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The near paradoxical draw of order to chaos.

Chapter Text

Phooey Duck felt very alone.


The worst parts was the times he felt alone.

Not the times he'd hear those manipulations or feel another person who meant to hurt him nearby.

Not when he was being harmed.

No, being alone was the worst part.


Being alone meant he couldn't tell anyone. Being alone meant nobody could help him. Being alone meant he would have to listen to every thought blaming himself for what happened to him, every memory of being hurt replayed, every manipulation haunting him.


Seemly being hurt wasn't enough. His brain would naturally block out what was happening to him as it happened. So it'd never be as bad as being alone.


Merely being manipulated and lied to was enough. He could fight against lies even if he didn't have the words to disprove them. Manipulations could be picked apart and destroyed if he agrued long enough. So it'd never be as bad as being alone.


Nothing was as bad as lying in bed, knowing everyone else was outside but being unable to go to them. Unable to escape and get help. Lying there, not sleeping but being flooded with nightmares. Remembering everything. Blaming yourself. Alone. Lonely...


That night after the Christmas party was the worst night of Phooey's life. It was the first time he'd truly been alone. The cold came and the snow fell. Christmas songs played. Christmas decorations were everywhere. Holly jolly cheer of the holiday season came to everyone but Phooey that year. After that last Christmas, he could never enjoy his favorite holiday ever again. Not after he accidentally time traveled to that Christmas party. Not after they found him under the mistletoe. Not after those three vultures touched him everywhere... Everywhere.


Christmas decorations and Christmas songs and especially mistletoe took a whole new meaning. He couldn't look at them without having a mental breakdown. Unfortunately his powers were unpredictable, moreover when he was emotion. Something about metaphor for something which blah. In the end, it meant he would be worse and everything that reminded him of that night would surround him.


Of Course, he wasn't the only target. Kablooie later explained that sometime after last Christmas, he was strapped to a chair and threatened into helping F.O.W.L. The placement of the hand on the thigh and the tears he cried gave enough implications for what was being threatened without it being actually done. Huey saw those leering eyes and remembered enough of Bradford's words about order and being the first woodchuck to realize years down the road that he'd been groomed. Note that no touching ever reached the goals likely held by the Buzzard Brothers yet it was still traumatic.


To this very day, Kablooie Duck couldn't handle being touched on the inner thighs without bursting into tears and Huey still doubted himself as worthy of being loved by anyone.


It'd been a relief to Phooey and Kablooie when their family discovered The Vultures ran F.O.W.L. It was a dream come true when Bradford killed Bentley and Buford by erasing their existence from reality and then died, still unwilling to admit he'd been a real villain. Yet still, their hurt continued. Revenge did nothing. Death couldn't wash away the harm. Years faded the scars but ultimately couldn't make them disappear. Therapy gave Huey and Phooey better tools to deal with it, but Kablooie didn't find that. Tools to deal with it didn't make it disappear.


It'd been years ago. Now they were adults. That time when they were preteen boys and scared of that shadow looming was long ago. The monsters were long dead. They couldn't hurt them anymore than ghosts haunting could.



Huey had Boyd Drake Gearloose and Violet Saberwing. Kablooie had Plucky Duck, Buster Bunny, Babs Bunny to chase after to out run his trauma. Phooey was alone.


All the ducklings grew into ducks and left the nest. They flew off to their dreams. Huey Duck got be a scientist and a mechanical superhero who helps the Woodchucks on the summers and weekends. Dewey Duck become an actor and superhero who pilots too. Louie Duck is a rich lawyer. Kablooie Duck was working on his supervillain at Acme Looniversity, surprisingly good supervillain program there for an acting high school/college. Webbigal Vanderquack and Lena are living together, running a magical bookstore which is also a charity for supernatural teens. Phooey Duck never had any dreams, due to getting his childhood ripped apart while he was still innocent and naive, so really never did anything with his life.


He didn't deserve any misfortune that happened to him, none of them did. However he got the short end of the stick with his future. Despite always being the cute, innocent, one, he seemed to suffer more than any of the other two targets.


Life went on, dreams could be reached, things got better. At least for everyone else, but Phooey Duck.

Chapter Text

Phooey Duck was in his apartment and alone. He was looking at the large pile of mail his family sent him over the years. He could go back to Duckburg and see them again. If he just answered the letters, he wouldn't be so alone. Yet there seemed to a unbreakable glass wall between himself and anything that would improve his situation or even just do anything anymore. Phooey took a letter and started reading it. He read all of them, of course he read all of them multiple times now. How could he not? This one was from Dewey Duck, his middle brother, it was about his messy dating life.


Dewey took longer than expected to realize he was bi, that was of course comparing him to Louie who knew he was gay at age 5. So a little unfair. This one was going his dating his male sidekick and feeling guilty over liking a villainous lady. Phooey almost laughed at how much like Darkwing and Launchpad Dewey was. Time made everything rhyme. Phooey Duck put the letter back in the envelope and started a Dewey Duck pile. Huey Duck was next, another idealistic letter about how everything was perfect in his science studies, his Woodchuck training, his superhero career, and his relationships with Violet and B.O.Y.D.


Phooey felt salty and sour jealousy then was overwhelmed by guilt for it. It wasn't a lie by Huey, everything was perfect in his life and remained idealized. His oldest brother just got lucky. Nothing changed and nothing was ever bad. Still Phooey couldn't help but be a little envious in comparison. The letter was returned to the envelope and a Huey Duck pile was begun. He picked another random letter from the pile, Louie Duck. His slightly younger and older brother but the baby no less.


Louie Duck was trying to con him into something doubtless illegal, namely involving his unpredictable powers of paradox. Phooey Duck rolled his eyes, he hadn't fallen for those lies since Louie convinced him to steal artifacts and got them both grounded. Whatever crime was planned had long died in the water as this letter hadn't been answered in years. Although ultimately, Phooey couldn't really blame Louie. They had grown up with barely enough to live, an obsession with wealth was sewn in purposefully by the system itself.


The letter itself was purposefully ignoring the relationship between Boyd and the writer. It was a rough patch that quickly ended, not to mention that it would be awkward given Phooey used to date Boyd. Something Huey forgot. The memories of when he and Louie were as thick as thieves and always doing cons together by naive Phooey not realizing the crime, they were sweet but hurt. His big brother lied to him so many times and almost got their entire family killed in his reckless chase of greed.


If Scrooge McDuck ever died, Louie Duck would surely sue everyone if only to swim in gold again.


A little bitter, Phooey stuffed the letter back into it's own envelope and slapped down a Louie Duck pile.


Webbigal Vanderquack appeared next. Her life was just as idealistic as Huey but with more things going wrong in an adventurous way. This one was about Violet visiting the bookstore that's also a charity. Violet and Lena were definitely hot for Webby Vanderquack. There wasn't ever any doubt from anyone outside that harem on that particular topic. How Webby ever managed to get Lena, Violet, Gosalyn, Gosalyn's girlfriend also named Gosalyn, Skittles the penguin, and doubtless other girls to all crush on her is a mystery beyond even Isabella Finch's missing mysteries.


All the same, Lena won that one. After the will they won't they, the only one that Webbigal realized liked her back was Lena. Probably because she was the most obvious of them all. If all of the girls in that harem weren't lesbians outside of Violet, Phooey would have thought to date a few of them after Lena proved victorious.


Phooey Duck smiled as the letter was back in the envelope and in it's own special pile. He grabbed another and it was Kablooie Duck....


Kablooie Duck was being himself as always. In jail for murder, stalking, kidnapping, and Arson all committed during a riot he personally started over some rich nitwit again. Kablooie explained that he was in jail again and that his supervillain was going rather well since he was still getting A+s. Phooey Duck never understood why an acting high school/college would have a way to get a degree in villainy or how the jail would so much of a revolving door.


Daffy must have been paying for his son to get out of there every time this happened. That is to say, all the time. Not helped by all the bragging about being a bomb throwing anarchist cliche Kablooie, for example the very letter Phooey was reading.


Were the world a different and more fair place, Kablooie Duck wouldn't even have anyone to rage against, he would have nothing to do, and he would never be seen as a villain. The irony of it, if he got what he wanted then people like himself wouldn't exist as everything that created them would disappear and he would be happy about it. Of course, the letter quickly devolved into a death threat against Scrooge McDuck. If it didn't, Phooey would have thought someone was pretending to be his brother.


Kablooie didn't understand that Scrooge was both the victim and the system of capitalism. The situation wasn't as straightforward and black-white as he thought of it... Immediately followed by his obsessive stalking "love" over 3 child stars around his age. Phooey put the letter back into the envelope and made the Kablooie Duck pile.


Phooey wasn't going to read that creepy nonsense.


Phooey Duck took another letter. Della and Donald. He immediately put it in a Duckburg pile. He got a letter from the disorganized pile, Scrooge McDuck... He put it in the Duckburg pile. He couldn't bare to read those again. They were always the same. Pleading for him to come home. Pleading him to answer anyone's phone calls and letters and texts and emails and everything. Asking what was wrong. Pain.


Della Duck had, at first, lost her life when the kids flew the nest. For a brief moment at least, then Della dated Penumbra and Selen at the same time and went on adventures again. Free, devil may care, reckless as ever. Not that she hadn't tried her best when raising her children mind you. It was just that she was adventurous. No idea if she and Daffy were dating again tho.


Donald Duck was doing what he always did, getting wrapped up in adventures and dating a lot of people. Firstly, Daisy Duck had to be his soul mate. Mickey Mouse and Goofy Goof were there from before the beginning. Panchito and José couldn't help but love him. Luck might have been a curse against him but love was falling over head to heels to be with him.


They two seemed ageless but no one was immortal as Scrooge McDuck. Gods and empires fell to dust but Scrooge would be robbing their graves. Scrooge McDuck would always be remembered even though that wasn't his birth name if his parents comments the last time Phooey Duck visited them counted for anything. That myth of the good rich man was only to die as McDuck did. Depending on how long that Supervillain degree from Acme Looniversity college took, might come faster than expected if Kablooie Duck said any say in the matter.


... Prehaps it was better that Kablooie won and got his wish of his uncle made headless before being cooked to be eaten. Maybe the world would be better without any rich people, regardless of the complexity that made Phooey fight back Kablooie from his goal. Justice had sided with Phooey yet he sided with the main characters because it's what the narrative asked of him. They got justice and got to decide what justice meant. Which wasn't just.


After these years, perhaps the reason for his life crumbling in his hands was because he failed Lady Justice in his unknowing abuse of her power. Maybe it was a metaphor that justice had fallen to phooey and phooey made justice unjust. After all, phooey means misfortune and chaos.


Phooey Duck looked at the table, he finished separating the letters. He quieted his doubts and convinced himself that if he put his life in order that it wouldn't be so bad. That if he acted against his nature that he'd become less phooey and more order. As if misfortune and chaos couldn't be used for good. As if chaos was the root of all misfortune and couldn't equally bring good.


Sound like anyone else we know?


Phooey went to stand up and organize his life up when a familiar voice greeted, "Hello Phooey. It's been such a long time." Yellow eyes turned to the source of the voice. There stood Bradford Buzzard. His brothers stood beside him on either side. Bradford Buzzard smiled that smile that he gave to no one else but Phooey, not even Black Heron. The leader of The Buzzard Brothers spoke on, "I'd like to thank you for bringing us back, it is truly a privilege to see my golden goal again."


The chair the yellow triplet had been sitting on tumbled backwards as he fell with it. He hardly noticed that he fell over as he scrambled backwards in panic and panicked, "But you are dead! You died!! Even your ghosts died!!!" The suited vultures stepped towards them. Shadows looming over him just as they did when he was a child.




Bradford almost chuckled,


"And it's so wonderful to be alive again, all thanks to you, Phooey. Truly, you are my golden treasure."

Chapter Text

Phooey Duck scrambled backwards then up to his feet. Phooey ran and ran until he got to his bedroom. He slammed the door and locked it, it was so much. It was all too much. Phooey Duck curled into a fetal position against the door to try keep it shut. The yellow triplet trembled and cried in quiet sobs. Slowly by slowly, it began to snow inside his room. As his sobbing continued, the room was full of old timey Christmas music and Christmas decorations. Mistletoes, multicolored lights, and all sorts of Christmas decor. This was a common thing his powers would do when he remembered Bradford and his brothers.


There was a slow noise coming up the stairs now. It seems like it was taking a long time. That's when the Lightening remembered that these were old men. As the three vultures got to the door, one of them said, "I didn't miss this part of being alive." Another one shouted back, "Quit whining, you!" The labored breathing could be heard for a while. Once it stopped, there was a knock at the door. The electricity jumped in shock, but he remained firm against the door. He didn’t say anything, in fact he clapped his hands around his bill to silence his sobbing.


A voice came from behind the door, "Phooey? Phooey, It's Bradford. Open the door. I want to thank you personally." He got no answer in response. Bradford Buzzard paused for a moment then began speaking again, "...Phooey, I'm the only one who ever loved you. Think about it, has anyone ever stayed around longer than me? Has anyone ever cared about you? Has any relationship ever worked out? Think about, really think about it Phooey, I know you better than everyone else." It got quiet again. The words settled into the air. The words began to infected his mind. They made sense. Every single relationship he had failed. They would always said that he was such a good person but things just wouldn't work out.


Phooey Duck refused to believe it, to let the manipulation get into his head. He knew this manipulator and knew that grooming from before.


He couldn't let that monster in his mind.

Chapter Text

Phooey Duck opened his eyes to find himself inside his room. He listened for a while but it was quite other than the normal sounds of an apartment. He got up and then hesitantly opened the door. When Phooey poked his head through the doorframe, he was surprised to find nothing. The adult duck looked around to find nothing. A little bit reluctantly, the yellow triplet stepped out of his room. He checked every closet and corner to find nothing at all.


No matter how much he searched, nobody was there. There was nothing at all.


The Lightning finally flopped into a chair and sat just stared into nothing. They were gone. As if nothing happened, nobody was there at all. The Electricity stayed there for a while. He managed to get up after a long time and started organizing his home. The electrical duck began cleaning his kitchen and then moved on to his bathroom then to his bedroom and so on. It was the first time in weeks he had done this. Everything had fallen apart so quickly. He wasn't good at being an adult. More so than his his other siblings.


The Lightning Bolt finished up the cleaning to find it took only an hour total. Which made sense because it's apartment, it's not very big. Everything that happened yesterday seemed so distant now. All the fear was like a nightmare in the daytime, fading fast to never harm again. Life was better now.


Having finished the hour of hard work cleaning, the electric duck laid himself on his bed to relax. He let himself slip into rest peacefully without sleep. He wasn't quite that tired yet. His thoughts grew peaceful for the first time in years. So so many years. God, how many years had it been? Maybe all the way back before that last Christmas. During that Christmas party. What was life like back then? He enjoyed adventures and loved his family. He had crushes and was so innocent. The memory was distant but life being less bleak appeared like a goal within view.


A smile started to form on his bill.


Phooey Duck felt happy.


He began to imagine a life where he was happy in the future. It was the first time he done so in his entire life. The events of the Christmas party seemly destroyed any hope of dreaming of a better future. Now he could do that. Phooey first imagined another person in his life. The person was a man. A man who was well paid, organized, reasonable, wouldn't leave ever, older... Wait, older? He hated older men! What the what was going on in his head!?!


Hey Readers! Did you know that you that victims of abuse can unintentionally form attachments to their abusers and people like their abusers?! While not always the case, if the victim of abuse has this done at an easy age it can shape their views of relationships and what makes an attractive partner. They will also often hate the very same kind of person. This unfortunately results in many victims of abuse ending up in abusive relationships over and over again. They can even become abusers. Some abusers, namely manipulators and pedophiles use this fact on purpose to forever haunt their victims forever or to make sure they can never leave.


Remember, get therapy! You might be able to prevent this unfortunate situation from happening to you. Keep aware of possibly abusive behavior or abuse justification in yourself to end the cycle of abuse before it starts again!!


Phooey Duck felt a weight in the bed, no multiple weights. Before he could run away, there on top of him was Bradford Buzzard. The suited vultures were all round him, looking down with smiles. Bradford spoke almost cheerfully, "Hello Phooey. I didn't expect us to meet again so soon. Still it's so good to be able to thank you personally." Phooey went to scamble away again but he found his limbs held down by Bentley Buzzard and Buford Buzzard. He knew he was stronger than them but somehow they were holding him down.


That's when he realized it.


This wasn't the real Buzzard Brothers.


They were just memory brought to life.


They were only as strong as he remembered them being when he was a preteen.

Chapter Text

Greetings Reader and especially my gifted guests.

If you are reading this and I have gifted you this work, you might be wondering why I gifted you this work.

You few have encouraged me to do this. So I must thank you.

I cannot deny the truth that because of what you've done, I am where I am today. Your efforts, small and large, have let me do this.

Some of you I know. Some of you I don't know. Some of you I hate. Some of you I fear.

Regardless, I should show my thanks to you.

So, as a King, I will given you each a title.

Shayna Shepherd 1,
The Loyal and Devoted.
For the time we have known another, you have given to me much. The space for me to exist by burning the dirt to black, despite me not knowing. A gift that continues to this time of writing. And encouragement. I have given little to you and even at times hurt you. For that I am sorry. You were always Loyal and Devoted to me.

Cartoon Alcoholic,
The Unseen and Unsung.
I have never known you. You are not as vocal as the others on this yet all the same you cared for me for even a second. That I must be grateful. Even if I never see you again out of my own sheer ignorance, know you have given more to me than I can to you. I look to you but you remain Unseen and Unsung.

Artistic Drawn 21,
The Unexpected Kindness.
The last we spoke, you were surprised to be gifted anything. Which surprised me for you were always a surprise to be seen to me. Sometimes I look back upon my works and I am surprised how many you have given heart to. I look at you and I cannot see why you would care for me.


The Collector of Darkness.
I have not known you well but I look upon you with shady eyes. When I poured black ink on the page from some of the blackest pitches of my heart, I notice you and others like you taking them as I might take a treasure. You hold many things as I would hold a object of great value and victory and glory, I think that my depths of depravity are not even the worse of your collection. Yet, I must thank you all the same. Without you and others like you I'd surely be burned at the stake. You, The Collector of Darkness, are amongst a crowd I should give credit to more often.


Mischief and Mayhem,
The Fittingly Self Titled.
There's not much more I can say that you haven't said of yourself. Mostly because I don't actually know you. Still my gratitude should be stated bluntly thus. You have discovered a skill few can hope to hold, the ability to be as you call yourself. I admire that in a person so I admire you. Franky, I could only hope to be so Frank. Remain Cartoony.

The Blight Against God.
There are few things in this world that I know to resent more than seeing any work that is attached to your name. One of these few things is how hypocritical I am to hate you when your actions have paved a way for my works. Were I to smite you in spite, I'd doubtless destroy myself. If I ever stood against you, I would know well that anyone who supported my efforts would soon-to-be my killers after. If anyone came for you then they would come for me.

My personal opinion is anti shipping and pro shipping has poisoned the waters, to anti shippers would have me killed when I speak against what they speak against and pro shippers give not the breath to allow discomfort. All should have the right to be uncomfortable and to explore darkness, these ideas are not separate but one whole. I have trauma and mental illnesses and disability which allows me to write my darkness for fun and therapy but also harms me to even think of certain things. Neither side allows me to exist and both pits me against myself. As if I were a mere pawn on a chess board. The fact that you choose a side proves to me you are a Blight against God.

I will defend your right to speak but it doesn't stop my right to speak against you. I hope you sell ice cream in Hell. Thank you for everything.


The Feared.
I know you not. I know not why I fear you. Once I looked upon you and I was filled with terror. I don't remember why and I hope to never find out. What godless horror resulted in you is beyond me. Please never speak to me. You are a great honor to me. I appreciate you taking the time to give so much of your heart to me. Thank you.


Now for some background on myself. Which the many people who wish to use me as a chess piece will demand of me in their bad takes because I spoke of the Devil so they must come.

I shouldn't have to explain my mental illnesses, disability, and trauma to make art because you want to play a game of one up. Yet I know if I don't you will burn me at the stake to declare who's afraid of the big bad problematic wolf. Fuck you. My suffering isn't a Fucking contest or game. Still I must bleed for you.

Existing is problematic and cringe. Nothing is problematic and cringe. You have poisoned the waters pretending you care for me, only to win worthless agreements that you'll forget a second after.

I might be Petty but you are fucking demonic.


Anyway, when I was little I wanted to have sex with pedophiles. See, other children didn't want to have sex with me and they didn't even want sex because they were children. I devolved a sex drive at 3 years old if not younger. Still I was naive for I was a child so I didn't realize the dangers of pedophiles and how they were predators. I simply thought that they were the only ones who'd give me what I want.

I was every single thing those "maps" aka Pedophiles on Twitter and the other places use to excuse their own sickness. I am socially disabled. I was "consenting." Need I say more?

Yet, as you can see I didn't deserve to be assaulted. I don't deserve to be groomed. I was a FUCKING child.

However no older man or other lured me into a white van painted like an ice cream truck or something other. I had a friend who I loved very much. I resented her because I loved her. I wanted her in the wants of the flesh but I didn't make a move. She knew I wanted her so on my 12 birthday she attempted to force herself upon me. I couldn't tell her no because I loved her. Still I screamed and pushed and cried out for her to stop when she took off her clothes and attempted.

Only attempted. While she got close, I managed to get away. I couldn't bare to see her ever again as she betrayed me when I loved her, she was one of my best and only friends. I still had to see her at school and despite my pleading not to, I ended up in many sleep overs with her. Nothing happened, she made no more moves despite her trying. After that, I didn't want to date an older person. I didn't want for characters my age or younger to be with older people. I grew up and hated those sickos with every atom in my body.

Then I met my first boyfriend. While we were the same age, my friend who was only 13 had told me he attempted to groom them. My friend didn't like sex so I thought they were only saying this because they didn't approve of my boyfriend. After we broke up, I listened to my friend and realized he was a pedophile. He had groomed me even though I was in college and he had abused me. Sexually sometimes. Even though it was completely online and we never met.

Nowadays, I write about little kids and old people. Of older people praying on little kids. Of little kids being unsure and afraid of these predators. Of kids growing into adults that are forever broken by what happened to them. Of little kids thinking they love their abusers. Of over coming all of this. Of people repeating the cycle.

If I write this for fun, I should be allowed to. If I write this for art, I should be allowed to. If I write this to warn, I should be allowed to. If I'm uncomfortable with these topics even as I write them, I should be allowed to be uncomfortable and not have to see something I don't want to see. It's why I exclude tags and warnings, because I have that right. Sometimes I even read things knowing they make me uncomfortable. I have the right to.

Does it make me the abuser? No.
Does it make me the pedo? No.

It makes me an actual fucking human fucking person who was victimized and is more complex than a cardboard cut out.

I should be allowed to find love despite my trauma. I should be allowed to have lust despite my trauma. I won't let that trauma win over me nor control my life. I should be allowed to find love even if I am disabled. I should be able to lust even when I have a social disability. My disability doesn't make me a child or a fucking monster, it makes me have difficulty with social anything and it makes me a human being dammit! My mental illnesses aren't my whole personhood and I can love and lust and be a person even at my worst of them.

I am allowed to be FUCKING angry and Petty and me, motherfucker! Fuck the pro shippers for telling me my fucking pain isn't valid because they want to make incest and pedo shit. Fuck the anti shippers for acting like a one year age gap is the same as pedophilia, acting like I'm some fucking infant for my disability, for acting like my mental illnesses make me an infant or a monster, for acting like I'm supporting incest for selfcest, saying me being Pansexual is bi hating and pedophilia, and every other stupid nothing.

Say you are uncomfortable, say you don't like being judged! It's not a Fucking contest to win! I hope both sides grow the Fuck up and actually see the gray area that is Existing in FUCKING general!!

Fuck you!!! I spit on you!! I hope you sell ice cream in Hell! Die.

Now that I'm surely going to used against myself by both sides, let the story actually start.


Where were we?

Oh yes, Bradford Buzzard smiled as he sat straddling Phooey Duck. Bentley Buzzard held down the arms and Buford Buzzard held down the legs. Yet, this wasn't really Bradford Buzzard, Bentley Buzzard, nor Buford Buzzard. These were merely memories brought to life by the complicated nature of Phooey Duck's feelings to all of them but especially Bradford Buzzard. See, Phooey Duck just realized that his ideal partner(s) look exactly like The Buzzard Brothers due to the purposeful grooming and manipulation by Bradford Buzzard. Which mean these copy ghosts are only as powerful as the memories they are based on

Which means they are also influenced by the alterations that come with remembering things.

Fortunately, Phooey Duck can change those memories by his emotions.

Unfortunately, those memories are changed by whatever emotions he already had about them.

Now that we are done with the recap and I hopefully don't need to beat you over the head with the metaphor anymore, we can continue the story.

Phooey Duck felt weirdly about looking into Bradford Buzzard's eyes while he was held down. He had this nightmare looming over him for basically his entire life at this point but he didn't feel as afraid as he use to. Which meant he was more terrified than ever. See the feeling replacing the fear was something else. Something dark and twisted and red with romances, love or lust it's difficult to say fully. Albeit, the feeling is completely artificial.

It was born of manipulations and force.

Made not of misguided sympathy, although that is part of it, but more so made of corruptions. A little boy who never got love from others his own age who's brain, by grooming, put lust and romance undertones to the only persons who said they loved him in that way. The pedophile abusers who were trying to assault him.

So when Bradford spoke, it sounded like all those lies before. How Bradford would only chuckle and smile around him. Those 'I love you and I'm the only one who would ever love you's. Those forced kisses that haunt every single nightmare. Phooey was an adult now, he was aware of the tropes. The only reason he hadn't solved this puzzle earlier was likely because of the horror of seeing them. Now that his only action was to think, he'd done a lot of it in the few seconds since this started. Unluckily, he was still panicking.

He tried to reimagined them. As something weaker or silly but all he could see was the eyes of a predator getting closer and closer. All he could feel was fear and a sickening twist of romance, lust, or love. Who can tell? The old man balanced himself by holding himself up with his arms, hands put on either side of the young man's head. The impulse that implied this scene had a sexual undertone and tension confused the issue more. Phooey kept trying to get a control of his emotions but trying to control the seas of chaos only had it worse...

Exactly like Bradford.

Trying to chain the wind didn't solve anything. In fact, trying to kill all disorder with order only brought more disorder. There was another way.

His head cleared now. He understood how to solve this. His eyes closed and he ignored everything going on around him. Phooey remembered them as they were in their last moments. Old men who just as jokes as any other baddie he faced, old men who died.

The weights pinning him down disappeared first then the leader died pleading that he wasn't a villain. Just like it happened. Yellow eyes opened to nobody in the room. He was alone all by himself. There was no one around at all. The sounds of the other people in the other apartments nearby assured that he wasn't alone enough to relapse into another spiral. Phooey Duck sat up yet he was struck by a paine of sadness, another aftermath of that scar. He felt a little bad that his abuser's afterimage was dead at his own hands especially since he "loved" him.

The Glitch tried to shake off the false sweetness but couldn't, the wounds couldn't heal yet. Unfortunately, there was conquests for the things he couldn't control. The copy ghost returned and was standing kneeling between his legs. Manipulative, false, sweetness dripped off his lips as Bradford gave honey sweet lies, "Oh Phooey, how about a kiss?~♡" An evil chuckle played as his hand reached into a pocket of his suit to pull out a mistletoe. The Error was frozen in shock, watching as the old, bald, vulture give sudo bedroom eyes.

The old, graying, balding, man held the mistletoe up above their heads before going to kiss between his legs. The young man was jolted out of his shock and moved like lightening away. The young adult accidentally slammed the back of his head against the wall. The suited vulture fixed the mistletoe into his tie then walked slowly on all fours closer to him. The leader of the board of directors flirted as he crawled on his hands and knees ever closer, "Do you remember where I kissed you during that party? How about a reminder?"

... You deserve more context here. The horny of preteen to teen to adult Phooey is all crashing into each other which is influencing the memory of his assault which is putting it a more "sexy" ideal partner form of his molester(s). This means Bradford Buzzard is overlapping into that "sexy" ideal partner form. Explaining why this is happening and why Phooey Duck isn't running away more. The horny and the fear are clashing in his brain, giving him mixed signals where he can't move. Since the person this memory is based upon is manipulative, the afterimage we see is using this to continue it's own existence.

Let us returned to the very uncomfortable scene.

The vulture was on top of the duck, taking off the mistletoe from his tie to hold above the heads. The scavenger pinned him against the wall, going in for the kiss. The duck was conflicted in the moment. He wanted to escape and make this go away but God, he was so lonely. So very lonely and nobody loved him in the way he needed. He was an adult now with adult needs, dammit. Yet, he couldn't do this. He couldn't be fucking do THIS!! This is not right, he'd be giving into that fucker! It wasn't right. It wasn't love. It wasn't romance. It was recreating his molesting in a warped way then saying it was good, it would be letting this fuck win!

But... But God dammit, he'd been fighting so long. He was so tired. Nothing was working. It just kept coming back. Why can't he just stop fighting for even a second? Why can't he just let it happen and enjoy it?

What kind of sick fucking logic even is that!?!

What the Fuck was wrong with him? Wanting this sick fuck!? What the FUCK!?!! What the Hell!!!?

The conflict was tearing Phooey Duck apart. He was breathing hard and heavy as the tears flooded in. It was so conflicting and it shouldn't be. The answer was simple, he shouldn't. The answer was just no, for God's sake! It didn't matter if he never was loved again, this was wrong and would only hurt him more. There was no complexity that erased that fact. There was no conflict that could stop it. There was no big complicated reasoning to justify it at all. Yet to say it, felt almost like victim blaming.

Sure, it wasn't okay to let this ghost kiss him and fuck him but he had been abused into believing it was.

Could we really argue that he should just run away as if all those lies didn't happen?

A husband who hits his wife then says he won't love her anymore if she won't sleep with him is the problem, not the wife worrying her husband won't love her anymore. We don't blame her for sleeping with him, we blame him for forcing her to. Sure, she could "just leave" but she probably doesn't have the state of mind to do so if that even is a choice. Given the scenario created, the husband would more likely kill her if she tried to leave and if he didn't then he would find another way to abuse her into coming back when she did leave.

This isn't an easy to win scenario even when the right choice is clear as a blue sky without clouds.

Phooey closed his golden eyes as the tears kept pouring out. He waited for the kiss against his will. He tried to not sob, but didn't feel the kiss anywhere. Slowly the tears stopped and Phooey couldn't bare to open his eyes for the fear of what may be there when he opened them up. There was a whisper near his ear hole, "Open your eyes." He shaked his head no, closing his eyes tighter. The voice requested again, "Open your eyes and look at me, Phooey Duck." He shaked his head no harder. He was shaking now, waiting for something but he wasn't sure what. Why was this even happening?

Shouldn't he just force the kiss? Isn't that what the real Bradford Buzzard do? The deep voice that haunted him so threatened, "Open your eyes or I'll kiss you right now and you know where." This fucker was just fucking with him! Of course, this fucker was fucking with him! That isn't a surprising at all. An abusive, manipulative, pedophile who wishes to control the everything but denies his evil is sure as shit going to make him do something he doesn't want to just to fuck with him. Also probably for control because of fucking course.

Phooey didn't open his eyes. He felt something between his legs and immediately scrambled away before it could fully touch him.




He regretted letting it get this bad.

Chapter Text

Phooey Duck dashed for the door and fell over in his mad dash. Bradford Buzzard smiled as he casually strolled then pinned him down with his feet, then he spoke, "Phooey, my little Paramore." Phooey attempted to scramble away. Bradford sat on his back, pinning him down with his arms and legs on the arms and legs, he went to kiss. The yellow triplet trembled as he tried to not cry, but yet the tears poured out. The Buzzard darkly chuckled, "Awwww, aren't you just precious? Come now, Phooey, be my Paramore."

There was only sobbing.

The vulture insisted, "Don't cry, just enjoy it. You know you want it, that's why I'm here." It was true but that didn't really matter. The duck shouted back in rage and tears, "No! That's true but it doesn't matter anymore!! You should just take no for an answer!" The scavenger stared at him with a dull disappointment. The convid dismissed, "Tsk tsk tsk, I'm very disappointed in you, Phooey Duck. I could give you anything but you continue to refuse me. Why? I thought you needed me." The water fowl managed to struggle out of the pin and out the doorway.

"I don't care!" The duck yelled, "You don't just force things on people because you think you know better!! If you loved me, you wouldn't keep going when I refuse!" The buzzard went to get to his feet but found the younger man already there, the door slammed shut. Phooey backed away as the door rattled and shaked and a voice behind it demanded, "You let me out of here, damn it! I'm the only person who would ever give you what you need and you are mine!!" Phooey Duck didn't say anything, he just ran out of his apartment.

This was a mistake.

He shouldn't have let it get this bad.


Still he had gotten out.


That was what mattered.

Chapter Text

The world was a swirling chaos. Phooey Duck was never more himself than now. While over these years he had resented his own name, he was filled with everything he'd lost. He was standing on the street corner with a phone, returning some calls from his family. He told them that he needed a ride to Duckburg. Life was like a hurricane and he couldn't be happier to escape his self built prison. Once he thought he needed to be the least like discord but forgotten who he was.

Now he could dream.

The car rolled up to apartment building, he got inside. He never looked back. Adventure was returning to his life. The world was colorful again life the winter turned to spring.

The yellow triplet took a deep breath. Whoever was driving was calling everyone to tell them the shift. His family cared and he was beginning to remember that family was the greatest adventure. All the unknowns he feared faced him, all the unpredictable chances crashed into him, finally the world was joyful again. The Lightning laughed as he wondered why he was ever afraid when this was his nature. The driver was saying something but he couldn't hear it, he hugged whoever it was.

All this time he thought he was unlovable because he had never found romantic love. That wasn't true at all. He didn’t need romantic love to be loveable. His family loved him! Maybe he would find romantic love but right now he had platonic love.




The moral of the story is no matter what, never return to your abusers.


You are stronger without them.


You didn't deserve it.


Even if you blame yourself and you still love them, they are dead and should stay dead.


The End.