golden dollar

Day 27

As a cashier, you handle all kinds of money. We’re talking golden dollars, two dollar bills, and a literal piggybank of change once given by a group of siblings. However, none of these other experiences prepared me for a specific twenty dollar bill given to me by an exceptionally shady-looking old white man. 

Why, you may ask?

Because this twenty dollar bill was completely discolored a rusty red with flaking dried blood. And trust me, it was old blood. I know what that looks like. 

The only thing that got me through that transaction was the knowledge that Andrew would have to count up that very same bill with his sausage hands at the end of the workday…. 

Day Thirty-Two

-Today I opened the store at eight in the morning on three hours of sleep. I went to prepare a soda cooler for display. One single bottle was knocked over, laying on its side in the midst of all the other bottles. In this moment I related to this Cherry Coke more than I have to any other soda bottle I have ever encountered.

-As a woman was preparing to pay, I noticed that she was pulling handfuls upon handfuls of golden dollars out of her purse. While it may be possible that she was simply a collector of some sort, I remain convinced that I encountered a pirate queen. If this is the case, she clearly proves that female ingenuity wins out over male arrogance as she carried her doubloons on her person rather than burying them in an overflowing chest on an unreachable desert island.

-My time at this store has taught me, if nothing else, that those who talk about themselves in the third person are simultaneously oddly inspiring yet deeply terrifying.

-A woman purchased fifty-two pairs of boys underwear along with one pair of white socks. How one boy can go through enough underwear to justify this purchase, I do not know, but I do not want to know.

-An older woman began complimenting the admittedly-adorable toddler in the stroller behind her. This understandably made the child deeply suspicious, resulting in the single most intense side-eye I have ever seen in all of my days. The woman did not seem to take the hint and continued doting on her. The girl decided that she was having none of it and dramatically yanked the hood of her stroller down, blocking the woman out and ending the exchange. I was slightly impressed by her, until I heard a small, triumphant laugh from under the hood. Then, I was floored. 

-I saw a six month-old with ear piercings accompanied by two parents with a very sad child.

-As a three year-old bought a series of dolls and toys, I handed her a sticker. Seeing that she was almost more excited about this than her purchases, I slipped the mother a long strip of stickers. She in turn passed them behind her back and snuck them into one of the girl’s bags. This girl now has the surprise of her life coming her way and I hope to hear of her reaction soon.

The Past is a Different Country

Part One can be found here:

Part Two is here:

Part Three is here:

Part Four is here:

Part Five is here:

Part Six is here:

Or if you prefer AO3;

Chapter 7 - Lost

There’s a storm on the edges of Donald’s mind, he can’t think, he can’t feel, or he’s going to be swept away. He’s terrified of being swept away.

Dewey can’t afford it.

He holds himself stiffly, there’s a dead zone in his mind, the eye of the storm. He has to hold it, he has to maintain it.

It’s exhausting. He can’t keep this up.

Scrooge gave him a task, something to focus on, and Donald’s grateful.

He is.

He thinks he is.

Uncle Scrooge is helping.

Why didn’t he help before?

The storm threatens to break him.

No. He won’t.

Uncle Ludwig.

Find the Professor.

Uncle Scrooge is helping now. That’s all that matters.

The labs are quiet. No one is working down here.

Donald doesn’t know what he’ll do if he runs into anyone.

Donald finds him. It’s not what he expects. Ludwig is always so energetic, a little scattered, always trying to bring everything in his mind into reality.

Instead, Ludwig is sitting on a stool, he’s staring at a monitor, lines of calculations running down the screen. There’s a photo propped up by the monitor, and Ludwig keeps glancing at it.

He’s not noticed Donald.

There’s something wrong with this picture.

Donald can’t find his voice. Everything is wrong. The air is too heavy. He can’t breathe.

Donald can’t understand the calculations, they’re too complex, endless lines of numbers and symbols blurring together as they rapidly ascend up the screen. His eyes are drawn to the photo.


The pain is a sharp ice pick to his heart. He doesn’t,  he can’t think about Imp now.

But the memory is too close to the surface. Those eyes…

“Professor?” Donald’s voice shakes.

His uncle spins around on his chair so fast it threatens to fall. Donald grabs for it, only to end up face to face to Ludwig. The older duck looks haunted for a moment.

Then he smiles. “Donald! Mein nephew! I was just thinking of you. Do you know there’s been a time anomaly nearby? I was just tracking it down.”

“Try McDuck manor.” Donald can’t help but be cold. He can’t feel the relief he knows should be there.

“Die Kinder?”

“Dewey’s gone.”

The Professor closed his eyes. He’s stiller than Donald’s ever seen. But he’s seen this before. He let go of the chair and steps back, expecting an explosion of rage.

He knew Ludwig cared for the boys, but his Uncle has always been distant towards them. So different from the uncle he grew up knowing.

He doesn’t think the boys noticed. He’s their crazy, scientist uncle, they love him. He’s fun.

But he doesn’t let them close. He never speaks of his family to them. The stories of his childhood and his sweethearts, of his life? The boys don’t know them, have never heard them.

“Deuteronomy.” Ludwig sighed. Slumping into his chair. “I’m an old Dummkopf.”

Donald twists his hands together. He doesn’t know what to do.

“I’m sorry.” His heart is skipping, the room has gotten dark, he failed, he can smell damp rot, he lost them. He doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.



Dewey leaned over the arm of his seat, letting baby Louie grab his finger.

He was fine. Happy. His Mom was awesome.

That fight had been something else. Like Uncle Donald when he lost his temper. No one else had stood a chance.

Dewey’s eyes shifted to check on Huey and Dewey. They were fine. Huey was waving his toy bear, it was a cheerful red, with a sad expression.

Why did he feel weird?

Louie tugged on his finger and Dewey pulled a face at him. Louie smiled, it was already starting to look like his familiar sneaky grin.

Uncle Donald would have blown a gasket if they were in danger.

Louie was fine. Smiling, laughing. Not harmed at all. Not a single feather out of place. Dewey had checked, much to his brother’s amusement.

The Ape had gotten off scott free. Barely a mark on him. Nothing compared to the beating he had watched Della dish out on those other guys.

Dewey looked towards the pilot’s chair, not able to see his Mom from his seat, but Donald was there, leaning against the co-pilot’s chair.

They were still laughing. Still joking.

Didn’t they care?

The secret door opened without a sound, so quietly in fact that they didn’t notice at first.

The opening recessed into a corner, and hidden behind a large claw like machine.

The banging became louder.

Webby flipped on her night vision goggles, and put a finger to her beak. She rolled through the door, and struck a combat pose.

Huey and Louie shared a look. Louie shrugged. Huey rubbed his head.

They followed.

The secret room was set up like a mad scientist’s lab. There were the scattered remains of projects, some half finished, some appearing broken with torn steel and smoke marks, while one large robot was chained to the ground.

The kids wandered through the maze of machinery. The thumping noise had stopped, it was eerily quiet.

“This is worst than Uncle Ludwig’s lab.” Louie whispered to Huey.

“No it’s not!” A voice yelled, making the kids jump. Webby dived forward, weaving her way through the maze.

“Is that?” Huey asked.

“Gyro.” Louie declared, pulling his brother along.

“Found him!” Webby yelled. “A little help guys?”

“Oh no…” Gyro sighed.

The inventor was tied up on the floor, someone had used ducktape to attach him to his chair, and it had toppled over. Webby stood on the backrest, threatening to tip it over again.

“Webby… please tell me you didn’t capture Mr Gearloose.” Huey asked.

Webby laughed, “Nah, I found him let this. Do you think there’s Beagles boys? Or maybe Emil Eagle? Out to steal another invention?”

“Or Fenton the intern, practicing capturing evil doers.” Gyro said flatly.

“Fenton’s evil!?” Webby gasped.

“That’s not what he said Webby.” Louie circled Gyro, holding up Huey’s phone. “How did he catch you?”

“Does it matter? Cut me free!” Gyro demanded, straining against the ducktape.

“Or…” Huey tilted his head and grinned, “we could just wheel you over to Uncle Scrooge.”

Gyro slumped. “Alright, what do you want?”


Itacoatiara was bustling, Dewey had figured it would be a small town, somehow bustling city on the banks of the Amazon hadn’t featured in his imagination. There were dozens of small pleasure craft racing up and down the river, taking advantage of the clear weather and not quite tidal waves.

Della had stayed with the plane, while Donald sought out Uncle Scrooge. Dewey had made to follow Donald, but quickly slipped away in the crowds.

The sounds of Spanish and Portuguese filled the air, alongside many tongues that were unfamiliar to Dewey. He kept listening for some familiar English, but if anyone spoke it, they wasn’t using it.

There was a trope of tourists dressed for rock climbing, Dewey attached himself to the tail end of the group, nodding at a tall goose. The goose shook her head, but smiled at him, so he figured she was going to start a fuss.

The tour guide at the front of the party was speaking German, so Dewey tuned him out.

Why hadn’t uncle Donald noticed?

Uncle Donald always noticed. Normally they had to work much harder for even a chance at slipping something past uncle Donald.

Dewey reached for his phone. “I’m an idiot.” He face palmed. His phone was laying on the floor of an empty office back in Duckberg.

No phone. No GPS. No uncle Donald.

“I think this is the most lost I’ve ever been.” He tapped his foot, trying not to attract attention.

The group turned a corner, the street sloping down towards the harbour. They headed up.

Dewey scanned the river, hoping to spot the Spirit of Adventure. Instead, his eyes land on a golden flag, the American dollar sign outlined in bold lines.

Dewey snapped his fingers, “That has to be uncle Scrooge’s boat.”

@miilkydayz @donaldtheduckdad

anonymous asked:

Not America but what do you mean by? "The Sacagawea made me want to vomit and cry."

He said in an article that he “plans” on giving her a golden dollar with Sacagewea (a famous Native American woman who helped Lewis and Clark on their mission) on it because her case is about women’s rights and that’s a “poke” at it. So basically making fun of feminism! So nice! So thoughtful!

anonymous asked:

The kisses prompts , no. 5 and FAHC!Freewood, maybe one of them is hurt/dying idk

5. Can’t Let Go Yet Kiss

Ryan hated the rain.

He hated it all–the dark, dreary skies; the cold chill of the air; the horrendous noise as the droplets smacked hard against rooftops and window panes. Even years later, it reminded him of when he was a small boy, hiding in his closet as lightning flashed and thunder roared, the chaos still doing nothing to block out the screams and cries that echoed throughout his apartment.

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