#ch: the ducklings

[the-bus-called-graveyard-8]

TURNING 10 TODAY: “Siege the Day”, which first aired on June 17th, 2012. This episode was released on DVD several months prior to it being aired on television.

“Well, you guys just go to the festival of dirt and fumes without me, and I’ll stay here and watch these adorable ducklings!”

[nenekobasu]

if there’s one thing that reassured me in ch.221 it’s that kaiser’s true answer is noa. even as a biased noa-kaiser conspiracist there’s no other way i can interpret that full-page spread

i think it calls back to this panel from v.spain

the noa-kaiser-isagi line drawn by level of decreasing ability, both kaiser and isagi looking towards noa their obvious better

then in ch.221 this line-up happens again but it doesn’t, because kaiser isn’t sandwiched between noa and isagi exactly (the way he is in isagi’s imagination) he’s almost right at noa’s back, positionally still not quite at noa’s level but still drawn so that it looks like he’s “with” noa and not just relegated to glancing at him from the side. isagi in the ch.221 spread is roughly at kaiser’s spot in the above panel, while kaiser in the spread has moved almost to noa’s level

kaiser also doing his pre-game choking ritual is also huge moe (to me) for him it’s time for a new game and a new self potentially, reborn as a player who is willing to stay with noa and challenge him for number 1. also i love noa and kaiser’s ch.221 poses they have so much swag. everyone else is in a soccer manga but those two are from jjba

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Happy Easter: Dysfuctional Family

Charlie: (blowing a kazoo through the hotel while wearing white bunny ears and tail, carrying an Easter basket, and throwing bright colored and decorated eggs everywhere)

HAPPY EASTER, EVERYONE!!!

Hazbins: (groan collectively)

Vaggie: (slightly distracted by the tail) Hun, love the enthusiasm, but do you even know the purpose of Easter Sunday is?

Charlie: (cracks open a Cadbury egg and siphons out the innards with her tongue) Isn't it just an excuse to binge on chocolate and snuggle fluffy little bunnies and ducklings?

Angel: (clutches his pearls in ex-Catholic Italian horror) Mama Mia!

Lucifer: *Squeeeeee!* I'll be right back!

Vaggie: I guess that's a more corporate way to put it.

Angel: That's IT!!! I'm making my Mama's Italian Easter Bread! Charlie, you need to be schooled on Easter!

Alastor: Hmmm... I suppose if we're doing a full celebration, I can do a little something to liven things up. (Snaps his fingers, and everyone's clothes are transformed into various colored Bunny footie pajamas)

Charlie: (wearing hot pink bunny jammies and twirls) Oooooh! These are so cuuuute!

Vaggie: (in pastel lavender pajamas and snarling) Cabron!

Angel: (sneaky smirk as he wears a pastel pink and white two-piece pajama suit) Oh, Smiiiiiiles?

Alastor: (simply wearing red bunny ears) No.

Angel: C'mon! Hear me out! (Whispers in Alastor's ear)

Alastor: Hmmmmm.... I'll allow it! (Snaps his fingers again)

Vaggie: (baggy bunny jammies suddenly transform into a black and velvet purple, Las Vegas Showgirl bunny suit with white tail and ears, fishnets, and heels with purple wrist cuffs)

Angel: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! LOOKING GOOD, VAGS!!!!

Vaggie: (growls and tries to cover herself) FUCKING-A, ANGEL!!! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU TELL HIM?!?!?!

Angel: Does it matter? I don't have a soul to sell. (Sees Charlie) Ha! Might wanna focus on your girlfriend, Toots.

Vaggie: What? (Looks at Charlie)

Charlie: (blushing, heart eyes, panting like a puppy, and her pajamas turned into a similar Showgirl suit but red with fox ears and tail)

Vaggie: Ch-Charlie? Charlie! No. No! Charlotte Morningstar, we are in front of guests! Shit! (Runs down the hallway)

Charlie: (hearts explode around her head) Hippity-Hoppity, that ass is my property! (Gives chase)

...........

Vaggie: (rounds back around the corner while carrying Charlie bridal style) Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Lucifer: (rides in on a tidal wave of fluff infused rubber duckies while wearing yellow ducky footie pajamas with orange webbed feet) RELEASE THE QUACKEN!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Alastor: (sighs in aroace exhaustion as a random rubber duck bounces off his head)

Angel: (slowly calming down as he wipes a tear from his eye) It's just like home~

[sfehvn]

new religion part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7

A/N: Some more fluffy smut in this chapter. Enjoy! xx Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 2,081 Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x au!Tav

━─━────༺༻────━─━

  You had always admired how warm sun rays kissed your lover’s flesh, never to be marred by the harsh light. You had never given it a second thought before Astarion’s admission; now you often found yourself questioning if some ounce of you had known something was off about him. If you had simply repressed any thoughts that didn’t align with your ideation of him. It was always short-lived once his hand intertwined with your own, grounding you like a tether to the planet’s surface. “Made just for me. Every bit of you fits exquisitely. Wouldn’t you agree, darling?” Astarion would often tease just to see the red hugh that would grace your cheeks. Although he liked to see how nervous he made you, it was never contrary to the truth. How natural such things he would previously sneer in distaste for felt with you. It would seldom cease to blow his mind; the piece of divinity a heinous creature like himself had managed to secure. The gods must have had a hand at play the day his eyes fell upon you. Why? He wasn’t sure he’d ever know.

  Bloomridge Park was green as ever and you watched the inhabitants with a careful eye, resting against a pillow Astarion had been sure to pack for your first excursion out since you’d stumbled up to his front door after the passing of your father. Young couples chattered to themselves as they walked by, the occasional flaming fist clad in full armor, a mother and two young children following like ducklings. You hum absently, running your hand over the soft material of the blanket beneath you two. It was the first time you’d been able to think about anything other than your father’s passing in nearly a month.

  “Isn’t it odd?” Your eyes fluttered shut as you mused.

  “Hm? What’s that, dear?” Astarion looks up from the book he had been engrossed in.

  “All of these people. We don’t know the first thing about them. Yet, all of them live their own lives with struggles we’ll never know.” You open your eyes to look at him, taking note of the confusion on his face so you elaborate further. “I just mean it’s easy to see strangers in the street and take them for face value, I suppose. Do you ever think about that?”

  “No.” His brow creases, glancing over at the most recent passerby.

  “Never?”

  He marks where he left off in his novel and sets it down beside him before he moves closer to you, snaking an arm around your waist and urging your head to rest on his chest instead of the pillow. “Not particularly. Where is this coming from?”

  “I was just curious, I guess. I think about it a lot. I wonder if people look at us and have the same perception.” As you speak, his fingers run through the silky strands of your hair, attentive to the way it shimmers at the prying light through the forested leaves of the tree above.

  “What matter would it serve if they did? If anything they see an extraordinarily gorgeous couple brilliantly in love. If they have any sense, at least.” His words prompt you to swat his chest disapprovingly; playfully.

  “You are missing my point.” You giggle and Astarion’s chest fills with an intense feeling of happiness. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the sound of your laugh through the troubles of the past month. “Did you ever look at me and see the sadness my heart holds? Do you think anyone else does?” 

  Astarion’s free hand comes up to cup your chin, his thumb stroking gentle circles against your jaw. “You are a light to all who are blessed enough to lay eyes upon you.” He asserts. You smile solemnly, hand coming to rest on his elbow. Welcoming lips meet his, a sweet kiss ghosted in their absence.

-

  You came to rest on a velvet chaise in the front room, holding an envelope between your fingertips. Your name was scrawled across the front in the familiar chicken scratch of your older brother’s handwriting. You swiftly opened it and were greeted with two pages of writing. Your younger sisters had been settling into their new home comfortably, much to your relief. You had felt a great sense of guilt lately for being so willing to hand them over to Alan upon his request. Your brother knew you better than anyone else and when you had fell apart after losing your father, it was unspoken that you were not ready to take on the role of mother to five young girls. Alan, however, had quite a few years on you and his wife was just as eager to take them on. Seeing the letter reassured that you had indeed made the right choice. They deserved more structure than you were able to provide, and according to Alan they were flourishing under their care. The knowledge felt like a weight off of your shoulders.

  “Your brother, dear?” Astarion asks as he enters the room, toweling droplets of water from his hair. You nod, as does he in response. “The girls are faring well, I presume?”

  “Very well it seems.” You hum, setting the letter aside so you can put your sole attention on the nude body of your lover before you. You reach out, beckoning him to take your hands. He places them into yours, pulling you up from the chaise. His head dips down until his lips find your neck, suckling gently at the sensitive skin. His hands move to the front of the silk robe that adorned your body, slowly working it down your arms until it fell from you in a graceful pile at your feet. You move your neck to the side to allow him more access, draping your arms around his neck. Convinced you would never tire of feeling Astarion’s body against your own, you let out a contented sigh followed shortly by a moan as you felt his fangs teasingly dance over your flesh.

  His hands move to grip the backs of your thighs, lifting you. He places you graciously on the nearby desk, as if you were more fragile than you actually were. You immediately feel hands trailing up the insides of your legs, spreading his fingers wide as he silently aided you in opening them for him. A faint whine leaves your throat once his digits are buried deep inside of you, his thumb stroking your clit softly but with purpose. Your head tilts in ecstasy and it urges him to your throat once more. How badly he wanted to taste your sweet lifeforce on his tongue, it was as if every part of your body sung for him. Self control he had no use for before you always took him by surprise. No matter how badly he craved to indulge in everything your body offered to him, he wouldn’t dare sink a fang into you without you urging him to.

  “I wanna know what it feels like.” You murmured. Astarion’s hand stills but remains in place between your thighs, lifting his head from his position in the crook of your neck. You look up at him from euphoric hooded eyes, a slight smile upturning the corner of your lips. “I mean if you want to. I-I just know you said that alone wouldn’t turn me.” You stuttered, a soft flush decorated your cheeks. “And I trust you.” You added sheepishly.

  He looks down at you curiously, an amused smile playing on his face at how nervous you came across in your revelation. “It wouldn’t.” His words were poised, yet he was nearly unable to quell the excitement buzzing within himself. He pondered whether he’d be able to show the same restraint in the moment. A little taste couldn’t hurt and he was well fed; now had to be as good a time as any. One of his hands come up to cradle the back of your head and his other arm braces your waist against him. He presses a tender kiss to your forehead before his mouth is resting over your jugular. Your heart flutters from the thrill, the anticipation. “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  That was the only confirmation Astarion needed. He plants one final kiss to your neck before his fangs sink into your delicate flesh, the sweetness of your metallic blood pools in his mouth and he sucks eagerly, somehow managing to remember to treat you delicately through the rush of it all. It’s the sweetest thing he’s had the pleasure of tasting, even sweeter to feel your body relax against his own rather than fighting against him. He shifts his hand from your waist to guide his hard cock to your drenched mound, pressing into you slowly.

  The feeling is the closest he believes he’d ever get to religion, your body reacting ferverently to his every touch. He pumps in and out of your center, his mouth lapping up every ounce of blood that flows from your wound in tandem. Your pleasurable moans urge him on and he quickens his pace as your body goes limp from the bloodloss. Your hands lazily grasping his shoulders let him know you were still conscious and he removes himself from your neck before he’s beyond the point of no return. His hand reaches to apply pressure to the wound in an attempt to stop your blood from leaking any further. It coats his palm at the contact and he hungrily plants his lips to yours once again.

  The metallic taste of his tongue is off-putting for a moment, but quickly your mind is overtaken by the sensation of him filling you to the brim over and over again with deliberate thrusts. You feel reality drift away as your body shakes in euphoria, walls tightening around the length of his cock. You weren’t dying, but if you were, this would be the way you’d like to go. A celestial feeling of toeing the line between life and death, while the man you love fucks you to your heart’s content. The thought pushes you over the edge, his name leaving your lips in invocation. He follows suit. His seed drips as he pulls out of you, soon to be dripping down those thighs he loved so much. “I think I need to lie down.” You say weakly, your surroundings grow increasingly blurry as you look around the room.

  “Soon, my treasure.” He assures, calling for the maid that stood outside of the room. She entered and remained unfazed by the sight before her, instead waiting for instruction from her master. “Tend to Tav’s wound and help her into a fresh pair of night clothes.” 

  “Yes, master.” The thrall responds, urgently rushing to your side and making quick work of bandaging your punctured neck. 

  You lay silently at Astarion’s side feeling much more balanced. The nightgown that hugged your body was no use in hiding the stickiness between your thighs, a welcome reminder of the passionate encounter you two had shared earlier in the evening. His fingertips massage your head, laced in your hair as your head rested on his shoulder. “I could stay like this forever.” You whisper for fear of breaking the comfortable moment. He smiles, turning his head to bury his nose into your hair.

-

  A fiery-haired woman watches on in admiration, her fingers twinging slightly to will away the viewing port that had been conjured before her. “Don’t you just love love?” She muses to the other two women at her side. Her face of unparalleled beauty, she grins widely.

  “It seems your plan is going accordingly, Sune. Although, do you truly believe them able to fulfill such a prophecy?” A darker haired woman asks.

  “Oh, Mystra.” Sune giggles. “Your doubt aside, I do. I’ve hardly had to meddle at all. All it took was for the vampire to get one good look at her. The rest is their doing.”

  “We are running out of time. I didn’t imagine it would be such a lengthy process. If we succeed, there will be no feat this archdevil can overcome.” A silver-haired woman addresses, eyeing the red-haired goddess carefully.

  “Love is a sacred state of being, Selûne. It will always take time. To my own surprise, these two were awfully susceptible to one another. We may even be ahead of schedule. Patience, ladies.” Sune hums and the other two have no choice but to oblige.

[themurphyzone]

Son of Darkwing AU: Just Like You Ch 1

Summary: AU where DT17!Drake Mallard is the son of famous actor Jim Starling aka the original Darkwing Duck.

Eight-year old Drake Starling looks up to his father, who happens to be his favorite superhero, Darkwing Duck. To a smaller than average, timid duckling often bullied by his peers, Darkwing is everything he wants to be when he grows up. He's handsome, brave, and confident, but most importantly, he always stands up for what's right no matter what.

If only the rest of the world could see that side of Darkwing too.

AN: I just found the Jim Starling is Drake’s father AU concept too interesting to pass up writing a story on. Plus I just wanted to take a break from my usual fandom and write something different. There will be a short epilogue after this that will be posted in the next day or two.

AO3 Link

“My dad is a superhero! He always says the coolest things and saves the day and beats up the bad guys and gets to kiss Morgana!”  

Drake grinned to his second grade class, proudly displaying his drawing of Darkwing Duck perched dutifully on the St. Canard Clocktower, his keen eyes surveying the fair city below for evildoers, purse-snatchers, and shoppers who had eleven items in the ten items or less lane at the grocery store. 

How many other kids could claim their father regularly braved the rough waves of St. Canard Pier to fight a waterlogged mutt, engaged in intense physical and mental training to build his immunity to the poisons and powders of a professor turned mutant plant, broached terrifying tornadoes and thunderstorms to reach the megalomaniacal Megavolt, and locked away thieving jesters for copyright infringement? 

Well, Drake didn’t know what copyright infringement was, but it was definitely a most dastardly, devious, and despicable act if it caught Darkwing Duck’s attention!

In the front row, a bulldog pup barked out a harsh laugh. 

“Darkwing’s not real, you dork!” Brandon Barker snorted, his elbow thumping the table with a loud thud. “You can’t actually believe these things!” 

His friends snickered behind their hands, and Drake’s wide grin slipped away. He shuffled his feet, cheek feathers growing warm with embarrassment. His hands shook and crinkled his drawing at the edges. 

“O-of course he’s real!” Drake protested. All eyes were on him, and his heart pounded with the fear of losing their support. He spread his purple coat out on each side, imitating Darkwing’s billowing cape against the night wind. “He’s the terror who flaps in the night, the wrench of justice in the inner workings of villainy, t-the engine that, um, I meant he’s the elephant in the living room of slime…no, crime!”  

Brandon Barker’s laughter rang in his ears, loud and mocking and shameless. 

Drake clutched the drawing to his chest, trying not to ruin Darkwing Duck in the center of the paper. 

Only a handful of his classmates applauded his presentation, more out of politeness than anything else. Three girls were whispering and passing notes to each other, Phillip Trotski in the back row was asleep, and everyone who wasn’t friends with Brandon stared blankly at the ticking of the clock as the end of the school day drew closer by the second. 

My Dad is the most amazing duck in the world. Why can’t any of you see that? 

Drake stared at the trash can by Mrs. Crane’s desk, tilting his head so his classmates couldn’t see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t want to give them another reason to laugh at him. 

There were already too many. 

He flinched at the sharp, loud slap of a ruler hitting the desk. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, Mrs. Crane always did that when she wanted them to pay attention, but it never failed to be a frightening noise. 

“Don’t laugh at your classmates’ presentations, Brandon. Quincy. Issac.” Mrs. Crane scolded, giving each boy a stern look of disapproval. Quincy and Issac sank in their seats, embarrassed to be caught. Brandon only pouted, not looking sorry at all. “Next Monday, you will each spend five minutes in the corner at recess and think about your behavior.” 

“But Mrs. Crane-”  Brandon protested, though Mrs. Crane quickly cut him off. 

“Ten minutes.” 

Brandon’s elbow thumped onto his desk. “Stupid Drakey,” he mumbled. 

Drake covered his face with one hand, shielding himself from Brandon’s scornful glare. 

Mrs. Crane stood up so quickly that her chair flew behind her and slammed against the whiteboard. Her long, thin shadow fell across Brandon, who shot a pleading look at Quincy and Issac, but the other boys inched their desks away from Mrs. Crane’s wrath. 

“Young man,” she said icily, in the tone Darkwing himself would use on a villain if they’d committed an especially heinous crime. “I will be speaking to your parents later. And you will spend the next week indoors, copying the dictionary instead of playing basketball with your friends.” 

Nobody, not even Brandon, dared to speak. The class gathered their books, backpacks, and belongings with less enthusiasm than usual when the final bell rang at three. 

Drake stayed by the teacher’s desk, unwilling to pack up just yet. He knew he’d wind up tripping over a pencil or backpack strap or somebody’s outstretched leg if he tried to return to his desk in the middle row. 

“Drake,” Mrs. Crane said quietly, so that his classmates wouldn’t hear as they were ushered out of the room by a teacher’s aide. “Stay behind for a moment. I won’t keep you long if you’re taking the bus home.” 

Drake gulped. Did she know he’d fallen asleep during reading time?  

“I-I’m not, Mrs. Crane,” Drake stammered. “Dad’s picking me up today.”

He’d never been alone in the classroom with Mrs. Crane before, and seeing that he barely came up to her waist made him nervous. He was the shortest in the class, which only gave his bullies even more reasons to pick on him. 

To his relief, Mrs. Crane pulled her chair around and sat down. She still towered over him, but Drake felt like he could breathe a little easier now. 

“You were supposed to talk about a hero in your life,” she said, peering down her long bill at him. Drake wilted at the disappointment in her voice. “Not one on a silly TV show.” 

But Darkwing wasn’t silly. And it wasn’t for little kids either. 

“...but my dad is Darkwing Duck,” Drake said meekly, picking at a loose thread on his coat. Nobody seemed to understand that. “He’s a hero.” 

His dad always threw the bad guys in jail and saved St. Canard. He was cool, confident, and never gave up even when all hope was lost. What part of that wasn’t heroic? 

“Your…father…plays a hero,” Mrs. Crane corrected, shaking her head like the word ‘father’ disgusted her.  “Being a hero in real life is completely different.” 

Drake tilted his head. Wasn’t Dad a hero all the time? There really wasn’t much of a difference. 

“How?” he asked, more confused than ever. 

Mrs. Crane only took their spelling quizzes from the basket on her desk and laid them out. “I’m afraid you’ll have to find that answer for yourself,” she replied. She uncapped her red pen and began to mark the paper. “Run along now.” 

The conversation was over. Drake shuffled to the back of the classroom and retrieved his Darkwing Duck backpack. It was large on him, covering his back like a turtle’s shell. Sure, he had to stoop a bit while he wore it, but he didn’t mind. 

He slid his Darkwing drawing, homework folder, the Mystifying Mystery of the Missing Mare library book he’d checked out earlier that day, and his pencil case into the backpack. 

Packing up in peace was nice. 

For once, nobody tried to steal his pencils or knock the library books off his desk. 

“Drake?” Mrs. Crane called as he opened the classroom door, ready to leave now that he had everything.

Startled, Drake turned around so quickly that he almost fell beakfirst onto the floor. 

“You’re getting much better at speaking in front of your classmates,” Mrs. Crane said. A rare smile tugged at the corner of her beak. “Good job.” 

While Darkwing Duck would’ve made a triumphant speech, Drake could only stammer out a thank you and hurry out the door. 

Mrs. Crane’s words followed him down the hallway, only confusing him more with every step he took. 

Playing a hero? Being a hero? Dad is a hero! Why doesn’t anyone believe me when I tell them? 

He got weird looks whenever he told people that his dad was the one and only Darkwing Duck. 

Kids laughed at him. The grown-ups would just give him odd, pitying looks. Even the adults at Golden Goose Studios changed the subject when he tried to describe Dad’s awesome rapidfire karate chops that took down Megajack, a villainous fusion of Megavolt and Quackerjack. 

But nobody ever believed him. 

He sucked in a breath as he joined the other kids outside. It was always crowded out here after school. Several teachers kept a watchful eye on everyone as they played on the stone steps and grassy hills surrounding the building. Two long lines of cars waited in the parking lot, parents shouting for their kids from open windows so they could get out as fast as possible.  

Drake perched on his tiptoes, staying at the very top of the staircase so Dad could see him. It was lonely up here, but he needed to stay separate from the crowd so he wouldn’t be lost. 

Okay, don’t lose focus! Drake Starling must be ever-vi…what was that word Darkwing always used again? Vigilicious? I think that was it! Drake Starling must be ever-vigilicious when searching the streets below for his transport! 

He didn’t see Dad’s car anywhere. 

Drake fiddled with the straps of his backpack as one classmate after another left with their parents. Dad’s filming sessions tended to run long, so Drake tended to be one of the last kids to be picked up if it was his turn. 

He understood why Dad couldn’t make it on time, even though he sometimes worried that he’d have to sleep on the school stairs overnight, like the people who camped out in tents and sleeping bags downtown. 

Suddenly, there was a loud, screeching honk from a silver van, and the kids along the sidewalk leapt back in shock. The van window rolled down, revealing a large, furious boar with a pair of sharp tusks that poked out from his bottom lip. 

“Watch where you’re going, you weirdo!” the boar roared, shaking his fist at a purple-clad duck with a large fedora and long, flowing cape who’d crossed in front of his van. 

“Dad!” Drake exclaimed, heart leaping with excitement. He’d finished early for once! And he’d even come as Darkwing Duck!

None of his other classmates could say Darkwing Duck picked them up from school!

“The crosswalk light was green! How ‘bout you watch where you’re going, porky?” Dad snapped, storming up to the window of the angry boar. He jabbed a finger at the boar’s snout, a fist clenched at his side. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“I’m up here, Dad!” Drake shouted, waving his arms and jumping as high as possible so Dad could see him above everyone else. “Over here! Look this wa-aaaaayyyyy!” 

He leaned too far over the step, screaming as his beak painfully collided with stone. He tasted gravel in his mouth, knees stinging as they smacked against each bumpy step all the way to the bottom of the staircase. 

With his unexpected freefall at an end, Drake laid beneath his heavy backpack, unable to stand on his own. Grit clung to his knees and elbows, and his peers’ legs and feet crowded around him. 

Dozens of eyes bored into him. Shocked whispers and gasps rippled through his onlookers. 

Then came Brandon Barker’s howl of laughter, loud and mocking and cruel. 

Drake wanted to pull his head and limbs inside his backpack like a turtle and never come out again. 

This wasn’t the sort of attention he wanted. 

He’d have to figure out how to eat and drink and watch his favorite shows under here-

“EVERYONE BACK OFF MY KID IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU!” 

Drake gasped at that heroic, commanding voice that always forced a crowd to stop and listen no matter what they were doing. And it wasn’t just any other heroic, commanding voice either! 

“Dad!” Drake exclaimed. He sprung up, the scrapes on his knees not bothering him in the slightest as he pounced upon his dad’s waist. “You’re early!” 

“Agh-hey!” Dad made a choking noise, his body stiff as a board in Drake’s hug before he managed to pry him off. “Watch the suit, kid. It’s freshly ironed. Can’t have you or anyone else wrinkling it.” 

Drake inhaled a light, fresh scent from the awe-inspiring Darkwing outfit. “Your suit smells funny! Um, I mean funny in a nice way! It’s not bad or anything! I like it!” he exclaimed, quickly backpedaling when Dad raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, that makes one of us,” Dad sighed, his long beak crinkling in distaste. “My clueless costume designers refuse to understand that Darkwing Duck does not require carnation scented freshener while fighting the cantankerous criminals of St. Canard. Besides, it clogs his beak.”

He sneezed loudly, a shower of droplets hitting an unfortunate young cardinal in the face. 

“Ewww, gross!” the cardinal stuck his tongue out in disgust. He wiped the droplets onto his shirt and stumbled away. 

Everyone else backed up and gave them a wide berth. 

Dad rolled his eyes. “Kids these days,” he grumbled. “Can’t even handle the slightest inconvenience.” 

Drake grinned, unable to stop bouncing on his toes. “Or see how cool your costume is?” 

“Heh. That too,” Dad let out a short, hacking laugh, ruffling the feathery tuft on Drake’s head. A strong arm wrapped around Drake’s shoulders and led him away from the school. “Let’s get outta this dump, sport. I parked the Ratcatcher by the soccer field. Less crowded over there. Don’t want any of these uncultured yokels ruining the paint job.” 

If this was a dream, then he never wanted to wake up again. He was finally getting to ride in the ultimate criminal-catching contraption of all time! Auntie never allowed Dad to take him for a ride no matter how much Drake begged, even within studio grounds. She always said it was too dangerous, as if she didn’t remember who she was talking to. But Dad always listened to her, even though he complained about it all the time. 

“You finally convinced Auntie to let me ride in the Ratcatcher with you?” Drake asked eagerly. “She told me I wasn’t big enough last time I asked her! I don’t think she knows I grew a whole two inches last summer!” 

He puffed out his chest proudly and lifted his beak in the triumphant pose Darkwing Duck would strike at the end of an episode. 

“Oh, I convinced her alright!” Dad proclaimed. “I’ve honed my persuasion techniques to a highly advanced art form. No actress or criminal alive stands a chance against good old-fashioned Darkwing charm!” 

He pumped his fist into the air, and Drake copied his action with a cheer, only to leap out of his feathers when a car honked loudly. 

“GET OFF THE ROAD, FREAK!” a bulldog woman roared, leaning out the open window of her minivan and fixing them with a furious glare. 

With a firm shove, Drake was swept behind his father protectively. Drake stumbled, clinging to Dad’s cape to avoid her ire. He saw Dad’s deep frown, his defensive stance, his powerful fists balled, and Drake knew that if he was going to be anything like Darkwing Duck someday, he couldn’t just hide behind Dad’s cape whenever he was scared. 

He had to try and be the bravest duckling ever. 

Tightly gripping the cape between his fingers, Drake carefully peered out from behind his dad. 

You can do this, Drake. All you have to do is get dange- 

Then Drake locked eyes with Brandon Barker, who gave him a toothy smirk and pounded his fist into the palm of his hand. Drake yelped and hid himself from view, already dreading the day Brandon would follow through on his threat. 

“Yeah! Get off the road, freaks!” Brandon taunted, his upper body hanging out the window, jowls flapping in the breeze. 

“Sit, Brandon!” the female bulldog snapped, and a strange, panicked expression crossed the bully’s face before he obeyed. “I’m already dealing with one costumed clown. I don’t have the patience for another.”

“Clown?” Dad shouted, feathers puffing out in outrage. “Broken any mirrors lately with your horrendous makeup job, you bi-” 

A passing duck covered her daughter’s ears and hurried her to the sidewalk, glaring at Dad the entire time. 

“-iiiiiiiig jerk. That’s what I was gonna say!” Dad called to the other parent, who quickly bundled her child into a nearby car. 

“Buncha braindead morons. Don’t have the decency to recognize a Starling when they see one,” Dad muttered. He grabbed Drake’s shoulder, roughly guiding him towards the soccer field. 

The car sped off, a cloud of smoke and dust left in its wake. 

Freak. 

Why couldn’t anyone else see Dad as a hero? He was brave and tough and smart, a master of twenty-five kinds of martial arts, and always knew exactly what to say and do when a villain threatened St. Canard. 

Drake couldn’t defend himself or Dad without being ignored, teased, or getting odd looks from teachers. Even his uncles stumbled over their words when they spoke about Dad. 

An engine roared to life. 

“Hey, sport,” Dad called. He was perched atop the Ratcatcher, hands already on the handlebars, looking even cooler in real life than his promotional photos.

Drake blinked, not realizing they’d made it to the Ratcatcher at all. He’d only seen the motorcycle from the sidelines or on a television screen before, and it was much bigger than he expected. He took a step back, not wanting to be engulfed in its shadow. 

Dad gave him a confident grin, gesturing to the sidecar where he’d normally give tied up criminals a ride to prison. 

“You’re speechless. I understand completely,” he said, patting the sleek hood of the Ratcatcher fondly. “But you’re not going anywhere if you insist on standing by with your beak open.”

His words washed over Drake, and despite his worries, Drake knew his dad was right. If he wanted to achieve his dream of riding in the Ratcatcher, then he’d have to climb in first. 

With a burst of confidence, Drake jumped into the sidecar. For a moment, he struggled to clear the metal wall completely, but he took a deep breath and pushed against it. He yelped, falling onto the seat with his feet above his head. 

Maybe I should’ve taken my backpack off first, Drake thought, unable to move from his awkward position. 

“A little help, Dad?” he asked meekly. 

Sighing, Dad let the engine idle before he grabbed the handle of Drake’s backpack and pulled him upright. Though it was rough, Drake bit back a yelp, not wanting to disappoint his hero.

But the uneasy feeling only became worse when he didn’t see anything he could use to protect his head. 

“Shouldn’t I have a helmet? What if something happens?” Drake asked, hiking his backpack over his head just in case. He thought of a commercial he’d seen the day before, where a kid hadn’t worn his helmet while riding his bike and had to be taken to the hospital with a nasty cut to his forehead. The image made his stomach churn. 

“You worry too much, kid. Nothing’s gonna happen,” Dad assured him. 

o-o-o-o

Drake played with the Quackerjack toy he’d gotten from his Hungry Hungry Hippo Meal, trying to avoid the stern glare of the police officer, a tall, broad-chested bald eagle who could probably rip through steel with the talons on his feet alone. Dark shades covered his eyes. His navy uniform displayed the letters SCPD on his sleeve, surrounded by stars. 

“James Starling,” the eagle drawled. “It’s been a while.” 

“Hello, Sammy,” Dad mimicked the eagle’s accent, one leg crossed over the other as he ate his bacon cheeseburger. “Still can’t get my name right, I see. It’s just Jim. Always has been, and that’s the name I plan to use for my star on the Walk of Fame.” 

The eagle took his dark shades off and flicked them shut with a sharp snap, clipping them to the front of his uniform. 

“That’s Officer Skye to you,” he said coldly. The temperature inside Hamburger Hippo seemed to drop several degrees. 

Drake shivered, and he fed a waffle fry to Quackerjack to avoid the annoyed looks Dad and Officer Skye gave each other. 

Even villains need to eat so they have enough energy to carry out their evil plan….

“Ran out of donuts to chase, Sammy?” Dad scoffed. “Or is there another reason you wanted to interrupt our father-son bonding time? I don’t appreciate being tailed to the parking lot of this joint.” 

Officer Skye reached into his pocket, pulling out a small notepad and pen. “Hope your idea of bonding time doesn’t include jail, Starling.” 

“...jail?” Drake whispered, staring in horror at Officer Skye, who continued writing in his notepad. The eagle wouldn’t look him in the eye. 

Why? Only villains go to jail, and Dad’s not a villain! 

Then Drake spotted a pair of handcuffs peeking out from Officer Skye’s belt, and he quickly latched onto Dad’s arm so he couldn’t be arrested. 

Dad made an odd, strangled gasp as he struggled to free his arm. 

“What the-hey, let go of my arm, kiddo! You’re getting ketchup all over my blazer!” 

But Drake only clung to his arm tighter than before. “Y-you can’t take my dad to jail, officer! It was…um, probably a frame job!” 

Both grown-ups stared at him, and Drake shrank away at the attention. 

“A frame job,” Officer Skye repeated in disbelief. 

Dad only shrugged. 

“You know, like the first episode of Darkwing Duck!” Drake explained. Why didn’t the grown-ups understand? “A bunch of thieves framed Darkwing for robbing a train and he had to break himself out of jail! Then he proved the thieves were behind the whole plot and the police commissioner apologized to Darkwing for jailing him!” 

A hand closed Drake’s bill and held it shut. 

“Kids,” Dad chuckled to Officer Skye, whose beak was twisted into a frown. “Always saying the most interesting things when they should probably be quiet.” 

His voice dipped low, his tone a warning, like a snake waiting to strike. Drake let go of his father’s blazer, spooked by the strange sound.

“I see you’ve done nothing to correct your son’s impression of the justice system, Starling,” Officer Skye drawled. “Is he at all aware that law enforcement does not require the help of reckless, gloryhounding vigilantes to arrest criminals, unlike your ridiculous show?” 

“RIDICULOUS?” Dad shrieked, feathers ruffling in outrage. He leapt upwards, standing on his chair and glaring at Officer Skye. His posture was rigid, hands clenched into fists. “DARKWING DUCK IS THE PEAK OF TELEVISION, YOU NUT!” 

The entire restaurant fell silent, their attention on Dad and Officer Skye. Drake shrank away from their scrutiny, curling up in his chair and trying to appear even smaller than he already was. A mother stood up and dragged her two children away by their arms. By the soda machine, a goose hadn’t noticed his drink was overflowing. 

The stillness was only broken by a surprised duckling, whose brown hair was tied back with a large pink bow. 

Molly Clearwater, Drake realized, and he prayed Molly wouldn’t recognize him. She never stops talking! Everyone at school’s gonna find out….

“Dad! Dad! That’s Drake from school!” she shouted, dashing Drake’s hopes immediately. “Why’s he with that purple weirdo? Why’s the policeman so mad at them? How come-oomph!” 

Molly’s dad quickly clamped his hand around her bill. 

Drake wanted to sink into the ground and never come out again. Their whispers and stares cut through him, and he couldn’t ignore them no matter how much he tried. 

Even Officer Skye was watching him. 

Am I going to jail too? 

Would he have to learn how to sleep on an uncomfortable piece of wood? Or be forced to wear nothing but black and white stripes forever? 

Slowly, Drake peered up at the officer, whose expression seemed…different. 

Softer. Less harsh. 

Then Officer Skye turned to his notepad and wrote something down. He ripped the top sheet and slapped it onto Dad’s bill. 

Dad sputtered in surprise, the chair wobbling when he nearly lost his footing. He ripped the paper off the edge of his bill, crumpling it under his fist. 

“And just what is this supposed to be?” Dad spat. He waved the paper in Officer Skye’s face. 

“A speeding ticket and a list of citations,” Officer Skye replied, and Dad’s bill dropped to the ground in shock. “You were twenty miles above the speed limit, in addition to you and your child not wearing a helmet, lack of a front license plate, and disturbing the peace.” 

Dad’s eyes widened as he hurriedly read the paper. He mumbled under his breath in disbelief before scowling at Officer Skye. 

“What, you boys in blue don’t have any muggings to stop or medal ceremonies to attend?” he scoffed. “This is extortion! I won’t be swindled out of my hard-earned cash! Expect a call from my lawyer in the near future!” 

Officer Skye stepped forward, his hooked beak pushing against Dad’s long bill. “There is one reason and one reason alone why I’m not placing you in cuffs right now. So I suggest you start acting like the role model you portray yourself to be. See you in court, Starling.” 

Before Dad could respond, Officer Skye walked out of the restaurant. Within a minute, his police car peeled out of the parking lot and disappeared around the corner. 

Slowly, everyone returned to their meals and conversations, chatter filling in the silence once again. The grownups gave annoyed glances at Dad, while others gave Drake a strange, pitying look. 

Drake wished they’d pay attention to their food instead. 

Behind the counter, several workers watched the scene unfold until an older dog broke up the group. They quickly returned to taking orders and making food, though they snuck glances at Dad when they weren’t busy. The dog marched up to Dad, pointing to a nametag that had ‘manager’ printed in bold letters. 

“Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument. 

Dad huffed in frustration, stuffing the paper into his pocket. “Fine,” he growled, hopping down from the chair and shoving past the dog. “Come on, sport. Let’s get outta this dump.” 

Drake hurried to his father, clutching his Quackerjack toy close to his heart. Dad’s strides were long and powerful, forcing Drake to move faster so he wouldn’t be left behind. 

“Hey, Dad…you’re not really going to jail, are you?” Drake whispered once they were safely out in the parking lot. His skin pricked, and he was scared that if he turned around, he’d see everyone in the restaurant judging them. 

The policeman hadn’t handcuffed Dad…yet. Was he just waiting for the right time? Maybe the police were right around the corner, waiting for a reason to take him. 

“Oh, quit worrying already. Heroes don’t go to jail, Drake,” Dad snapped, jamming the key into the Ratcatcher’s ignition. “Good guys like me don’t belong behind bars. Now get in before some other power-tripping cop shows up.” 

Drake climbed into the sidecar, managing to do it without help this time. He turned to Dad, ready to share his exciting news, but he didn’t look his way. Dad’s entire mood had been soured. 

Neither of them spoke on the ride home.  

o-o-o-o-o

Auntie and Uncle Tino were waiting for them in the garage of Lot 9, where the Ratcatcher was parked when it wasn’t in use. They were still dressed in their villain costumes from filming earlier that day, a floor-length scarlet gown for Auntie while Uncle Tino was in earthy green and brown tones to match the not-technically-a-villain plant-duck mutant he played. 

Drake waved to them as Dad pulled into the garage, only stopping when Auntie crossed her arms and frowned. He couldn’t see her feet, but he could hear one tapping impatiently against the ground. He avoided her stern gaze. 

In his excitement to ride the Ratcatcher, he’d forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to be riding in the prop at all, even if Dad allowed it. 

“Morgana! What a pleasure to see you again!” Dad exclaimed rather loudly, turning off the Ratcatcher with a click of his keys. “Have I ever told you how that shade of scarlet brings out your eyes?” 

Auntie scowled at him. “Save it, Jim!” she snapped, and Dad winced at her tone. “That sort of flattery may work on my character, but it gets you nowhere with me! Especially when you take your son for a joyride in a dangerous contraption when he still needs a booster seat to ride in a normal car!” 

“Dangerous? Morgana, he’s the son of Darkwing Duck! He has to get dangerous sometime! Can’t live his life hiding in the comfort of his own room, you know!” Dad protested. 

Hiding in my bedroom for the rest of my life doesn’t sound so bad…at least I’ll have my toys. 

Drake wasn’t keen on going back to school where he’d have to see Brandon Barker, Molly Clearwater, and his classmates who’d just make fun of him. 

“For the last time, my name is Katherine! Why is it so hard to remember your coworkers’ names when we aren’t filming?” Auntie shouted. 

“For your information, I have an excellent memory. I’ve never forgotten a line, action, or name in my career!” Dad scowled, tossing his keys at Uncle Tino, who jumped when it hit him in the chest and fell to the ground. “Hey Bushroot, hang those up for me, will ya?” 

Uncle Tino sighed and picked up the keys, his purple Bushroot wig falling off his head as he stood up. Unlike Auntie, he never argued with Dad unless the cameras were on. He hung the keys on a hook by the door, clearly not happy about being ordered around but not protesting about it either. 

Drake climbed out of the sidecar, his feet dangling in the air as he hung onto the frame by his fingertips. Taking a deep breath, he let go of the sidecar, yelping when he made a less-than-graceful landing and fell onto his bottom. 

“Drake!” Auntie was at his side instantly. She couldn’t bend all the way down, the material of her dress too stiff for that, but she offered him a hand. “Are you alright, sweetie?” 

Drake took her hand, smiling as she pulled him to his feet. Her touch was always soft, though nobody who only saw her on their TV screens would know that. 

“Bruised, but triumphant!” Drake proclaimed so he wouldn’t worry her, quickly rubbing his sore bottom when she wasn’t looking. It still ached, but she didn’t need to know. 

Darkwing Duck always got back up, no matter what misfortune he encountered. So Drake would too. 

“That’s the spirit, kid,” Dad grinned, ruffling the feathers on Drake’s head. 

Drake held himself high at his praise, his heart soaring far beyond the clouds. Auntie gave him a disapproving look, though Drake couldn’t stop his preening. 

“Don’t encourage him,” Auntie said with a click of her tongue. “He doesn’t need to learn your habit of taking unnecessary risks.” 

Dad rolled his eyes. “He’s tougher than he looks. You don’t need to coddle him every time he gets a paper cut.” 

“I’m showing concern, something that you apparently lack-” 

“He’s seven. He can handle himself just-” 

“This is exactly why some parents don’t let kids watch your show! You perform all these dangerous stunts for impressionable kids, including your own son!” 

“Not my fault some people have poor taste…” 

“Only thing in poor taste is your ego and unrepentant attitude!” 

Drake pressed his hands against his head as Auntie and Dad raised their voices. He didn’t like it when they argued, which happened a lot. He wished they’d just get along. 

A hand rested on his shoulder. Drake turned and smiled at Uncle Tino, whose feathers were still caked with green, plant-like makeup from his Bushroot scenes. 

“How was school, Drake?” Uncle Tino asked. His voice was often quiet, a lot quieter than anyone else Drake had ever met, but Drake found it soothing to talk to him whenever everyone else became too loud. “Your presentation go well?” 

Drake’s smile faded as he scuffed the ground with his foot. “Um…I tried to use those public speaking tips you and Uncle Bud gave me, but Brandon still laughed.” 

Uncle Tino gave him a sympathetic look. He understood how mean some kids in school could be, and Drake appreciated that. 

“I kept talking though!” Drake said quickly, not wanting Uncle Tino to think he’d given up. “And I didn’t cry in front of everyone this time! Mrs. Crane said I got a little off-topic, but I also did better!” 

Uncle Tino smiled. “If you got a compliment from your teacher, your presentation must’ve been really something. Makes me wish I could’ve been there instead of filming this greenhouse scene. All that pollen floating around isn’t good for anyone’s beak. Achoo!” 

Even his sneeze was quieter than most. 

“I really need to take my allergy pills…” he muttered, picking up the wig he’d dropped earlier. “Think I’m gonna head to the break room now.” 

“Break room? Is Uncle Mike there? Can I go with you?” Drake asked, pulling out his Quackerjack toy. “Dad took me to Hamburger Hippo and I got Quackerjack with my meal! I think he’ll find it funny!” 

Dad didn’t notice the disapproving look that Uncle Tino gave him. 

“Uncle Tino?” Drake asked, confused by his lack of response. “Uncle Mike’s gonna find it funny, right?” 

“Huh?” Uncle Tino said, shaken out of his daze. “Oh, he’ll get a kick out of this for sure. And the rest of us will just have to put up with his bragging.” 

That didn’t make any sense. Uncle Mike had the most toys modeled after him out of the Fearsome Four, but nobody else besides Dad minded all that much. Drake wondered if Uncle Tino was just a little jealous. 

“So why are you looking at Dad all weird then?” he asked. 

Uncle Tino sighed. “Because both of you eat at Hamburger Hippo too much. All that grease isn’t healthy for you.” 

“We don’t eat at Hamburger Hippo too much!” Drake protested. “We only ate there today, yesterday, Monday, and last week when Uncle Dan blew up the fridge…do you think we’re still allowed back after Dad argued with the policeman? One of the workers told us to leave and everyone was staring.” 

Silence fell in the garage. Dad groaned and ran a hand down his face. Too late, Drake realized that maybe he should’ve kept his long beak shut. 

“You. Did. What?” Auntie demanded as she towered over Dad, glaring at him while she waited for an explanation. 

Dad tugged at his collar with a nervous laugh. “Uh…well, you see, it’s a funny story actually-”

Uncle Tino grabbed Drake’s hand, ushering him out of the garage as Auntie’s furious voice shook the walls.  

o-o-o-o-o

“Ha! Minijack’s got my colors and bells in all the right places! And you thought this little promotional gig with Hamburger Hippo would fail!” Uncle Mike proclaimed as he paraded around the break room, the little Quackerjack toy held proudly in his hands. 

He’d been beside himself with joy ever since Drake showed him the little model of Quackerjack. Together, they’d lovingly nicknamed him Minijack. 

The bells on his jester hat jangled loudly, and Drake saw a nerve pop in Uncle Dan’s forehead when a long blue and red tendril on the enormous hat smacked him in the face, causing him to drop his screwdriver. 

“Nuts and bolts, Michael! Would you cut that out?” Uncle Dan snapped, huddled protectively over the coffee machine he was trying to fix. “I’m trying to create Instacoffee here!” 

“Ooooh, neato! What’s Instacoffee?” Uncle Mike asked in an exaggerated falsetto voice. Though he only wore a colorful polka-dotted shirt and comically oversized jester hat instead of his full Quackerjack costume, he produced Mr. Banana Brain from somewhere within his shirt and passed Minijack back to Drake. 

Uncle Dan lifted his hands in the air in a grandiose display. “Behold, the latest technological revolution in coffeemaking-” 

“Does it make banana smoothies too?” 

“-no longer shall our minds wait for precious caffeine like sleep-deprived zombies…” 

“Eek! Zombies? They’re going to eat my brain! Ahhhhhh!” Mr. Banana Brain flailed his floppy arms, slapping Uncle Dan in the shoulder several times. 

Uncle Dan growled, shoving his long nose into Mr. Banana Brain’s toothy grin. 

“I’d like to make it through my spiel without interruption, if you don’t mind! Why don’t you try being a proper banana for once and split?” he snapped. 

Mr. Banana Brain gasped, one hand held over his chest in dramatic fashion. 

“Dem’s fightin’ words, you overloaded weasel!” Uncle Mike shouted, giving Mr. Banana Brain a G.I Jay figurine to hold in his fist, its laser weapon extended. 

“Weasel? I’m a rat, clownface!” 

With a bellow, Uncle Dan grabbed Mr. Banana Brain and tried to yank him away from Uncle Mike. They fell to the floor, rolling underneath the table and causing the plates to clatter as they collided with the leg. 

Uncle Dan splayed his fingers like he was zapping Uncle Mike with several supercharged lightning bolts, while Uncle Mike hit him in the face with Mr. Banana Brain. 

It was nice of them to improv a silly scene, but Drake didn’t feel any better. Nor did he feel like joining in with Minijack all that much. He didn’t have the energy to make up a character and voice for Minijack as he did with his other toys either. 

Was Auntie still mad? He wished he hadn’t gotten Dad in trouble with her, or that they could learn to get along somehow. It worried him when they argued. Couldn’t they see he loved both of them?  

The clock on the wall chimed softly, the little hand pointing to seven. The studio would be emptying out soon. Most of the actors would be heading back to their trailers, or going home. 

If Dad’s going to jail, is someone gonna stay with me? They won’t leave me alone, right?

He didn’t want to be left behind. 

There was a soft knock on the door, startling Drake out of his thoughts. He heard voices on the other side, speaking in hushed, worried whispers. 

“-have to break the news gently, Bud…” 

“Tino, I don’t see the point in sugarcoating this. All of you avoid explaining hard topics to him. It’s not healthy.” 

Uncle Bud’s tone dripped with disapproval. Drake’s heart sank. 

“Darkwing Duck is his hero. It’s not our place to-”  

“Darkwing Duck is only a character played by the very real Jim Starling, whose son thinks the world of him, even if he is a poor excuse of a role model.” 

The door opened. 

Drake fidgeted in his chair as Uncle Tino and Uncle Bud walked in. Uncle Tino gave Drake a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but only made him more nervous. By contrast, Uncle Bud was calmer, simply sitting down in the chair next to Drake. 

Uncle Dan and Uncle Mike continued to wrestle on the floor, screaming electricity and toy based puns at each other when they tripped Uncle Tino, who fell on top of them with a yelp and brought their roughhousing to an abrupt end. 

“Alright, that’s enough, both of you,” Uncle Bud said, fixing both of them with a look that said calm down or else. “Let me talk to Drake without you acting like clowns.” 

Uncle Mike pointed to his jester hat. “That’s kinda my whole gimmick, buddy.” 

“Just trying to make the kid laugh a bit. Looked like he could use one,” Uncle Dan said, crawling out from underneath Uncle Tino’s arm. 

Uncle Tino said something that nobody could make out since he was lying facedown, beak smushed to the floor. 

With a resigned sigh, Uncle Bud turned to Drake. He was the oldest of the Fearsome Four, and unlike the others, he didn’t really act like his villainous persona, the Liquidator,  off-camera. 

But it was probably hard to talk like he was narrating a commercial all the time, so Drake couldn’t blame him there. 

Uncle Bud gave him that ‘I’m going to talk about your dad and it’s probably gonna hurt your feelings' look. Drake had seen plenty of grownups give him that same pitying glance. 

It always hurt worse when it was the cast of Darkwing Duck, the ones who worked with, ate with, and practically lived with him and Dad. 

They were family, weren’t they? But they didn’t like Dad much. 

Nobody did. 

Maybe they thought he was too young to really notice. Maybe they thought he needed to be protected from the truth. But Drake knew. He could see it in their eyes, hear it in their strange ‘not in front of the kid’ voices. 

“Dad’s going to jail, isn’t he?” Drake whispered. 

Nobody spoke, and nobody except Uncle Bud would look him in the eye. Even Uncle Mike didn’t try to lighten the mood with a joke. 

Uncle Bud leaned over, resting his hand on Drake’s shoulder. It didn’t make him feel better. 

“We don’t know for sure yet,” he admitted. “From my understanding, the officer let your dad off easy. Instead of going to jail, he just has to pay some money to the city. Unfortunately, your dad has made his intention of not paying the fine, driving to the police station, and stuffing his speeding ticket down someone’s beak very clear.” 

Uncle Mike crossed his arms. “I say let him try it. If he gets arrested, that’s his own fault.” 

Drake stared at him, wide-eyed from his harsh words. Nobody else seemed to find his remark funny either.  

Uncle Dan elbowed Uncle Mike in the ribs, who squawked in surprise. 

“...so why won’t he give them money if that’ll keep him out of jail?” Drake asked quietly. 

Nobody answered his question. His uncles only looked at each other in uncertainty. Uncle Bud shook his head, resigned that he didn’t have an answer for Drake. 

“Afraid none of us know what thoughts go through his head,” he sighed. 

“Except for smooching the vanity mirror in his mind,” Uncle Dan snickered, before Uncle Mike drove his elbow into his stomach. He immediately doubled over in pain. 

“Revenge is a dish best served cold.” Uncle Mike smirked in satisfaction.

“Neither of you are helping,” Uncle Tino sighed. 

Drake closed his eyes, avoiding his uncles’ pitying glances. He was tired of every grownup looking at him like that. 

I wish somebody would just…understand for once. Dad is a hero, even if nobody else gets it. 

The phone began to ring, and Drake opened his eyes, alarmed by the sudden noise. 

“I’ll get it,” Uncle Tino said. He walked over to the counter and picked up the phone. “Hel-ahhh!” 

He shrieked and dropped the phone like he’d been burned.

“-no, you stay put, and don’t you dare walk out that door, Jim!” 

Auntie’s voice crackled over the speaker, static blurring her words together. Dad responded, loud and aggressive, though he sounded like he was too far from the phone for anyone to make out what he was saying. 

Uncle Bud quickly stood up, grabbing the dropped phone while Uncle Tino rubbed the side of his head with a pained expression. 

“What’s going on over there, Katherine?” he asked gruffly. 

Drake couldn’t fully hear Auntie’s reply, but her tone was a mix of annoyance and anger. Uncle Bud listened to her rant without speaking, pinching the fur between his eyes. 

“I’m getting too old to play peacemaker between you and Jim,” he said, before pausing to listen to whatever was going on at the other end of the line. “I can’t influence his behavior any better than you can…fine, fine, I’ll try to talk him down, but I can’t promise that he’ll listen to me. Alright. I’ll try to intercept him in the parking lot.” 

He hung up, leaning against the counter for a moment before turning around. Drake didn’t know what to make of the expression on his face. Like he already knew that Dad wouldn’t listen to him no matter what he said.

“He’s leaving for the police station now,” he said quietly. “Katherine couldn’t stop him, so she asked me for help. I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee anything.” 

Drake looked away. He felt Uncle Tino’s hand on his shoulder, but it didn’t provide much comfort.

Nobody was confident in their ability to stop his dad. They were all convinced he’d be thrown in jail the moment he set foot in the police station, and there was nothing they could do about it. 

Drake wasn’t angry at them. They did their best. 

At least they tried. 

If the grown-ups aren’t able to do anything, then what can I do? I can’t even face my classmates without being scared. 

He glanced at the heroic pose Darkwing Duck struck on the front of his backpack. Darkwing was always brave, always certain, always fighting for what was right even when he got beaten down time and time again. 

He could be electrocuted, smashed by anvils, tied to an anchor and dropped into the sea, or poisoned with only twenty-four hours to live, but Darkwing Duck would never, ever give up even if everyone already had. Even if the world told him he can’t save the day. 

Even if he was just a small duckling who was still scared of thunder. 

What if…I can do something? I’m just a kid, but….

He reached into his backpack and pulled out his homework folder. 

“Uncle Bud?” Drake called, holding his folder tightly to his chest as he hurried to the older dog’s side. Uncle Bud paused as he opened the door, turning to Drake with his eyebrows raised in surprise. 

Deep breath, Drake, he inhaled quickly, his heart beating so fast that it made him dizzy. Now say it. I’m going with you, and you can’t stop me. 

But the words that came out of his beak were a jumbled, incoherent mess. Everyone stared, and Drake tried not to cower at their attention. 

“One more time, Drake. Just slow down and breathe,” Uncle Bud advised him. If he was annoyed that Drake was delaying him, he hid it well. 

So Drake took a deep breath once more. 

Just say it. You can tell them. 

“I…I have something important to tell Dad. Please, can I go with you?” he asked. His voice wasn’t as strong or as convincing as he would’ve liked. 

Uncle Bud didn’t respond right away. He didn’t seem like he was going to say no, but he probably didn’t want to say yes either. Drake’s fingers nervously dug into his folder. 

“...I think you should take him with you, Bud,” Uncle Tino was the first to speak up. 

Drake hadn’t expected anyone to speak in his favor, and he gave him a grateful smile. But Uncle Tino’s response was met with an angry shout from Uncle Mike. 

“Are you insane?” he snapped. “Bringing the kid’s not gonna soften Jim! He’s already made up his mind. I say let him reap the consequences.” 

Uncle Dan crossed his arms. “Agreed. You don’t know what he’ll say. He’ll just hurt Drake’s feelings and drive off.” 

They weren’t wrong. Dad might not listen to him either. 

But Darkwing Duck was not the sort of avian who played it safe. He was always ready to take risks on headfirst, even if the situation wasn’t in his favor. 

I’m going to be like Darkwing. I have to take a chance. 

“I still want to talk to him,” Drake declared. 

“This is something he wants to do for himself,” Uncle Tino explained to Uncle Mike and Uncle Dan, who still shook their heads in disapproval. “We shouldn’t get in the way.” 

Drake glanced up at Uncle Bud, who gestured to the open door. 

“Then let’s go,” he said, allowing Drake to take the lead. 

It’s okay, Dad. I won’t let you go to jail. 

o-o-o-o

“Damn it, where did I put those stupid keys?” Dad grumbled, fumbling around in the pockets of his blazer. He tossed an old gum wrapper and several pennies to the ground, kicking them under his car in annoyance. 

He’d taken off his hat, mask, and cape, leaving him only in his turtleneck and unbuttoned blazer. The feathers on top of his head were messy from being under his hat, his cheek feathers sticking out in every direction. 

As Uncle Bud and Drake approached the handicapped space where Dad’s car was parked, Drake’s rush of bravery wore off. 

Dad’s scowl was set deep in his beak, and it only grew deeper when he spotted them. 

Drake hung back several steps behind Uncle Bud. He didn’t want to appear smaller than he already was, but Dad’s anger could be scary at times. 

“Mind your language, Jim,” Uncle Bud said gruffly. “The only things Drake should be repeating from you are Darkwing’s catchphrases.” 

Dad scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, did Morgana tell you to bring my kid along to guilt trip me into staying? That’s low, even for the likes of you, Liquidator.” 

“Drake came of his own accord,” Uncle Bud replied. He didn’t raise his voice like the others tended to do. His tone was calm and even, and Drake understood why Auntie had asked him to speak to Dad before anyone else. “He said he has something very important to tell you.” 

He gently nudged Drake forward. Dad’s eyes flicked towards him, and Drake gulped, fighting the urge to run away. 

Be like Darkwing. 

Dad tapped his foot impatiently. Drake knew he needed to hurry and say his piece before Dad drove away. 

“I-I…um, a-are you handicapped, Dad?” 

Unable to make eye contact anymore, Drake’s gaze fell upon the blue handicapped sign, and the question slipped out before he could stop it. 

“How could I be Darkwing Duck if I were crippled?” Dad snapped, and Drake regretted opening his mouth. He reached into his pocket, finally pulling out his keys. “Is that your ‘very important thing’, Drake? Because I have places to be.” 

Drake hugged the folder to his chest, Dad’s words echoing inside his mind. There was a chance he’d be ignored, or that his beak would open and he wouldn’t say what he wanted the other person to hear.

It was okay. Darkwing didn’t always succeed in his first attempt to catch a villain.  

But it stung. Not even Dad wanted to hear him out. 

Dad threw open the car door, and it slammed against the car’s exterior with a resounding bang. He climbed inside, but before he could shut it, Uncle Bud grabbed the handle and held the door out of reach so that Dad would have to lean out to close it. 

“I’m giving that officer a piece of my mind for publicly humiliating me,” Dad growled. “So get out of my way, Liquidator.” 

Uncle Bud narrowed his eyes, not even flinching when Dad honked the horn to try and scare him off. 

“I’m not stopping you,” he said. “I’m only keeping you here long enough so your son can accomplish what he came here for.”  

He turned and gave Drake an encouraging nod. 

With shaking fingers, Drake reached into his folder and pulled out the drawing of Darkwing Duck. 

It wasn’t a perfect likeness. The beak was colored a shade lighter than it should’ve been, a golden button on the blazer was missing, and one leg was longer than the other. 

But if Dad was going to jail, then Drake hoped he’d be able to brighten his cell wall with the drawing. Jail cells always looked so cold and colorless on TV. 

“You can have this. I drew it in class,” Drake said timidly, thrusting his art into Dad’s hands. He stared down at the drawing with a raised eyebrow. Though Drake wasn’t sure if Dad liked or disliked it, he knew he had to keep going. “Even if you’re going to jail like everyone says…you’ll still be my hero, Dad.” 

Dad looked up with a startled expression. His beak fell open in shock, and though he tried to speak, he could only manage a shocked, wordless mumble.

It was strange to see him so speechless. 

Drake and Uncle Bud stepped back from the car. Though Uncle Bud no longer held onto the handle, Dad didn’t rush to close the door. He carefully brushed away a few stray crayon rubbings and tugged at the collar of his turtleneck nervously. 

One foot slid out of the car. 

Dad’s getting out! He’s not going to the police station after all! 

Drake bounced on his toes with excitement, only stopping when Uncle Bud gripped his shoulder. 

Then Dad shut the door, backing up the car so fast that he hit the curb on the opposite end of the lot. 

And he was gone, leaving only tire markings burned into the road. 

Tears formed in the corners of Drake’s eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall. Darkwing Duck never cried. So Drake wouldn’t either. He clung to Uncle Bud’s leg, trying to dry his tears on the fabric of his pants. 

“I’m sorry,” Uncle Bud said quietly. His face was solemn as he rested a hand on Drake’s head. “I was convinced he’d listen for once too.” 

“It’s okay…” Drake whispered. He did his best not to sniffle.

“Katherine offered to take you for the night. If anything happens, she’ll be the first one they’ll call.” 

Then Uncle Bud took Drake’s hand, leading him away from the parking lot. 

But Drake could only stare at the empty space where Dad’s car used to be. 

o-o-o-o

It was ten, an hour past his bedtime when he stayed at Auntie’s house. An instrumental of the Darkwing Duck theme played on the television, marking the episode’s end. Auntie let him watch four episodes back to back, and he felt her worried glances burn into him when he didn’t try to imitate the superhero’s moves or quote his witty puns and intro speeches. 

He only sat motionless on the couch, eyes glued to the screen as the intro to a strange cartoon he’d never seen before played. 

The screen went black, the sound of static briefly filling the air. Startled, Drake’s attention snapped to Auntie. He hadn’t heard her enter the room.  

“You’re too young for this show, Drake,” she said, glancing at the TV with distaste. “And your extra hour is up. It’s time for bed.” 

“But I’m not sleepy!” Drake protested. His beak parted in a wide yawn, and he clapped a hand over it. Auntie gave him a knowing look, and Drake sank against the couch cushions, caught in his own lie. “And Dad’s not back either…are you sure you haven’t heard anything?” 

The phone only rang once tonight. Drake had been so excited to hear the ring that he’d ignored Darkwing’s climactic battle with Megavolt in the thunderstorm, but he was only met with disappointment when the caller was just trying to sell insurance, whatever that was. 

Auntie lifted the skirt of her nightgown and sat on the couch, a resigned sigh escaping her. She pushed her loose hair away from her face, a far cry from the elegant beehive she wore as Morgana. 

“I promise I’ll tell you if anything comes up,” she said. She placed a heart shaped cushion against her leg and patted it with a sad smile. Slowly, Drake crawled over to her and fell against the cushion. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Unfortunately, your father could be doing any number of things right now even if he isn’t sitting in the middle of a cell.” 

Her beak pursed together, like she was disgusted by what Dad could possibly be doing at ten at night. 

“Like protecting St. Canard from bad guys in real life?” Drake asked. 

He could understand why Dad would be out so late then. It was a full moon tonight, and criminals always crawled out of the shadows by the hundreds to commit all sorts of heinous acts in the silver moonlight. 

Dad hadn’t tried to call them. It was probably for the best, if he was surrounded by villains and didn’t want to run the risk of an unsavory character learning about his secret identity and using his loved ones against him. 

But Auntie only sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. 

“I don’t think Jim would act that…reckless,” Auntie said. Upon hearing the pause in her words, Drake tilted his head up at her. She let out a resigned sigh. “Maybe he would be that reckless.”

Sometimes Auntie and Dad would get along. They’d eat and drink together in between takes. But most of the time, they argued with raised voices and wild, frantic gestures, and everyone would be caught in their anger.

Drake could never decide if they were friends or enemies. He wasn’t sure if anyone else knew either. And depending on the episode, Darkwing could be dodging magic bolts from Morgana or kissing her on the rooftop. 

He always covered his eyes during the kissing scenes. They were kinda gross. 

“Auntie, do you like Dad?” Drake asked. Auntie stiffened, her nails digging into the fabric of the cushion. Drake hastily backtracked at the offended look she gave him. “I mean, as a hero?” 

“A hero,” Auntie repeated in disbelief. She must’ve thought Drake was asking something entirely different. 

Or maybe she didn’t think Dad was a hero either. Nobody did. 

“Darkwing Duck’s not real, you dork!” 

“You were supposed to talk about a hero in your life. Not one on a silly TV show.”

“Is he at all aware that law enforcement does not require the help of reckless, gloryhounding vigilantes to arrest criminals, unlike your ridiculous show?” 

“Darkwing Duck is only a character played by the very real Jim Starling, whose son thinks the world of him, even if he is a poor excuse of a role model.” 

Drake pushed himself onto his knees as he waited for Auntie’s answer. 

“He’s certainly passionate about his job,” she admitted. “I can’t deny that.” 

Darkwing Duck was committed to his mission against evil. Nothing could sway him off the path of justice and righteousness! 

Except for maybe Morgana, but she sometimes used love spells so that didn’t count.

But there was more to Darkwing than just punching bad guys. It seemed that was the only thing people saw when they thought of the Masked Mallard. 

“That’s not the answer you were hoping for, was it?” Auntie asked. 

“Well, you’re right about Darkwing being passionate, but….” Drake trailed off as he thought about why he admired Darkwing. 

It wasn’t just his cool fashion sense, or his awesome Quack Fu moves. Nor was it about the witty one-liners or boasts about his skills. 

As cool as Darkwing was, he didn’t always capture the villain on the first try. He’d often meet someone with powers he didn’t know how to combat, and he’d have to develop a fighting style to overcome them. Or someone would deliberately plant a false lead, and Darkwing would have to separate the lies from the truth. 

He could be tied to a cinderblock in the ocean, crushed, or have his memories erased. The villains could gang up on him and stomp on his back until his spine broke, but Darkwing would never give in. No matter how much physical pain he had, he would fight until the battle was won. 

“He always gets back up too, even if it looks hopeless,” Drake said. “Even if nobody else is on his side. Even if…I’m the only one in the whole world who sees that.” 

He drew his knees up to his chest. Sometimes, it felt like he and Dad were the only ones who truly understood Darkwing Duck. 

It was lonely. 

“The world is a big place, Drake,” Auntie said after a few minutes of silence. “You might not know them at the moment, but I believe that somewhere out there, you’ll find someone who shares those feelings too.” 

Despite his turmoil, Drake managed to smile back. 

And someday, I just might find them. So I’ve got to hang on a bit longer.

Then Drake noticed the stack of tarot cards she’d laid out on the coffee table. The top one displayed the image of a jester and his juggling balls.  

“Did your cards tell you that?” he asked. 

“No, but my crystal ball did,” Auntie replied. “Oh, what’s this? I see something else reflected in it…” 

She pulled a decorative crystal ball from her coffee table into her lap, waving her hands around the glass. Drake peered at himself on the reflective surface. He couldn’t help but laugh when his lower bill appeared much longer than the top half. The crystal ball lit up, casting a bright light into the shadows of the living room.

“What do you see?” Drake asked eagerly. 

“I see…a set of pillows, blankets, a teddy bear with a purple mask, all lying on top of a twin-sized mattress, underneath a ceiling full of glow-in-the-dark stars….” Auntie narrated dramatically. “Yes, yes, it’s all very clear now…” 

“What?” Drake tried to see all the things she was describing, but he couldn’t make out any images in the light. 

He thought he could at least make out the teddy bear, but the light suddenly shut off before he knew for sure. 

“The crystal ball predicts that you’ll be in bed in the near future!” Auntie declared with a final flourish of her arms.

Drake pouted, and although he was willing to give up a week’s worth of dessert to stay up a little longer, he decided it wasn’t worth arguing about. Auntie had promised to wake him up if something happened, so he decided to trust her word. 

The light from the crystal ball vanished. Drake knew about the off switch on the bottom, but he had fun pretending it was really magic. 

“G’night,” Drake murmured, his beak opening in a wide yawn. 

He climbed off the couch, his feet scrabbling at the air briefly before he touched solid ground. His landing wasn’t graceful either, and he yelped when the sharp edge of the coffee table jabbed the back of his knee.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have Darkwing Duck’s perfect night vision. 

“Are you okay?” Auntie asked in concern. 

Drake quickly shook off the pain. “Of course! A coffee table can’t stop me!” he proclaimed. But he forgot to look where he was going, and as he stepped out into the hallway, he tripped over an umbrella stand and landed flat on his face. “Ow… your umbrella stand may have won this fight, but-” 

The doorbell rang before he could finish his sentence. Startled by the sudden noise, Drake shot to his feet and crashed into the umbrella stand again, falling onto his back. His elbow hit the floor, throbbing with pain.   

Auntie knelt in concern. “Drake, are you-” 

A series of loud, earsplitting knocks interrupted her before she could finish. 

Drake flinched and stared at the door, wide-eyed with sudden fear. 

“Auntie? A-are we being robbed?” he whispered. 

Because of St. Canard’s never-ending swarm of criminals, safety was drilled into every kid’s mind the moment they could walk. 

Don’t talk to strangers, use the buddy system, say no to drugs, lock all doors and windows at night….

“I-I’ll knock them out for you, Auntie…” But Drake couldn’t keep the stammer out of his voice. 

He wanted to sound cool, confident, brave. Darkwing Duck wouldn’t cower in fear from a common robber. He’d open the door and swiftly knock them out with a karate chop to the head before they could blink. 

But Auntie shook her head firmly. 

“This is real life, Drake,” Auntie said, keeping her voice low. She picked up her fallen umbrella. “Not the time to play Darkwing Duck. If you put yourself in unnecessary danger, I will ground you until you’re old enough to pay your own bills. Understand?” 

Drake nodded quickly. He knew better than to argue with Auntie. 

There was a brief moment of silence before the knocking began anew, like whoever was on the other side had to take a break from banging on the door.

“I’ll handle our unwanted guest,” Auntie said, brandishing her umbrella. “In the meantime, I want you to hide, and if you can, run to the neighbor’s house and call the police.” 

She helped Drake to his feet, gently pushing him behind the wall to hide him from view.  

What if they overpower her? 

Stricken with fear, Drake leaned against the wall and waited with bated breath as Auntie slowly unlocked the door, umbrella held at the ready. He felt bad for disobeying, but what if she needed him to jump in? 

What if Auntie got hurt and could no longer defend herself? He couldn’t just leave her alone! 

Auntie’s hand was on the doorknob. She paused, took a deep breath, and threw the door open. 

“About time you opened up, Morgana! I’ve been waiting forev-” 

Auntie shrieked, her war cry echoing off the walls, and smashed her umbrella against the intruder’s head. With a startled yelp, the would-be robber collapsed onto his knees. 

“Owww….” he groaned. He swayed back and forth, barely catching himself in time before his head hit the brick porch. 

Auntie flicked the light switch beside the door. The lantern mounted to the outside wall flared to life, illuminating several fluttering moths. 

Drake gasped, his hands flying to his beak to stifle the noise so Auntie wouldn’t turn around and find out he’d disobeyed her. 

This was no robber! 

Dad came back! He didn’t get thrown in jail after all!

“Is that how you greet everyone who knocks on your door?” Dad snapped, a purple bruise blossoming underneath the ivory feathers of his head. 

Auntie threw down her umbrella, and it landed on the floor with a sharp clatter. “Knocking? You were trying to break my door like a madman!” she yelled. “What was I supposed to think?”

“Let me see…how about ‘oh my goodness, I’m so sorry for hitting you over the head with an umbrella, Jim! Why don’t you come inside so I can make that up to you?’” Dad did his best impression of Auntie’s voice. 

“I don’t sound anything like that!” Auntie shouted, her hand braced on the doorknob. She was barely holding herself back from slamming the door in his face. “And what makes you think I’ll trust you in my house after the mess you made last time?” 

There was a pause as Dad and Auntie stared each other down, the only sound coming from the crickets chirping outside. 

Then Dad stood up, but his posture seemed…different. Less confident and dramatic. 

More…confused than anything. 

It took Auntie by surprise too. 

“Wait, Morg-I mean, Katherine,” he stammered, and if Drake wasn’t watching their conversation right now, he might’ve believed Dad was a completely different duck, or replaced with an imposter. “Is Drake here? I’ve been to Liquidator’s and Bushroot’s place, and I didn’t even bother with Quackerjack, doubt that clown can keep a kid alive for more than five seconds…but Liquidator said he was with you. Anyway, I…I need to see him.” 

He trailed off for a moment, then mumbled a very forced please. 

Auntie just stared at him. 

“Why?” she asked. 

The happiness that Drake felt upon seeing Dad vanished. He didn’t have handcuffs or a ball and chain on his ankle, but Drake wondered if the police were impatiently waiting on the street as they allowed Dad to say goodbye before they locked him up for a long time. 

“He’s my son, Katherine! I don’t have to explain my reasons to you!” Dad scowled, covering his long bill when Auntie put a hand on her hip in displeasure. He sighed, shoving his clenched fist into his pocket and looking away in embarrassment. “Look, I didn’t go to the police station. Changed my mind last minute. Figured zebra stripes weren’t really my style. Besides… something more important came up.” 

He reached into the folds of his blazer and brought out a picture frame. 

A drawing of Darkwing Duck laid within the glass. 

Drake’s eyes widened. 

My drawing…he framed it? 

“So is he still awake?” Dad asked. “Figured I owe him an explana-” 

Unable to keep himself hidden anymore, Drake rushed past Auntie and launched himself into Dad’s chest. Dad yelped as he lost his balance and fell onto his bottom a second time, taking Drake with him. 

“Ow…watch the ribs, kid! Still got some bruises from my last stunt,” Dad coughed, his voice strained. Drake quickly removed his hands and sat up. The picture frame laid face down on the bricks. Dad quickly flipped it over and let out a sigh of relief when the glass remained intact. 

Auntie sighed, but Drake could see a tiny, fond smile on her beak. He turned back to Dad, who was rubbing his chest to relieve the lingering pain. 

“Hey, Dad?” Drake said, his voice tiny. “I knew you wouldn’t go to jail.” 

Dad let out a raspy laugh, using Drake’s shoulder as leverage to haul himself back to his feet. 

“Ha! The great Darkwing Duck, a common jailbird?” Dad chuckled. “They were all wrong about that. Buying a frame for your interpretation of my heroic self was a much better use of my time. Glad you never doubted me once, sport. At least I raised you with sense.” 

He shot a smug look at Auntie, who smacked the umbrella against the palm of her hand like she was struggling not to bean him over the head again. 

“Does this mean you’re actually planning to pay for your speeding ticket like a good, law-abiding citizen?” she asked.   

Dad rolled his eyes and flicked his hand dismissively. “Eh, I’ll take it up with my lawyer. We’ll just contest it in court later.” 

Auntie glared at him. 

“What?” Dad protested with a frown. “That’s a perfectly legal course of action! I don’t have to be a vigilante against the system all the time.” 

Drake had no idea what any of that meant, but if that wasn’t breaking the law, then it was good enough for him. He smiled and threw his arms around Dad’s waist, making sure to avoid his bruises. 

“When I’m bigger, I’m gonna be a hero just like you!” he declared. 

Dad blinked down at him, his beak falling open in shock. Then he ruffled the feathery tuft on Drake’s head. “Heh…that’s probably gonna take a while, but I’ll root for ya, kiddo.” 

“That’ll be the day….” Auntie murmured. 

Dad stuck his tongue out at her. Drake only tightened his hug, never wanting to let go. 

I don’t care what everyone else says. Dad is always gonna be my hero. That’s never gonna change. 

End AN: In this AU, Drake was conceived as a one-night stand between Starling and some random girl who let Starling keep the egg. The bio mom isn’t a factor here basically in the same way Huey, Dewey, and Louie’s bio father isn’t important in the show. Starling really only kept the egg to avoid bad publicity, but he does come to care about Drake, even though he’s a menace to everyone else. 

Starling can’t remember his coworkers’ actual names and calls them by the characters they play. 

Drake gets shuffled around between the cast members of Darkwing Duck, depending on who's available to take him. Jim Starling is a busy guy, and I really don’t trust him to keep a child alive to adulthood on his own. While Drake does consider them all family, sometimes he wishes he didn’t have to keep track of who's picking him from school, or whose house he left his belongings at.  

My HC is that Darkwing Duck (the in-universe show) was criticized for Starling’s stunts being too imitable and dangerous for kids, and that some parents won’t allow their kids to watch the show at all because of Starling’s egocentric behavior.  

I like to think Starling’s car is either an Aston Martin (Martin being a type of bird, and the model famously associated with the James Bond series) or the Duckverse equivalent of a BMW because he has the personality of a BMW driver. 

Morgana (at least, the actress OC of her) originally wasn’t planned for this story, but her arguments and weird relationship with Starling made me extend her presence cause she was funny to write for. While she and Starling would portray a Batman-Catwoman-esque relationship on the show, but in reality they can’t stand each other and only grudgingly, surface-level try to be civil in front of Drake. 

Anyway, I probably spent a lot more time on this fic than I needed to but I hope you all enjoyed reading it! Also, stay tuned for the epilogue after this! 

[blacklegsanjiii]

North Blue Language CH 6

He stitches Zoro's ankles up the way his dad would sew him up. Minus the apologies because he didn't give these cuts to Zoro, he did it to himself.

(chapter contains brief acesan)

Travelling with Luffy was a whole new level of excitement that coated Sanji's haki to become tiresome very quickly but he powered through. Luffy was a bundle of excited energy and Nami's freedom overwhelming at times but he cooked. Usopp was nervous as he told stories about his dad on the seas travelling with Shanks. All clips from the paper Sanji knows. Zoro also refuses to see his worth it seems. No matter how Sanji can defend or care for the crew Zoro seems to find him lacking.

So Sanji cooks. He's rarely out of the galley but since the Merry is small he still has quite a few interactions with his crew and fights with Zoro more often than not it seems. He wishes he could get along with the Mosshead but there's just something about him that irks Sanji. Not even the fact the guy wants to kill his dad, that's not even part of the problem, even if he has the potential to get good enough to do it. Maybe it's because his dad let him live? Sanji isn't going to waste energy, he can't. He has a crew to cook for after all.

When they pick up Vivi and Karoo, both of them are bigger than Sanji remembers. Up until now they were permanently small, three and just barely a year old. The small duckling could fit in his hands then. They don't talk about it, Sanji acts aloof when she asks if she knows him. He can't let it get out, get uncontrollable because he and his crew will die before they reach Alabasta otherwise.

Little Garden leaves Sanji with the ship and no crew. It's a couple hours after the crew is supposed to be back when he goes searching and finds the hut with the forever post to Alabasta. He finds his crew mostly fine and some guy he assumes is the Mr. 3 that Mr. 0 was looking for on the denden.

“Oh, Sanji. What are you doing off ship?” Nami asks him.

“It's a few hours past when you guys said you'd be back so I came looking. Good thing too, I found this.” He smiles as he presents the post. Vivi squeals in delight and hugs him and Sanji hugs back and helps her put it on her wrist. It reminds him of his parents. Of his dad who would rarely bring home jewellery for his mother but placed it on her with the utmost care. He stitches Zoro's ankles up the way his dad would sew him up. Minus the apologies because he didn't give these cuts to Zoro, he did it to himself. He doesn't even give the sentient algae a smile or call him dumb, just focuses on the task.

That night when he and Vivi meet in the crows nest, her doing the first watch him doing second does he give her a sorry smile.

“My crew, they can't know. It's a secret.” He explains.

“I'm glad you're alive, I'm sorry about your mother.” Vivi says.

“Don't be, she's alive and well. I am sorry about yours.” Sanji replies as he rubs her shoulder.

“Thank you, you both got out then?” She asks.

“Yes, it was rough but a man found us and took us in.” Sanji nods.

“Zeff, right? The retired pirate at Baratie?” Vivi asks with a smile.

“No, someone far more dangerous.” Sanji laughs as he leans over the side. “Dracule Mihawk. He found me stealing food from his ship and then took us in. He trained me in my observation haki. He told us he loved us not even four months after he took us to Kuraigana, he has a massive vineyard and learned Northern because I often gave up on Common towards the end of the day.” He smiles at her.

“You're both very lovable, your father was an idiot for not seeing it.” Vivi agrees evenly. “Thank you for trusting me Sanji, it means a lot. For all that it's worth I am glad you're alive.” She leans against him and Sanji leans his head on hers.

“I'm glad you're alive too, Princess.” He says.

Nami gets sick so they stop at Drum Island. Luffy carries Nami up the mountain and Sanji protects them. Sanji throws them up as he lets himself get washed away in the avalanche. He will sacrifice himself for his crew, to repay the kindness they have shown him. Even Zoro. Maybe to prove his worth to the asshole or prove that he belongs to the crew. To Luffy.

He feels a sharp pain in his back that steals the breath from him. His legs fill with pins and needles as the snow swallows him while he can't get out. He can't escape. He lets the black swallow him whole.

“Huh, I haven't seen something like this in ages.” An old witch looking woman says as he awakes. “Ah, you're waking up. Want to tell me why a Vinsmoke made his way into my care?”

“I'm not.” Sanji answers. “I'm the failure so I'm not a Vinsmoke.” The witch looks at him and nods.

“Fair enough. Whatever. Don't move too much. We had to do surgery on your back, you should only have a small scar though.” Witch lady says.

“My crewmates?” Sanji asks.

“Alive.” She answers. “Get some more sleep.” Sanji nods and closes his eyes and sleeps. He awakes to Luffy asking for food so he gets up.

“That was dumb.” Luffy scolds him. “You don't need to sacrifice yourself for people, least of all me!”

“But if I hadn't done that we all would have been swallowed by the avalanche, Luffy.” Sanji replies as he gets dressed. “Besides, thanks to you we all made it up here! So let's find the kitchen, okay?” He smiles at his captain and they leave once he's dressed. They chase a deer and find Nami, who is luckily. He makes sure he's okay and apologises to the deer, Chopper, and is led to the kitchen to cook.

Chopper sits and watches him. Sanji hums as he cooks, the same melodies of a dead god and the lullaby of the moon he grew up with. He cooks for them and plates it up. Luffy finds his way and he takes plates to Kureha and Nami. They fight Wapol who demands to take down the Jolly Roger at the top of the castle and somehow Luffy has worn down Chopper enough to become a member of the crew, their doctor.

The pink snow, the cherry blossom mirage as they escape. It's sweet as Chopper cries about his dead father. Vivi comforts him as they sail off. Sanji does what he does best and makes sweets for the deer, the kid really. Alabasta in their sights as Luffy's brother shows up.

Sanji knows he likes men, he told his parents he liked both genders and Mihawk sat him down for a talk about Shanks specifically. About disappointing partners and ambition. Ace doesn't seem that way though and he's surprised he doesn't have a nosebleed when Ace lights his cigarette for him from where he's perched on the railing and Vivi gives him a knowing look as he flusters his way to the galley.

Ace offers his help with dishes, with packing, he keeps lighting his cigarettes and he calls Sanji cute. Zoro keeps glaring at them. Ace helps them a little and finds Luffy in the desert and returns him before he goes back on his hunt for Black Beard. All in all they only spend a day and a half together but Sanji kisses Ace goodbye in private and has a nosebleed they laugh at.

“I'll see you again soon, Blondie.” Ace promises him.

“I'm holding you to that, Commander.” Sanji grins at him. He flies to his ship and they wave him off. They make it through Alabasta and King Cobra is back on the throne where he should be. Ms. All Sunday, Nico Robin joins their crew and the festivities. King Cobra knows who Sanji is but doesn't say anything about it. Vivi must have filled him in, Sanji thinks.

They set off and when everyone but him is on deck Nico Robin comes into the galley and sits at the table, eyeing him. Scrutinising him.

“Can I do something for you, Robin-chan?” He asks lightly as he pulls his haki in closer to himself.

“Your haki.” She says. He can't tell if it's a demand or a statement of fact.

“What about it?” He asks hesitantly and she narrows her eyes at him.

“Hawkeye trained you.” She states.

“I'd prefer it if you didn't say that so loud. Whoever he knew died when I left Baratie.” Sanji says while fixing her a look. “Safer that way.”

Robin nods as he sets a cup of coffee near her. They don't talk about it further. They can't really. There's no privacy, really. She eyes him though, always watching like Zoro does. Like he's a liability and he hates it.

“What's that song about?” Luffy asks after dinner as it's his turn to help with dishes. Robin is still sitting at the table and reading a book she found. Sanji looks at his captain and smiles softly.

“It's a lullaby about a man and the moon.” Sanji answers.

“Oh. Cool.” Luffy says. “Can you sing it?” He looks at Sanji with a goofy smile and Sanji obliges. He can feel the barest hint of a smile from Robin at the table.

~*~

BLACKLEG SANJI

77,000,000 BERI

DEAD OR ALIVE

What an awful portrait. Sora is laughing at it like she lost her damn mind. Mihawk keeps looking at it in confusion because Sanji does not look like that. Sora is crying and cannot right herself.

“P-put it away!” She chokes out through the laughter.

“I would if I knew where.” Mihawk argues but Sora is turning blue from laughing and Mihawk worried that she would faint. Sure she was stronger now but some days were harder than others.

“Dracule!” She laughed as he showed it to her again.

“I think we ought to display it, it is his first bounty after all.” Mihawk smirked at the woman. She squeals again and tries to cover her face and shield herself from it. “Sora, he'd be upset if we didn't.” He chuckles and Sora runs away from him but Mihawk chases her.

“Don't you dare!” She yells.

“We could display it next to the family photos!” He yells back with a grin. They make a sharp turn around a corner and through a door to make it outside near the vegetable garden. Mihawk manages to catch her and swing her around in a spin, arms tight around her waist.

“We cannot put that up, he'll kill you.” Sora laughs, shoving the poster away while trying to catch her breath.

“Mm, he'll certainly try his best.” Mihawk laughs. “Maybe that green haired imbecile will do it. He wants to be the greatest swordsman next.”

“I wish you wouldn't have to die to pass that title on. It's a stupid tradition and what if Sanji brings us grandkids? Grandkids! You could have a real swordsman to train then.” Sora huffs at him. It's a conversation they've had several times and Mihawk has been wavering on the ‘to the death’ portion of the duel rules that usually come with the passing of the title.

“We'll see, now won't we?” He asked as he heaved her over his shoulder. “For now we need to hang this up.” He starts heading back to the castle as Sora hits his back more as an act of annoyance than anger. The poster is nearly hung next to Mihawk's latest underneath the family photos. Sora giggles helplessly at it every time she passes it in the hallway.

[little-reader]

“The Son of A Monster” Ch. 2

Masterlist

Carl grimes x Male!Reader

Warnings; Death, blood, Slow-burn Sexual tension, Gay awakening (For both), Cursing, Negan is Readers dad, Enemies to lovers story. Fighting. Zombie apocalypse

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The people talked. They looked, and glared, but didn’t have the guts to say it to your face. And since you were there to watch Carl, you lived with rick. On the couch, that's the place you said you would sleep. He gave you a blanket and a pillow that night, not speaking at all.

You sighed and laid back on the pillow that was stiff and uncomfortable. You shifted. You shifted and shifted, and shifted before sighing and stung up, throwing your legs off of the couch and over. You took your shirt off and stood, cracking your neck. This is how you slept most of the time.

You walked on the porch, around this time it was cold outside, leaving your skin a breeze of chills. Sitting on the porch steps, you picked up your boot and reached inside, grabbing the pack of cigarettes. You grabbed the lighter from the other and lit the cigarette. You breathed in and closed your eyes, dropping your head and breathing out.

You hummed, looking at the sky. You sing a nursery rhyme your mother used to sing to you. She always told it to you, to get you to sleep, your panic attacks, anxiety, little things like that. Or she just sang it because she liked it... “There once was an ugly duckling…” You whispered. “With feathers so stubby and brown.” You smiled and sighed. Deciding not to finish the old song. You got up, walking barefoot around the neighborhood.

(Next)

That morning Simon picked you up to go to the hilltop. He was running the shots there now, and you were the picker. That means, you decided, not Simon. He ran the people, you ran him.  You walked into the old museum and got introduced to Gregory. Your people started to spread around, as Simon put his hands on his hips.

“Hello!” Gregory said. Nodding

“Hello, your Gregory.” He stated, looking at the man.

“Guity as charged.” He said, walking to the center of the room. “Welcome to hilltop Colony.”

You huffed, looking at the place and the decorations. “Thank you,” Simon said, going up the stairs halfway and looking around. “You, uh, make yourself at home,” Gregory said.

“This isn’t a social call.” He said, coming back down the stairs. Gregory stuttered, denying what Simon said. “We need to talk.” He said with a smile. “And it's getting a little claustrophobic in here, right?” Gregory awkwardly nodded. “Let's talk in your study, I want to see that painting.” He said, looking upstairs. “Can’t remember who told me about it, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter much anymore. Don’t know if you heard what happened.” He said

“W- What happened?” You rolled your eyes, waiting patiently for him to hurry with his conversation.

“Well, those people you used to deal with. Our brothers and sisters in arms and operation, well, they’ve been removed from the field of play.” Simon said, looking around. You watched Gregory pet his white beard and look confused. Now if that wasn’t sketchy. He knew something. Your head tilted as you thought. 

They both continued to talk in the study, you following behind him and the men outside the room.

You sat in the chair as Simon went about the painting and Gregory kissing his ass like it was black Friday.

You waited, as he kept talking, then stopped. “Simon, get to the point. I'm not in the mood for you blathering.” You said. Stabbing your knife on the table. “And get your feet out of my face.”

Gregory looked at you in school. “That’s a little rude for a kid.” He said, making you smile. 

Simon leaned forward, moving his feet and going over to you. “Ah, you have introduced ourselves to Y/n. He’s my boss. Or well, the head boss’s, Negan's kid.” He said, watching Gregory's face drop. “He’s your Negan for now, and I’m also Negan when he’s not here.”

You stood, “Get finished here, I’m taking dan’s bike.”

“Ah, dan bike is down, we have enough room in the Negan truck, but you’ll have to ride back with us.” You huffed and left, a few men trailing behind you as they carried things around. You walked around the walls, feeling the bark and wood on your fingertips. You leaned down, watching the wind blow slightly on the flowers. You picked the purple flower from the ground and shoved it in your pocket, leaving for the truck as they called for you.

You started driving, only to get stuck all night on the road because of a walker. You snuck to the back of the truck in the middle of the night, just to sleep and pick through the boxes for something to eat. You awoke with the sound of people whispering and the truck moving. You rubbed your eyes before squinting. “Hey-” Your mouth was instantly covered by a hand, you pushed the man away, looking Carl in the eyes… eye. 

“Hush!” 

“Shut up!” Carl said, pointing a knife at you. You yelled in the other man's hand, shoving him off of you before grabbing your knife and trying to grab him, he turned and threw you off your feet and onto the outside ground. “Fuck!” You yelled as you watched the truck speed away.

You were fucked. You checked the trucks around the place you were dropped, one you found that worked, but barely. You made it halfway before it broke down and ran the rest of the way. By the time you got there, there were men on the floor being cleaned up, and your father “Delt” With it, bullshit. 

You walked the stairs until you reached, what others called, the “Whore house”. You pushed open the door and stepped inside before looking around. “You bitch.” You said, pointing at him before stalking over to him, grabbing his collar, and ignoring your dad. 

“Now, now! He is a Guest!” He said, Looking at you strangely. 

“He kicked me out of your fuckin’ truck.” You said, wiping the dirt off your shirt, which was in fact ripped into shreds. “Look at this shit.” You mumbled, taking it off and throwing it at your dad.

“Go to the infirmary, get those looked at.” He said, looking over the room. “And take Iris with you.” Iris, a girl your age, was something Negan set up for you. She was your wife, and your dad insisted more but you refused, most of the girls here were either much younger or much older. Plus they weren’t your type. 

“C’mon babe,” you said, heading out the door with her following closely. She hung on your arm loosely as you passed by other saviors bowing their heads at you. Like the others, she wore a black dress to show off her body, and ballet flats along with see-through stockings with small pink flowers sown into them. 

You knocked on the doctor's door, coming in without a second thought. “Hey doc, I need you to check on a few of these cuts, Do you mind.” You didn’t need to ask, all you had to do was sit and wait. You looked over to Iris who was patiently waiting for you to finish and sat on the bench nearest to you. “I want you to come with me, there are nice people there, plus new friends.” You spoke up, looking her in the eye and she looked up hesitantly. “You can bring your things too, I might know someone you can stay with. Plus, you cont have to dress like that all the time. Jeans, t-shirts, button-ups, things like that.

She only nodded, looking at the doctor before looking down. You sighed as the doctor finished and sent you on your way. Well, your way down to the “Hell Fire”. It's a nickname you and a few others use. A man was strapped to the chair, you knew him, though you didn't care. Iris looks into your chest as your dad put the iron to the man's face. You rubbed her shoulders as you stared, not at the man or negan, but at carl. The grimace and slight anger in his features. 

The man passed out in his chair as your dad laughed and mocked him. “Go get your things ready, there's a suitcase in my closet,” you said, she nodded and left. You walked over to Negan as he talked to Carl and a few of the men. “What are you gonna do with him?” You asked, interrupting his conversation. 

“Well, I'm gonna take him home.” He said. “And you, plus, he’s your responsibility.” You looked at carl and then Negan. 

“That’s bullshit.” You muttered and started to leave. Your father grabbed your sleeve. 

“You don’t talk to me like that boy.” He said, shoving up back. You glared at him and left out to the trucks and helped started them while getting your motorcycle. 

“Hey pal, your Wifey's coming.” Said one of the men. She came with two suitcases and a backpack. 

“Hey,” You said, lifting the two cases into the trucks and sliding them back. “Your riding with me, I don’t exactly trust those men.” You said. “Nor my father.” 

“Okay.” She simply stated. You helped her onto the bike and placed the helmet on her head and turned the engine on, driving out into the roads.

Chapter 3

[leanderfields]

kintsugi ch. 02⦂

prev ← series masterlist → next

SYNOPSIS: Life as a Highborn noble can be as lavish and extravagant as one makes it out to be. After all, money talks in these parts of Eridia. Every interaction is transactional. Even relationships, a horrible realization that you had when turning down one too many marriage– or rather, business– proposals. But when all hope in love is lost, a thief breaks into your bedroom in the dead of night. He’s charming and easy on the eyes, but is your heart the only thing he’ll take?

C/W: vague mentions age gaps, but nothing too detailed or gross; see series masterlist for general warnings

A/N: Enter Elyon!! This chapter is mostly focused on introducing him and setting up the plot, but don't worry Leander is still mentioned ♡

Sunlight poured into your bedroom, illuminated the crevices of your bedroom and pried your drowsy eyes open. You reluctantly sat up and rubbed your eyes, catching a glimpse of the sun peeking out from Eridia’s horizon. You grimaced as a knock graced your ears. Staying up late and rising early was a routine at this point, but it was not often that you regretted the choices made the previous night. Whenever you would wake up after sleeping at an absurd hour, you felt tired. However, today was a bit different. Today, you felt like death. You were on the verge of collapsing. You were seated far from your vanity, but you did not need to look into a mirror to know that the bags beneath your eyes were dark and heavy. 

“Come in,” you called.

On cue, Adaline swung your bedroom door open. She beelined towards your balcony window and drew the curtains, letting the daylight flood your room. A few other ladies in waiting followed her inside your chambers like little ducklings, wheeling in racks of dresses. You yawned while she put her hands on her hips. 

“Good morning, my lady.”

“Good morning,” you replied sheepishly, shrinking deeper into your sheets. It was apparent that she was eyeing the flower vase beside you. And how could she not? Leander’s gold work shimmered and shined now that the sun was out. Many things in your room had gold accents, but Adaline had seen that vase for years. It was different to say the least.  

But the dreaded question never came. Instead, Adaline presented you with the usual: “Did you sleep well?” 

“I suppose,” you said nonchalantly. 

She sighed, “You can take a nap when you are done with the Duke of Cromwell.”

You pressed your lips together. He almost slipped your mind. Almost, that is. He was always on the back burner, a thought you did not want to acknowledge until it came back to haunt you. To remind you of your place in high society. To remind you that love was a prospect not a promise. 

Your father described this meeting as a simple luncheon except for the fact that it was everything, but a simple luncheon. He was a passive man in all regards. He never arranged anything with anyone, always letting them come to him. This was the case even for the Duke of Cromwell. He personally reached out to your father unlike your other potential suitors who wrote directly to you, piquing the interest of your father. And who would be a fool to turn down a Cromwell? 

The Cromwell’s were a distinguished family with a status much higher than yours— or most families in Hightown for that matter. The duke was their pride and joy, a young man that ran the most esteemed brothel in Eridia. Well, as esteemed as a brothel run by nobles for the nobles could be. Lords and ladies would come to get away from their loveless marriages. One single night full of bliss and then it was back to normal. One single night and the Cromwell’s were able to rake in thousands of dollars. Those nights happen every night without fail. 

‘What would the duke know about love?’ you mused as the maids helped you into a dress. 

One fluffed out your petticoats. Another cinched your waist with a corset. Your father probably had the dress tailored for today. You had never seen this dress before. Moreover, the maids typically asked you what you wanted to wear, letting you pick from the racks they wheeled into your room that day. Suppose they wanted to give you the illusion of choice. You could not blame them though. Your father’s words were absolute despite them being your ladies in waiting. You held your arms out as Adaline ushered the sleeves up your shoulders. She then spun you around, allowing you to face your reflection in the vanity mirror. 

The dress was a lovely royal blue color with delicate black lace trimming around the neckline, but when Adaline collapsed a silver necklace adorned with sapphires around your neck, it was not as lovely as you thought. Beautiful as your ensemble was, you could not help but frown. You were a walking Cromwell crest. The duke was the one that proposed this meeting yet it seemed like you were the one trying to win him over. Or rather, your family were the ones trying to win him over. 

From a business standpoint, having a relationship with the Cromwell’s was fruitful. The pros outweighed the cons. Well, technically, there was only one con— you and your feelings. Other than that, there was truly nothing to lose for both families. Only things to gain. 

Your family, the Sciarra’s, were tycoons of the Eridian perfume industry. The Cromwell’s brothel was located by the outskirts of the Amaryllis District which was glazed with sweet, floral fragrances. You did not need to know the specifics of whatever your father and the duke talked about in order to know that a union would benefit both parties. You were certain the Sciarra’s would take a slice of the Cromwell’s pie all while their profits would skyrocket as they would have access to the finest artisan perfume in Eridia for dirt cheap. Or perhaps access to your factories?

Adaline put a hand over your eyes, spraying a touch of perfume behind your ears. You resigned yourself to today’s schedule when she tilted your chin downward, forcing you to look your reflections in the eyes, and just like that, you were ready for your outing with the duke. 

“You look lovely, my lady.”

“All thanks to you.”

She smiled and took your hand, “You will do just fine.” 

You squeezed her hand, allowing her to guide you towards the door and down the hallways of your estate like a child on her first day of school. Not a single word was exchanged between you and your maid as you waltzed your way towards the foyer. You bit your bottom lip. 

Though it was the crack of dawn, it was still too quiet for your liking. You had so many things to say, so many thoughts to voice, but none of them came out. What was Adaline supposed to do if you cried your eyes out and threw a tantrum, demanding that you marry for true love even though you hardly left your manor to meet– let alone love– anyone? Console you with lies? Tell you it will be alright? Tell you that the one for you is out there somewhere? There was nothing she could do for you. She was your servant and you were her lady. Lady… Lady Cromwell… you shuddered at the thought. It was too soon to be thinking about such things. Even if they were inevitable. 

Adaline held your hand a little tighter as you descended the grand staircase that led to the foyer and the front entrance of the Sciarra estate. At the bottom of the steps, there stood a man with the most peculiar pair of eyes you had ever seen. His irises were a piercing electric blue, but his sclera were pitch black. Your breath hitched as he smirked at you. 

“Forgive me, your grace, but I thought you were going to wait outside,” Adaline quipped, letting go of your hand. 

He chuckled and extended his hand towards you. “I realized that it would be improper to let a lady be escorted by a maid while I twiddle my thumbs in a carriage. First impressions are important, mind you.”

You took his hand without a second thought, allowing him to press a chaste kiss on your knuckles, searing your skin hot with his lips. Albeit, it did not leave the same impression as the kiss Leand– you frowned. 

“Then, I will leave you to it.” Adaline  turned to you and brushed off the sides of your sleeves, “Take care, my lady.”

Her back was facing you before you could reply and bid her farewell yourself. You turned your attention back to the duke. 

“Shall we get the formal introductions out of the way?” he asked.

“We shall.”

“Then, ladies first.”

“Greetings. I am Lady (y/n) of the Sciarra household in the East of Hightown. Delighted to make your acquaintance,” you said with a curt curtsy.

He returned the gesture with a bow, “And I am Duke Elyon of the Cromwell household in the Southwest of Hightown. The pleasure is all mine.” 

You smiled. He smiled. Then, you both walked outside to the carriage in silence. Your footsteps were loud and echoed throughout the front yard. The heels of his boots clicked and clacked against the cobblestone. As you got closer to the carriage, the coachman hopped off the driver’s seat and opened the door for you both as you. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, a hand over his heart like a knight swearing an oath. His head was perpendicular to the ground. 

Elyon hummed, almost as if he acknowledged the coachman’s bow and climbed in first. He then turned around and then held a hand out to you. You gathered your skirts in one hand and took his with the other. He squeezed your hand as he pulled you to your seat. 

You smoothed your petticoats out while the carriage shook slightly as the coachman climbed onto the driver’s seat. With the crack of a whip, the horses started trotting. You folded your hands together, feeling his stare on you. Or perhaps he was not staring. The carriage was small. He was seated across from you. His only options were to look out the window or straight at you. You opted for the former, leaning against the window. You held back a sigh as you watched your estate get smaller and smaller in the distance. You hardly lived a life and now you were doomed to marry a man you hardly knew. Your eyes flickered to Elyon. 

To your surprise, he was not staring at all. His eyes were closed. His lashes were long, brushing his cheeks ever so slightly. His hair was as long and dark as night with the tips dyed a chestnut brown. He wore a single silver earring on his right ear, a stark contrast to the rest of his royal blue and black outfit. He sported a suit-like ensemble though the dress shirt was a little odd. It was left open around his collarbone and there were two ribbon chokers around his neck. He also donned a cloak with an enormous amount of fur trimming. Your brows are knitted together. It was summer. Eridian summers were sweltering and unforgiving. Even the early mornings were hot. You pursed your lips and looked down at your sumptuous dress. No matter. Aristocrats adored flamboyance one way or another. 

You turned your head back to the window. Your fingers found their way onto the black lace of your dress and ran their way across the dainty fabric’s bumps and grooves in a smooth back and forth motion. 

“You should rest, my lady. It will be a while before we reach our destination,” Elyon said as you jolted up from your seat. 

“Is your manor really that far from here?” 

“No it is not. It is only a thirty minute carriage ride, but we are taking a detour.”

“What for?”

His eyes fluttered open. His black sclera held the carriage atmosphere with an iron grip. He crossed his arms. 

“Have you not heard?” 

“Heard what?”

He chuckled, “There is a thief running around Hightown as of late. The city police have been pursuing him, but to no avail. All anyone knows is that he only steals from manors and caravans like this one. Your neighbor, the Earl of Sinclair, was his most recent victim. He was robbed last night. I’m not sure of the details, but my social circles have been saying all that he lost was a few magical artifacts in his antique collection.”

You blinked. That must have been Leander. The one who said he was not looking for trouble…

“So we are taking a detour to avoid this thief?” you asked, trying not to let your voice waver. 

“Yes.”

“But would a thief really strike in broad daylight?”

He chuckled again, “Who knows? It is better to be safe than sorry, no?”

“...You have a point.”

Elyon closed his eyes again as the conversation ceased. However, unlike the silence that occurred during your walk to the carriage, this one was comfortable. It felt natural. Less awkward. A little more peaceful. 

You would like to join him and rest your eyes but you were ruminating again. Leander. Leander. Leander. You shifted in your seat. What to do? Turn him in? He was a thief. One that targeted aristocrats. He stole from your neighbor and possibly many other families. But… Elyon never mentioned anything gruesome. So was it safe to assume that Leander was only a chivalrous thief with no blood on his hands? You dared not to press Elyon for more details. The last thing you wanted was to be a criminal’s accomplice. You could already imagine the headlines already: Lady Sciarra Aids the Hightown Phantom Thief’s Great Escape and is Now on the Run! The Sciarra Family Name is Now Forever Tarnished! Oh the Tragedy! 

“My lady?”

“Yes?” your voice cracked.

“Is this carriage not to your liking?”

“Not all, your grace.”

“I see. Forgive me then. You seemed rather skittish,” Elyon said, eyes fluttering open once more. A stern expression crossed his face.

“Nerves, I suppose.” You tried your best to make your smile reach your eyes. 

“I do not bite, Lady Sciarra.”

“How reassuring.”

“But it is true.”

“That it is.”

“I am not looking to trouble you, my lady.”

Your posture stiffened. Did all the men in Eridia say that whenever someone appeared to be distressed? Or was it your cursed luck? First Leander. Now Elyon. 

“I am not troubled by you, your grace.”

He sighed, “This outing is not a marriage proposal if that is what you are concerned about.” 

“And what makes you say that?” 

Were you that obvious? Your brows furrowed. No, you were thinking about Leander just now. Not that Elyon would know. Still… for someone so far off the mark, he hit the nail on the head.

“Call it an educated guess. Like I said, you seemed rather skittish around me.”

“I apol–”

Elyon held a hand up. “I am not offended, my lady. Your feelings are reasonable. I made my debut into society nine years ago. Ten years in a couple of months. Yours was fairly recent if my memory serves correctly and I am no manther. So please rest assured– I have no intention of marrying you.”

You opened then closed your mouth. You did not even know his age prior to this conversation. Your father kept every bit of information about Elyon away from you aside from his name and title. The rumors about the Duke of Cromwell spoke for themselves, but none of them ever described him as the type of man who would jump to conclusions so quickly. Admittedly, the conclusion he presented before you was rational. Sensible, even. If it were not for the fact that your mind was plagued with thoughts about your encounter with a certain thief instead of the situation at hand, Elyon would be right. You were concerned about marriage. And if you knew he was almost a decade older than you, perhaps you would be alarmed too. 

“So this outing is…?”

“A date,” he said. 

“Your grace! You just said you had no intention of marrying me!”

“I do not, but I have a contract to uphold.”

You rested your head in your palms, “My father put you up to this, did he not?” 

“Your father and my father.”

“Are you not the Duke of Cromwell?”

“I am more or less the Acting Duke of Cromwell. I may handle affairs and such, but my father is still the Duke of Cromwell on paper until he passes.”

“So this contract…”

Elyon tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, “You seem well-educated. Would you like to take a gander?”

Your breath hitched. You were indeed educated and you did have a guess, but your blood boiled. He raised a brow in turn as you exhaled slowly.

“Your brothel and my family’s perfume. A union between us would profit both parties in terms of business as well as smooth out any legal proceedings with this joint operation. ”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“But that is assuming we are to wed, your grace. You expressed no desire in doing so, but if that is the case, then what were the conditions our fathers proposed?” 

A wry laugh slipped through his lips as he leaned against his cushioned seat. “I initially reached out to the Earl of Sciarra about business proceedings between my brothel and the Sciarra’s perfumery. There was no marriage in the first few versions of our business contract. That is… until my father suggested a union. From there, my contract was profusely revised by our fathers. ”

You pursed your lips. “Would it not be beneficial to proceed with the original deal and use your status as a bachelor for another contract?”

“Beneficial, yes. However, I have been using that excuse for years now. I have not courted since my beautillion ball. My father meddled with my affairs in order to find me a bride. I suppose he grew weary of my ‘schemes’ while your father grew tired of you turning down every suitor that came your way,” Elyon said with a strained grin. You stared at his forehead. A vein could pop at any moment. 

“Perhaps he wants you to find something else to love aside from money,” you jested, ignoring that last bit about you. 

“So I’ve been told.”

“...Do you believe in love, your grace?”

“Pardon?”

“Love. Like true love. Courting someone because you love them. Marrying someone because you love them.”

He gave you a sideways glance, “I suppose I could believe in it. Like how children believe in Saint Nicholas.”

A pout formed on your lips as heat rushed to your cheeks. You were a fool. Of course, he did not believe in such things. Love was only reserved for the storybooks.

“If you were wondering about the reason I have stopped courting, all you have to do is be direct, my lady.”

Elyon was right, but also a tad bit off the mark yet again. You assumed that love was the reason he did not court after his debut like the hopeless romantic you were, but you were more so curious if there was someone out there who was just like you, someone who believed in fairytales and fantasy novels. Not in some measly piece of gossip. 

“Forgive me, your grace. I did not want to pry,” you replied coolly. Nonchalantly. 

“It is quite alright. I have nothing to be ashamed of. To put it simply, I am bored.”

“Bored?”

“Yes, bored, my lady.”

“Bored of what?”

“Why, courting, of course.”

You blinked. He was beaming. Glowing, even. Almost as if he believed his answer would earn him a gold star. You opened your mouth, but Elyon beat you to it.

“I am kidding, my lady.”

“I am in tears,” you muttered. 

“Humor me a little, Lady Sciarra.”

You hummed in response, allowing a silence to make itself known. The chirps and whistles of birds were audible from inside the carriage now that your shallow heart-to-heart with Elyon came to an end. You stared out at the window, catching a glimpse of the cityscape and the ashy blue sky. Was the Cromwell estate near the metropolitan area? 

“Do you ever feel like courtship only ever demands pieces of you, but not all of you?” he mused, breaking into your brief moment of solitude.

“I would not know, your grace. This is my first time courting.” 

The carriage halted. You planted your heels onto the floor, bracing yourself should you fall. A faint click rang through your ears. You turned your head towards the carriage door and the coachman who stood by the entrance, bowing with a hand over his heart. Elyon rose from his seat and hopped off the carriage.

“Well, perhaps after today, you will go on many more outings and come to know what I mean when I say that,” he said with an outstretched hand. 

“I will be the judge of that,” you quipped as you took his hand, allowing him to help you step off the carriage. 

Once your shoes hit the pavement, you were quick to let go of his hand and turned your attention to smoothing out any wrinkles on your skirt. 

“I thought we were going to your estate.”

“Changes of plans,” Elyon shrugged, “Unless… you want to visit my estate?”

You shook your head.

“I thought so. I would like to believe that almost anyone would prefer a bustling town plaza than a manor with empty halls.”

“You may be right, your grace.” 

This time, your smile reached your eyes without you making any attempts to do so. It had been a while since you went downtown. You hardly had any time for leisure after your debutante. In fact, you hardly left your bedroom– let alone your estate. You paused. Ah, but Elyon was here with you. Bookstores were automatically crossed off your to-do list. 

“Have you ever been to the Amaryllis District, Lady Sciarra?”

“This is the Amaryllis District?”

You took a deep breath, letting the strong floral fragrances fill your nostrils. Of course. There were only two places in Eridia that smelled this pungent– the Sciarra perfumeries and the Amaryllis District. You scanned your surroundings. You never ventured to this part of Hightown. This district belonged to the “cleaner” side of the river, but it was also too close to Lowtown for your father’s comfort.  But despite his warnings, the arts district was not too shabby. It was colorful and lively as any other plaza in Hightown if not more. The only difference was the pink curtains and… your eyes fell on a noticeboard by a building you assumed to be a brothel. 

There were many flyers tacked onto the weathered wood, but there was one that stuck out to you in particular. It had a half-body portrait of a man drawn on it. A man with deep, emerald eyes and a dark trench coat. A scar ran down from his cheek to his crossed arms. You squinted. His nose was a bit crooked, but you were certain that was Leander. Something was not right. Elyon said that the authorities could not find the thief yet there were posters of him in the Amaryllis District. You brought a hand under your chin.

“Something on your mind?” 

You flinched and Elyon’s eyes widened.

“No,” you said, “Not at all.”

“Come, then. Let us go. I have a reservation at one of the restaurants here. Best not to keep the staff waiting.”

You watched as Elyon’s walk away from the carriage. You turned around to see the coachman crack his whip and the horses trot off. The duke was several paces ahead of you at this point, but your gaze still lingered on that poster. You glanced at Elyon’s figure which became increasingly smaller the more you stared at him then you glanced back at the poster once more. You looked left then you looked right. Then, you tiptoed towards the noticeboard and tore Leander’s portrait off with a clean rip.

You inhaled sharply, looking over your shoulder. Everyone around you seemed to be preoccupied with something or someone. You nimbly tucked the paper into the pockets of your skirt and made haste to catch up with Elyon. 

‘You are not an accomplice,’ you chided to yourself, ‘He will clear it up with you this evening as promised and all will be well.’

[infinite-orangepeel]

🦅 STEVE CH. 2 WIP EXCERPT

Consubstantiation calls upon the divine.

Steve Harrington is, notably, not divine, but he is determined to commune with those who are. The moral. The just. The virtuous. His neighbors and ‘friends’ dressed in fine silks, button down linens, dry-cleaned slacks, and ridiculous floral hats to be placed beside them in the pews.

On Sundays, he joins them to consume divinity in tiny neat parcels. Follows the line forward in a herd of merciful ducklings. Mindless and desperate to be told what to do, how to believe, why there are miracles and mysteries.

He’s never understood, but he follows.

He follows and bends at the knee to pay his respects and tries to ignore the ache in his soul that protests the nauseating idea that he contains an odious and unforgivable sin. One, even Christ, himself, would name too heinous, too damning.

The women smile, nod, wave titillating hands with newborn babies perched upon their hips. Fulfilling God’s will to inherit the Earth with the constant creation of miniature disciples. Tin soldiers in a post-modern war. Against blasphemy, exposed shoulders, parties that last until the early hours of the morning.

The men lead, speak louder than they should in anticipation of Monday night football, scold their daughters for skirts that ride up over their knees.

It’ll be a beating at home. A bloodbath. It’s for their own good. Lust kills. Worse than cigarettes and dunk driving combined. The casualties begin at the age of ten or eleven and, from then on, it's a lazy, redundant crime—

Eddie was naked.

Eddie was a boy who looked a whole lot like a girl.

Curls brushing past the midpoint of his spine like they aimed to meet the dirt and claim roots underground—build him a place to rule and laugh and talk in that liquifying tone.

Cool smile. Sharp grin. Cutting edge. Delicately encompassed by those poetic lines of black ink.

Rings that sting and leave little bite marks of the devil. Reminders that he’s here to stay.

Steve’s stomach flips and there’s that familiar warm pull in his gut.

It can’t happen here.

Not with his father solemnly praying over the Lord’s precious gifts. Consecrating and holding his gaze through the crowd like a warning.

Not with the growing lump in his throat that seems like it could only be resolved by Eddie’s fingers splaying out around it. Squeezing and taunting and humiliating his contrition until it dissipates. Swallowed into the black of his eyes. The midnight haze.

Venomous.

Steve makes every conscious effort not to choke on his own spit. Not to bite off his own lip in the midst of the choir’s screeching crescendo.

He’s sweaty and awkward and grasping at his shirt collar, because the air is decidedly too thin and everyone’s going to be dead on the floor in less than a minute if they don’t open a window.

Eddie Munson touched that man like he wanted to punish him—

Eddie Munson recited spells that transformed insults into terms of undying affection—

Eddie Munson made the birds sing for him and whistled a tune like he had every right to make a home in the middle of the woods—

He’s next in line. His father’s looking down at him in judgment. His father knows—can smell it on him, can see it bubbling up beneath the vulnerable layer of his skin. His mouth twitches in dissatisfaction and Steve prepares to lose.

And, there’s no surviving a fate like that, so Steve blinds himself.

Closes his eyes, whispers a few ancient words—a holy and devout enchantment, and opens his mouth for the moment of communion.

Receives the sacrament and pretends it’s going to work. Pretends it can slay the beast and leave him whole. Pretends he can win at the game. Have his cake and eat it, too—lick the pretty mess off his frosting coated fingers. Sprinkle candied confetti over the carnage and somehow, not dissolve into guilty ruin.

When Steve’s father places it between his teeth, he stifles a scream. Quiets the addiction, the obsession, the infestation striking nutrient rich gold in the labyrinth of his fear. Clambering against his ribs to get free.

It’s a thing of nightmares. A thing of dreams.

One startled heartbeat later and the blessed flesh makes contact with his tongue. Melts into a sticky, gummy mess. He sticks to the routine. Swallows a subsequent quick swig of burgundy wine, almost black where it sloshes in the ornate chalice.

Made for a King.

The King of Kings.

It's lukewarm and languid in his throat. Tastes bitter and bloodied and it vaguely chills his bones to think that every pair of lips in the congregation—children and expectant mothers excluded—will press themselves along that seam like an audience of succubus monsters.

There’s a split second, fragmented into crooked shards, in which he considers the fact that the son of God is really and truly inside him. Filling his core. Turning him belly up and meek. Renouncing Satan. Finding the cracks in his tainted purity, in his poisoned humanity.

[daddysfangirls-dc]

UnTamed Ch.8

Prev | Next

Initially, they didn't know how to behave in a romantic relationship. At first, it was awkward, but then they fell back into the routine which was their friendship. Both were inexperienced in the field of romance and simply did what they were comfortable with. And right now, comfortable meant being outside, sitting on top of Damian's head as a baby duck and watching him paint. There was the sound of a side door opening. 

"is that a duck?" Damian turned to find Jason standing in the doorway.

"A duckling," Jason waited for him to elaborate. He didn't. "Alright, I'm going to the market with Alfred. Do you need anything?"

"No"

"we'll be gone for a couple of hours. You'll be home alone, you good?" 

"I'm not a toddler. I can be left unsupervised, Todd."

"Whatever you say." With that, Jason left with Alfred for their bi-weekly trip to the market, leaving Damian (And Asta) alone.  Damian continued to paint as his duckling crawled down his body and shifted human once her feet hit the floor. 

"What do you want to do next?" Asta asked as she leaned on Damian's back. He was almost done painting. 

"Is there anything in particular you wish to do?"

"How about a movie?" 

"I'll make some snacks. You go up and pick a movie." 

It was a second before the weight was lifted off his back, and he heard the familiar fluttering of feathers. She couldn't come in through the door because of security cameras, so she went in through his bedroom window as usual. Finished with his painting, he left it outside to dry and took his brushes inside to clean. Making a mixed bowl of fruit as a snack, he went upstairs to his room. 

"Have you picked something?"

"Yes, a rom-com."

"You and Grayson would get along well," he said as he settled in the bed next to her, handing her the bowl of fruit.

"The trailer looked funny," she pressed play.

Damian quickly lost interest in the movie. He took Asta's closed hand and slowly traced patterns all over her hand. "What are you doing?" she whispers 

"Touching you," he whispers in return as he brings her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. She loved the feeling of his lips on her skin. She turned away to hide her blush and try to focus on the movie. That was something Asta had noticed since their shift from friendship to relationship. He had always been reserved before, but now he was constantly touching her, leaning on her, holding her hands, and lying in her lap.

It was warm and soft, much better than Dick's. Not that he'd say it out loud. Dick's touch was warm but suffocating and not always optional. Dick's affection was more for his own sake than others. Damian liked that he could say no to her touch and that she'd never force him. Nor would he force her.

Damian still made patterns on her palm when he felt her tense slightly. Looking up he finds the source a very intimate scene between a couple played on the tv. It didn't go beyond heavy petting and kissing, but still. Despite how close and touchy the couple were, Damian and  Astreae have yet to have their lips touched. Nor had they discussed it. It was just something that hadn't happened.

Looking at her, Damian saw how Asta did her best to avoid looking at him or the TV. Damian didn't feel tense or uncomfortable. Her bashfulness actually amused him. She felt his emotions and couldn't help but feel amused, even going as far as giggling. Then, she was infected by his nervousness. He was looking at her. He had that soft look on his face. She had seen it in the mask before, usually when in uniform. But he didn't have his mask, and she could see his eyes, and they were beautiful. She couldn't describe that look, that feeling he had, but she loved it.

And Then.

It was quick; she hadn't even closed her eyes before she felt his lips on hers and then gone.

"Oh," she didn't know what else to say, but she shouldn't have said that. She knew that when Damian shrank back. Asta leaned forward, following him. She was much slower than he was. Their eyes closed as their noses brushed against each other as they shared breaths, and then their lips touched softer and lingered longer, too. When she pulled away, she heard, "Oh," she giggled. 

"Another," he asked. She was happy to oblige again and again and again. Laughing and whispering affection in between kisses. Nothing more than long-winded pecks between those inexperienced, but it felt good nonetheless. Just being close. 

[pilesofpillows]

Six Sentence Sunday

(on a Monday 😅)

Thank you to @jbarneswilson for tagging me... I've been out of the loop for a minute 💕😂💕

Here's a few sentences from Ch. 3 of Like Real People Do and a few from what I hope will be a fun little holiday treat:

LRPD 3:

It was now Okoye’s job to make sure their magnanimity wouldn’t be mistaken for weakness— a job she was certain her ex-husband never had to concern himself with.

M’Baku followed after her, helping to set out smaller plates and silverware. “So accommodating, yet so mean. It’s a wonder I want to eat with you both at all.”

Now, without the Queen Mother, Okoye felt they were little more than lost ducklings— trying their best to keep themselves and the nation afloat.

That Other Thing:

Attuma squeezed his thighs, digging in his heels to push his horse into a gallop.

“Going to get your woman, boss?”

He pressed his face into the silken fabric of Okoye's nightgown, feeling the steady drum of her heart and breathing in orchids and amber once more. Here he paid penance and gave reverence all at once.

Yes, I know I cheated. I needed some supplementals, sue me 😂🤣 Zero Pressure & All My Love 💕 tags: @xenokattz @umber-cinders @karisomk

[the-bus-called-graveyard-8]

precious creatures too pure for this world...

[reallyromealone]

"don't worry you two! We will make sure they are safe and have fun!"

(Name) and Eddie were currently babysitting or "watching over" El, Max and Will for the weekend as Hop and Joyce went to go see Jonathan at university for the weekend.

"So I was thinking tonight we would order a pizza and maybe go pick out a movie" (name) said as he let the pups situate themselves, the three all very attached to the sweet Omega as all their parents were either alphas or betas so the presence of an Omega was always nice, especially when it was (name).

The three tweens always loved (name), the man being their protector since they were little and took on that role for any of their friends.

"Do you need help with anything?" Max asked the pregnant omega, the young Omega practically idolized (name) who chuckled sweetly "don't worry hun, you three just relax alright?"

That didn't stop the alphas and Omega from helping the Omega any chance they got and absolutely refusing to let (name) lift the cots or set them up and make (name) sit down and not move a muscle.

After the area was set up the three began figuring out what to order for dinner when the phone rang "can someone grab that for me" (name) said as he struggled to sit up, far to round and the couch to comfortable to get up and Will jumped to grab the wireless phone and bring it to (name).

"Munson residence, whose speaking?"

"Hey angel, you order food yet?" Eddie's voice warm like honey rang in (name)s ears and the Omega smiled a bit "not yet, why?"

"The gremlins wanna come over for dinner along with Robbie and Stevie"

"Alrighty, they staying for the movie?"

"Probably, how goes it on your end? YOU THREE BETTER NOT BE DRINKING ANYMORE COFFEE!" Eddie suddenly yelled out, voice muffled as he most definitely scolded Mikey Dustin and Lukas who made a hobby of stealing sips of Eddie's coffee to piss him off.

"All's good, pups are set up for the weekend and helped me set up their sleeping areas, might go grab ice cream for dessert"

"I know what I want for dessert" Eddie said lowly into the phone and (name) just rolled his eyes, not even bothering to give the horny alpha what be wants "well we better go, tell the ducklings to behave or else"

"Love you baby"

"Love you too"

When he hung up he noticed the pups staring at him giddily "were getting ice cream for dessert?"

"And toppings, I have cravings"

When the four left (name) noticed how they basically flanked him "you want eggos for breakfast Ellie?" (Name) asked the young girl who eyed the frozen waffles with great interest "can I?"

"We can grab you some syrup too"

In the end the kids each picked one thing as a treat along with the ice cream, chocolate and blueberry syrup and ice cream.

(Name) also got a pregnancy craving snack.

When the entire pack arrived (name) was positively preening at the sight of them all and the rest of the kids swarmed him to check on him and tell him about their campaign and such.

It was wild to (name) that they were almost teen-teens and not his little pups anymore.

"(Name)? What's wrong?" Mike asked worried as (name)s eyes watered "you guys are growing up!"

The pups hugged (name), the Omega playing with Wills hair and kissed the crown of Lukas' head, they were already developing their own unique pharamones and the milky scent that came with pups was fading.

He wasn't ready for this.

Eventually (name) calmed down and the pizza came and per usual (name)s eyes were to big for his stomach and slowly pushed his slices to Eddie who kissed his cheek lovingly.

"So what movie you get?" Robin asked as she took a bite, everyone glancing at the metal head who looked proud of himself "the lost boys!"

No one safe for Steve and Will had many complaints as they gathered to the livingroom and made (name) sit his butt down and was handed a bowl of ice cream as Eddie sat beside him and the group all watched the film, entranced by it.

By time the movie hit the mid section (name) was already passed out in his mates arms, snuggling into his chest while Eddie rubbed his belly lovingly "I'm gonna take (name) to bed, be right back" Eddie said softly as he grunted slightly but managed to lift his mate.

Tucking (name) into bed he looked at the man who gave Eddie everything.

A chance.

Unconditional love.

And soon a pup.

Eddie was always in awe at him, the Omega not afraid to indulge in his Omegan habits and still put him in his place when needed not to mention be a good friend and and support for the pups.

He didn't know how he managed to seduce Dustin's brother back in high school but he definitely wasn't complaining.

"I will be back soon baby, sleep well" and with a gentle kiss Eddie left his very pregnant omega to sleep and make sure the pack didn't destroy the apartment.

[nani-nonny]

Whispers of Distant Souls - Ch.12 sneak peek (#1)

A quick walk home filled with Blue’s complaining, Casey impatiently asking when the next outing would be, and the trio find themselves walking into the lair’s lobby. Leonardo leads the way, raising his finger to his mouth to urge the teens behind him to be quiet.

The elder slider walks quietly, footsteps lighter than air as he hugs close to the wall. He looks over his shoulder at the teens behind him to see they are copying his exact movements, even looking behind themselves as he did. He has to fight every muscle in his body not to burst into laughter seeing their antics.

Leonardo aims to turn the corner when Splinter’s voice cuts through the lobby, alerting the slider and his little ducklings.

“Big Blue. Future Boy. Little Blue. Where have you three been?”

Leonardo straightens and faces Splinter who stands in the doorway of the kitchen.

Behind Splinter are the four ashamed faces of the three turtles and Yellow, their faces and fingers covered in grease and small leftovers from their pizzas. They are seated in the kitchen on the floor, sitting on the back of their ankles. Their heads hang low in guilt and shame, their defeated eyes telling Leonardo they were scolded like the children they are.

You may think F!Leo is a grown man, he’s in his late-30s/early-40s, he can’t get in trouble like he used to. He’s responsible for his own actions—no.

F!Leo is a bad influence on the kids, and Splinter isn’t having it /hj

Also, F!Leo with Blue and Casey Jr /j vvvv

[sophieswundergarten]

@nobodysdaydreams Here you go

Chapter 28

BODS THE TITLE IS SCARING ME

This part really feels like TPD, with all the planning and secrecy

Ajdsdjfk Constance just staring at him really intently to freak him out

Poor Nathaniel

“It was rather unsettling, though being physically assaulted by one of the children was a much less frightening concept to Nathaniel than the possibility of having his mind read.”

Yeah, unfortunately that tracks

Reynie being all polite is very cute, though. And then there’s Kate, who is on the defensive every time

“Like he’s just some guy named Nathaniel now?”

Kate and the importance of names again! I need to write another analysis about that

And of course her lovely nickname suggestion

Yeah, Reynie!! The “L” stands for “Le”! It’s weird, right?

I’m very pleased that Constance is the one to reveal Curtain’s full name

Sticky’s aunt!! I love her so much, you don’t even understand. I was so hugely upset by how the Show changed things, but you’ve turned that all around and now she’s one of my favourite background characters in your story.

“He sleeps, he eats, he takes up space,” said Constance. “And he cleans. A lot. Obsessively. It’s concerning and confirms what we already knew. The man has serious mental problems.”

I don’t know how you positively nail each character voice every time!! It’s so impressive, and I love when certain lines stick out in my head because I feel I can hear them being said <3

Kate’s house!! Such a good plot point, so full of memories and emotion

Marcus! Marcus is so sweet. I’m really glad that you talked more about him, Sticky deserves to have good friends

Miss Perumal and Rhonda! A very good team. (And possibly the most forgiving out of the grownups, besides Mr. Benedict of course)

Ooohhhhhh. SQ photo album…

I AM NEVER GOING TO STOP BEING UPSET THAT HE WON’T TALK ABOUT HOW CLOSE HE WAS WITH THE WETHERALLS

BODS YOUR FLOORBOARDS ARE MINE

NATHANIEL. I get that you two are different in some ways, but. YOU’RE IDENTICAL TWINS??? SAYING SQ LOOKS MORE LIKE NICHOLAS ISN’T THAT BIG OF A DIFFERENCE??

Of course, it’s not his exact physical appearance that Nathaniel’s talking about, it’s more the fact that he feels too guilty and undeserving to be associated with his son. Because nothing is ever simple with this man

I love when Miss Perumal gets to talk about parenting with Nathaniel, it’s so interesting. I don’t know, because I don’t have kids, but to me it seems like you’re doing a really good job writing about it, Bods

Poor Number Two. She’s right, even though no one knows it yet. There is something suspicious going on :( 

Garrison mention!! Garrison would probably like to stay as far away from this mess as possible, but of course they aren’t going to let her do that

And naturally the thing that Nicholas fixes on is correcting his brother that Constance is his “roommate”. Not the ridiculousness of anything else in the statement

I like how you use the verb “comforted” often, it gives a really good note on the tone of the situation and how the dialogue is being said

Oh no. I’ve read the sad, sad tale of Puddles the duckling, like, three times now. We’re skipping it

Kate! Kate popping out of vents is the best thing, and I love how you set it up here. I can just see it in my brain

Nooooooooo

Bods I am gnawing on all of your pens until they are beyond repair. This part guts me every time

I love when we get a giant brick of Nathaniel dialogue because he’s explaining something. It’s very good

AND THIS IS THE PART WHERE IT ALL GOES SOUTH

I genuinely gasped and put a hand over my mouth when I first read this

I’ve been thinking about Nerissa and her outbursts a lot, and I have so many questions about how her powers work…

I think SQ’s mind would be a forest

I know Nerissa has not the best of intentions, but ever since she got introduced all I want is to give her a hug. I think she needs it

Now we get to see Nerissa’s plans from her point of view! I always love how you explain stuff via multiple different characters, it makes it really interesting and it somehow doesn’t ever come across as boring or talked about too much

Although it makes me wonder how many fake identities she has…

“The boy is eighteen Natty, I’m sure he doesn’t need or want you constantly helicopter parenting him like this”

As if she is not also doing the exact same (And arguably worse)

“his whole…team of genius minds and trained fighters”

Ah, yes. Nicholas, his adopted family and friends, and some children. Obviously an impossible number of enemies /s

Erika! She is somehow STILL not getting paid enough for this. Let her go do something else, like be a National Park ranger. I’m sure she’d love it

And the slip back into having the narrative refer to him as Curtain!! I get all excited every time you do that, no matter how many times it’s been now

“He had expected to see anger in his SQ’s eyes at having secrets kept from him”

I’m burning your house down

Curtain’s just running on frantic autopilot and it’s only making things worse. I know this is, like, the third POV for this scene and maybe the fifth time I’ve read it, but still. I am taking some scissors to your window drapes

“And to think, when I was a kid, I looked at you like you were my hero, I thought you were brilliant, I used to dream about being like you! And now, I’ve been putting up with everything you do, all the times you ignored me, filled your schedule with work, got stressed over some mundane detail, and acted like a complete control freak, all because I thought you were doing it because you actually cared about someone other than yourself.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Bods. Bods you need to chill on occasion. Seriously, I don’t know how much more of this my heart can take, and I already know what’s going to happen!! 

I Am Foaming At The Mouth

AND ONCE AGAIN CURTAIN’S SELF-DEPRECATING, GUILTY, OVERLY RIDICULOUS MENTALITY GETS IN THE WAY. AGAIN.

If he could take a step back and, I don’t know, go to therapy????? Then maybe he’d be able to have this conversation with his son. BUT NOOOOOOOOOO. IT’S EVIL PLANS THIS AND MIND ERASURE THAT. SO HEALTHY THERE, LEDROPTHA. NICE JOB /s

“You’d think that after all those losses he’d be used it to by now”

I Am Screeching At A Tone To Shatter All Your Glass

AND GARRISON. GARRISON DOESN’T KNOW. HOW COULD SHE? BUT SHE STILL UNDERSTANDS THE ENORMITY OF SWEEPING SQ. AND SHE’S STILL HORRIFIED.

“Please Dad. Don’t do this. I love you. I’ll do whatever you ask, and I’ll…I’ll stay. I won’t leave. I’ll stay here with you, forever. I’ll be good. I promise.”

This is always one of the worst parts for me…

“She supposed death wouldn’t be so bad. Garrison knew she deserved it, and she wasn’t entirely sure how she would even be able to keep living with herself after all she’d done. / But she still feared the pain.”

Someone PLEASE help this woman

Curtain hugging her… But it doesn’t do either of them any good…

AND CURTAIN CAN’T BRAINSWEEP HIMSELF BECAUSE HE FEELS LIKE HE HAS TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR ALL THE THINGS HE’S DONE. HE HAS BLOCKED OFF EVERY OPTION FOR HIMSELF

Oh dear, I just keep rereading the last bits instead of commenting. Please know they are just as amazing as everything else, but I don’t have any words for any of it…

Poor Nathaniel has been locked into a truly impossible task, and Nerissa certainly isn’t helping. Although, I must say that her dialogue can be pretty funny

“I really think you’re making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be. Nicky has never struck me as a particularly difficult person to kidnap. One bad pun is enough to knock him out. Just tell a clever joke, wait for him to pass out, and shove him into a sack.”

“Nathaniel had tried to think of other solutions. Really, he did. But although he knew that Nicholas would willingly give himself up at the word that his nephew, or that anyone really, was in danger”

Man, you really are so good at balancing humour with drama

[brawltogethernow]

5,6 and 7 for the GG fandom ask meme, please?

TIMESTAMP FIVE YEARS AGO truly I can 95% any project.

the ask meme

5. Favorite ship(s)?

I think when you sent this I was more divided, but it's pretty fixedly the OT3 at this point with some room for OTV considerations. So many things have not stopped from keep happening since then. The gilvek hug page. The boys lining up so Agatha could kiss them one at a time before they all split up. The "on our honeymoon" conversation. I'm just.

6. Favorite non-romantic ship? (BroTP, etc)

Hold on I'm going to go count how many times Gil and Bang show up in my brotp tag. (...)

Eight times.... They're the first thing in it and I used the phrase "overprotective homicidal duckling". I just! Enjoy them!! They're mutual stand-ins for each others absent siblings even though only one of them knows they have a sibling (and also the two older sisters are each others' origin stories unbeknownst to absolutely everyone)! They both think the other person is a huge freak they begrudgingly work with while they're normal! They both brutally slaughter people while being massively judgemental about how the other person does it! They've both demonstrated they'd betray the general ideals that guide how they live for each other! They have matching weird names and stupid nicknames!

7. Favorite story arc?

Time marches on but it remains Mechanicsburg. All of my favorite sequences and character moments are in there AND it's a good art era. If I have to break it down into entering Mechanicsburg/Castle Heterodyne/attack on the town I will begrudgingly pick CH because it's so iconic even though the arc opening has the best Gil scenes and the coffee shop. It does not have Tarvek, however, so.