#I like Morgana but like - he’s harsh for no reason

[loststarphounix]

Thinking about how Ryuji was treated like shit and was isolated in school before Akira/Protagonist transferred and that he’s so use to it that everyone in the Phantom Thieves just make shots at him so casually but he doesn’t nearly give them as much as they give him. Mind, he was the first one who actually befriends Akira and goes into the Palace with him and has some good combos with the others. But they still treat him bad.

[larluce]

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace Thank you for your beautiful comments! And for the ones that gave me ideas, trust me, I'm taking them into account ;)

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 (You're here) , PART 9

A little more of "The Dragon's Call"

Arthur: (at the feast waiting anxiously because Merlin is supposed to save him from "Lady Helen" to become his servant today and he isn't there yet)

Uther: Are you alright, Arthur?

Arthur: (too quickly) Yeah, right, excelent, never better.

Uther: You've been acting strange lately.

Arthur: (thinking) Well it's not easy to act normal around your dead father and your dead sister who wanted you dead. (says) I just haven't been sleeping well. I had... nightmares. Very long nightmares.

Uther: I see... (Thinking) I hope Morgana's condition isn't contagious.

Merlin: (Finally arrives with Gaius at the feast)

Arthur: (turns and his eyes find Merlin's almost immediately)

Merlin: (Thinking, while he looks at Arthur in the distance) Why is he looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?

Arthur: (Noticing Merlin is without his neckerchief, and he is so young and so beautiful, and he doesn't have his neckerchief on!) Gods have mercy!

Morgana: (enters in her breathtaking dress)

Merlin: (stares at her, but with a mix of longing and guilt)

Gwen: She looks great, doesn't she?

Merlin: (smiling sadly) Yeah...

Gwen: Some people are just born to be queen.

Merlin: (almost shouting) NO!

Gwen: There's no need to sound so disturbed.

Merlin: (composing himself) I'm sorry just... I think she could do better than Arthur that's all. (Thinking) And with someone that is not her brother.

Gwen: He's not so bad.

Merlin: (confused cause Gwen was supposed to agree with him) What do you mean? He was bullying a servant only a few days ago!

Gwen: I remmember. You confronted him about it.

Merlin: See? A total prat.

Gwen: And he also recognised his mistake and apologised. And he didn't arrest you for insulting him in front of his knights though that's technically treason.

Merlin: Okay, maybe not a total prat, but still a prat. (Thinking, worried) He was too nice indeed. Perhaps I was too harsh on him this time?

Morgana: (seeing Arthur is watching in Merlin and Gwen's direction) Have your eye on someone?

Arthur: (Cold) No.

Morgana: (playfully) Is it Gwen? or perhaps-

Arthur: Let's sit. Lady Helen will arrive at any moment (goes to his sit)

Morgana: ... Sure (thinking, while she goes to her sit) What's wrong with him?

Uther: (making an announcement) We have enjoyed 20 years of piece and prosperity....

Arthur: (thinking, resentfully) 20 years of genocide and lies.

Uther: ...It has brought to the kingdom and myself many pleasures but few can compare to the honor of introducing Lady Helen of Mora.

Lady Helen: (enters while people clap)

Arthur: (looks at Merlin in the distance)

Merlin: (very concentrated with his eyes on the chandelier, waiting for lady Helen to stand under it)

Arthur: (smiling to himself, thinking) So that's how you did it.

Everyone falls asleep, except for Arthur who does feel sleepy but is still slightly awake for some reason, so he gets to witness when all the room is filled with spiderwebs and Merlin uses his magic to make the chandelier fall over Helen, who is soon reveal to be Mary Collins.

Arthur: (confused) What... (thinking) Why didn't I fall completely asleep?

Merlin: (whose magic hasn't been able to freeze time since he traveled back in time, but he doesn't know why) Come on, come on! (Tries again to stop time but doesn't work) Damn it! (Shouts and runs to Arthur) ARTHUR!

Mary Collins: (throws the knife at Arthur)

Merlin: (covers Arthur with his body on time and the knife stabs his back)

Arthur: (horrified) NO! (Holding Merlin as they fall to the floor) No, no, no, no! You idiot, what were you thinking?!

Gaius: (running to Merlin) Merlin!

Uther: Who is this?

Gaius: My ward. (checks Merlin) We need to move him to my tower as carefully and quickly as possible. I can't pull the knife out here, he'll bleed to death.

Merlin: (smiling weakely at Arthur) I did it. (Tears of happiness) I did... (Starts closing his eyes).

Arthur: (panic mode) No! don't you dare die on me! (carries him as Gaius instructed) You're going to be okay, you're going to be okay. Stay with me (thinking) Please, don't leave me again. I just got you back. I can't lose you again.

Time skip. Merlin wakes up in Gaius's tower and with his wound bandaged. The knife didn't puncture anything important, but apparently the blade was poisoned. Fortunately, it was a pretty common one and Gaius took care of it rather quickly. Gaius scolds him for scaring him as expected but then hugs him gently and tells him he must not do any effort for at least 2 weeks and rest. Just as Gaius leaves for some herbs, Arthur enters to check on him.

Arthur: Better do as he says. I can't have my personal manservant injuring himself.

Merlin: Personal manservant?

Arthur: My father, the king, decided to reward you for saving my life by granting you a place at the royal household.

Merlin: (happy inside, but pretending to be annoyed) As your personal manservant? Couldn't he just give me gold or something?

Arthur: (playing along) Most would consider it a great honor.

Merlin: Well, I'm not like most people.

Arthur: (laughs a little) You certainly aren't. (Gets close and checks him out little, cause he's never seen Merlin without a shirt before and damn it! is hard not to stare, but as soon as his eyes land on the bandage, he turns serious) What you did was very brave... and stupid. You shouldn't have done that.

Merlin: (still mocking) If that's your way to say "Thank you for saving my life", well, yeah, I'm starting to regret saving your royal ass.

Arthur: I'm serious. Now you're my manservant, therefore my responsability and my concern. You're not allowed to put yourself in harms way, ever, not even for me. (Thinking) specially for me.

Merlin: (bewildered at the sudden concern) Is that a rule?

Arthur: It is now. Do I make myself clear?

Merlin: (touched, he smiles) Yes, my lord. (Thinking) I would die for you a hundred times over.

Arthur: (Thinking, a wave of nostalgia invading him) "My lord"... how much I missed that. (says) Good. Now get some rest (starts leaving, but stops and turns) And Merlin.

Merlin: Yes?

Arthur: Thank you for saving my life. (Makes a small bow, smiles and leaves)

Merlin: ...

Merlin: Did he just bow to me?!! 😨

...

Some explanation: Arthur is now, not immune, but a little more resistant to some mind spells since his mind is from the future and has already passed for all those spells before. Merlin's magic is kind of weak, because the ritual Arthur did used the magic from the tree, therefore Merlin's magic to do the time travel thing, so lets say his magic is a little exhausted and needs recovering, but it just last a few days.

[the-merlin-meadow]

Guinevere Pendragon - A Character

I'd like to preface this analysis with the fact that this character analysis can be harsh on Gwen's character in show. I adore Gwen in some aspects, but unfortunately I don't in others and I'd like to expand on how I think Gwen's character could have been improved. (Putting the essay under the read more because this got a bit long)

Now on with the analysis! Gwen at the start of the series serves three functions - she's our introduction to Camelot. Merlin, like the viewers, is new to Camelot. He has no idea of the lay of the land and so Gwen serves the purpose of introducing Merlin, along with occasional input from Gaius. Second, as a servant like Merlin, she serves as someone Merlin can talk to at the start of the series when Merlin and Arthur were on shaky terms, and/or when Merlin couldn't interact with Arthur/Gaius. And finally, she serves as someone Morgana can talk to, so we can also get an idea of Morgana when she's not around Uther/Arthur. So once we get past the first few seasons, these reasons become obsolete. Merlin has been in Camelot for a while and he and Arthur are close enough that they kinda defy protocol and Morgana becomes evil. So when this happens, the show pivots Gwen's function to love interest. And that kinda becomes Gwen's character for the next few seasons. And then in season 5, she takes on this additional role as queen. All very lovely reasons to keep a character on the show. The issue is that Gwen never seems to be a character outside of these reasons. Here's a question that doesn't have a clear answer: What does Gwen want? In an overarching sense, not from a singular episode. Merlin wants to keep Arthur safe, Arthur wants to build a safe and fair kingdom, Morgana wants to kill the remaining Pendragons and claim Camelot in her name. Even at the start, Morgana wanted justice and she was willing to defy and kill Uther for that. All of these characters have a fairly obvious want, but what does Gwen want? Even side characters like Lancelot have easily identifiable wants - Lancelot wants to be a knight and do what is just and moral.

So I've identified my major issue with Gwen. She has her reasons for being on the show, but she was never developed as a character outside of those reasons. Furthermore, the writers seemed to try and erase practically every possible flaw that Gwen could possibly exhibit - essentially making her perfect. What do I mean by this? When her father dies, Gwen says that to want to kill Uther wouldn't solve anything. When Gwen and Lancelot kiss and cheat on Arthur, Gwen has been enchanted by a bracelet. Gwen comes up with the perfect idea to lure a druid that is campaigning against Arthur into the city and it works perfectly. (Like I know three years have passed and she would know how to handle these issues, but we never get to see her struggle with these issues.) Etc. Gwen has no visible flaws and what she does, is waved away or justified by the narrative. Now, with the examples listed above, nothing is necessarily wrong with those character choices - it's just that in every instance, Gwen is always morally clean of any bad or wrong choices, which makes her character boring.

How to fix this? The easy way would have been to give her a flaw or an easily identifiable want. Show Gwen wanting to achieve something, anything. Say that she wants to assist with fixing the damage that was caused by magic. Show Gwen wanting Lancelot but sacrificing it for Arthur - which gives her a higher positions. Make her resent being a servant for Morgana, who despite claiming that she's her friend, treats like a servant until she's needed as a friend. Make her feel anything that isn't joy or kindness. I feel like either giving her a want that trailed through multiple episodes or even seasons, or an easily seen flaw would have been the best way to make Gwen's character better and more entertaining.

(Side Note: Arwen, while lovely, often feels underdeveloped because we are seeing things almost entirely through Merlin's eyes, which does not help when Arthur seems more free and less like he's putting on a front when interacting with Merlin vs Gwen, so if Arwen were to be a thing, I would trying putting more emphasis on Arthur and Gwen without Merlin, and show Arthur being equally as open with Gwen as he is Merlin.)

[cynthia39100]

Merlin rewatch -- S1E10: The Moment of Truth

Arthur

Arthur was so competent and all-around showing off his future king qualities in this episode it’s perfect.

He was compassionate. He helped Hunith get an audience with the King and promptly went on a solo quest to “ help people regardless of how far away they lived”. A hint of a united Albion in the future right there.

He was a good leader. I like how confident he looked and how quickly he started to give plans the moment he stepped into the village. The villagers trusted him instantly despite Will’s strong opposition. Arthur knew the chances were slim but he did his best. He trained the men, set up traps and sent Matthew who wasn’t good at fighting to do the scouting job. He tried to utilize every single resource he had (except women, but he learned it afterwards).

(btw I really like this outfit for some reason <3)

He also took criticism graciously. He replied gently every time Gwen or Morgana brought up the topic of women’s right to fight and ultimately accepted it. He wasn’t provoked by Will’s insults and complaints wither(he did make an adorably pouty face for a bit but the rest was great XD).

He let Will express his concern and very patiently reasoned with him (more patient than me anyway). He didn't completely dismiss Will's words as well. That's why he lost his confidence for a bit and needed Merlin's nudging.

It's nice that he did have Merlin to confide his insecurity and he trusted Merlin enough to put himself together from Merlin's baseless assurance.

The harsh remark regarding magic in the end actually threw me off a bit. Arthur hadn’t made any negative comment towards magic as far as I can remember. He had been pretty accepting of good magic. Healing in ep3, blue bulb in ep4, druids in ep8. They weren’t even in Camelot. I guess the magical wind did look more dangerous than those, but it still saved their life.

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[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! 

[merganalogy]

Part 3

Parts 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

This one takes place in the early 20s

The air crackled with tension as Morgana and Merlin faced each other. Their shared history, the unspoken promises, and the years apart hung heavy in the room. Morgana’s wine glass trembled slightly in her hand, its crimson contents mirroring the storm of emotions within her.

“Well… this is awkward,” she finally murmured, her voice barely audible over the distant music. Morgana’s eyes darted around the crowded party, seeking refuge in the familiar faces of her friends. No one seemed to notice the reunion unfolding before them. Perhaps it was better that way.

Merlin, on the other hand, wore his emotions openly. His smile stretched across his face. It was a smile that said, I’ve missed you, and I’m glad you’re here.

But Morgana wasn’t ready to reciprocate. Not yet. Perhaps, not ever.

“On the contrary,” Merlin replied, his voice warm and familiar. “I think it is lovely running into you, Morgana. I have waited four years to see you again.” His eyes held hers, and for a moment, time seemed to blur. The scar above his eyebrow was gone.

Morgana’s heart fluttered at the sight, but she quickly masked it with a sip of her wine. “You’ve taken care of it,” she observed, her gaze tracing the contours of his face. “The scar.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, touching the smooth skin above his eyebrow. “I’ve been learning how to heal. Can’t keep hoping you’ll do it for me. You’ve broken your promise twice already.”

Morgana’s breath caught.

Keep hoping. The words echoed in her mind.

But she couldn’t let him off the hook so easily. She was Morgana after all. “It’s not like you haven’t broken a promise or two yourself, Merlin,” she retorted, her tone sharper than she intended. She took another sip, savouring the bitterness of the wine. “Trust me, I should know.”

His smile faltered, and he looked away. “yeah,” he mumbled, suddenly fascinated by the glass in his hand. “I’ve made mistakes too.”

Why are you here? Morgana almost asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Why come to America? Why leave England?

For all she knew, he was here for the same reason as her.

Coming to America meant a new life, a new beginning. A second chance.

But to her it wasn't just that. Deep down, she had her own reasons for crossing the ocean. Reasons she couldn’t share.

“Merlin!” someone called, rescuing them both from the awkward silence that threatened to engulf them. “It’s your turn, mate.”

Morgana sighed, her gaze flickering toward her friends. “I should go as well—” she began, but Merlin shook his head.

“Or you could watch me play,” he suggested, his voice tinged with nervous energy. “It won’t take long. I…” He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “I have so many questions, and I really—”

“Merlin!” The interruption came again, more insistent this time.

Rolling her eyes, Morgana relented. “Fine, I’ll watch,” she conceded. But answers wouldn’t be exchanged tonight.

She followed Merlin to the billiard table, observing as he lined up his shot. The cue ball missed its mark, and his friend took over. The game flowed around them, a dance of precision and chance.

Then, in an instant, chaos erupted. Morgana must have stood too close to the rail or rested her hand too casually on the edge. The billiard ball collided with her wine glass, shattering it against her palm. Pain flared, and blood welled up.

She hated the sight of blood. Merlin was at her side immediately, concern etching lines on his face. “Are you all right?” he asked, reaching for her injured hand. “Let me see—”

Morgana yanked her hand away, shoving him with her other. “Do not touch me!” she snapped. The nerve of him, showing concern after all these years.

His hurt expression went unnoticed as she hurried away.

The restroom’s harsh fluorescent light cast shadows across Morgana’s face as she washed the wound. The pain pulsed with each beat of her heart, a reminder of her vulnerability. But then, like an unwelcome apparition, Merlin appeared in the doorway.

“Bloody hell, Merlin, get out of here,” she snapped, her patience fraying.

He ignored her, his gaze fixed on her bleeding hand. “Damn it, that’s a lot of blood,” he muttered urgently.

Morgana scoffed. Of course there would be blood—it was a shard embedded in her palm. “Don’t worry about it, leave.”

“You have to stop the bleeding,” he insisted, stepping closer.

“It’s just a cut,” she retorted, her voice sharper than she intended. “I’ve seen worse. Besides, I can’t just heal it.”

“What?” His eyes widened, and Morgana cursed herself. She didn't mean to say that aloud.

“What do you mean you can’t heal it? What about your magic?” Merlin pressed, concern etching lines on his face.

“I cannot deal with this right now.” Morgana sniffed, pushing past him and fleeing the restroom. He didn’t follow.

The truth was, she’d left England to steer clear of him, but fate had other plans—plans that involved shattered wine glasses, bleeding palms, and a reunion she hadn’t anticipated.

From this list, send me a prompt if you’d like.

[black-suns-rim]

Any headcanons for the trolls in the trollhunter trilogy cus I haven’t seen any so far

heheheheheheh-

You bet I do

Since trolls are born of magic (one piece of heart stone from each parent) that means trolls are technically non-binary since they don't have a reproductive system like humans do. This also means that there can be gay, lesbian and non-binary trolls that can have kids. Also, since trolls are non-binary natually, this means that trolls can choose to be male/female or anything else. They can either choose to fit in with the human's gender norms like Blinky, Arrrggghhh, or Draal, or they can be their own thing like Deya who appears not to be traditionally feminine, leaning more on the non-binary side.

Just look at her silhouette, you wouldn't even guess she's a lady troll, lol

Another headcanon of mine is that the troll toddlers and babies are absolutely feral, like they will climb on walls, hide in small spaces and just be the bane of their parent's existence. Blinky mentions at how 18 years a young troll becoms potty trained, that means the troll child is around the equivalent to a 4 year old.

The troll version of baby sitting is literally sitting on the kid/baby. Trolls aren't squishy like humans, they are made of stone, so it wouldn't be too far fetched to say they wouldn't get hurt if the little ones were sat on. Plus Blinky thought that baby sitting was literal.

Some trolls definitely are a bit r a c i s t towards humans. Fleshbag is a derogatory term for humans. Vendle was harsh on Jim in the beginning because he was a human. Because Jim was a human trollhunter, he had to endure the insults thrown at him, but he also had an advantage for being underestimated all the time.

Trolls, we know for sure, don't kiss since it's a human thing and Jim had to explain to Draal what kissing was. Instead, their version of a kiss/affection is by placing their foreheads together like we see Blinky and Arrggghhh do in one of the episodes. I'm not saying Blinky and Arrgghhh are a thing though, they are very close friends more than anything.

Gronknux- since it refers to the sensitive nether regions of a troll, it could just be a spot of weakness not for the reason we are thinking about. I claimed that trolls don't have a reproductive like humans, so what's the point of that area being sensitive? It could be like getting punched in the diaphram, knocking the air out of our lungs. The gronknux could be the equivalent to that, and since trolls aren't like humans, not experiencing pain often, they most definitely don't like the sensation of pain when they do feel it.

There is no limit to how big or small trolls can get. From the size of a knome to as big as a mountain, it all depends on the species of troll. Not Enrique is the size of a baby even though he is a grown troll, though his size could just be because his familar is a baby.

This brings me to changelings. Changelings seems to be a mix of troll and another species of magical creature. Not Enrique is a goblin/troll mix while Strickler is stalkling/troll mix. In order to become a changeling, it is hinted at that a very painful/sinister process has to take place. I am unsure what Nomura would be a mixture of, but she is very slender and appears to be glossy/wet all the time.

Goblins are good nannies. Those mother fuckers take care of the babies that were taken to the darklands. They feed, calm, entertain, and definitely change the diapers of the human babies. Plus, I'm pretty sure some of them enjoy their nanny job, lol. There is no one more trustworthy than a goblin to take care of your child.

Speaking of the darkland babies, they have been kept as babies for many years, so it's possible that there is a formula/magic out there that stops or stunts aging; immortality. Merlin, Morgana and Douxie all have been the same age for centuries, so they must also posses the same magic that stops aging.

That's all the headcanons I have

[noel-fielding-web-page]

Do you like any celebrities who is out of all your tops, but you still respect them? Who are they, if it's not a secret?

It sounds rediculous, but I have top 10 of outtops :)

1. Daisy May Cooper

Some people don’t like her on Never Mind The Buzzcocks. Me too. Although she’s a cute girl, looks very vivid. But you know what? She’s actually very nice person. I’m following her on instagram for a long time, but only recently watched her account. She’s extremely different from TV! She can make quite useful stuff! She isn’t silly! For example, I remember she made a reel where she loudly says “No” This video was for the case if your self anxiety tries to get you, just say NO! It’s actually works! And I have noticed in some shows that she calms down people when they get nervous. Quite possibly that she’s a psychologist. I respect this people!

2. Oasis/Gallagher Brothers

2 beautiful men having great vocals. This band is one of the first when I started my interests to Brit Pop and indie music :)

3. Vic & Bob

I genually thank this couple for Slade, at least now I know who they were :D Also thank the for the Shooting Stars! In addition to sketches, it is worth to note how much funny they are apart. Bob Mortimer is an example of this on any show. It's really impossible to listen to him without a smile, he's just an incredibly crazy and funny person. He's crazy stories always killing ;D What can I say about Vic Reeves. I don't see him on the shows so much as Bob, but I think he's not worse than him at all. And both they are power!

4. Ant & Dec

Oh, this men! :) Some people know them as singers, but I know them as crazy and funny showmen. Their pranks are awesome, always laughing watching them in youtube. Their laugh make me laughing also, so genuine and contagious and they staing beautiful ;D

5. Stephen Mangan

It's hard for me to call myself his fan. But there is something attractive about this guy. I don't even know. Probably some charisma, personality. I like him being on the shows :)

6. Morgana Robertson

I found out about her in Taskmaster. She reminds me Noel a bit. She also plays different characters and doing different voices. She has beautiful big eyes and her smile makes her wobderful. Also loves giggling, smiling, laughing and being adorable :)

7. James Acaster

He became my favourite when firstly debuted as a member in NMTB. He was on the top for the ages. But now he isn’t. Yeah, I still watch the shows with he’s partition. But after his jokes in new NMTB about Noel who couldn’t be there for some reason, he was out. Probably, he joked, but I found it quite mean. I watched this episode with sad feeling that I was deeply disappointed in him. I doubt that he’ll ever be on my top 20 again. Only out of the tops.

8. Michael Patrick Kelly

The only celeb who is almost not English speaking and I like him. He is an Irish-America singer, musician and composer. Speaks mostly German. Kelly was born in Dublin. He came to fame as the third-youngest member of the pop and folk band The Kelly Family. He was well known as one of the main and popular members in the family band (Paddy at this period) After the band he still gorgeous and having a beautiful voice with the light accent.

9. Katherine Ryan

The most bitchy celebrity I know. She is beautiful and at the same time quite harsh. I respect her for being drop dead gorgeous. And her humor is nice ;) Thanks Mock The Week for let me find out about her more :)

10. Jonathan Sprague

Was The Jon in Steam Powered Giraffe. This band is a pantomime music project, something like steam punk clowns. Jon was a silly doll with cylinder hat. But after leaving the band he become a normal guy. And he is the most straight character of all the members of his band. And I think he looks beautiful :)

[none-ofthisnonsense]

Merlin S4E5, “His Father’s Son”

Lancelot? Probably Gwaine if he’s getting chased. 

That’s the gorge they were in in the S3 finale!

MERLIN???

Why the fuck is Agravaine on the field with them?

They’ve got the king??

I feel like Merlin *could* kill a man in cold blood.

Okay but why is Merlin’s face so dirty?

Purple shirt sighting again!

Arthur this is self-destructive 

Oh that’s Adelaide from The Waters of Mars!

As much as I hate Agravaine, he has a point as to how Arthur must present himself. I disagree, obviously, but - okay never mind he continued to talk and it just got so much worse in the span of a minute WHAT. I take back the first part of this comment.

Morgana’s back…!

She looks beautiful here. Also, how much pride must it have taken for her to kneel to the queen?

Oh so he’s going to see Gwen! Great…!

don’t do this to Gwen, Arthur. Don’t. We both know that she deserves better. (For the first time, I’m thinking Arthur is a real arsehole.) Also, stop lying to Gwen.

That is a MASSIVE army. They are outnumbered, and are going to be slaughtered.

Gwaine looks slightly different for some reason.

Why does Elyan not speak more often?

Did you really think you could go without waking Merlin? 

I like this music.

Yeah Arthur deserves that slap.

I’m having Valiant flashbacks.

It’s going to be Arthur isn’t it… Yep. (Though he IS the best fighter, so it also makes sense re: him fighting. Not that I support this in the first place.)

Morgana knows Arthur. 

Agravaine what??!

How much are we willing to bet that Merlin notices?

Morgana’s spells are so much more fluent and less harsh than Merlin it’s nice to hear.

How long has Merlin been Arthur’s servant at this point?

This feels like a goodbye. (I mean, it is. But the conversation warms my heart.)

Arthur looking for Merlin!

I like this queen. (But then, I adore Lindsey Duncan.)

Morgana without Morgause sounds like a petulant child.

From the music I’m guessing it’s an Arthur/Gwen scene.

I really hate how Arthur looks this shot p, sorry. I don’t know what it is about him.

[fictionkinfessions]

I'm an Arthur fictive from bbc merlin (and a little the original text and oh god am I an clotpole from there but at least im a sexy clotpole. Gwen was so right to leave me there im actually happy for her)

ANYWAY the BBC adaptation is so depressing by the end. Merlin just waiting forever ad the fandom making it practically cannon? Literallly why can't he just move on and if I come back (big IF I love sleeping in) he can be happy. Just move on and live life IF I come back then destiny would pull us back together.

I miss Merlin but I'd much prefer he moved on. Servant until he dies? Even marrage has less harsh vows. I hope he moved on I hope he lived life and just got happier being with me destroyed him. The last thing I wanted for someone I loved so much and yet I watched him fade away. I wish he'd left earlier and saved himself. Merlin set me on my path years before I died, he could have saved himself. He should have saved himself. I was always going to die, stubborn as an ox, I'll die before I compramise, as a king it was always going to happen. I wasn't afraid.

I also miss the knights. I love them, I didnt destroy them and I'm so glad I didnt hurt them like I didnt hurt Merlin. I'm happy that bringing them together helped them (as far as I'm aware). They made the people important to me feel happy and supported in a way that I never could as king.

I'm actually not mad at anyone who tried to/ suceeded in killing me. Everyone has their reasons and I wasnt innocent.

If Morgana's reading this I really hope that you're happy in this era where women with swords are considered increadibly cool.

I think that's it, hopefully I wont be back to this blog. I don't really enjoy being Arthur Pendragon once and future king, I'm having a lot of fun without the responsibility and I think I'll stay undercover where i can binge youtube and wear cosy hoodies with 0 responsibility and no one looking to me for advice.

I'm so aware my source isnt real but seperating is really hard this is just a ramble (directed at my system)

📦

[weakforarwen]

Merlin Week 2022 Day 1: Favorite Character - Gwen

I've written so much about Gwen that I'm stumped right now trying to find something new to say. But I'll share something random I love about Gwen.

First, I love that Gwen was a servant. I love that Gwen loved that she was a servant. The show undoubtedly glossed over the harsh realities of being a servant - even a palace one, which likely came with extra benefits - but, all things considered, Gwen was happy with her life. She was Morgana's personal maid and up until season 3 they were friends and Morgana was good to her. Gwen's life wasn't the easiest, but she lived comfortably and she was happy.

Gwen didn't like being a servant because she had been brainwashed into believing she didn't deserve more (though it's also true that she never allowed herself to dream due to her position), but because she genuinely respected servants. No one in the world had the power to make her feel ashamed of being a servant or inferior to anyone. She believed respect was earned through good conduct, not bought or born into. When Arthur accidentally implied he was too good to cook, Gwen told him she wasn't ashamed of being a servant; at least she wasn't a liar. Gwen certainly didn't need Arthur to rescue her from her lowly position, or to validate her existence. Being loved by Arthur didn't make Gwen feel she was above any other servant. She married Arthur despite him being the King, and not because of it. She didn't romanticize royalty or feel trapped in her life.

One of the best things about Gwen was her dignity and strength. She was able to survive and make the best of any situation, because, as long as she was true to herself and lived by her ideals, she was happy, or at least, at peace, with herself. Living with one's self is always the hardest part, but Gwen's self-respect, confidence, and intelligence meant she was able to face whatever challenge life threw her way and remain optimistic. She didn't need a grand purpose in life because she believed her work had merit, same as everyone else's, and her loyalty and kindness insured plenty of people loved and were loyal to her in return.

Still, Gwen was more than a servant, in the sense that she had so much potential to do real good. Not everyone can change the world with their ideals and conviction. It takes courage to stand up for what is right, as well as selflessness, determination, intelligence, kindness. Gwen had all these qualities in spades - she genuinely loved Camelot and wished for her people to prosper. That's one of the reasons why she cared for Arthur initially; she believed he could bring about real change in Camelot, so it was important to care for him and protect him. It never crossed Gwen's mind that she would also one day be the person to make Camelot a just and fair Kingdom where the people were proud of their sovereign. How could she have imagined it? She'd been only a servant, and a woman too.

But Arthur made it happen for her. Through her relationship with Arthur, Gwen was able to do create change on a bigger scale. Yet, it's wrong to say she meant to have any kind of impact at all. While Gwen was dating Arthur she didn't have any plans or ambitions for when she became Queen. She didn't want to become Queen to do good; she only wanted to marry Arthur, and everything else was secondary. She believed ruling Camelot was Arthur's purpose, not hers, and she was happy to support him; she believed that was her duty, because she loved Arthur and Camelot, but not her purpose or destiny. If you asked her, I'm sure Gwen would said she had no destiny.

Gwen is not a conventional hero like Arthur, Merlin or even Morgana. Everything she did was out of love for Arthur and because she was a good person - of course she had to help Arthur become a good King, just like she had to help Mary and her village, stand up to Agravaine, or risk her life for her friends and Camelot in the seasons 3 and 4 finales. There's something as beautiful about Gwen being a nobody who was able to achieve great things as there is about Gwen being happy with her lot in life and achieving great things only out of duty and love. The world tells us we're weak if we're not ambitious, that we should strive for excellence, not happiness. We should be "winners", not followers; we should stand out, not help from behind the scenes.

The world tells us to dream big (re: prestige, wealth), and that being a good person isn't enough - why not become a famous activist or a politician? And I get it, the world needs leaders; but just living your life and being a good person should be enough - you can still be an outstanding person regardless. Gwen certainly was, even before she became Queen; were everyone like Gwen, the world would be much better for sure. Gwen was just someone living her life who believed in helping those in need and giving them a voice when they couldn't speak for themselves. She didn't think that was her responsibility the way Arthur did; she just believed it was everyone's duty to be kind.

Gwen was a hero, but she was also just a normal person. Even as Queen, she was content to sit back and trust Arthur, unless Arthur gave her a reason to voice her concerns. I kind of resented her for not being more outspoken, but did she have to be? Surely, it's okay that she believed in Arthur and just did her job as wife and Queen without trying to change things too much? She wasn't particularly ambitious, but that's okay too? Even without a destiny (that she knew of!), she helped so many people.

I have a lot of ambition that I can't bring to fruition because I'm burnt out and really not that brave or good. And that makes me feel really bad and guilty because I'm wasting my "potential". I guess I just want to believe you can have a life worth living and be an admirable person while keeping your head down. I'm sure Gwen probably went on to achieve great things, but she really was just a person living her life. She didn't believe she was reaching her full potential by becoming Queen, and that is both sad (were she a noble man, she would've been super ambitious), and great, because she was content with herself and believed in her own worth regardless.

Gwen just reminds me of one of my favorite characters from one of my favorite books - Dorothea from Middlemarch. Dorothea was an outstanding woman, who, due to being a woman, could not achieve greatness herself, and, instead, was limited to helping her husband(s) be great; she married her first husband because she believe he could help many people and teach her many things, and, when she married a second time, she was pitied for being the reason for her husband's success yet having to stay in his shadow - what other choice did she have though, asked the author? Gwen was different from Dorothea because she didn't use Arthur as a means to achieve her dreams, nor did she live in his shadow, but, all the same, she was another great woman whose potential was limited by her circumstances.

Yet, I ask myself, had Gwen never become more than that timid but amazing girl from season 1, wouldn't she have been enough? I think the beauty of Gwen's arc is not her rise to power, because she had no desire for it or even any great ambition to use it, but simply that she became confident in herself. It's easy to love her growth from servant to Queen, but that's not really what mattered the most.

Gwen was not like Dorothea, with dreams too big for her gender, or a reluctant hero, like Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She represented a rarer type of heroine - she showed the kind of exemplary life an ordinary person could live. Regardless of her relationship with Arthur, Gwen never became or tried to become a hero; she was never ambitious for recognition or greatness - and that wasn't a good thing, because we know she couldn't have dreamed of more yet was capable of more, but, at the same time, it made her an interesting and necessary hero. Gwen was undoubtedly a hero, but all she wanted was to take care of her loved ones and be as happy as possible. She was great because she had no extraordinary powers or goals. She was strong, confident, loyal, brave, intelligent, kind and made a difference just being herself.

My favorite season for Gwen is season 4. She was still a servant yet helped so many people: Uther (for Arthur), Mary and Merlin in Lamia, Arthur and the whole of Camelot in His Father's Son when she helped Arthur remember himself. Gwen is proof that being a good person is more than enough to make a difference, and that the ordinary can be extraordinary (but power and connections are still helpful).

Gwen's journey is beautiful regardless of her becoming Queen; it's beautiful because she was a beautiful person, outstanding even as a "mere" servant. But that doesn't mean I don't love that she became Queen. Arthur's death sadly meant she could reach her full potential. Unlike Dorothea, she was able to achieve tangible greatness herself. She deserved it.

[sneakyboymerlin]

Hi!!! Do you have any like. Hcs or thoughts on that one gwaine scene in a servant of two masters, where he looks like such a sad puppy bc possessed!merlin was mean to him? Do you think they ever talk about it? Especially since well. Merlin doesn’t REMEMBER anything in between morgana showing him the snake and Gaius later telling him he was trying to kill Arthur- I just. It hurts my heart, that sad Gwaine look, and the fact that in the very best episode he is right there helping Merlin look for Gaius

Oh I have many, many thoughts.

First, it’s vital to remember that we did not actually see the complete scene when they first reunite because part of the script was cut. Find the missing parts here. It seems to continue from the lines “You know what I like about Merlin? He never expects any praise. All these things he does, just for the good of doing them…” This can be considered fully canon, despite being absent from the final cut, because Gwaine refers to Merlin as “Bog Man” later on.

We may not see Gwaine’s full reaction after Merlin reappears, but Arthur and Gwaine only brought two horses on the rescue mission, so it can be inferred that Merlin rode back with Gwaine (which may explain why he didn’t make any successful attempts on Arthur’s life until they returned to Camelot).

One other factor to keep in mind: Gaius, Gwen, and Arthur each approach Merlin from the perspective that, having been in the hands of bandits for days, he is currently processing a traumatizing experience (truer than they know). It can be inferred that Gwaine is no different here, even if his approach seems to be. I’ve said it once before, but Gwaine—like everyone else—likely attributes Merlin’s newfound attitude to his recent trauma.

Based on that information, it’s safe to say that Gwaine could have responded in one of two ways:

He didn’t take Merlin’s emotional lashing-out personally because Merlin had only just returned from being held hostage by bandits.

He did take it personally because he believes that’s how Merlin really thinks of him—maybe Merlin just doesn’t want to pretend right now.

In any case, he probably never brought it up, just accepted the treatment because… it’s Merlin.

If we look at how Merlin snaps at Gwaine in the following episode, but miraculously does not deter Gwaine in his anger, it seems that Gwaine is handling the hurt with grace, choosing not to apprehend Merlin out of understanding for his feelings.

Regardless, he doesn’t seem to believe that Merlin actually dislikes him and even argues for his own usefulness. But he may also feel that he needs to repair whatever’s broken in their relationship, and perhaps he only sees his worth as far as he can be of some benefit to Merlin.

Moving forward, did they ever talk about what Merlin said while possessed? My guess is, no. Merlin and Gwaine’s dynamic in the event of Gaius’ kidnapping is emotionally consistent with where they left off in the prior episode. Gwaine’s act of camaraderie has been harshly rejected by Merlin, and Merlin feels some rejection himself when Gwaine and the knights try to kill him (while he’s disguised lol) in the woods.

So really, those two interactions are the starting point that they’re coming from when Merlin walks in to see that Gwaine’s been waiting to see him. It makes sense if Gwaine doesn’t know the real reason for why Merlin was harsh with him, and it further explains Merlin’s assumption that Gwaine isn’t going to believe him (besides the fact that he’s just been basically accused of treason for telling the truth). Merlin and Gwaine both feel like there’s a distance between them, but for entirely different reasons. It’s ultimately due to this major miscommunication.

Besides their self-inflicted self-isolation habits, there’s another reason they probably didn’t talk about it. If Gwaine never brought it up, then Merlin has no way of knowing that it’s hanging in the air between them, since he has no memory of his time under the enchantment. He also wouldn’t be able to tell Gwaine the full truth without potentially revealing that it was him in the woods, not an actual assassin, but who’s to say what lie he might’ve told Gwen? She didn’t seem to know what Merlin had to do to get rid of the Fomorrah, so what he tells Gwaine of the incident is up in the air I guess.

If you want an answer, I would say that if they did talk about it, it was after they rescued Gaius, not before. In all honesty, I don’t believe it happened in canon. But whether their relationship ever fully recovers (at least in that margin of time) is difficult to gauge. Even if those events continued to stand between them for the rest of their friendship, it didn’t stop them from caring about each other or trying to fix it. And that is in and of itself a sure sign of their bond :-)

[tiodolma]

He had a chance to kill her in To kill the king, he didn't do it.

he had no reason to do this because morgana didn't make an open attempt on uther's life. i was just stating a hypothetical in what if she did make an attempt on uther's life by being the one to stab him.

your note is true but I think Merlin uses the fatal weapon like the staff and other harsh methods only against open enemies. With "friends that turned out to be enemies", with someone he had a personal relation with, he's more reluctant, chooses indirect methods (poisoning vs open stabbing) or tries to kill them through others.

...i dont even know what to say to this. nothing makes sense. you call poisoning via hemlock as "less harsh?" and "plunging a sword with magic substance that is fatal to everyone" as indirect forms of harshness? how about burying her under an entire stone floor (s3), making her fall off a horse (s3) of having a cave/mountain crash down on her (s5)?

Compare Agravaine, Morgause for example, and Morgana. Agravaine was dead instantly, Morgause lasted a year only because she had the power of priestesshood, but he never used that force against Morgana, he just made her unconscious.

merlin used the same force to blast off agravaine and morgana. agravaine died because he was not immortal like morgana who can withstand those attacks that kills everyone else.

Morgause lasted a year only because she had the power of priestesshood

we both know he used a curse on morgause. he didn't use the same spell on morgana. i cannot see a point of comparison, i'm sorry.

I see you're trying to soften the blows Merlin deals on Morgana because they were friends once. if that's how you see their dynamic, i won't dispute you. But personally, on my posts, i don't subscribe to that headcanon. It's against my nature to deny that they really wanted to kill each other. I feel like I am lying to myself if I deny or work around that aspect of their dynamic. He hurt her fatally and intentionally, she does the same, just in a more long-winded way. They just wont die for some reason unless merlin uses a special something to make sure she really really dies.

If bbc morgana hurt bbc uther in s1, would bbc merlin have blasted her using the sidhe staff too? (He killed two other guys with it that stood no chance of fighting him)

He uses a long range precision laser weapon against people wielding swords/dagger.

Morgana you never stood a chance. Dude never plays fair. He always chooses the most efficient way to kill. 🥶

[southfarthing]

I wish you would write a fic where... Merlin reveals his magic to Arthur in Arthur's Bane (I just rewatched it a few minutes ago and there are SO many moments it could've happened... Under that tree when Merlin tries to help him about the curse and starts with "Arthur I have to tell you something—" or during the fight with Morgana in the mines before Mordred stabs her (if merlin had had the energy to use his magic) or if Arthur had found Merlin with Aithusa etc. just so many moments!) either way if you don't have any ideas for that episode I'll take any magic reveal I need one right about now haha and I absolutely adore your writing! I love it. :')

Hello Ann I love you with all my heart <3 Listened to the episode this morning as a quick recap and here we go!!!

(ask game: send me a summary of the fic you wish I would write)

canon angst, s5, magic reveal, 1.5k words (also crossposted to ao3)

It’s strange how suddenly the words brim in his mouth when it feels like everything Merlin has known, everything he has ever worked for, is destined to drown.

He shivers. The ground is frozen beneath his bedroll, and the firewood he managed to collect was too damp to catch with only the flint.

It is dark around them and deathly quiet,. The image of the battle plain flits before his eyes to fill in the empty space – Arthur wounded, on his knees, bleeding, dying–

‘Arthur?’

Merlin’s breath catches in his throat as he waits, but all he hears is a non-committal grunt. He doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for anything more, though.

‘I need to tell you something,’ he begins. ‘The man... the old man in the village...’

Arthur sighs. ‘Just think about something else, Merlin.’

The exasperation in his voice incenses Merlin more than ever before. After the horrors Merlin has seen again and again, the horrors he has been made to see for – for what, exactly? – the fact that Arthur can just lie here and choose not to take anything seriously–

‘No. I need you to listen to me.’ Without giving Arthur the chance to say something dismissive again, Merlin continues in a rush. ‘Before he died, he tried to warn me – he told me that you were in danger and that the danger was close.’

Merlin waits now for Arthur to take his words how he will. He’s surprised by the softened tone of Arthur’s voice when it finally comes, but it’s still firm. Still encouraging Merlin to see reason.

‘He was dying, Merlin. Who knows what he was saying?’

As if it’s Merlin who needs to see reason.

‘I think that he was a druid seer,’ Merlin says tersely.

And then of course, of course, Arthur replies, ‘You expect me to listen to a sorcerer?’

Merlin falls silent.

His head feels numb, empty, full – of words; of feeling; of furious, furious desperation. It doesn’t make sense how he has been holding on this long when everything is against him and he has spent every waking moment struggling against a doom so heavy his very bones have begun to splinter within.

Even those who stretch out a hand always eventually extend it to his throat.

Arthur is going to die, and nothing Merlin can do will stop it from happening because Arthur himself won’t listen to Merlin long enough to – to prevent his own fate. The futility of it finally sinks into Merlin on that desolate hillside. It is winter, and it always has been winter.

His bright-eyed hope since setting foot in Camelot all those years ago no longer seems admirable. Every time he has cheated fate, it has only ever been to string Arthur along on more stolen time.

‘I’ll be quiet, then.’

His voice sounds harsh in his own ears, and it takes Arthur a moment to register the vehemence of Merlin’s words.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Arthur asks heavily, sitting up.

Merlin’s hands are cold. His lips are cold, but still they bite out words he never thought he would say. Not like this.

‘What does it matter? You just said you wouldn’t listen.’

Merlin hears Arthur’s frown more than he sees it.

‘To the sorcerer. I meant you shouldn’t heed him either.’

Merlin is at a loss for words. Anger and misery and always that overwhelming longing to be known – they all churn inside him, and his mouth trembles. Distantly, he feels a hand on his shoulder.

‘Merlin?’ asks Arthur. His voice is cautious, but it still cuts through the night air, and Merlin involuntarily flinches away from him. Arthur repeats his name, this time with more concern.

‘So you shouldn’t listen to me either,’ Merlin says. How could he have ever hoped for this to go well?

‘Why are – what are you talking about?’ Arthur blurts. ‘Why would–?’

Both his hands are on Merlin’s shoulders now, and Merlin knows Arthur is trying to see his features in the dark – trying to read him, understand him for once.

But there’s no light. Merlin helps him.

A fleeting look at where his own palm must be and then there’s a flame, burning piercingly bright, devouring nothing but cold, empty air. It warms Merlin’s stiff fingers. Behind it, he sees Arthur’s expressionless face.

Silence descends on their poor excuse for a camp once more. Belatedly, Arthur draws his hands back from Merlin’s shoulders.

The longer Merlin holds his hand out, with his palm facing upwards and the flame flickering heedlessly, the more his hand begins to shake. Arthur says nothing, does nothing. He doesn’t appear shocked or hurt or angry, but he certainly doesn’t seem inviting.

He simply stares at the fire in Merlin’s palm, and specks of gold illuminate his ashen face.

‘Where did you learn to do that?’ he says at last. His tone is measured – smoothed over – giving nothing away. ‘You didn’t use a spell.’

Merlin wants to scream; he wants to hide beneath his jacket and pretend this is a terrible dream. Most of all, he wants to know what’s happening in Arthur’s mind. But he gets nothing, so he focuses on trying to steady his right hand by supporting it with his left. ‘I didn’t – use a spell, or learn. I’ve always known this. Always been able to do it without thinking.’

A slight crease spreads across Arthur’s brow. ‘You’ve always known,’ he repeats in question. His voice sounds hollow to Merlin’s ears.

‘Yes,’ Merlin says faintly. Before him, his breath forms an ice-white cloud.

Arthur’s breath is growing ragged, too. It’s the only indicator that he has been taken by surprise – that the person who has been at his side for years has betrayed him with the truth. There is nothing Merlin can do about that now. But he does realise that Arthur, too, must be cold.

Tentatively, Merlin extends his right hand towards Arthur.

Arthur watches the flame warily, but he doesn’t move away. Merlin is loth to raise his hopes, but he recognises this as better than many other scenarios he has previously imagined. Scenarios that end in the fire being inflicted on him.

‘It’s just fire,’ he murmurs. ‘You can hold your hands over it. Warm up.’

Arthur looks at him incredulously. His eyes are still wide and guarded, and he is determinedly quiet, but he surprises Merlin by removing his gloves and stretching out his fingers above the flame. There is a moment when Arthur seems about to snatch them back, but the hesitation is over quickly, and he keeps his hands firmly above Merlin’s.

Merlin watches, enthralled. This is an uncomfortable truce, if a truce is what this truly is, but he doesn’t have the courage to break it. He doesn’t even have the heart to think about what may well come next: the distrust, the questioning, and, if Arthur recovers from whatever shocked trance he is currently in, worse consequences.

‘And this makes you sure that the old man’s warning was right?’ Arthur asks. He doesn’t look up from the fire. ‘This – ability.’

Merlin almost extinguishes the flame in surprise. Arthur is – he’s actually asking.

‘Yes,’ is all Merlin is capable of saying.

Arthur nods once, keeping his chin tucked into his neck. He is silent for another agonising moment. And then he pulls his hands away.

‘It’s late. I’ll – we’ll sort this in the morning.’

Merlin keenly feels the loss – of Arthur’s implicit trust, of his attention – but he nods, too. The flame dwindles in Merlin’s hand, and he lowers his arm to rest it in his lap.

Arthur makes to lie back down, but he hesitates. His eyes are still fixed on Merlin’s hand.

‘Would you…’ he begins. ‘Could you–?’ he says uncomfortably, gesturing at the pile of dead, wet branches between them.

‘With magic?’ Merlin asks, because he needs to know what Arthur is asking, and he needs Arthurhimself to know what he is asking, too.

‘Yes,’ Arthur says in a low voice.

Merlin tilts the tips of his fingers downwards, and he ushers the small flame along until it reaches the firewood. In seconds, a bright light leaps up, and sparks spray into the night air.

Arthur is finally looking at him when Merlin chances a glance. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t scowl, either. He breaks the contact soon after and lies back once more.

Merlin stays sitting. His eyes stray from Arthur to the fire. The visions he saw earlier that day flare into view once more, but he shakes his head to clear it. Arthur said they would discuss it tomorrow; it’s no use thinking about it now.

His heart is still beating uncomfortably fast, and he can’t comprehend what just happened, or why he did it – but it did. And Arthur is asleep next to him, next to a piece of magic he saw being done with his own eyes.

The slightest of smiles pushes against Merlin’s cheeks. He doesn’t know what will happen next, but if Arthur at least knows what awaits him – if Merlin can share these burdens that have been buckling his back and his heart since he can remember – then maybe… maybe Arthur has a chance.

Maybe this won't have all been in vain.

[readermishok]

Top 20: my favorite interactive stories

Hello, guys!

Once I saw that one of my popular and mostly likeable posts was about IF, I decided to share with you my personal top of the best IF authors I have known. 

I read a lot of WIPs (work in progress) and finished novels since three long years, so I might recommend truly incredible stories. I apologies for adding pics and some additional info about my MC, but I wanted to bring spark of life into this top.

MC – Julia (deShanre), she|her.

I'll start with telling about quartet of works greatly affected on me. It was almost like… living my second life. It felt so real, so vibrant. In the darkest times it gave me the strenght to meet the next day.

1. Samurai of Hyuga, Books 1-4 by Devon Connell (WIP, planned 7 books). Patreon. Buy Book 1.  Buy Book 2. Buy Book 3. Buy Book 4.

Samurai of Hyuga is a brutal, heart-pounding interactive tale. Prepare to enter the land of silk and steel, where fantasy clashes against grim reality, and where the good guys don't always win in the end. It's a harsh world with tough choices at every turn. Good thing you're the toughest ronin around.

My MC: Ronin, the master of the Jigoku Ittō-ryū, The Sword Who Cuts the Heavens

Jigoku:

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2. Fallen Hero by Malin Ryden (WIP, planned 4 books). Tumblr: @fallenhero-rebirth​. Patreon. Buy Book 1.

Become the greatest telepathic villain Los Diablos has ever known! Once you were famous; soon you will be infamous. That is, unless your old friends in the Rangers stop you first. Juggle different identities and preserve your secrets as you build new alliances and try to forget the friendships you've left behind.

My MC: Sidestep Puppetmaster:

Jane (puppet):

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3. I, the Forgotten one by Bacondoneright (WIP, planned dilogy). No tumblr or Patreon|Ko-fi. Demo.

It has been five long years since the end of The Border Wars. Five long years without a purpose. Endlessly drifting around from one job to the next, serving your apathetic father only to receive no credit. Nobody in Kanton truly knows what you did. How you won The War, leading the armies of Kanton as a youth.

Nobody knows what it took out of you. Spending your formative years in war is not good for one’s outlook on life. Your emotions now lie behind a mask of stoicism. After all, all emotions do is cloud one’s judgement and wind up costing lives.

Nobody knows how much it hurt to be cast down from the throne and succession. To be disinherited, cast away from the family, and left aside to die.

My MC: The Marshal, the bastard child:

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4. The Exile by Pheo (WIP). Tumblr: @exilethegame​. Patreon. Demo.

You’re the ex-commander of the Kingdom of Plaithus, and your name is known by all. It used to be whispered in fear by your enemies, and the very mention of it could send men fleeing. Your people had cried it out in battle, swords raised in your honor as they faced death fearlessly. You were a hero, and to some, a legend.

Until you weren’t.

You can’t remember what happened. All that’s left are blurry faces, screams, and the feeling of blood on your hands. The only reason you still have your head is because of the pity of an old friend.

And now? It’s only been a year since the incident, and already things are going wrong again when a rather peculiar sorcerer offers you absurd amounts of gold in exchange for protection from… well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t know.

My MC: the Commander:

Ex-commander.

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Shepherds of Haven by Lena Nguyen (WIP). Tumblr: @shepherds-of-haven​ Patreon. Demo.

Shepherds of Haven is a dark fantasy interactive fiction game. In it, you play as a Mage living in a world where magic is outlawed and your people—those possessing supernatural powers—are oppressed and reviled. The world is ruled by humans who believe in science, technology, and industry: at best, you and your kind are nothing more than a fairytale, and at worst you are the state’s greatest threat.

My MC: Human Mage, gunner

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God of the Red Mountain (WIP). Tumblr: @friendlybowlofsoup​​​ Demo.

You are a spirit born of the Red Mountain–though you’ve run away from it long ago. You’d be content to stay away, too, if not for the mountain god who suddenly comes looking for you. But what purpose do they have? And what exactly is your end goal?

Based on East Asian myths and folklore, you play as a powerful, nameless spirit in a shifting world. As a being caught between death and life, you are connected to a stream of limitless power, and the more you are known, the more powerful you become.

However, your journey will not be so smooth. You have been cursed by powerful, malignant beings known as Foxes, and it’s only a matter of time before you fall from sanity yourself.

My MC: Owl spirit, human appearance

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The Bastard of Camelot by Rebelgirl (WIP). Tumblr: @llamagirl28​ Demo. Ko-fi.

Your child will be the undoing of Camelot. Born under an ominous prophecy, you are the incestuous bastard of King Arthur and Morgana Le Fay. Will you fulfill the prophecy, or rebel?

Be the villain they expect you to be, or the hero they don’t- be remorseful or unapologetic, make your destiny or be Morgana’s tool of revenge.

Arthur can’t have any more children, making you the sole blood heir, and sole other Pendragon. As a Pendragon, you have the power of dragons.

The Bastard of Camelot is a trilogy following Mordred as they become a knight of the Round Table, and save or destroy Camelot.

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The Seven Heirs of Ophaesia: Part One by (WIP). Tumblr: @fantasyfawkes​​​ Demo. Patreon.

The Seven Heirs of Ophaesia is a low-fantasy game set in a Renaissance-esque world where you play as one of seven heirs to a fictional kingdom rife with intrigue. As the King’s seventh child, you are a prince or princess of Ophaesia, a luxurious nation along the southern coast of Selanes. You are the first child of your father’s third wife, a woman hated throughout the realm due to the pervasive suspicion that she poisoned the previous queen, and her poor reputation taints your image in the eyes of the court and beyond. From your days in the palace nursery all the way to adulthood, you must navigate treacherous court politics and delicate foreign affairs while trying to find your place in the world — and your family.

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 Attollo by A.E. Jendryke (WIP). Tumblr: @attollogame Demo. Patreon.

After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern, or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your siblings apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s wrong and then get on with your life. Too bad it’s never so simple.

Deal with cults, interdimensional entities, and far too many people with superpowers (where, for once, you’re the odd one out) in your journey to bring your sibling back from an underworld far out of your control.

My MC: lawyer

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 Land of the Dragon (WIP) by Hilsee Foo. Demo. Last update was long ago... (crying)

Welcome to the Land of the Dragon! Here you shall experience an adventure in an ancient land, navigate court politics, forge friendships, and maybe even pursue romance if you so choose!

The Dragon Emperor sits upon the throne, as he inherited it from his father before him. But all is not well in the realm. In the provinces, an Uprising is gaining both strength and popularity. At court, the Elder Prince plots in secret to usurp his brother's throne. And within the Emperor's harem, the Empress and Imperial Consort vie for power.

As the Emperor and Empress' only trueborn child, you are at the centre of this power struggle. When all hell breaks lose on your 21st nameday, what will you do to find your place in this world?

All this, and more... In the Land of the Dragon.

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The Northern Passage by Kit H.J. (WIP). Tumblr: @northern-passage​ Demo. 

The Northern Passage is a horror fantasy CYOA, where you play as a hunter sent up north to investigate a series of missing people along the border and in the port cities of the Blackwater.

Working with your handler, Lea, you will travel north and discover that things are far worse than you ever could have imagined, and that there is something powerful lurking out in the deep, dark sea…

My MC: Hunter

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 The Nameless by Parker Lyn (WIP). Tumblr: @parkerlyn​​ Demo. Ko-fi.

The Nameless is a low fantasy WIP that is character and romance driven, with your race (sheevra) loosely based on stories about the fey and other myths. Where deals are a weapon and a name is the most intimate secret someone can offer. You play as a sheevra investigating the city of Renescen after the complete disappearance of one of four sheevra Clans in the world, running across a ragtag group of both sheevra and mortalis along the way.

Will you find out what happened before it comes for you?

Mortalis appearance

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Virtue’s End by Crimsis (WIP). Tumblr: @virtuesend-if​​​ Demo. Patreon.

In a dark world overrun by monsters from the shadow plane, you exist as a hybrid monster hunter called a helvling, a human whose very soul has been Bound to one such entity. Travelling from warded settlement to warded settlement with your surly Keeper, Shea, you have the thankless task of defending the common folk against these horrors from Hel.

Usually, a fate such as yours is only reserved for the lowest of criminals, as penance for their loathsome deeds… You wouldn’t know if your fate has been deserved, however, since upon completion of your Binding seven years ago, all former memories of your human life have been lost.

You’ve been moulded into a weapon by the Virtuous Order, trained to be an unfeeling and ruthlessly efficient hunter… But is that who you are? Who are you, truly?

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A Tale of Crowns (WIP). Tumblr: @ataleofcrowns​​​​ Itch.

A Tale of Crowns is a high fantasy love story with Middle Eastern roots, both on pc as well as mobile! It’s entirely text-based, with choices throughout to shape both your main character’s personality and skills as well as influence their relationships with others. There are four love interests for you to choose from, both female as well as male, each with their own stories and secrets for you to uncover!

Crown of Arsur

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 Wayfarer (WIP). Tumblr: @idrellegames​ Demo. Patreon.

When your mercenary work backs you into a corner, you take the only option available and accept a contract: to travel to the city of Velantis and steal an ancient artifact said to be blessed by the gods. Simple, right?

But Velantis holds more than you bargained for. Gathering a ragtag party of malcontents and renegades from across the city, you must navigate enemy factions, meddling guilds, and escalating political tensions. Your choices will ultimately determine the city’s fate – and the fate of every person who lives there. 

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When Twilight Strikes by evertidings (WIP). Tumblr: @evertidings​ Demo. 

You are a bounty hunter. Responsible for taking in rogue supernaturals, you work for IAOS—the International Agency of Supernaturals—where, alongside your best friend and partner, you two have quickly become the best hunting duo of the branch. After a particular tricky hunt, you brief your boss, Caine Atheron, and come back to work the next day to find that he has mysteriously disappeared overnight, the company is now in the hands of his best friend, Sebastian Mai. And though no one else seems to question it, something tells you that there’s more to the story.

With bounty cases rising at an alarming rate and a second mystery unfolding, you and your ragtag team of allies set out to find the truth.

But as you go further and further, the secrets you uncover begin to make you question: who… or what exactly are you fighting for? 

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Passanger by Pime (WIP). Tumblr: @the-passenger-if Demo. Ko-fi.

Do you like monsters? Do you think they are the best part of their respective movies, books, and shows? Then The Passenger might be the game for you.

The Passenger is a choice script work in progress in which you are an eldritch abomination that’s about to be devoured by another unthinkable creature. Good news is you are pretty crafty and know how to jump dimensions to escape your ghastly fate; bad news is, you’re now stuck on Earth, trapped inside a dumb human larva.

As years go by, you realize the amount of energy you need to leave this horrible dimension behind is a lot more than you anticipated. Not to mention the creature that almost ate you all those years ago never really stopped looking for you. But there’s no way it’ll pinpoint your actual location… right?

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Scout: An Apocalypse Story by Anya (WIP). Tumblr: @anya-dev​ Itch.

It has been over a decade since a worldwide natural disaster obliterated the natural planet and decimated human civilization. There are small groups of humans still alive, fending for themselves, trying to create communities amongst the rubble.

You are a 24-year old scout living in a small community on the edge of the Orange Plains. You lost your mother and your sister before finding your way here. You are primarily an academic, and you put your skills to use on regular scouting missions. With your best friend and your scouting team leader in tow, your small group is a pillar of the Community.

On your first scouting mission of the hot season, you meet the leader of the People Across the Orange Plains. Will you break from the Community you have known your whole life? Ask a romantic partner to join you? Discover secrets that your own people have been hiding? Become a leader yourself?

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Body Count by Nell Bolton (WIP). Tumblr: @bodycountgame​ Demo. Ko-fi.

Your life isn’t going how you’d hoped. Despite having big plans when you graduated, you’re stuck in a dead end job and a crappy flat with zero romantic life to speak of. All until a friend convinces you to join the cast of a new reality TV show.

The premise is simple: 12 singles are sent to a villa on a tropical island and they live there together for a month. After 28 days, the couple who is voted by the other islanders as being most likely to withstand the test of time will win £500,000. In addition, the couple with the highest body count will win £500,000. Total prize pool? £1,000,000.

In this context, “body count” refers to how many people you’ve slept with… right? Well, that’s what you think when you sign your contract. Turns out, though, that not all of your fellow cast members will be using that definition to get to the prize.

Fall in love, win big money, solve some murders and try to stay.

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Project Hadea by nyehilism (WIP). Tumblr: @nyehilismwriting​​ Itch. Ko-fi.

You play as an OPERATIVE of Scytha Industries, a highly selective private security company. As their most elite Operative, you possess many skills and talents, not to mention top-of-the-line equipment - including your very own AI module, IVI.

This, of course, puts a price on your head. An AI module goes for billions on the black market; carrying one around in your skull is, perhaps, not the safest idea. Sure, you’re more than a match for anyone who might come after you - but no-one outside the high levels of Scytha knows about it, so you should be safe anyway, right?

Wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

I do want to thank all these tremendously talented authors for creating such complex and beautiful worlds. I love it with all my soul.

Thanks for reading, I hope you will find story for yourself. I’ll gradually extand this top! 

Stay tuned.

[oswinsdolma]

Proving all the Knights of the Round Table have magic part 3: Elyan

I've seen quite a few people headcanon Elyan with magic before, and it's definitely one of the more popular magic!knights hcs, so I apologise if I accidentally hijack anyone else's points xx

The most obvious indicator of this is the fact that Elyan leaves Camelot a year before Merlin arrives. This is about the same age Morgana's magic shows itself, so it would be natural to assume he left because he began showing signs of being a warlock, Camelot's laws being what they are.

It is also implied that Elyan left fairly abruptly, with Gwen having no idea where he went. He may have left in a hurry because somebody might have noticed him, and not told Gwen or Tom for fear of putting them in danger.

Perhaps in a darker note, he didn't say where he was going because he was ashamed of his magic and didn't think his family would accept him.

Gwen says that "[Elyan] always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time". Maybe accidents happen around him because he had trouble controlling his magic and found it increasingly difficult to cover for. This could be another indicator as to why he left.

Elyan didn't return to Camelot even for his father's funeral, and while he expresses his guilt, he doesn't give sufficient reason why: the reason? He may not be able to tell Gwen because he was still scared to return with magic.

When Gwen reveals her relationship with Arthur, Elyan is skeptical, and maybe even a little panicked. After all, would your sister falling in love with someone with the power to set you ablaze not be a terrifying concept to anyone with magic? But when Arthur comes to rescue them and proves himself to be slightly less of a prat than he may think, he tentatively agrees to return home, though I suspect this is mainly for Gwen's sake.

When the immortal army invades Camelot, Elyan manages to stay hidden and fight off some soldiers. Note that he is the only one of the group within Camelot with no Knights' training, which begs the question: how did he manage to escape? The answer could very well lie with magic.

Again, in The Darkest Hour, he is one of two knights that survived the meeting with Morgana. He is one of the more inexperienced knights as well, which suggests that he may have aided himself magically in the fight.

When faced with a seemingly unbeatable threat, Elyan says to Arthur: "tomorrow, we fight in your name, sure. For freedom and justice in this land." Now there is a lot to unpack here, but if we break it down, firstly there is the fact that Elyan places is emphasis on "your" when addressing Arthur. He has previously made a statement about the Pendragon crest, but in this moment, it seems that he cares more about Arthur than this. This is clearly indicative of the fierce bond between Arthur and the core knights, but it could be more than that: the emphasis of "your" is specific to Arthur, but perhaps more importantly, it is an exclusion of Uther. In his time, Arthur has made mistakes, but he has generally been more sympathetic towards magic than his father, and this may be Elyan's subtle way of acknowledging that.

In addition, the words: "for freedom and justice in this land" could just be in reference for Arthur's abilities as king, but this is a deep speech and one would assume it has a deeper meaning. Freedom and justice are two things that have not been afforded to those with magic for a long time. Uther's twisted "justice" involved executing anyone who disagreed with him and anyone who could be vaguely affiliated with sorcery. As for freedom, Arthur has created a fairer kingdom than his father, but magic users still live in fear. Combined with the earlier stress of "your", this is indicative that Elyan too believes that Arthur may one day come to bring peace to anyone who is born with magic.

This last point also has the implications that Elyan knows of the Once and Future King and surrounding prophecies. Though he is described as a troublemaker by Gwen before he comes to Camelot, he keeps his head relatively low upon arrival. Perhaps in the time he spent travelling, he sought help from magical communities, e.g. the druids, who helped him control his powers. This would also explain his vagueness about his whereabouts and lack of contact during the years he was missing.

I could go on about this quote but we'll leave it there for now.

Before he is overtaken by the power of the Lamia, Elyan is vocal in standing up for Merlin. This could be because he knows what it is like to be shunned by society. Magic could be a reason for that. (Also I fully believe that the only reason the Lamia didn't try and take over Merlin was because she was scared of the extent of his magic, not just because he had magic.)(and the merthur reasons when I'm in the mood)

Then Elyan falls sick, before the others begin to show symptoms. Maybe the Lamia sensed some magic and decided he was more trouble than he was worth.

Elyan was not raised by druids, and does not have the same powers as Merlin so wouldn't have sensed the power of the shrine, at least not too strongly. When he first sees the spirit though, he is genuinely sympathetic, even before the murderous intent takes hold.

In the Dark Tower, Elyan is consumed by his need to find Gwen, convinced that he is to blame for her capture. This could be survivor's guilt (and to an extent, probably is), but it is equally probable that Elyan believes that he should have used his magic to protect her.

Going off on a slight tangent here, the theme of "I have magic so it must have a purpose" within warlocks/sorcerers in the show is a) not a healthy mindset and b) uncomfortably common. Elyan may have latched onto the idea that he must use his magic to protect Gwen to convince himself to stay in Camelot, and with that conprmino, he began to fall apart. His behaviour is almost identical to Merlin's fervour regarding Arthur at this point, and it's fairly disturbing that these characters adopt this mindset that is Not Good For Their Mental Heath, Please Get Some Therapy.

Elyan dies. It's heartbreaking, and he does so trying to save his sister. But what is interesting is his funeral. When most main characters die, they are given a funeral in Camelot, e.g. Uther, Lancelot (the first time). But then Freya and Shade!Lanceot (and later Arthur) are set to rest in the Lake of Avalon. The difference between the two is that the lake funerals were arranged by Merlin, and those laid to rest there can somehow be affiliated with magic.

Now I'm not saying that Merlin knew about Elyan's magic, because sometimes he can be really not very perceptive about that (though it's always fun when fics cheerily toss that out the window because it's fun goddamnit-), but I don't believe he was entirely oblivious. Think about it: there are two of Arthur's closest friends canonically hiding magic from him and it's fairly probable that they'll pick up on Elyan's magic at some point. Even if it's just little things like his sympathies with magic or gentle arguments about the way mages are treated. There are so many avenues to explore with this it's overwhelming-

I also think Elyan may have picked up on Merlin's magic later in the series: the point of realisation was probably when Merlin rescued him during his time being possessed by the drowned druid boy, upon which he says: "you know, Merlin, you're much braver than you look." This is the first time Merlin has revealed his more BAMF side to Elyan, and in this moment, something unspoken passes between them. If not mutual understanding, it is at least Elyan realising what Merlin does beneath his carefree exterior, and despite the possession, I think he acquires a lot of new respect for his friend.

(also are we going to ignore that the lake funeral implies that it was arranged by Merlin. How close were they and what stuff did we miss out on behind the scenes for him to be trusted with this?? I need to know)

Elyan and Mordred have a friendship in series 5. If the earlier headcanon about Elyan learning to control his magic with druids is true, perhaps he may have recognised Mordred from his time there. They probably didn't acknowledge it much, but it created a bond between them.

And now for the mythological context!!

Of all the Knights of the Round Table, Elyan's backstory is perhaps the most estranged from the original legend (of course all of them are fairly disconnected *flashbacks to pope-gwaine* but Elyan's is w a c k y)

As a consequence, there is little to draw on for behind-the-scenes evidence of magic.

Elyan, or Helayn, was another Knight whose origins stem from France (the Vulgate Cycle, I think, though he could have surfaced earlier). He is said to have joined Lancelot in exile after his affair of 'courtly love' with Guinevere (go and look up this concept- it gets convoluted in the myths but is really interesting in terms of both origin and content). Anyway, his exile here could represent the time he spent out of Camelot before his appearance in s3, and relates to hiding from harsh laws, particularly if we regard Lancelot and Guinevere's relationship in the same way as we do in the Vulgate Cycle (basically keep the context with the appropriate work and it sort of makes sense)

I appreciate this seems a little like grasping at straws but that's literature I suppose ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In the legends, Elyan is nephew to another of Arthur's knights, Sir Sagramore. This knight is less famous than some, but at one point, he embarks on a quest to find the fay. The fay are closely linked with the she, and perhaps also live on Avalon, somewhere mortals are only supposed to see moments before death. Perhaps Elyan can be associated with this magic?

In reality, there is little written of Elyan and no prose or poetry dedicated to him so it's quite hard to find stuff about him.

Also legend!Elyan is heir to the throne of Constantinople, which just goes to prove how widespread and deeply convoluted the mythos is.