewey and Webby, he flicked through the channels as the other two discussed some unsolved mystery they were determined to crack. Ottomon’s Empire season two was an improvement of season one, though it’d taken him days to appreciate it.

“Okay, if we go down hill towards the lake we may be able to fish out the artifact.”

“Didn’t Uncle Scrooge say the lake was guarded by a mystical beast?”

“Why yes, Dewey, it is, but I found a magical mirror in the room of mysteries.”

“You mean the garage?”

“Yes, I mean the garage.”

Louie rolled his eyes, “There’s a million rooms in this place. Can’t you have adventure sibs somewhere else.”

“We wanted you to be a part of it.”

“And since you won’t leave until you’ve binged watched the entire season, we decided to stay here until the meeting is adjourned.”

“Huey isn’t here.” Louie groaned and increased the volume, “I’d say he was lucky to go on his JW camping trip this weekend.”

Perhaps, this was the trigger he needed for his phone vibrated on the cushion next to him. Picking it up, the indicator replied he received a new text message.

Sipping his Pep can, he tapped the screen, and his carbohydrate drink lodged uncomfortably in his throat.

Dewey and Webby stared in confusion as he sputtered and coughed, spitting Pep left and right.

“Dude, gross! Beakley just mopped.”

He coughed, patting his chest, “Muygh phooey.”

“My phooey?” Webby looked at Dewey, “What’s a my phooey?”

“No!” Louie snapped, throat cleared, “I meant my phone! I got a weird message!”

Louie didn’t receive weird messages, and during the rare occasion someone sent a text to the wrong number, Uncle Donald swiftly removed it.

But there was nothing weird about this message. Surprising as it was, Louie didn’t feel uncomfortable. Dewey and Webby leaned over his shoulders and chuckled weakly.

“Wait, is that Uncle Donald?

Look at what I found in Daffy’s closet! He totally did work there, and they were partners! Don’t tell ‘em I snuck in. ;)

Within the message was an old, black and white photo. On the right of the photo was a little black duck playing a white upright piano. On the left was their Uncle donald dressed in a black tuxedo playing a black, grand piano. The little black duck wore a cheeky grin dipped in looney mischievousness. Uncle Donald wore an angry, temperamental glare on his face; its temper was directed at the little black duck.

“Who is this!?”

“It’s signed, Babs B.” Webby read, “Didn’t Huey use your phone a few weeks ago?”

“He did.” Louie tapped the photo to enlarge it, “But why is this girl sending us - him a photo of Uncle Donald.”

Dewey pointed to the black duck, “This must be Daffy.”

A multitude of thoughts scurried back and forth through Louie’s mind. Of the many he had latched onto one and only one, and it was the discovery his responsible, ever cautious, ever reasonable brother was capable of the same cruder mannerism as the rest of them. He was speechless.

“Look guys, she’s sending another.”

Another message popped on the screen, Louie tapped it. He winced.

And thanks, dude! We made first place!

Young girls dressed in Chickadee uniforms circled around a great, gold trophy, their faces alight with victory and triumph. Beside them their troop leader, a lean black dack whose platinum blond hair shined through the picture stood nearby, smugly glaring into the camera

Dewey turned his head crookedly at the screen, “Hey, is that lady a dude?”

“I don’t know, but if he is, those heels give him great height.”

[donaldresslerfanfic]

Time Managment.

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language, Sexual Content.

Word Count: 3444

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Forty Nine

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Ressler.

Things were moving too slow for my taste, and I couldn't imagine how this wait to get Agnes back was for Liz.

Tom and Liz had come many times to me asking for help, a lead, anything they could exploit, and Liz told me Red was a little resented and wasn't exactly sharing Intel on how to get to Kirk.

However, every time I came home, crossed the door of my home and walked to Mags, everything was sunshine and rainbows on her end.

After we had to wait from the attache team in London to look over Reddington's next guy, they dismissed me until the found anything.

I got home, going up the stairs and looking for Mags on her office, she spent a lot of time here.

She was talking on the phone, writing things in a big calendar she had on one of her walls. She scribbled something down and then turned the pages, placing her hand in the box that had a big red heart.

"I'll get back to you as soon as I have some news, thank you" she hung up and took a deep breath. Then she went to her desk and scribbled down some more things in her agenda.

"Do you like that guy?" I heard another voice. I didn't know she had company, the other person was sitting in the corner out of my view.

"I think he's alright, I mean, he's got good references"

"I'll have him as a plan B if you don't like it" the other person came into view, it was Gina. "And what about this girl for interior design?" She handed her a piece of paper.

"Mmm" she scanned it quickly "ohh, this firm in PA, top notch, see if you can get a reference" she handed her back the paper and finally looked at me. I gave her a smile while Gina looked at me as well

"Don hey" she walked to me and gave me a little hug "I heard the news, congrats! I have a perfect make up artist and a hairdresser, we're going to make Maggie look dreamy for your big day"

"Won't take much, she's already dreamy" I said looking at her, she gave me a little smile while her cheeks redened.

"Aw, anyway, I'll use the phone downstairs" Gina said while walking around me downstairs. I looked back at Mags again while walking inside.

"You're home early" she said giving her watch a quick look.

"What's Gina doing here?" I asked. I smiled when Maggie hopped on her desk with a smile

"So get this, the director found out about my wedding and he said he wanted me to set up a second team in my care so they can take over while I plan this" she clapped happy and looked down to grab her agenda "Gina and I have been at this for maybe an hour, going through resumes and calling people. I've been answering messages from my family. My aunt said she wants to gift me something from the wedding, either the cake or the souvenirs, I don't know which one yet. And look at these!" She said handing me an envelope.

I opened it and checked our names, written in the cards along as 'save the date!' with a little calendar marking our wedding day.

"This came out pretty" I said, pushing the card back in.

"They're beautiful" she said while taking it back. "I'll probably be sending these this week, and we have to go cake tasting and I'm taking next week off to do the bridesmaids dresses, I have to go check out mine, my shoes" she listed, then took a deep breath "it's a lot. But here"

She turned to a stack of envelopes she had behind her and separated a few from the bunch.

"Those are for the guys at the blacksite, Samar, Aram, Cooper and Liz hopefully with baby and all"

"We're closing in, we're not going to be after this guy for four months"

"I hope" Maggie said, she was still holding an extra card in her hands "can I like... Well, not ask but consult something with you? Because-"

Ah, I knew were this one was going.

"I know that you hate Raymond and that his your arch enemy and you guys have bad blood between eachother but... Can I?" She shook the card a little "invite him to our wedding?"

I gave her a little twist of lips because no, knowing what happens when he goes to weddings I want him as far as he can from mine.

"I know that you guys don't match but... He's been good to me and he used to know my dad so, I don't want to say like it'll be as if my dad was there but I thought that-" she quieted down, and I realized that this whole thing was also kind of painful to Mags.

Her dad, the person she loved most, wasn't going to be with her to walk her down the aisle, to have her first dance, to make a toast for us.

I saw her look down, with the envelope still on her hand. I guess I'm going to have to suck this one up.

"The girl said she's perfect with the-" I head Gina interrupt from behind us. Maggie cleared her throat and hoped off the table "sorry, is this a bad time?"

"No" Maggie dismissed "I was just giving Don the save the dates and waiting for you to return, I still need to check on a project"

I leaned in and grabbed the envelope from her hand.

"I'll deliver these, call me if you need anything" I said. Mags looked at the envelopes in my hand and gave me a little smile while she grabbed her purse from the chair.

"Thank you" she whispered at me while leaning in to give me a fast kiss on the lips.

I saw Gina turn on her heels and walk down, Maggie following her. As soon as I heard the clicking sound of heels from Gina going down the stairs, Mags turned around and pulled me in for another longer kiss, my hands quickly finding her waist and pulling her for a hug.

"Seriously, thank you" she whispered against my lips, her hand slowly moving from my neck to my cheek "and I'm sorry I'm putting you in a difficult position and that you don't want him near but he's actually a good friend"

"You two knock that off until your wedding night!" Gina yelled from downstairs. Maggie gave me a smirk and kissed my lips again.

She was gone for the rest of the day, and that gave me time to check the things I had to check on my end, and that included keeping in touch with Ramona constantly, I'd come to an arrangement with her about the payment for the bookings we needed to do, knowing that Mags wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of spending almost double of what she had in mind in just one night. But I was. Not only because I wanted to see her happy but because I was sitting on 7 years of bureau payment that I didn't wanted to spend anyway else.

Once back in the blacksite the next day, we finally had a lead about this guy that supposedly was working with Kirk. I saw my opportunity then to hand the team the save the dates.

"Can I steal you guys for a second?" I said looking at the team, then searched for the envelopes on my suit's inner pocket "even though the idea of an 'on the spot' wedding sounds really romantic, we're not going to drop an Elizabeth Keen and have our wedding the same day we let people know" I joked looking at Liz, then handed her one of the envelopes, then went around handing Samar, Aram and Cooper the remaining three "and even though it's highly inappropriate giving what you're going through Liz" I sympathize with her "things are moving fast and-"

"You're getting married?" She pitched in, looking at the card with a smile.

I ran my eyes through them, they were giving me an expectant and proud smile, and I matched them with my own.

"Yeah, I am" I said.

"Oh my God" she said while leaning in to give me a hug. Cooper gave me a proud smile and a pat on the shoulder while Samar also leaned in to hug me.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but" Aram said looking at his computer "one of our suspects? Local police found a body in a park that fits his description"

"Ressler, Navabi, get to the park, ID the body and if it us our suspect, I want to know who killed him"

Samar and I nodded and got on the move. As soon as the elevator doors closed I pulled out my phone.

"Mags told me to tell you that this weekend she's having the bridesmaids go out with her for the fittings of the dresses and such, and she wanted you to come"

"Flattered" she said while the elevator opened up. "I saw her after she came back from your vacation and I saw the ring but I didn't actually believe you'd asked her"

We climbed in the car and headed to the crime scene.

"Why wouldn't I? We're in love"

"Yes but... I know about your fiance, Audrey, and how she died. And I didn't think that after that you'd like to try again. Our line of work is a very lonely one."

"Only if you don't have someone to walk on your pace. If I have to stay all night searching for something she sets up the coffee machine in a timer for me to have coffee during the night, she wakes up at six to have breakfast with me even though her work is at 9 am, she even scrappes the blood of my shirts and if that isn't a keeper right there then I don't know what a keeper is"

"I didn't say it like that, I said it in the sense that people around us get hurt because of us"

"Yeah, well in this case, the threats aren't coming from me" I said parking the car and exiting, referring to her work with Reddington. He's been the only one putting her in danger when she was and now... Now that he was gone from her life I just hoped I had all my bases covered.

Turns out Tom Keen ended up being our inside man in the case, and we captured the blacklister before the day ended, not really knowing what Reddington's end game was.

When I walked into the house, I saw Mags pace back and forth talking on the phone, I walked to her and gave her one short kiss and let her continue.

"Oh well, that's a shame, I liked that one... No it's fine I can go browse for other kinds tomorrow..... I won't be going but if Don wants to he can be my guest, I'm deadly allergic to flowers.... Okay I'll let him know, thanks Ramona"

I heard the thud on the table as she dropped her phone and sat on the kitchen table with her laptop in front of her.

"What's wrong?" I said rolling up my sleeves.

"Just some... Hiccups" she said looking into the computer "her people didn't find the vase I wanted for the table decorations and she said she can have them be hand made but that's-"

"And why don't you have them be hand made?"

"I'd like to search for more" she dismissed me "and if I don't find another alternative I'll have them hand made. But that's not what I'm upset about. I went dress shopping with Gina and my childhood friend Sara who came from Rhode Island for a week to help me out with stuff, we went through five wedding fitting venues and didn't find the one that I liked, all of them told me that model isn't made anymore even though it hasn't been a year since it was released"

She tapped a few times in the pad to open up some folders.

"Here, you can look at it since I'm going to have to pick another one anyway" she turned the laptop to me. I could understand her anger, the dress was beautiful, and I didn't know a damn thing about dresses, I just knew she would've looked bomb in it.

"Are all going to be backless? I like that one, because I like your back a lot" I said running my hand on her spine, she let out the smallest smile "and why don't you have that one hand made?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

"First of all, no, absolutely not. Second of all, you already looked at it, so it's cursed now. Third, this is Vera Wang, anything that I can do hand made will never come close to the actual thing. The problem is" she tapped again in the screen opening up the browser and tipping fast "all backless dress are like this" she motioned at the screen and I could see the pattern "they're all skin tight and if I get one of these, I'll have to be in a diet for the rest of my life. Besides look at all these fucking chicks! they're models! I would never look like that in one of those dresses, it has to have layers upon layers of tulle"

"Well" I said shutting the laptop down and looking at her "I've seen you with skin tight dresses and you are fucking hot Margaret"

She scrunched her nose and then gave me a chuckle

"Ew, why do you call me that?" She said opening the laptop again. I stood up and walked to the fridge.

"Because you make me mad when you say you're not hot. That you don't look like a model just because your thighs touch an inch in the center?"

"Okay, you like my body, I get it. It doesn't mean I'll look good in this dress"

I walked back to her with a bottle of water and extended my hand to her.

"I'll bet you a thousand dollars you would" she gave me a smirk and slapped my hand away. "I mean it" I said pulling my hand back to her "when you go dress hunting you try one of those on and I guarantee you'll end up picking it"

"So you know me better than what I know myself?" I grabbed her by the jaw and pulled her head up while I leaned in to kiss her shortly.

"I'm saying I know that you'll love how you'll look in that dress when you try it out"

"But if I do, then you'll know when I give you the money of the bet"

"You can hold of to it until the big night" she smirked and I leaned to kiss her lips again. Maggie stood up from her seat, her lips never leaving mine. I rounded her waist and pulled her in. She finished the kiss and leaned her head on my chest.

"Things aren't going without a hitch like I would want them to, and even then just talking to you for five seconds calms me down, and I realize everything is fixable"

"Everything is, specially if you have me"

"Okay fairy godmother" she said with a chuckle, then looked back up to kiss me again.

She leaned back just a bit, pulling out her hand, I smirked and shooked it.

"Even if you win you'll have to use the money for our honeymoon, so it's a win-win"

"And if I don't, you'll still have to use that money for our honeymoon, so yes, it is a win-win" I took her hand up to my lips and kissed her knuckles "so, what do I need to check out?" I said, sitting back on the kitchen chair and pulling Maggie to sit on my lap.

"Flower arrangements, mainly he floral settings on the tables, the arch outside and I want my nieces to wear a flower crown, so you'll have to get a info about those, and make sure the bouquet I'm holding isn't actual flowers, if not you'll have to rush me to the ER with a throat closed and the closest ER is 2 miles away minimum, I could die"

I snorted and gave her a quick kiss on the lips, moving her aside to stand up.

"Do the save the dates have a plus one? I think Aram's got a new girlfriend"

She gasped and clapped happy.

"Yes! And also, boo, I thought I could finally hook him up with Samar in our party."

I chuckled while I headed upstairs to get out of my shirt and into a more comfortable one. When I walked down again, Maggie was looking in her computer for new vases for the table decorations.

"Can you look her up?"

"Who?" She said not taking her eyes off the screen.

"Aram's girlfriend. I think her name's Elise, heard them speaking on the phone."

"On it" she said opening another tab. "Wait, I'll be right back" she said speeding off upstairs. I opened the fridge while at it and found some leftover chicken parmesan, so I threw it in the oven. I heard Mags walk back to the kitchen. Then she cleared her throat.

I laughed when I saw her fastening an FBI cap on her head.

"Where'd you get that from?" I said turning the oven on and setting a timer.

"I stole it when I went to your office"

I chuckled again sitting next to her. I couldn't believe this woman.

"So, here she is, Elise and Aram in a date to a karaoke bar. We've never been to a karaoke bar" she said clicking on a photo and opening up wider.

"She's hot" I said waiting to see Maggie's reaction.

"I like her hair, it matches her skin color, kinda tan, I wish I had that color on me" she said looking on her arm. The sun tan she'd gotten in Maui was long gone.

"I said she was hot" I repeated.

"Yeah, I heard, she is." She confirmed, looking at another photo. "Want to dump me and steal Aram's girlfriend? Fine by me Ressler I'll call her to tell her how you like your meat cooked, that is assuming she knows how to cook, and by the looks of it she doesn't" she said showing me another photo from her Instagram where she was showcasing a batch of cupcakes a wouldn't eat even if I loved her too much.

I knew she wasn't mad, she was just taunting me because she knew I couldn't live one day without her.

"Don't call me Ressler" I said leaning in and stealing a kiss from her while standing back up and walking to check the oven.

"Payback, you called me Margaret"

As I took out the chicken and checked if it was done, I heard a gasp from Mags and she quickly walked to me, showing me the picture of a flower vase that had dangling stings of pearls on the sides.

"That's pretty" I said.

"They're beautiful! I don't know how I hadn't seen this before" she said looking at the screen again and placing it on the island.

"Order it" I pulled my wallet out and handed it to her, she quickly took it and searched for one of my credit cards.

I saw her stop and look at a little picture I had on the transparent pocket of the wallet. It was, of course, a picture of her. Big smile, shining eyes, just like I loved her like.

"You should take it off, get one of Elise" she said with a little smirk and a wink while taking the laptop back to the table.

I smiled and left the tray on top of the oven, quickly walking to Mags and holding her by the waist when she put the computer down.

"Are you jealous?" I said in her ear, leading my lips to her neck.

"Isn't that what you wanted? To make me jealous?" She turned around on my arms and I pulled her legs up to sit her down on the table.

I kissed her, moving my lips heavily over hers, then I grunted in frustration and pulled back a little.

"God I love you" I said, she smiled and grabbed the collar of my shirt, pulling me back to kiss her lips again.