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300iqprower · 2 years ago

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A character I mentioned getting screwed over by Fate due to wafiu-ism is Medb, but another that got completely screwed over is Penthesilea, and unlike Medb, I can't really identify why. She got given a bad deal in being introduced in Agatha but she is probably one of the easiest characters to drag out that dumpster fire, there is so many ways to take her character and so many relationships she has to other characters. She and Asclepius shared a writer, he must have seen that it was Penthesilea nephew, Hippolytus, that was raised from the dead, why doesn't she comment on that? In most versions of the story it is the Amazons, lead most likely by her, that accidently kill Hippolytus's mother, in this case most likely Antiope, shouldn't that be addressed? She must feel a lot of guilt over that. She is Romulus's half sister but they don't have voice lines for each other. Penthesilea is a character that had and still has a lot of ways to be explored, but they keep on focusing on this hatred of Achilles for what was a comment that doesn't really matter and it just annoys me, and TM can still do it, they can still expand on her character but it seems like they don't want to. I just wish more people would be able to appreciate who Penthesilea is as a character, the amazoness event was a good start, showing her leadership skills and also it was funny, but I just wish their was more. Also she doesn't have her iconic leopard skin cape, which is lame, give her the damn cape, it might be petty, but it shows how good of a fighter she is!

Sorry this took a while to get back to but I had to look into Penth's myths more. I knew a lot less about the Amazonians than I thought, like the fact they get their name from the belief they would cut off a breast so they could better use a longbow. Holy shit that is metal.

I feel like Penth is a character torn between Nasu's obvious adoration of greek mythology and FGO's priority of making sure there's not such thing as a strong independent female character who doesn't have some sort of caveat that makes it so they wont "Scare off" the (believed) target whale audience of insecure men. The end result is a character with a lot of qualifiers and self contradictions that are best resolved by sweeping her under the rug entirely.

I'm not against the idea of her being obsessively angry with Achilles; there's a ton of potential in that and if done right it wouldn't just boil down to "Oh this character is a badass bc we want to make sure you know this other character is an even better SUPER MEGA badass" unlike......actually I was gonna give a snarky "cough X cough" example but there's too many to pick from. Regardless, this post does a great job outlining what i mean and goes a step beyond by framing it in fate specific lore.

But they obviously didn't do that in the game. She never even had enough substance to commit to that level of deeper meaning (though the stuff that post talks about is very much hinted at in her dialogue) and that's because of the aforementioned "just pretend it doesn't exist" approach to an amazonian queen and how it's at odds with the gacha status quo. Not a real status quo, mind you, I think I speak for all of good taste when I say if Penth was a take no shit unflappable badass commander I would love her more for it not less. I'm talking about this ASSUMED belief on the part of those wringing money out of things that the only market is straight insecure men who want someone to be dependent on them. I'm sure you already know this and that it's exactly what you meant by "screwed over by waifuism" but I want to outline it because it makes clear just how at odds a character like Penth is. Her design, her mannerisms, her story relevance or rather lackthereof, all of it is them trying their damndest to skirt around the obvious. To restate what i've said time and again, these things aren't always inherently issues, but things that would normally be innocuous become problematic when you know there is a specific malicious intent.

In fact that's exactly why even though as I said her hatred for Achilles could be an incredible point of depth, it still ends up being on the list of problematic things with her.

Penth is obsessed with a man, and she specifically hates him, and even though she's clearly shown to not hate all men, her character is hyperfocused on that hatred of Achilles in order to make it "special" that she doesn't hate you (with the game as per usual being written with a clear assumption that the player is male); her 4th ascencion and bond 5 lines post name reveal are EXTREMELY on the nose about this, basically labeling you "the exception" to her not wanting to be seen as a women first and foremost, and portraying her desire for otherwise to be childish and naive.

Which brings me to the part that killed my interest in her as a character. She's retroactively de-aged which, on top of just being fucked up and so very very problematic for completely standalone reasons, means they can have their cake and eat it regarding her design. She's fixated on the events that happened at the end of her life how they define who she is, yet they don't have to actually portray her as that person. Supposedly she pulled a liz because she doesn't want to be seen as the same beautiful person Achilles fell in love with. She wants to be seen as a warrior first and foremost. Ok, if she's obsessed with being seen as a warrior then why doesnt she wear any armor? Why doesn't she have her golden belt, or her famous leopard pelt, or her crescent shield, or her helm? I'm fine with her not wielding a bow or lance, in fact IMO her (afaik completely original) ball and chain wielding along with the claws is easily her best aspect in terms of character design. But not even a mention of archery, the thing from which the amazons got their name? I'm not asking to show a mutilated chest or something, if she's younger and doesn't yet have to worry about that sort of thing that's a chance to have your cake and eat in a GOOD way! (and obviously ILR breasts are not going to be an issue with archery but baseless myths like that have affected character design before so...) But again, they don't do any of that. She's barely got anything on and nothing indicative of warrior status aside from the weapons themselves, which is such a blatant contradiction of their own in-universe reason for her appearance. If she's so obsessed with looking like a warrior, why is she wearing almost nothing and her FA is a stereotypical "undressing by waterside" portrait? Actually I know why, it's in addition to stupid eye candy garbage to the convey that this is an act, that she's obsessed with being this perfect warrior but at the end of the day under that nonexistent armor is a human being like anyone else. The mask has to come off eventually...

...even though what she aspires to doesn't have to be inherently wrong or something to live in denial of. Which brings me to the last, and arguably even more damning aspect. She's portrayed as childishly wrong. They emphasize her anger as something along the lines of denying reality and "going through a phase" even if they state otherwise. They try and dress it up with materials and such but there's a very clear tone of bullheaded recklessness she's written with, like someone who won't admit they're wrong and instead pushes back violently against being challenged. She's portrayed as arrogant, not proud. She's portrayed as brash, not determined. She's portrayed as in denial, rather than rightfully frustrated. She's portrayed as if she's a stubborn child who is in the wrong, and her one true story role having her be...THAT in agartha really makes that even more overt.

Penth COULD be an amazing character as you and that post point out. She COULD be an absolute badass with her own identity and expand on her in a dozen different ways without losing anything. But they won't, because that's not their intention. They don't WANT to write her as the best character she could be because that would go against the perceived market they're trying to cater. They would never admit it, but she's written condescendingly. Because in the context of a waifu obsessed gacha, she is patronized simply by existing.

#fgo #penthesilea #fgo penthesilia #never thought i'd get an ask #character analysis #fuck fgo #i swear to god learning that Fate Stay Night completely changed the main character to appeal to straight men explained so much #long post #fate grand order

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vilkalizer · 2 years ago

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Suck about the harassment thing thats going on, and I was always under the impression that IS had the final say in the art not the artist? Sorry this whole debacle has made me wonder but yeah even if its not the case harassment is never justified.

The company always has the final say since they're the ones paying for and publishing it, but i'm not going to pretend like i know anything about this particular arrangement, or how japanese companies work in general. An artist might be hired to come up with a few different concepts and then refine one of them chosen by the company, but since feh is a big money maker, i would guess is have a thorough design process where they try to figure out what kind of design will wring the most orb money out of those delicious gambling addicts uh shit i mean "whales", and then choose an artist who just gets an order for That Specific Thing.

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hotcheri · 3 years ago

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Always Something There to Remind Me (a Jen/Khalil Black Lightning fanfic)

DISCLAIMER: I own none of the Black Lightning characters. They solely belong to DC Comics and the CW Network. This is just my take on what could have happened after the show ended.

Prologue

Khalil's POV

They were meditating when TC crept into Khalil's mindscape like a thief in the night.

Well, at least, Khalil was meditating. He loved to empty his mind of all thoughts and focus on his breathing, relishing the mental stillness and the sense of peace he didn't have in his normal life.

Painkiller sat to the side of the mental dojo like he always did whenever Khalil was centering himself, a mocking sneer twisting his lips up as Khalil tried to ignore the rage that was baking off his mind twin like a rabid fever.

Painkiller was always angry, and the people he was mostly enraged at were the Pierces. Jen, to be exact. They lived in Painkiller's head rent free, and since Khalil shared the same mind as him, and almost all of his thoughts, the image of Jen was never far from Khalil. Pain in the ass Jen, who also happened to be Khalil's first love. What a mind fuck to love someone with all your heart while part of you needed to kill her and was in pure agony every second she was alive. Khalil didn't need anyone to tell him about mind fucks, having Painkiller relentlessly prowling through his mind was more than enough.

Every time TC appeared in Khalil's mindscape, Painkiller leapt up from his seat and started pacing back and forth in a tight little line like a tiger stalking its prey, hands clasped behind his back, nostrils flared, glaring at TC as if he wanted nothing more than to boot him out of his head after savaging him a little.

Too bad it's our head, and I'm trying to hear what he has to say.

The thought flitted through Khalil's mind grimly, and he sucked in a breath before opening his eyes and gazing at TC, who kept shooting quick little fearful glances at Painkiller. Khalil knew how he felt. Until he had started working actively with Painkiller, forcing the duality in his brain to coexist, he'd been terrified of him too.

"Uh, hi guys," TC started, his voice trembling as he looked around for exit points even though all he had to do was break the connection with the chip in Khalil's brain if he wanted to leave. Khalil supposed when someone entered a room and found themselves face to face with Painkiller, even if it was a virtual reality room, that person could get very scared very fast. In cases like that, logic was the first thing to escape.

Khalil liked the kid, had liked him even before he had locked Painkiller behind a firewall in his head and had shown Jen how to coax Khalil out of the safe space he'd created in his mind. Khalil knew without a doubt that the Pierces, especially Anissa, would have taken him out after Jen had blasted him with lightning to ward off Painkiller's attack on her family as he tried to complete the kill directive, because that's exactly what he would have done.

But TC had done the inconceivable. He'd managed to read Khalil's real thoughts, thoughts that had somehow filtered through the Painkiller operating system as soon as he set eyes on Jen. Thoughts that he must have been hiding way down in his secret heart, feelings that must have survived the A.S.A. mindwipe that transformed him into a lean, mean, biological weapon. As he lay prone on the table in Gambi's work station, on the verge of unconsciousness, his sharp ears had listened as TC, a total stranger, had his back.

"Hey. Who's Jen?" TC had interrupted the post fight argument, glancing around at the faces of people he didn't know.

Impatiently, with the touch of heat that Khalil loved and had missed with a sudden depth of emotion he hadn't felt since he was just track star Khalil, and not two warring parts of a government weapon whole, Jen replied, "That's me."

"He loves you."

And Jen's suddenly shaky, tear-filled voice had whispered, "How do you know that?"

TC's answer had been simple. "He told me."

Yeah, TC was good people. And even though the reunion between Khalil and Jen hadn't lasted, even though it had been bittersweet and doomed to fail with a painful, brusque ending, for a short, sweet time, he had been happy again.

But there was no use in thinking about that, no use in brooding over something he couldn't fix. With Painkiller in his head, being with Jen wasn't an option.

Painkiller was the first to talk, stepping forward as TC gave Khalil a half-hearted wave. "Oh, you must be crazy bringin' your ass here," he growled out in his distorted, angry voice.

TC took an involuntary step back, wringing his hands. Khalil could feel the fear in the kid increase as Painkiller stopped inches from his face, glowering down at him.

Raising a hand, Khalil talked to Painkiller like a patient parent calming down a tantrum throwing toddler. "I invited him," he lied, not caring that Painkiller would know that he hadn't.

Sharing his mind with a psychopathic, heartless killer sucked all the time, and keeping secrets was nearly impossible. Painkiller knew he was claustrophobic, that he loved trains, and that he thought about the one that got away daily. But when it came to people Khalil cared for, he didn't give a fuck if Painkiller knew he was lying to protect them from his rage. TC was a friend, and he wasn't going to let Painkiller's angry ass intimidate him.

"Don't think I won't kick your ass, too," Painkiller growled. Khalil fixed him with a steady look. He'd won more fights against Painkiller, especially after his return after a year long silence, and Painkiller knew it. After a few seconds, Painkiller sucked his teeth and resumed scowling at TC.

Spreading his arms out placatingly, TC asked, "What if I come with good and great news?"

A curious expression darted across Painkiller's face. Khalil caught it and grinned to himself. Psychotic or not, everyone liked the idea of good news.

"Speak," Painkiller ground out.

Swallowing nervously, TC said, "Tobias Whale is dead."

Okay, that was unexpected, and so was the rush of relief that coursed through Khalil's body, relaxing muscles that had been tense ever since he had started working for Tobias. Even though the A.S.A. mindwipe had taken all his memories and locked them away, they had been retrieved as soon as TC had put the firewall in his head, and so too had the underlying current of fear that always pulsed whenever he thought of Tobias.

And now his former boss, the man who had ripped out his spine and dumped him on the church steps when he was done with him, the evil torturer who had been responsible for leading Khalil over to the dark side was finally dead. Closing his eyes, Khalil sent up a prayer of thanks to a God he no longer strictly believed in.

Even after becoming Agent Odell's chief asset, Khalil still harbored thoughts that Tobias would come to him, eager to finish what he had started, wanting revenge for Syonide's death, the attempted robbery at the club before Khalil and Jen became runaways, and every single other thing he'd done that had pissed Tobias off. He'd reluctantly come to believe that a showdown with Tobias was inevitable, and even though his road to atonement had led him to Akashic Valley and a new life, he always knew that Tobias would eventually come for him. It was in his nature. But now this piece of good news had been thrown into his lap and Khalil took a moment to bask in gratitude.

Painkiller's reaction was the polar opposite of Khalil's restrained joy. Anger blazed onto his face and his brow creased as he listened to TC give Khalil the best news he'd heard in a while.

Sounding like a petulant child after being asked if he had McDonald's money, Painkiller groaned. "Damn. I wanted to kill him." He fisted both hands into his unruly curls and glowering up at the ceiling. "That's not good news." Turning to Khalil, his voice turned wheedling. "Let me kick his ass just a little."

With a quick glance towards Painkiller, TC cleared his throat before dropping his bombshell. "I've isolated the system code for the kill order. I can free you."

TC backed away till his back was against the wall, as far as he could get from a snarling Painkiller. When he got furious, Painkiller acted just like a wolf ready to attack. Luckily, Khalil had him on a mental leash. Ignoring him, Khalil focused his attention on TC.

"TC, what is your other news?"

Khalil let out a shaky breath, a glimmer of hope blooming in his chest.

At last.

"Good." Both TC and Khalil turned to face Painkiller, who had a look on his face so unnatural that Khalil didn't immediately recognize it. He looked like a doomed man seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Is he...is he happy? "Let's do it."

"But there's a catch," TC started slowly, plucking nervously at his sleeve as his eyes slid from Khalil to Painkiller and back again. Khalil sighed, motioning to TC to continue. There was always a catch and he knew that better than anybody, but for a second he had allowed himself to believe that getting rid of the kill order that brought such pain to both Painkiller and him, finally being freed from the chains that the A.S.A had wound around his body and in his mind, was ripe for the taking, with no blowback. "It's linked to everything you know and love about the whole Pierce family. If you break the kill order, you won't remember the Pierces at all."

The breath went out of Khalil all at once, leaving him feeling weak and boneless. He was glad he was sitting down, because if he had been standing when TC spoke, the strength would have ran out of his legs. And even though this was all in his mind, his physical body had stopped breathing for a second, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

This wasn't a catch, it was a fucking dilemma. There had to be another way.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Khalil found himself thinking about the technology he and Painkiller had found in Maya's safe house. Surely there was something there that would help isolate the kill switch without messing with his memories more than they'd already been messed with? Because this alternative that TC was suggesting... it wasn't fair. After leaving Freeland to keep Jen and her family safe and away from him, hell, after saving Anissa's wife from kidnappers, after everything that had happened in Khalil's life to get him to this point in time, losing the only good memories he had left just plain wrong.

"So what?" Painkiller asked, his top lip turned up into a snarl. Whether he was oblivious to the wave of emotion Khalil was weathering, or if he just didn't care, Khalil didn't know. Painkiller knew what he wanted. He was tired of the agony that came with not fulfilling the kill order. "They're pains in the ass anyway!"

In a chillingly calm voice that brooked no argument, Khalil stared evenly at Painkiller and said, "Shut up and sit your black ass down." Shocked into obedience, Painkiller sank down to the floor as Khalil looked at TC, a pleading tone in his voice. "TC, there's got to be another way around."

"There's none." Khalil could hear the despair in TC's voice, and he knew he was telling the truth. Of course he was. "I've checked and I've double checked."

Painkiller was still silent, and Khalil turned to look at him. "Damn!" He clenched his fist so hard that the veins in his arm popped out, but he took no notice. "You won't stop, will you? Sooner or later you're going to kill Jen and the rest of the Pierces."

Nodding sagely, like he had been the one meditating, Painkiller said, "Best believe. But I'm not nobody's puppy." He pointed at Khalil, his face stern and absolutely serious. "Cut the damn cord."

The muscles in Khalil's jaw worked as he stood up, turning his back on TC and Painkiller so that they couldn't see the emotions playing across his face. He wanted to be free of the kill code more than anything, needed Painkiller to be at rest so that he could figure out a way to become whole again. But the cost- losing Jen again- was it just too great?

Khalil closed his eyes, and suddenly, he was back on the Pierce's roof with Jen after Painkiller had broken free of the firewall for a couple of nasty minutes to wrap his hands around Jen's neck. He could feel everything in that moment, the wind brushing lightly against his face, the shingles of the roof under his sneakers, the terrified look Jen shot him before schooling her features into a coolness Khalil had never seen on her face. Both looks hit him like a ton of bricks.

She was scared of him.

Painkiller had shown her his true colors and had, once again, pushed someone he loved away from him. And what she had said had chilled him to the core, a sudden lump rising in his throat, and tears smarting in his eyes as she let him go.

"I can't love a weapon that's pointed at my family, even if it does have a soul." Her shoulders hunched pitifully as she wrapped her arms around her legs, all at once seeming far younger than her years. "See you around, Khalil."

He took one last look at her, her curly hair brushing past her chin, her eyes chilly and flinty in the dusk as she turned away from him, blinking away tears of her own. "No. You won't," he said, and with that, he had exited Jen's life.

Some things you can't go back to. The way Jen had ended things between them still hurt, and the realization that he wasn't going to be able to salvage things with her caused him pain that was almost physical, but if TC was able to isolate the kill code and erase his memories of her, the pain would go. All the pain would disappear, and his fresh start in Akashic Valley would be just that, a fresh start.

Behind him, TC started to say, "If you need more time, I can-," but by now, Khalil's mind was made up. There was no other choice.

"I always known I'd give my life for that girl." Khalil heaved a sad sigh, running a hand over his face as he turned to look at a nervous TC and an impassive Painkiller. Painkiller smirked, knowing what decision Khalil had made, and in that moment, Khalil hated him, the A.S.A., Odell- everyone who had gotten him into this situation. Especially himself. "Never thought I'd have to forget her." A nod towards TC. "Do it."

TC nodded dumbly, just as another thought flitted into Khalil's mind. If TC was able to isolate the kill code and erase some of his memories, wasn't it possible that he could remove his very worst memory?

Before he left Freeland for good after shooting Odell and letting Black Lightning deal with the evil son of a bitch however he saw fit, Khalil took a detour to the cemetery, picking a bunch of blooming flowers from the ramshackle garden of Mrs. Sutton, the Payne's old landlady. Khalil didn't think she would mind, she had loved Nichelle Payne dearly.

Once at the cemetery, he had laid the flowers on his mother's grave, sat down with his back resting against her tombstone and cried a little. Nobody had been around to see him; Freeland residents weren't crazy about going to the graveyard at nighttime.

"I shot the guy who made me kill you, ma," he'd whispered, his words blown away by the breeze as the tears blurred his vision. "I know you always said vengeance never pays, but I had to do it. I'm sorry, ma. I love you, and I'm so, so sorry."

Nichelle Payne had raised him to be the best in whatever he did, and what had he done in return? Snapped her neck, and the best excuse he could come up with was he'd just been following orders. The knowledge weighed heavily on his soul, and he knew that he would pay for it in time. Everything comes due. But if TC could somehow make him forget...

"I can try," TC said doubtfully, and Khalil raised his eyes from his clenched fists, remembering where he was through the sadness that engulfed his soul.

"No." Khalil shook his head, resigning himself to reality. "It's part of who I am, and I need to find redemption for it, or a way to live with myself."

TC opened his mouth and hesitated before shyly asking, "Do you want to- I mean, I could give you Jen's number and you could talk to her one last time?"

Painkiller groaned, storming around the circumference of the dojo angrily. "Can we fucking do this already? No more flashbacks, no phone calls- get this kill order the fuck out of my head!"

"Our head," Khalil reminded him. "And right now, I'm in charge." He bit his lip, wrestling with himself. Saying goodbye to Jen wouldn't make things better, it would just bring home the truth that he would never see his first girlfriend again, and even if by some weird coincidence he did, he wouldn't know her. It was stupid. They already said their goodbyes on the Pierce roof, what would he gain from this? "What's her number?"

Painkiller actually growled at this and stomped off somewhere. Khalil could still feel him burning in his mind, but it looked like he had opted out of being a part of Khalil's final goodbye. Not that Khalil minded in the least. Before Painkiller, his relationship with Jen had been special. He didn't want his insane mind twin tainting the very last moment he would have with her.

Courteously, TC severed the connection with Khalil's brain chip, promising to return when the phone call was over and start the process. Khalil stared down at his phone and punched in Jen's number before he could lose his cool. Meditation seemed like a lifetime away, it was all he could do to keep his heart from galloping away like a war horse.

Jen's phone rang once, twice, three times, and Khalil was just about to hit the end button when suddenly-

"Hi." Jen's bold, brash voice was in his ear, and Khalil forgot to breathe. The background noise was filled with laughter and music, a noise that Khalil associated with family time, even though he was never fortunate enough to have enjoyed family time with his mother working two jobs, his father in jail, and his brother running the streets with the 100. "You know you're calling from a- Anissa, stop!" Khalil closed his eyes, savoring the sound of Jen's hearty giggles as someone- Anissa, probably- tickled her or something similar. "You're calling from a private number, who is this?"

A male chuckle sounded, and Khalil recognized Gambi's voice sounding from the distance. "Probably a scam, hang up before they get all your info."

Same old Gambi, trusting nobody. A wistful smile turned up Khalil's lips, but he still couldn't come up with a thing to say. It was like all his thought circuits were down, and he wondered if Painkiller had something to do with it.

"Helloooo? Who is this?" Jen's voice turned speculative, and she gave a derisive snort. "This better not be TC playing with me again, how many times do I have to tell you I'm not going to prom wit' you?"

"I'm literally right here," TC protested in the background.

And Khalil found that he couldn't bring himself to say anything, let alone goodbye. He wasn't great with goodbyes, anyway, so who was he fooling? "Uh, sorry," he muttered. Why had he thought this would be a good idea again? "Wrong number."

In the few seconds it took for him to press the end call button, Jen's voice sharpened with recognition and she exclaimed, "Wait, that sounds a little like-."

Call ended blinked up at him from his phone screen as his pulse jumped in his throat. Safe getaway. Of course, he'd ended the call before Jen could say his name, or even more hurtful, the name of somebody else.

But fuck, hearing her voice was bittersweet.

"You hung up?" TC was back in his head, eyes gleaming with relief that Painkiller wasn't around.

Nodding, Khalil strove to keep his face blank and impassive. "Yeah. I'd rather remember her the way she was on that phone, happy, carefree, pain in the ass J."

She sounded happy and normal, like the old her, before the 100 had kidnapped her and she had discovered she had powers. She sounded like the Queen of Garfield. By coming back into her life even for a few seconds, he might jeopardize that happiness, and if there's one thing he wanted her to be after the events of the past few years, it was at peace and she wasn't going to find it with him.

"But you didn't get to say goodbye."

Pity was written all across TC's face, and once again, Khalil felt the wave of sadness engulf him. Did it ever stop? Even with his memories of Jen gone, would he really be at peace?

"I didn't need to." Khalil stopped, his shoulders slumped, and came to stand next to TC, who was still looking at him with that sympathetic look on his face. "TC..."

Looking up at him, TC said, "Yeah?"

"Don't tell her."

TC let out a dramatic gasp that made Khalil crack a smile, even though he had never felt less like smiling. "What? But I was just about to-?"

"No." Khalil shook his head resolutely. "Let her live her life." TC opened his mouth to protest, but Khalil talked over him. It was the only way. "You told me she lost the guy she was seeing, and she's already lost so much. Just- let her think what she's been thinking, that I left Freeland to live my life." He started pacing like Painkiller sometimes did, back and forth, his arms behind his back as he spoke. It felt like atoning for his sins. "I poisoned her. I almost killed her."

Interrupting, his voice utterly horrified, TC exclaimed, "That was Painkiller, not you!"

"Yeah, but don't you get it? He's in me, so even if I know that I'm not the one doing the poisoning, everyone else thinks it, because he's in my head wanting to kill all the time." Khalil stopped pacing and turned to TC, his face serious. "With the kill code gone, we can co-exist without the anger and rage that drives Painkiller. I came here for a fresh start and removing the memories of the Pierces will give me that." To show that he meant business, he clapped his hands together. "Let's do this. How's it gonna work?"

Getting back to business removed the pity from TC's face, and Khalil was glad. Seeing that look on his normally cheery friends face and knowing it was directed at him made him feel like even more of a shitty person.

Tapping his chin, Khalil asked, "So I won't remember that they're metas as well?"

"You'll forget about them. Anything related to them, too."

TC's eyes started to flash green as he went over the logistics of changing Khalil's life.

"No, you'll remember that, you'll know about Black Lightning, Thunder and Lightning, you just won't know their identities. You won't remember they're Pierces."

Nodding, Khalil said, "Got it." Actually, it sounded confusing to him, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. "But if I want to reinstate my memories, can't I just come to you and-."

TC laughed as Khalil made a casual popping noise with his tongue in his cheek. "No. You won't even know that your memories are gone."

"And you're sure they'll stay gone."

This was the most important part. What ifs ran through Khalil's mind with the speed of a Formula One car. If he somehow ran into the Pierce sisters on vacation. If he helped someone from a mugger and it turned out to be Doctor Pierce? If Black Lightning ended up in Akashic Valley like Anissa had and they ran into each other?

Shifting from one foot to the other, TC said, "Um, 90% sure."

"90?" Khalil asked incredulously.

TC shrugged. "That's an A."

"I used to get straight A's in school," Khalil said musingly. "And then Odell dropped a few Master's degrees into my head, but that happened after I stopped caring about grades." TC gave him a confused, yet concerned look, and Khalil said, "Let's get rid of these memories."

A few minutes later, Khalil was lying on an operating table, a brain scanner that looked like a crown on his head. Philky just happened to have one lying around, which was pure Philky, and after TC had uploaded his program into the lab's computer, he'd told Khalil's master of tech exactly what to do. Donald was on standby in case something went wrong medically. And Painkiller? He was still in the dojo, and Khalil could feel the excitement thrumming through him. Khalil didn't blame him; he was excited too.

A high-pitched whine started up, and Khalil felt a pinprick of electricity tickle his forehead as the process started. TC had warned him about this.

What TC hadn't warned him about was, as the memories left, they replayed in his head, almost like a flashback reel.

Khalil saw himself on the Pierce roof with Jen, giving her a chaste, shy kiss as she agreed to be his girlfriend.

He saw himself stealing into Garfield High and meeting up with Jen by the lockers after enduring more abuse from Tobias, knowing that she was the only person he could really talk to despite what had gone down between them. Sitting down in silence, not needing to say a word because their connection was that powerful.

He saw them running away together, Jen using her lightning powers in front of him for the first time and blasting the 100 hoodlums. How he'd kissed her later on and it had been electric, and the hottest kiss he'd ever had.

He saw himself (the memories were blurry around the edges, soon they'd be gone but so would the kill code, it was for the best but it hurt, TC didn't say it would hurt this much) sitting next to Jen in his special place, his private place, his favorite place, the abandoned subway car, eating ramen and reminiscing on how he had asked her to be his girlfriend, and he had been so shy when he gave her the necklace, something that had caught his eye in Freeland's jewelry store and he'd saved up for two months to buy it for her, a necklace he was giving to her for the second time because he loved her, and he'd lost her once and wasn't about to let her go again and...

The memories faded as Khalil's mind cycled through the deepest, darkest levels of consciousness, and there was only darkness, and finally, blissfully, peace.

(See more on ao3 or wattpad!)

#black lightning #fanfic #khalil payne #jennifer pierce #jordan calloway #china anne mcclain #wattpad #ao3fic

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alostsock · 5 years ago

Text

Baby!Buck AU 9/12

Evan turns out to be as vocal about what he likes to do for fun as he was about breakfast, and Chimney spends thirty seconds panicking that they’re going to spend the entire day staring at each other in the Buckleys’ living room.

But no, he’s a grown man, he’s a paramedic, and Maddie trusted him with this. He can do better than that. He can problem solve. If he can wrangle the story of how an arm got broken out of a reluctant 22-year-old covered in canned beans and lube, he can get an eight-year-old to tell him what he wants to do today.

“Well, what do you like... in general?”

Evan shrugs.

“You like books, right? I always see you reading.”

Evan shrugs again, but Chimney thinks maybe that was a “yes” shrug and not just a shrug-shrug. He’s going to have to learn to interpret these shrugs.

“Well, what have you been reading about? Let’s go look.” He lets Evan lead him over to his backpack, and crouches down beside him as Evan pulls out his latest collection of library books. There’s one on firefighters, and four on different types of whales.

They’re new ones that he hasn’t seen before, Chimney is pretty sure. How many books on whales are there out there? Regardless, it gives him an idea. He nods decisively, tells Evan to grab what he needs for the day (and then grabs the kid a sweater and some other necessities, because he’s doubtful Evan will pack anything actually useful), makes sure the kid’s shoelaces are done up tight, and they’re on their way.

---

They’ve been on the bus for about ten minutes when Evan finally speaks.

“Where are we going?”

Chimney wants to say it’s a surprise, but a good look at Evan tells him that the kid might be a little nervous. Surprises should be fun, so Chimney spills.

“You like whales, right?” Evan shrugs, but but Chimney’s pretty confident that he does, in fact, like whales, so he plows on. “Well, I thought we could go look at some!”

Evan’s silent for a moment.

“Real whales?” He doesn’t sound excited, and Chimney is suddenly nervous.

“Uhhh... yes? Well I dunno.. I thought it might be fun?”

The kid starts wringing his hands anxiously.

“Maddie said whale-watching was expensive.”

Chimney was just planning on the aquarium (because actually yes, he’d briefly looked up whale-watching on his phone and it did look a little pricey for a last-minute day out) but his anxiety turns to confusion. Is Evan worried about the money? He’d thought he’d misread the situation and Evan was weirdly afraid of whales or water or something but it doesn’t sound like that’s the issue here.

“No, no, kiddo, we’re just going to the aquarium. It’s even free for you because you’re not ten yet.” He’s absolutely taking this kid whale-watching on his birthday though.

“And they have whales?”

“Uh, I dunno? They’ve got ocean stuff?”

“Do they have blue whales?”

“Umm...” Chimney didn’t think this far. He quickly pulls out his phone and looks up the aquarium website. It turns out that they don’t, actually, have any whales available for public viewing. There are, apparently, a few smaller species being treated behind the scenes, but definitely no blue whales, and definitely no whales that a casual visitor can go look at on a whim. Shoot. Chimney looks down at Evan apologetically. “Sorry buddy... there aren’t actually any whales we can go and look at. I really didn’t look into this enough. Do you still want to go?”

For whatever reason, Evan looks relieved as he shrugs. Chimney wonders to himself if he’s really that clueless about kids, or if maybe he just doesn’t understand this one yet. Since Evan doesn’t actively appear to be objecting, they continue on their way to the aquarium.

As they tour the aquarium (sea otters, sea lions, more fish than Chimney thinks he has ever seen in his life) he can’t help but notice that Evan keeps looking longingly at signs for the “All About Whales” exhibit. There definitely won’t be any real whales, but the website had mentioned videos, interactive stations, and recordings of whale noises. He had been avoiding it because of the kid’s apparent reluctance to see whales on the bus. They’ve looked at pretty much everything else, but it seems they might have one more stop to make. Chimney crouches down in front of Evan and looks him seriously in the eyes.

“Do you want to go see the whale exhibit, kiddo?” Evan can’t help the grin that stretches across his face as he shrugs shyly. That’s clearly a “yes” shrug, so Chimney takes his hand and leads him to the exhibit.

---

When they get there, the kid lights up. After having been mostly quiet all day, it seems Evan can’t contain his excitement and blurts out a few whale facts as they look around. When he seems to realize that Chimney is actually listening, and with a little encouragement in the form of a few leading questions, he really gets going, and by the time they’re halfway through the exhibit he’s talking a mile a minute, drawing from a seemingly endless supply of whale facts and stories.

They pass the gift shop on their way out, and Chimney is pretty sure he isn’t imagining Evan sneaking glances at a wall stuffed animals, in particular a series of stuffed blue, humpback, beluga, and killer whales. When he leans down to ask if Evan would like one, however, the kid emphatically shakes his head no. This, like many things, confuses Chimney, so he trusts his gut and insists they go look in the gift shop anyway. When Evan is distracted by the books, Chimney grabs a blue whale stuffed toy and discreetly buys it, shoving it into his backpack, making sure that Evan isn’t looking.

As they’re leaving the aquarium he hears Evan’s stomach grumble and realizes guiltily that it’s well past lunch time. He’s surprised that the kid didn’t complain. They sit down on a bench and eat the sandwiches that Chimney packed for them that morning, and then Chimney insists that they get ice cream. After some cajoling, Evan picks chocolate, which Chimney can respect because he, too, appreciates the classics.

When they’re done (and when Chimney has helped Evan wash a decent amount of melted ice cream off of his face and hands) it’s well past 3pm and Evan is clearly tired. Chimney wordlessly picks him up and settles him on his hip, and Evan drops his head down to Chimney’s shoulder without complaint. As he walks them to the bus stop, Chimney gives Evan a little poke, and the kid lifts his head up drowsily.

“So, kiddo, I am unfortunately a truly terrible cook. This means we could go home now, and then just watch a movie or read or something, and I could make us some more sandwiches for dinner... or we could go somewhere where I know it’s spaghetti night.” The subtle raise of his eyebrows and the widening of bright blue eyes that accompany the one shoulder shrug from where Evan is slumped on Chimney’s shoulder tell him that the kid is definitely interested. So, instead of getting on the bus that they would need to take to go home, Chimney reroutes them toward the 118.

#babybuckau #buck #chimney #whales #9-1-1 #au

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years ago

Note

Can you do 184 with Arthur and a female chubby reader?

So I know that this one was from the NSFT writing prompts, but it turned out to be SFT, so no smut ahead. Also the ending took a very different turn from what I was expecting.

Read my works on AO3!

You stand on the edge of camp, not wanting to be around anyone else. You’d been out riding your horse alone earlier today. You’re used to riding alone, even capable of taking care of yourself. You and the others are all like that. It’s one of the requirements of running with the Van der Linde gang. Living the outlaw life comes with a lot of risks. Today, you faced one of them.

You’d been riding back to the gang, your horse’s back draped in pelts and your satchel heavy with stolen goods, including a fancy watch you’d found in an empty cabin. On your way back to Horseshoe Overlook, you’d been stopped by four other riders. They tried to rob you, but seemed rather new to the whole process as they weren’t frightening at all.

The leader of the four demanded you surrender your goods. “Fellas, you don’t wanna rob me. Trust me, nothing good will come of that. If you value your lives, you’ll let me be.”

“What threat could you be to us, you fat pig!” one of them hollered back.

The insult stung, of course. You’ve always been self-conscious about your weight, but you tried to pretend like it didn’t bother you. “I’m not going to warn you fellas again. Turn around and let me pass.”

“We got four guns on you, you goddamn whale!” he yelled again. “You’d be smart to just give us what ya got, you’re much more likely to survive.”

“Fine,” you sighed and put your arms up. The man came over to ruffle through your pockets. Just as he reached towards you, you grabbed him, wrapped an arm around his neck and squeezed. You then planted his back to your front and pulled out your revolver.

“Back off, assholes!” you scream at the other three who point their guns at you. The man in your grasp claws at your arm, trying to relieve the pressure around his neck. “Put your damn guns away and leave, otherwise your buddy’s gonna get a bullet in his brain!”

The other three trade frightened glances. “Shit, she ain’t worth this,” one of them says. He holsters his gun and runs off, followed by the other two. The man in your arm is gurgling, his face turning purple. When his friends are out of sight, you release him and shove him down into the dirt.

“I ever see you again, I won’t hesitate to slit your throat!” you growl at him as he gasps for breath. You mount up and ride off, not looking back.

The attempted robbery hadn’t shaken you up, and you’re not quite sure why the man’s comments about your weight bothered you so much. You went to Valentine afterwards to get a drink to simmer down, but when you were in the saloon, you felt like everyone was staring at you, judging your weight. You got a single shot of whiskey and then went back to camp.

You’re at the cliff overlooking the river below, wanting to be alone. Of course, you know the others in camp don’t judge you for your weight. They’ve got bigger problems to worry about and it’s not like you don’t do your share of work. You always have. In fact, you’ve tried to lose weight. You certainly live an active enough life to lose it, but you just can’t seem to get rid of it.

As you stand here, you don’t notice Arthur coming up from behind. He’s been your best friend for many years and the only reason he hadn’t been on the ride with you this morning was because he was hunting some bison with Charles. He’s one of the few people you trust with your deepest secrets as you’re secretly in love with him. You’ve been in love with him for a long time but have refused to let him know in order to protect your friendship.

“There she is,” he says in his way of greeting you.

You turn and smile at him. “Hi, Arthur. How was your hunt?”

Arthur tells you about the poached bison and how he and Charles found the hunters. Charles killed one of them but Arthur let the other one go to spread the word that to poach bison and frame their work on the natives would result in their deaths.

“Well, I’m glad you let him off easy,” you say with a soft smile.

“It weren’t an easy decision. Charles wanted me to kill him and I kinda wanted to. I might be a bad man but at least I ain’t takin’ money to frame the Indians.”

You smile again and then look back out to the river. You’re still not really in the mood to be around people, not even Arthur. He shuffles his feet for a moment.

“You doin’ a’right? Ya seem a little down.”

“I’m fine, Arthur. Don’t worry about me.”

He sighs. “Ya know ya can tell me anythin’, right?”

You look up at him. You feel silly for how you’re feeling about the whole thing. Why the hell should you care what some asshole who tried to rob you?

“It’s nothing. Just somethin’ stupid.”

He tilts his head a little. “Stupid or not, will you tell me?”

You sigh and nod. Maybe it will be nice to have someone else’s input. You tell him about the attempted robbery and the rude things the man said. You also tell him how you sent the men running off with their tails between their legs.

“I don’t know why it’s bothering me,” you say, not omitting the things the guy said. “It shouldn’t, he was obviously trying to scare me.”

He sighs. “He was, and sounds like you certainly gave him the scare of his life. I imagine he won’t be keen to try robbin’ anyone anytime soon.”

You smile a bit but you still feel down. “I don’t know why I care so much, Arthur,” you finally admit. “I mean, I know I never been pretty or even decent enough looking for people to want me around. I… I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Arthur looks at you, his eyes soft. “I think you’re pretty,” he says.

Your stomach clenches tightly. “Arthur, you don’t have to lie.”

“I ain’t lyin’. Can… can I touch ya, darlin’?”

He’s called you “darlin’” on a few occasions, mostly during tender moments like this when you’ve needed a boost. It always gives you butterflies when he does. Not only that, he’s never asked to touch you before. You’re not the most touchy person, in fact you’re more averted to it. However, you know he’s touch-starved but is good at hiding it.

“Why do you want to touch me, Arthur?” you ask softly, not able to look at him.

“Because it sounds like ya need it. Here.” He holds out his arms and approaches you slowly. You let him come close and then go into his arms; he folds them around you. It’s a bit awkward at first as you’re not used to being held, but after a moment you start to relax. You press your face into his chest and his left hand starts rubbing your back while his right holds your head to him. He’s warm and he smells good, smells like home. You hear his heart pounding in your ear.

“Yeah, you’re okay, sweetheart,” he says softly in your ear.

You look up at him and he smiles at you and then places the softest kiss on our head, making your chest swell.

“Arthur?” you say so softly you almost don’t hear yourself.

He smiles and leans down, pressing his lips to yours. After a few seconds, he leans back. “Sorry, darlin’. I… I been wantin’ to do that for years.”

“Really? Arthur, I’ve… I’ve had a crush on you for years!”

He chuckles. “Me too.” He leans down and kisses you again.

“About time you both finally admitted how you feel about each other!” Sean laughs, coming over to you both. You and Arthur break apart, your faces red. Sean stands between the two of you and drapes an arm over your shoulders.

“I cannot tell ya, if I had to hear ol’ Morgan say how much he wanted ya t’know how he felt, I was gonna shoot meself!” Sean says with a laugh.

“Maybe ya should go ahead and do that anyways, save us all the trouble!” Arthur growls.

Sean laughs, joining the onlooking crowd. You put your hand over your eyes, but you’re laughing too. You take Arthur’s hand and pull him down close.

“What say you we go somewhere else and try that kiss again?” you ask.

He squeezes your hand and then leads you off. You giggle again as he takes you, looking forward to kissing him. You don’t even care that you might get carried away and end up having sex with him. You certainly won’t end up regretting it. In fact, that’s exactly what happens.

However a month after you and Arthur finally got together, you make a life-changing discovery. It terrifies and excites you. That night, you pull Arthur into the tent you now share with him, telling him you have important news. He looks worried as he comes into the tent.

“What is it? Is somethin’ wrong?”

“No, at least I don’t think so.” You wring your hands for a moment, terrified of telling him. Finally, you swallow hard. “Arthur, I’m pregnant.”

#red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #awkward asks

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violetsmoak · 5 years ago

Text

Tabula Rasa [7/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183281/chapters/49466486

Blanket Disclaimer:

Summary: Tim and Jason have known they are soulmates for years, though neither has said anything about it. Tim thinks Jason doesn’t know and is just trying to live with it. Jason thinks Tim knows but doesn’t care, which is fine with him, he thinks the soulmate thing is a crock anyway. But one night, a minor mishap forces them to confront the issue head-on, leading to a series of events no one could have predicted.

Rating: PG-13 (Rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #soulmate aversion #secret identity

First Chapter

Author’s Note(s): In which as time passes, Jay's not having an easy time coping with all this soulmate stuff, and Tim's still trying to figure everything out. And Alfred is his usual awesome self.

________________________________________________________________

“Forget almost being assassinated, how did he not die just from tripping over something in the dark, or eating expired food?” Jason asks as he looks around the disaster zone that is Tim Drake’s apartment. There are takeout containers and empty coffee cups covering every surface, and clothing soiled with dirt and blood and what looks like sewer sludge strewn across the floor. Packaging and bubble wrap twist around the legs of tables and extension cables create startlingly effective tripwire traps. “Can’t you people afford a maid service?”

“Surely even you aren’t so thick that you don’t understand why that would be a bad idea,” Damian points out as he walks in behind him, carrying several large boxes from the local hardware depot. As he deposits them, he surveys the apartment with something more like horror than disgust. “This is the residence of the man my grandfather considers his equal?”

“He’s not usually this bad,” Dick says with a sigh as he closes the door behind him with one hand and deposits his own burden of packages. His eyes rove across the open concept living area with a worried expression. “I was here like three weeks ago and it was spotless. I mean, his room was a disaster zone, but that’s just Tim. Messy genius, you know?”

“If this is how he lives, perhaps the social workers are correct that he needs a more qualified minder.”

Dick ignores that. “I don’t get it. It’s like he just gave up. What the hell happened?”

Jason remains quiet; he has a nasty suspicion he knows exactly what made Tim stop caring.

Whatever, I’m making up for it now, aren’t I? In fucking spades…

He’s been avoiding Tim’s apartment for weeks now, stubbornly squatting in different buildings every night or shelling out for a motel when he wants an actual bed or shower. But the last few days he found several itching bites on his skin, and hell no. He swore when Bruce took him in, he was done with bedbugs and lice and any other critter that can be found in questionably cleaned bedding.

As luck would have it, Dick was on his way over here with Damian to install handicap bars in Tim’s bathroom and check the place over for any other chores or tasks that needed doing.

“I still don’t see the point of that,” Jason says, nodding at the boxes of tools and components. “In what universe do you see B letting Tim leave the manor any time in the next year or so? Even when he gets his memories back.”

“It’s a compliance thing,” Dick informs him. “Now that Tim’s making actual strides in recovery, social services will be coming at some point to check that everything is set up for his rehabilitation if he chooses to come here. If it’s not done, it won’t look good.”

“That chick’s still pushing this?”

“Oh yeah. She keeps coming up with new requirements she insists be filled. Independent psych evaluations, bi-monthly physicals performed by state doctors—she even wants him to attend mandatory rehabilitation at some government facility in Blüdhaven.”

“What? Why there?”

“Aside from the fact Gotham’s mental health infrastructure is riddled with the criminally insane?”

“Fair…”

“Babs looked into her and it looks like Bruce had the right idea. Gillian Sato’s a nobody. Completely average in everything, trying to make a name in her department by going after a big fish. And you know that Bruce has been CPS’ great white whale since he took me in. You too.”

“I remember,” Jason says with a scowl.

It was shortly after he was taken in by Bruce. He had just started as Robin, was beginning to see Bruce and Alfred as family and the manor as home. And then some do-gooder social worker with the ‘best intentions’ and a dislike of Brucie Wayne exploited a technicality that let her remove Jason from the Wayne household. The next weeks and months dragged Jason through such an emotional wringer that his already abundant trust issues increased by orders of magnitude. Even before he and Bruce started to butt heads later, Jason would never truly be at ease in the manor ever again.

Or anywhere, really.

People let you down. People left. People could be taken away from you. These were the facts of life, and Jason vowed never to forget them again.

It’s yet another reason he’s so resistant to the idea of soulmates. Having one just makes it easier to be let down or to have them taken away. Hell, he’s seen that firsthand, hasn’t he? A simple errant bullet and he almost had to watch his die. He can’t even imagine what this whole ordeal would feel like if he was close to Tim.

Lost in his thoughts, it takes him a moment to realize Dick is still talking.

“…her higher-ups barely know anything about her. Most of them are willing to let this thing with Tim go, but she’s the one who keeps pushing it. Poking for loopholes whenever she hits a new roadblock.”

“So have Barbie make her go away,” Jason suggests.

“And give support to the idea Bruce Wayne is above the law because of his money?” Dick challenges. “That would put a lot more attention on the issue than anyone wants. For now, we just play it the legal way. Once Tim’s eighteen, she’ll have lost a major avenue to exploit.”

“Which means you guys have to put up with her trying to wrap you in red tape for the next four months at least.”

“This is ridiculous,” Damian mutters.

“I know.”

“Not that—although yes, this farce of legal compliance is a waste of everyone’s time. But I’m talking about how no one has done anything about Drake’s condition other than wring their hands.”

“Excuse me?!”

“If we’re ever going to go on with our lives, he must be fixed, and faster than some useless stretching is going to do.”

“Kid, how exactly do you think your dad got back to fighting condition after Bane broke his back?” Jason questions. “‘Useless stretching’ was a big part of it.”

“And a hell of a lot of drive,” Dick adds. “Which Tim doesn’t really have enough of right now. I mean, I know he wants to get better, but it’s not the same as if he knew who he was.”

“Exactly. He would already be walking, I’m sure,” Damian nods. “Then you’re in agreement with me.”

“Well, yeah—wait. What am I agreeing with?” Dick asks, suspicious.

“Through my observations of the situation, I have determined that Drake is unlikely to ever regain full functionality or his memory. The easiest way to fix this would be a Lazarus Pit. I happen to know of one in Cuba.”

“Holy no Batman!” Dick cries. “Did you forget what happened when I tried doing that for Bruce?”

“It would be different in this case, since we know for sure that it’s Drake and not a decoy,” Damian argues. “At least, the body bit. And Todd recovered from brain damage thanks to the Pit.” He considers Jason. “Well. More or less. I did not know you before, therefore I have no basis of comparison.”

“And you also missed the murderous rampage that happened afterward,” Jason growls. “Not being able to control yourself sucks. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Even Tim.

Especially not Tim.

“If anyone possesses the ability to fight off the effects of the Lazarus Pit, it’s Drake,” Damian insists. “He does not have the same latent anger or violent tendencies as Todd’s files say he had.”

“Hey, stay the hell out of my business!”

“Tim might not be as violent as Jason is or was—”

“Screw you, Dickhead.”

“—but he definitely has the capacity for anger. And as it is, he suffers from severe depression,” Dick informs them soberly. “To the point where he’s considered suicide at least once in the past.”

Damian and Jason’s eyes snap to his face.

“What?” Jason demands.

“That was not in his file.”

“Because he didn’t want it there,” Dick tells them, weary. “In case someone tried to use it against him.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of fucking important to people know about?” Jason demands. “Especially if they have to go out in the field with him?”

He’s having a sudden flashback to the night when everything came out into the open, when he swooped in to save Tim from a fall that he should have been able to divert himself.

Shit. What if that wasn’t an accident like I thought?

“We all have things in our history we don’t want in the files,” Dick reminds them, his face becoming hard for a moment as if he’s remembering something. Then he shakes it off. “Tim’s been dealing with it. He’s on medication, he reaches out when it gets bad…but it’s an ongoing process. I don’t need to tell you guys that.”

“If he didn’t want anyone knowing, he’s going to be pissed you tattled.”

“I’m only speaking up so Damian understands what a bad idea it would be to put Tim in a Lazarus Pit. Depression on top of Pit madness? I don’t want to even think about what he might do.”

Not to mention bringing him anywhere near where Ra’s might pop up is asking for trouble, especially since he can’t fight him off right now.

“So, you are insisting on this waiting nonsense,” Damian concludes, looking frustrated.

“It’s all we can do for now, Little D.”

The kid’s expression remains stormy.

⁂

Damian strides into Tim’s bedroom one morning, wearing a determined expression and followed by his gigantic dog, Titus.

Tim feels a little wary, not so much because of the intimidating canine, but because his younger brother rarely comes near him voluntarily.

“I have read in numerous medical journals the benefits of animal companions in increasing the likelihood of recovery from traumatic brain injuries,” he announces. “Since Father is adamant, we are not getting another dog, I have decided to allow you to spend time with Titus while I am engaged in my studies. I am confident it will contribute to improvement in your condition.” He gestures at the dog. “Titus, stay with Drake. I shall collect you later.”

Then he nods to himself, as if concluding business, and leaves the room.

Tim stares after him, utterly bewildered at the turn of events. Titus watches the boy go, whines for a moment, and then looks over his shoulder at Tim, head cocked to one side as if wondering what that was all about.

All he can do is shrug, which he feels ridiculous about a moment later because Titus is a dog and has a limited understanding (even if Damian speaks to him as if he’s a human being). Still, a beat later, the dog wanders over to Tim’s bed, and rests his head upon the mattress, gazing up at Tim with curious eyes, his tail wagging somewhat.

Slowly, Tim reaches out with his right hand and places it on the dog’s head, causing the tail-wagging to speed up, and scratches him behind the ears.

Titus thus becomes a semi-permanent element of Tim’s recovery process. Damian comes by every morning to drop the dog off as if he’s a parent leaving a child at daycare or school and leaves for several hours. Titus then goes to Tim for obligatory head-pats and only lets up when it becomes clear Tim’s energy is flagging. Even then, he doesn’t go anywhere, simply curling up beside Tim’s bed. When Damian returns, he pokes his head in, nods again, and gestures for the dog to depart with him.

The whole situation is bizarre, but Tim thinks it’s the way Damian expresses worry.

Having Titus around has the added benefit of intimidating Gillian Sato whenever she comes for one of her ‘visits’. Jay can’t always make it there before she does, and she somehow manages to insist on meeting with Tim privately to avoid bias (which he doesn’t understand). Those visits when Jay isn’t present are as short as possible to comply with her wishes, but they’re long enough that Tim is always exhausted and confused at their end. With Titus there, he’s at least a bit more comfortable; the dog appears to sense when his anxiety is climbing or when Ms. Sato says something that makes him uncomfortable.

“It’s rather concerning, Timothy,” she tells him in a voice meant to be kind. “Considering all the resources Mr. Wayne has at his disposal, that he insists you recover here. Instead of in a facility specifically created to rehabilitate TBI patients. It’s almost as if he’s trying to keep you here under his watchful eye.” She leans forward, expression worrying. “You want to get better as soon as possible, don’t you?”

Before Tim can try to parse out exactly what she’s asking him (because he knows somehow the words don’t match her intention), Titus hackles raise, and he begins to growl.

Almost that same instant, Alfred will sweep in and declare that Tim is quite tired today, perhaps they can continue this interview some other time?

Tim wonders if he isn’t standing at the door eavesdropping, even though somehow, he can’t reconcile that image in his head.

Depending on the time of day that Ms. Sato arranges her ‘visit’, the family member that sits with him changes. He much prefers when it’s Jay—he’s the only one whose presence helps Tim calm down quickly after such an interview—but he’s learning to appreciate and trust everyone else in his family.

He’s come a long way since waking up in the hospital and seeing nothing but a bunch of strangers.

Bruce continues to make efforts to spend time with Tim when he wakes up in the mornings. In addition to the sudoku and crossword puzzles, which Tim has started trying to do himself in his spare time, Bruce has started playing other games with him. First Go Fish, and later Memory.

They were games suggested by Dr. Thrussell to help with Tim’s mental rehabilitation, but it turns out playing with Bruce is fun. His expression is awfully serious for what Tim knows are simple children’s games, but he always becomes exceedingly pleased when Tim makes a correct guess.

Dick, who Tim has learned from Alfred is a police officer, is not always around due to his work shifts being somewhat irregular, but when he is, he goes out of his way to help Tim with whatever he might need. It’s both touching and overwhelming; Tim likes Dick, but he feels the same amount of mental exhaustion when he leaves as he does when Ms. Sato does.

How does one person have that much energy?

His favorites besides Jay, are Cassandra and Stephanie.

Steph is nice, as well. She’s affectionate with him, has a good sense of humor, and unlike everyone else who seems wary about touching Tim beyond helping him groom himself or for physio, she’s very tactile.

And she smells nice.

He feels a level of comfort with her that is like when he’s with Jay, which he supposes is because they used to date before she and Cass discovered they were soulmates. Perhaps it’s why he doesn’t question her presence in his life the way he still does sometimes with Bruce or Dick or Damian.

And then there’s Cassandra, who’s just…amazing.

Because she’s like him, somehow.

There’s intelligence in her eyes, but she has trouble getting the words out just like he does. When she sees him struggling with his brain to mouth disconnect, she looks empathetic and he knows it’s not pity or guilt.

The latter is a look he’s started to recognize in Jay, and he doesn’t like it.

He wonders if whatever makes him look like that is the reason he doesn’t get along with the rest of the family. He wishes he could ask, though he suspects even if he could, he wouldn’t get a straight answer.

He’s not sure if that’s normal for this family, or if it’s just another attempt to keep from upsetting Tim. Ever since he started to improve, everyone seems to be wanting to keep him occupied and entertained. Sometimes it’s fun—like today, with Steph egging him on while playing Candy Crush—and other times, it’s just…

Exhausting.

His convalescence aside, Tim has noticed there are times when he feels exhausted and strained for reasons other than his injury. He doesn’t know where those feelings come from, just that he dislikes them.

⁂

One evening, a little over three months following the shooting, Jason shuffles into the manor and wonders how this became routine for him.

It should worry him; how easy it’s been to slip back into the habit of being greeted by Alfred. Into toeing off his boots in the entrance closest and loitering in the kitchen to see if there’s anything left over from lunch or dinner.

It’s deceptively simple to fall into the mental trap of calling this place home again, which is why he never lets himself stay longer than a few hours. Even when Alfred keeps offering to make up a guest room or tries to tempt him with homemade scones for breakfast the next morning.

(He can’t go near his old room, the mausoleum to shattered dreams and stolen childhood.)

Jason’s usual arguments against that are quieter right now, his mind on what Damian said the other day: that no one is trying to help Tim.

In the strictest sense, the sentiment is bullshit; everyone in the Family has been bending over backward trying to make his rehabilitation priority, to protect him from two-faced social workers and asshole paparazzi looking for a story. But there’s been no headway on the shooting, and he wonders if anyone else but him is still looking into it.

Which is stupid, because he knows for a fact that Bruce is a dog with a bone and won’t let any case go, let alone one where his kid got hurt.

So why hasn’t he found anything yet?

He knows from experience, both as Robin and Red Hood, that some cases take longer than others. Bruce spent an entire year investigating the Holiday killings before Jason got involved, and during their years together there were several ongoing cases that dragged for weeks and months before a break could be made.

There are some that remain unsolved to this day.

But this is Tim, you’d think he’d be more motivated. Unless…

Unless he has found something and just doesn’t want to share it because he thinks Jason’s going to go on a vengeful, murderous rampage.

He clenches his fists.

It wouldn’t be the first time that Bruce kept something from him or anyone else if he’s on a case he’s decided is his. He even keeps Dick out of the loop on stuff like that, and he’s the golden child.

Jason’s probably just being paranoid.

Except…

Except he learned paranoia from the best, and that paranoia isn’t always just paranoia, and if Bruce thinks he’ll react badly to something, of course he’s going to keep it from him. Which means they’re going to have a problem because this case isn’t going to get solved if they can’t share important information.

Instead of heading toward Tim’s bedroom, Jason changes course and makes a beeline for the Cave entrance in the study.

He reaches the bottom of the staircase just in time to see Nightwing and Robin peel out of the garage on two bikes. A cowl-free Batman is hunched over the computer, looking up something on the main screen, while the ones off to the sideshow various CCTV feeds from the Narrows, Tricorner and Burnley.

He catches flashes of Black Bat and Signal in the latter two, and scowls.

“I should be out there.”

“That’s not your concern right now,” Bruce replies without even turning around. “You should be upstairs with Tim.”

There’s a derisive snort at that, and Jason glances over to see Blondie balanced on her own bike, adjusting her hair beneath her cowl.

“Problem, Bat-chick?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t sound like nothin’.”

“Just seems like certain people are easier to forgive than others.”

“Stephanie,” Bruce warns, still not looking at either of them.

“No, it’s fine,” she replies. “Let’s keep tiptoeing around the giant pink elephant in the room. And by giant pink elephant, I mean crime lord.”

“That what you’re goin’ with?” Jason challenges. “You’ve been stewin’ on that for three months, and you’re gonna give me grief over bullshit that’s over and done with?”

“Clearly it’s not over and done with.”

“If you’ve got a problem with me, strap on the steel tits and own up to what it’s really about.”

“Okay, fine!” Blondie hops off the bike to march forward, stopping a good foot away from him and shoving a finger at him. “You might be his soulmate, but don’t think that gets you off for all the crap you’ve pulled. Especially since you’ve known this whole time.”

“What I know or knew is none of your business. But if you really want to have a competition about who hurt him most, my name ain’t the only one on the list.”

“Are you seriously trying to pull the ‘everyone else did it too so it’s okay’ defense?”

“No, I’m telling you to be careful in that fragile fucking glass house of yours.”

“Speaking of houses, how long are you going to keep playing house with Tim before you break his heart again? Are you going to do it right when he gets his memories back, or wait a few days for him to adjust and then drop him?”

“You think I’d be that big an asshole?”

“I know you’re that big an asshole. And so did Tim,” she shoots back, merciless. “He told me you were dead.”

“I was dead.”

“And then you weren’t. And he still always told that to anyone who asked. He knew whatever this is with you, it was never going to happen, but it also wasn’t going away. So, he was trying to move on. And if he’s smart—which we all know Tim is, memories or not—he’ll stick to that gut feeling. Because the longer he’s involved with you, the more hurt he’s going to be when you inevitably break his heart. If you were any kind of decent, you’d get the hell out of his life before he finishes imprinting on you like a baby chick.”

“That’s enough,” Bruce says, and this time he does turn around. “Stephanie, patrol.”

“I’m going,” she replies. “But not because you told me to.”

She stalks toward her bike, and after a few angry revs of the engine, speeds off out of the cave.

Bruce is still looking in Jason’s direction; he can feel the frown. “Provoking her isn’t helpful to anyone, least of all Tim.”

“What argument were you watching?” Jason shoots back. “If anyone’s provoking anyone else, it’s her. And I’m telling you now, B, if she wants a fight, I’ll give it to her. I’m putting up with enough crap because of this soulmate thing, I didn’t sign on to let Timbo’s pissed off ex-girlfriend take shots at me.”

“The lack of evidence in this case is frustrating everyone.”

Jason gives him a disbelieving look—there’s no way that Bruce can be so emotionally stunted that he can’t figure out what Blondie’s little tiff was all about.

Then again…yes, he is.

Rather than stew over Blondie’s accusations (and the fact that she’s got more of a point than he’d like), Jason decides to focus on what Bruce actually said.

“So you haven’t found anything on your end, either?”

He leans against the giant computer, keeping a conspicuous distance between him and Bruce, and trying not to feel awkward and naked without his helmet on. He doesn’t actually remember the last time he was down here and not in uniform.

“No.”

“Really. Nothing? Not a single goddamn clue? This is all just some random person that decided to take the kid out?”

“It’s not the first time someone has attempted to assassinate Tim.”

“Yeah, but I heard about that, it was all planned for. This wasn’t.”

“Hence the continued investigation.”

“Yeah, well, there’s no way you’ve been on the case this long and haven’t found something.”

Bruce is quiet for a moment and then nods. “Based on the lack of available evidence, whoever did this was a professional. Elite even.”

“No shit. We knew that from Day One.”

“I’ve since narrowed down a list of suspects from around the world, who have the capability of pulling this off.”

“And?”

“And they’re all either accounted for or dead.”

“So why do you look more constipated about this than usual? You’ve had harder cases with less evidence.”

“Almost all of these snipers were trained by David Cain.”

The name makes Jason tense. “He’s dead.”

“Yes. But before he died, he mentioned something to me. That there were others.”

“Others like Cass, you mean.”

“Hn.”

Jason grits his teeth. “So, your theory is some designer assassin Child o’ Cain decided to come to Gotham just to shoot Tim?”

“It’s not a theory. Just a possible connection. There’s too little evidence to support it.”

“Then what the hell are you spending the time on it for?” Jason demands. “If we’re going for wild conspiracy theories, why not an alternate universe or time travel? It’s just as easy to speculate someone came back in time to assassinate Tim or put him out of commission for whatever reason.”

“I won’t discount those theories either,” Bruce allows, because of course. “But in either situation, anyone coming here for Tim specifically would likely be enhanced to survive whatever means brought them here.”

“Or it’s one of us.”

Bruce doesn’t meet his gaze, but there’s a subtle tensing of his shoulder muscles.

“I saw that,” Jason points out quietly. Bruce says nothing. “You think it would be me, don’t you?”

“I never said that.”

“If it were one of us, I’m the best marksman, so if it were anyone of ours to come back and put a bullet in his head, it’d be me.”

Bruce stands then, agitated. “You’re jumping to conclusions and letting your feelings cloud your judgment. This is only one of many theories, not even the one that’s most likely—”

“Except we both know that ain’t the case!” Jason snarls. “You know as well as I do, I’m probably the reason he got shot in the first place!”

“Jason—”

“I did this, B! I was in the middle of a pissing contest with some asshole moving in on my turf and Tim got caught in the crossfire. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself!”

“You did not cause Tim to be shot,” Bruce snaps.

“That’s not what you thought when it happened,” Jason reminds him bitterly.

“And I’ve since revised my opinion. I don’t believe this to be related to the contract that was put out on Red Hood.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a totally glowing recommendation!”

“Whoever is after you obviously isn’t aware of your civilian identity, or they would still be pursuing you,” Bruce replies. “Going underground would only keep you safe for so long, and it’s been months. Whoever is targeting you may have been watching Red Hood, but they weren’t watching you. Therefore, the likelihood of Tim’s shooting having anything to do with your activities is low.”

“Seriously? That’s your explanation?”

“Jason,” Bruce sighs, and he’s pinching the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture of exhaustion. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t think you’re responsible for this. Why are you fighting me on it?”

“Because nothing is ever that easy with you! And you’re usually the one driving the ‘Jason messes everything up’ bandwagon. Don’t tell me that’s changed all because I happen to be the kid’s soulmate.”

“That has nothing to do with it. I’ve already explained my reasoning, and it’s enough for me at the moment.” He fixes Jason with a calculating look that he doesn’t like. “The question is, why are you so determined to make it your fault?”

Jason opens his mouth to respond, but the words get stuck in his throat as he realizes he has no idea how to answer that.

Bruce continues. “Your behavior is inconsistent.”

“Hell, yes, it’s inconsistent! It’s been months and I still have no fucking idea how I’m supposed to deal with all of this!”

“Perhaps you should take some time,” the older man replies, turning his attention back to the computer. “Away from here.”

Jason narrows his eyes. “Away from Tim, you mean.”

“He’s at the point where he is no longer uncomfortable with the rest of us, and you did make it clear that you only intended to stay by his side until his condition improved. I’m sure with some explanation you could take some time. It might help.”

“You just…that’s not even…”

Jason falters, not sure how to respond, because really, this is his get-out-of-jail-free card. He did say he was only going to stick around until Tim was doing better, and the kid is doing better. He can get back to his search for the dick that got him to go to ground, can get back to living his life the way he wants it and not based around a convalescent’s schedule.

But the idea of it just now, makes him feel queasy, like he’s running a dirty deal.

And on top of that, it bothers him that while Bruce is certain he’s not responsible for Tim’s injury, he still obviously has an issue with the fact they’re soulmates.

It shouldn’t bother him.

It absolutely should not bother him.

And yet.

“You’re a fucking piece of work, you know that?” he snaps, and heads right back up the stairs, mind racing and unable to settle on a single conflicted thought.

Upon reaching the study he finds Alfred on his way in, a tray of tea and sandwiches in hand. The older man takes one look at him and purses his lips, and puts down his burden.

“From your expression, I suspect Master Bruce will be sulking too much the rest of the evening to be interested in dinner.”

“Like I care,” Jason grunts, slamming the false front of the clock entrance closed.

“Were that the case, you would not be damaging the furniture.”

Jason scowls, though it’s somewhat tempered when Alfred offers him the sandwiches he was obviously about to bring down to Bruce.

He takes a petty satisfaction in polishing off every bit of food and tea while Alfred pretends to busy himself with tidying the already pristine study. Although he’s clearly remaining nearby should Jason need him, he doesn’t try to force a conversation.

How does he always know…?

Jason surprises himself when he’s the one to break the silence. “Why the hell does this soulmate shit have to be so complicated? Everyone else just gets it, and I just want to jump out of my fucking skin because it’s making me crazy.”

For once, Alfred doesn’t comment on his language.

“As I understand it, you have never had another person with whom you could confide about this before. You had not manifested your mark when you first came to us, and Master Bruce does tend to avoid matters of the heart and soul except when necessity requires it.”

Jason grumbles, “No kidding.”

It’s not just now, either.

Years back, Bruce got through the sex talk with his usual emotionless, detached aplomb, but didn’t bother with any of the other stuff. Jason would have thought the guy had no heart at all, except he saw how invested he got with the women in his life that mattered.

“And I would imagine discussing it with Mr. Harper and Ms. Anders has not helped, given the substantial difference in circumstances.”

“You got that right…”

“Then perhaps I might offer my own understandings if only to provide another perspective.”

Jason shrugs. “Why not? It’s not like anyone else cares, other than to look like I kicked a puppy whenever I’m in the room with Tim.”

“It has always been my belief that one’s soulmate is the person who will have the most impact on one’s life.”

“So why isn’t mine the Joker?” Jason shoots back spitefully.

“As if that creature ever had a soul,” Alfred scoffs.

“I’m just sayin’, your logic’s flawed.”

“And if you think a homicidal clown gets to claim to be the biggest impact on your life, I wash my hands of you. Do you realize you are scarcely 21 years old? You have an awful lot of life ahead of you to have that one moment, traumatic as it was, to define all of it. Perhaps in those first few months or years following the incident, yes. But you have a future, Master Jason. Soulmates are not just for the moment, but for the breadth of your lifespan. And however much strangeness we see on a regular basis in this world of ours, none of us have the ability to discern the future.”

“Except maybe Duke.”

“Except perhaps Master Duke,” Alfred allows, his mouth twitching somewhat. “But even that only comes in flashes. He cannot know it all. And neither can you.”

“Is that your convoluted way of telling me ‘chin up’?”

“That is my convoluted way of telling you that you are not the only person to find the matter of soulmates difficult to navigate. And no one—not even Master Bruce—is expecting you to figure it all out right away.”

Jason snorts. “You sure about that?”

Alfred simply raises an eyebrow as if insulted by his pearls of wisdom being questioned, and Jason raises his hands in surrender.

Never question Alfred. He knows everything.

Still, he suspects that Bruce will be getting a rather pointed talking-to in the near future. It makes him feel marginally better about the whole thing.

“Now,” the older man continues in a businesslike tone, “Timothy is in the family room this afternoon. However, I would understand if you do not feel up to seeing him today and would be perfectly willing to make an excuse for your absence should you require it.”

Jason almost accepts the out, but then remembers Bruce making a similar suggestion—albeit with more suspect motives—and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he sighs. “Knowing Timbers, he’s been waiting up all day. Least I can do is say 'hi'.”

“Indeed,” Alfred agrees neutrally, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that suggests approval.

As long as no one else decides to ambush me with their emotional crap today, it should be fine, Jason decides, leaving the study and wandering down the hall.

⁂

Tim is sitting in the family room watching Arranged.

He spends most of his time there, either alone or with whatever member of the family is still at home that day. After so long being practically bedridden, he’s desperate to be anywhere that’s not his bedroom.

Alfred wheels him out into the gardens whenever it’s not raining or damp or windy (which, being May, it almost always is), and he’s since enjoyed the sun on his face for the first time that he can remember. He also got to experience his apparent first sunburn, because it seems his skin is notoriously sensitive.

Worth it though, to be outside.

He shifts, sitting up on the couch in front of the large television. He’s surrounded by a staggering number of blankets and pillows; Tim’s not even sure he really needs them to support him anymore—he’s been sitting up on his own for a while—but Alfred insists it’s better safe than sorry.

Titus is lying on his feet, dozing but alert. Tim’s wheelchair stands beside the couch, with Alfred the Cat (Damian seems to not have much imagination when it comes to pet names) curled up on the seat. Occasionally he opens one eye as if to check on Tim, and then returns to sleep.

He’s not a bad recovery-cat, I guess.

On-screen, Cordelia de Vere and Bertram Montmorency get to know one another and discover they actually get along, being of complementary temperaments. They have undeniable chemistry and their dialog is full of witty diatribe and veiled insults that he can’t help enjoying. It’s much more interesting than what Cordelia had with her soulmate, which he agrees with Jay about. Tim’s not sure if it’s a better match than Bertram and Maurice, who the prince continues to see in secret. Meanwhile, Gerald seems to be getting along just fine, joining the army and vowing to build himself up to meet the standards of Cordelia’s parents. He doesn’t actually seem outwardly bothered by her absence, except for several sequences of him writing her love letters.

“Never mind a bullet, this is the kind of crap that gives you brain damage,” a voice informs Tim, amused and somewhat mocking as usual.

Tim’s eyes snap instantly to Jay as he appears in the room, and he feels a smile break out on his face.

“Hi.”

It’s one of the words he’s been working on in therapy and can finally say it without having to mentally or actually hum through a children’s nursery rhyme song. It gives him a thrill of accomplishment, albeit one that pales at the thrill when Jason’s eyes widen in surprise, and then something that Tim imagines might be pride.

“Hi back,” he replies and glances around the room. The car glares up at him like he expects him to question or end his occupation of the space, but Jason simply throws himself down on the nearby easy chair—it’s the only piece of furniture free of pillows and blankets—and squints at the television. “I can’t believe you’re still watching this.”

Tim snorts and shoots Jason a wry look, mentally telegraphing his thoughts. And what are you doing right now?

“Don’t give me that, I’m humoring the invalid.”

“Uh-huh,” Tim grunts.

“That’s a lot of sarcasm for someone who can’t manage actual words yet.”

Tim doesn’t take Jason’s abrasive comments as an insult. Along with Steph, he is the only one that doesn’t try to coddle him. He talks to Tim the same way he talks to everyone else, which, like he’s equal to them even though his brain is making things hard for him right now.

Still, the reminder of his lack of verbosity directly on the heels of his recent accomplishments strikes something in Tim, something like annoyance. Something that suddenly wants to prove a point.

He frowns in effort, trying to line up thoughts and words and the movement of his mouth.

“This is seriously predictable,” Jason complains. “Obviously the writers are trying to set it up that he shows up again and sweeps her off her feet. Then the rich boy goes back to his boyfriend and watching all this is a total waste of time.” Tim doesn’t respond, and Jason glances over at him to gauge his reaction. Only to notice now that Tim is watching him instead of the show, mouth turned downward in a frown. “What?”

Tim’s lips part, then purse, and he makes a kind of humming noise in his throat, closing his eyes in concentration. He takes a deep breath and then utters a sound.

“Ju…jjuh…juh-ay…”

He blinks, somewhat surprised by himself. Jason seems to echo it. “Did you just…?”

Tim’s mouth quirks upward and he feels almost smug. Then, he slowly sounds out the word again. “Ja-ay.”

It’s slow and stilted, and his voice is raspy from disuse, but it’s there, decrying his enforced muteness.

Jay is sitting up ramrod straight now. “Holy shit, you’re trying to talk.”

The naked awe on his soulmate’s face makes him feel warm, and so Tim plods onward, ignoring the way sweat breaks out on the back of his neck or the way he feels a little dizzy.

“Th…than…kyuu…”

Jay’s expression appears to shutter, awe becoming confusion. “Uh…for what?”

“Sa…say…” Tim is panting a bit from the effort now.

“Hey, forget it, don’t push yourself,” Jason implores him, sitting up and making a pacifying gesture. “Three words is enough progress for—”

“Say-ved,” Tim interrupts doggedly. “Safe. Me. Heard…duh…di…Dick…say. You. Say-ved me.”

There.

That was almost two full sentences. He knows they’re crude and basic and maybe not quite what he was trying to say, but he managed to communicate on his own without blinking. It fills him with a buoyant glee, a bubbling temptation to laugh though he knows from experience that doing that would just make his head spin and throb.

He expects Jay to look proud again, happy or relieved—maybe even a sarcastic, teasing quip.

What he doesn’t expect is the wild gleam in Jay’s eye or the way the blood rushes from his cheeks. He looks like someone punched him, and then he’s standing, backing away.

“That…” He swallows. “I’ve got to…”

He doesn’t finish and instead turns and practically bolts from the room, leaving Tim staring after him in shocked dismay, wondering what just happened.

________________________________________________________________

To Be Continued

Poor Timmy. And just when he's starting to show some of his old spunk, too...

Things are heading for their first boiling point. Someone's got to knock some sense into Jay, either literally or metaphorically (who wants to take bets on who it will be?).

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best-left-hook-jones · 7 years ago

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It Is Not Yet Evening (7/?)

Summary: Historical AU. It is 1917, and with the Russian empire on the verge of collapse, Emma - a former maid for the Imperial family - means to escape the imminent revolution and start a new life in London. Desperately fleeing the Bolsheviks and armed with fake documents and a new identity, she sets out to find the mysterious man with the power to grant her her freedom. But the road to Moscow is a treacherous one, and a chance encounter with a wealthy British businessman may change her life forever.

Words: 30,189

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

23 km South of Vyshny Volochyok; March 14th, 1917. 12:45am.

Emma had feigned sleep when Killian had entered the cabin twenty minutes later.

Twenty minutes after absolutely and resolutely nothing had happened.

Perhaps it had been childish, but she hadn’t been able to bear facing him after the near kiss in the hallway, and by the sounds of his footsteps wearing holes in the flooring outside, neither could he. So she had sat, wringing her hands in her lap and trying to muster the courage to say or do anything. Leaving was not an option; she was still in need of the money that came with her task and there was clearly no reason to fear him making any sort of unwelcome advances against her. He had been the one to back off first, after all.

But the question was why.

While she chastised herself now for her stupidity, it wasn’t as though the evening had gone poorly. In fact, she had to admit that she had been rather enjoying herself until the night had taken an unexpected turn. He had wanted to kiss her, she had been sure of it. The heat in his eyes, the small parting of his lips as his gaze had flickered down to her own. She had only been kissed a handful of times - and most of those were stolen kisses from her youth, when a celebratory atmosphere and the gentle words of the kitchen boy had been enough to sweep her off of her feet. But as out of practice as she might have been, Emma was sure she knew the signs, and in that moment Killian Jones had wanted her.

For a cruel moment she allowed herself to think that he had been intentionally playing with her, a sort of payback for her teasing at the table, but she quickly shook it off. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t been because of that. He had been a good listener and she was sure that he hadn’t feigned his interest in her tales about happier times at the palace, even if most of the details had had to be tweaked. It had been difficult to find topics that were entirely safe to discuss without compromising her identity, but as the evening had wore on she had found a sort of rhythm. Her words had flowed naturally off of her tongue and she had allowed herself to be immersed in the memories of hot summer days in the palace gardens, evening strolls through the hallways with Granny and morning breakfasts with Ruby. Despite the homesickness she had felt at points, their conversation had been cathartic and she had been glad to share her tales with someone.

He had not revealed much about himself - he had mostly asked questions about herself - but she had learned one thing of importance; he had loved and lost someone dear to him. Milah . Seeing the tattoo on his wrist had admittedly shocked her; she had never seen anyone of his wealth and rank bear one and certainly not one of personal significance. Though she had been eager to know more, she hadn’t asked; just because he literally wore his heart on his sleeve did not mean it was a story he wished to share with her. As someone who kept more than her share of cards held close to her chest, she understood that, and she had kept that knowledge at the back of her mind throughout the rest of their dinner together.

If she was honest, her thoughts had flickered to the scrawled ink name moments before their near kiss. Part of her had wanted to test - to know - what role this woman still played in his life, if any. She liked to think that the Killian Jones that she had come to know over the past few hours would not have kissed her if there was a woman waiting at home for him. If his reaction were any proof, she couldn’t rule it out.

But something in her gut told her that that wasn’t the entire story. This was not a man who was struggling with the temptation of an affair. Whoever this 'Milah' woman was, Killian truly loved her and longed for her. It was not a move made out of lust, but one made out of longing for another. It was the only truth that made sense.

He had said that the tattoo was a remembrance for someone in his past, but Emma was not so naive as to think that that meant that the past was still in the past. She had seen the same haunted look before in Victor, the court physician. Dr. Whale had always been kind to her and the royals, a faithful servant to the empire and one of the cornerstones in the battle for the tsarevich's health. But he had ghosts of his own, and his often came in the form of his two eldest sons who had died in the last war. He had never spoken to her about them, but word had made its way through the palace as it often did and she knew how much the loss tormented him, even now. No one ever doubted the doctor’s dedication to his work or to the family, but Emma sometimes wondered if there was another reason for Victor's long hours of study, constantly attempting to find a way to heal without end. Emma had thought the pursuit extreme, but it had seemed to settle his mind. And whatever helped ease the loneliness and sorrow for even the slightest moment had to be good, did it not?

Perhaps that had been all that the moment had been to Killian; not a heated urge to scratch an itch caused by close quarters on a long train ride, but a momentary longing to soothe an ache in his heart.

The thoughts swirled in her mind as she considered everything anew. When they finally settled again, she came to a decision; it mattered very little why Killian had backed off. It only mattered that he had and that they had stumbled upon another boundary that would now need to be respected. There was no reason to discuss it; the 'nothing' that had happened could remain just that.

And so she had closed her eyes and evened her breathing when the sound of the door sliding open had filled the otherwise silent cabin. She had heard him step into the room, his footfalls cautious and uncertain as he made his way to stand just in front of her.

He blew out a long sigh, the scent of rum strong on his breath. It seemed he had decided to dip back into his stash while out in the hallway. She couldn’t really blame a man for turning to his second vice when the first failed miserably. Emma had known many alcoholics in her time at the palace, and their stories all seemed to sound the same; it was far easier to forgive oneself when you no longer remembered your own name.

The sound of a heavy coat being slung over a hook near the door followed next, and she heard him kick off his shoes before the creak of the leather seats let her know that he had moved to the bench across from her. Even with her eyes closed, Emma could tell the moment that Killian dimmed the oil lamp between them, the last bit of light that she had been able to make out through her eyelids snuffed out. There was silence again, and Emma worried that he was on to her little deception. Worse, she worried that he would call her out on it, forcing her into a conversation she dearly wished not to have.

But no such comment came, and before long, the man’s breaths began to relax and deepen into a light snore. Emma waited another few moments to be sure before cracking open an eye. The oil lamp hadn't been entirely extinguished as she had thought, the small flame left burning giving off just enough warmth and light to make out the features of her companion. Sure enough, he was passed out in the seat across from her, his lips slightly parted and his body relaxed.

Even though Killian’s suggestion to rest was well advised, she wouldn’t. Her mind was too full, the leather seat covering too unfamiliar beneath her. Instead, she watched the man sleep, his head pillowed on a jacket that he had tucked between himself and the window. It was amazing that he was able to sleep with the heavy rocking of the train. She had never been one to sleep, even on the few excursions she had made by train with the imperial family. She was always keenly aware of every knot and rivet in the tracks, jostled awake by even the smallest of tremors.

Her companion, on the other hand, seemed quite capable of finding himself comfortable no matter how cramped the conditions. It could not have helped matters that he had fallen asleep with his leather satchel wedged between his right side and the window, the bulky item no doubt digging painfully into his side. He would awaken sore if he remained like that, she was sure.

With a sigh she scooted forward and with one hand, slowly inched the satchel out from under him, careful not to disturb him. With the other hand, she stuffed her own wool shawl in the space where the bag had been, feeling victorious and satisfied when the man immediately snuggled in closer to the soft bundle.

She sat back again in her seat, the bag resting heavy in her lap as she watched him settle back into a deeper sleep. The bag was heavier than it looked. It appeared well-loved too, with the likely once fine leather now covered in light scuff marks. She could tell where someone had attempted to clean it in spots, where the colour seemed slightly more rubbed and faded, but it was the large, metal insignia adorning one of the flaps. It was round, about the size of her palm, with three stars arranged in a vertical line down the middle. Though it might not have been as lavishly intricate as some of the designs she was used to seeing decorating the imperial officers, it was clearly a symbol that held power and it was clearly military. On the backside of the flap was a single name, engraved in gold letters of looping scrawl; JONES. Well, at least there were no surprises there.

It was strange to think of the man in front of her having any association with war. That was not to say that he did not have the physique for war - he did. He appeared tall and strong and, despite the borderline alcoholism, perfectly healthy. But his face wasn’t covered in half healed scars and his hair was longer than was suitable for uniform. There was a kindness and a tenderness about him that didn’t fit her vision of the bloodstained and battle-hardened soldier.

Of course, there was a way to find out more; the answer was sitting in her lap. All she had to do was open it. He was asleep, after all, and it might be the only chance that she would be given to learn more about her travelling companion.

She waved and clicked her fingers in the air between them to ensure that he was well and truly asleep. When there was nothing, she opened the bag and began her search.

The inside of the bag was neat - extraordinarily neat. Whoever Killian Jones was, he was clearly a man of discipline and orderliness, someone who took great care of his possessions. It fit, given the evidence of his military past. Everything in the bag seemed to have its own assigned place, right down to the small blue ink pen poking up from one of the inside pockets.

Most of the items in the bag were fairly standard, she discovered. A book about navigation, a bottle of pain medicine, some papers with the date and times of cargo shipments, a change of clothes, a toothbrush, a small jar of toothpaste and a comb. She was only relieved that Killian hadn’t been awake to witness her blush furiously at her delicate handling of his undergarments. The shipment ledgers did not reveal anything of interest either, though she did note that most of the payments seemed to be made in ports in Petrograd and London. She had to scoot closer to the lamp to read the mix of bold printed letters and delicate scrawl. Many of the cargo shipments from the Admiralty Shipyard bore Killian’s signature, and those that remained unsigned had small notes scribed in the margins.

Emma was by no means an expert in espionage, but from the looks of it, everything at least appeared to be in order.

“I never took you for a thief.”

Emma jumped so high in her seat that she was lucky not to have dislocated something. Her head snapped up to find piercing blue eyes staring at her from the bench across from her. He hadn’t moved from his spot, his head still tucked into his makeshift pillow, but there was no sign of sleep in his features now. He had clearly been watching her for a while now. Emma’s heart nearly stopped in her chest.

“I am not a thief,” she breathed out, the nerves in her voice evident.

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the satchel still grasped in her hands.

She couldn’t think of a single word to bring to her defence. “I was just…”

“Just trying to see what kind of man I really am?” His voice was harsher now, his anger no doubt building from the look of guilt on her face. “Try something new, love. It is called ‘trust’.”

“I am sorry.”

“That you were caught red handed? I am certain you are.”

“For betraying your trust,” she continued, ignoring his quip. “You took a chance by allowing me to share your cabin and I abused it. It will not happen again. I am so very sorry.”

Emma rushed to replace everything in the satchel as it was before, but it was made more difficult by the slight shaking of her hands. She did blush as she replaced the clothes, and though she racked her brain to remember the exact location that each item had been in when she had removed them, she was sure that at least some were inevitably going to be misplaced. It only helped fuel her shame as she wondered how much angrier he would be at the disorganization.

When everything was at least back in the bag, she fastened the flaps shut and handed the bag back to its owner. Killian accepted it with a harsh tug, shoving the bag into the seat next to him. Instead of tucking the bag away, he opened it again, his eyes flickering to hers as he checked and rechecked the contents. He had moved out of the range of the light, and Emma could no longer make out the flurry of emotions on his face. Emma sat back, avoiding his gaze as she chewed on her bottom lip. It was a moment later that she heard Killian let out a resigned huff and toss the bag back on the seat.

He had turned back towards the light and Emma quickly looked up to examine his face. Although he seemed relieved to find his possessions relatively untouched, there were still obvious traces of annoyance in his face.

It made her flinch. She had made a terrible mistake. She had spied on him and learned only that he seemed to be as truthful and honest as he appeared. How many times had she blasted him for making their arrangement personal? Chastised him for asking for answers to questions that he had no business knowing? She was a hypocrite, plain and simple. He would make her leave now, she was sure of it. Why would he not? She had betrayed the abundance of trust he had shown her by inviting her into his cabin, sharing his meals, and offering her pay for a job that she wasn’t entirely convinced he needed done. Leave it to her to treat an act of kindness with suspicion and distrust. She deserved to be kicked out, left to spend the rest of the journey in her third class carriage with the rest of the thieves and vagabonds.

Emma sat, eyes shut tight as she waited, resigned, for the words to come. She only hoped that he would be kind and that he would not ask her to pay for her half of the meal they had enjoyed together. She would not fault him if he did, but she wasn't sure she would be afford it. Even a quarter of the meal would have set her finances back a ways, and she hadn't meant to be so careless with her money so early on. She was barely hours away from home and she was already struggling to pay her debts.

But when the words of eviction never came, she opened her eyes. Killian had shifted back into his previous pose, his coat once again tucked against the window to keep the cold at bay, but he wasn’t asleep. He was reading, the novel that she had found in his bag now clutched in one hand, his eyes focus determinedly on the words in front of him. She was sure that he was having trouble making out the words in such dim light, but he made no move to illuminate the flame further and she did not mention it. Other than the slight tightness in his brow, there was no trace in his posture that an argument had just taken place.

Even though his gaze was pointedly elsewhere, Emma squirmed in her seat. What was she meant to do now? The prospect of sitting in awkward silence for the next dozen hours was infinitely worse than sitting alone, she thought. She needed to say something. She needed to fix things. So she asked the first question that came to her mind.

“You are not going to sleep?”

“Are you hoping to catch me unawares again?” He snapped back without looking up, though his tone held much less fire than it had before.

“That was not what I meant.”

This time he did look up, disappointment and resignation clear in the blue pools of his eyes.

“Perhaps instead of worrying about my own sleeping habits, you should return your attention to your own,” he advised, with a sigh. “You cannot expect to accompany me the entire journey to Moscow without resting.”

“So I can - er - that is to say that you are not going to…” She was stuttering, she knew that, but she couldn't help her surprise. Was he truly letting her stay?

He looked at her curiously, his head tilting to the side and he took in her confusion. “Did you think I was going to ask you to leave?”

She blushed at how easily he had read her. “I was not sure,” she admitted. Her confession seemed to startle him, as though the thought that he would dismiss her so easily was somehow offensive to him. Given what she had learned about his character, perhaps it was. Emma watched his eyes flicker between her own as he looked at her anew. She wasn't sure what he was looking for exactly, but when he spoke again a moment later - his voice soft - she thought he hadn't found it.

“Perhaps, then, we are in more trouble than I had realized.”

There was a pregnant pause where no one spoke, the weight of the confessed distrust and wariness hanging between them. It was a far cry from the laughter and joking that had taken place only a few hours before, and Emma hated that she had been the one to sully that. He was still staring at her intently, but now there were hints of sorrow mixed in with the lingering anger in his eyes. She had disappointed him, and in more ways than just her snooping, it seemed. The knowledge that she had given him a reason to distrust her - that she had brought him any discomfort at all, really - sat heavy in her stomach. Granny would have been disappointed in her.

Her parents would have been disappointed in her.

Killian turned his attention away from her then and began reading his book. Emma had been a maid long enough to recognize a clear dismissal when presented with one. In any other circumstances she would have flushed at his rudeness, but given that she was largely at fault for his sour mood to begin with, she said nothing.

This was not how she had envisioned the trip going. It should have been a cut and dry job for her, something that provided her with the cash that she needed. Nothing more. But now she had complicated things by being nosy - the one thing that she had argued against from the beginning - and she only hoped that with the morning would come forgiveness. If not, she would need to prepare herself for hours of silence and solitude.

But there was no use in worrying over that now. She had made her bed, and it was time to lie in it, even if she knew that Killian’s advice to rest in the literal sense was likely futile. Still, she would try, even if just to appease him. He did not appear to be trying to sleep again any time soon, and perhaps if she pretended long enough he would get his wish and she would doze off for a while. So Emma sat back in her seat, tucking her legs up underneath her as she settled into a position that mirrored Killian's. She brought up her coat around her neck and tucked her head into the large folds, shielding her face from the man across from her lest he find out that she had also been feigning sleep. Emma wasn’t sure - or willing to find out - what his reaction to that would be. Peeking through her eyelashes, she looked out the window and prepared for the long night ahead.

There was nothing to see given the late hour, but every so often she could swear she saw flickers of lights from towns in the distance. It was impossible, of course, given the restrictions on fuel, but she felt the exhaustion of the day overtake her and her mind clung on to the thought that somewhere out there were houses where families with full, warm hearths lay cozied together in a large bed, blissfully uncaring of the storm that raged around them. She could almost see it in her mind’s eye. Perhaps the children were snuggled in between their parents, wool socks pulled up high to keep out any cold that the hot fire missed. She hoped the children had gone to bed with full bellies tonight, but even in her imagination she was doubtful. The husband would have kissed his wife goodnight hours ago, she thought, and though he would hear her complaints and teases about the prickliness of his beard, in the morning he would wake to a steaming cup of tea from the samovar.

Emma let the scene wash over her, her body relaxing as the face of the nameless wife flickered between a stranger’s and her own. Even the spark of envy in her gut towards the fictional lady was not enough to dull the visions, and soon her mind was deep into memories of her childhood and her secret dreams for her future. Every so often, the sound of a page being turned entered her awareness and, almost on cue, the scene would change again. The visions danced across the inside of her eyelids like scenes from a film, though they were vibrant in colour, sound and smell. Slowly, she felt the last of her tension give way and, for the first time ever, she let the rocking of a train lull her to a deep slumber.

Emma was already long asleep by the time the locomotive pulled in to the next station, the black puffs of smoke blending seamlessly into the night sky. Although the train would only be at rest for a few minutes, the dark figures that had been waiting on the platform for hours for its arrival were quick. They emerged out of the night like ghosts, nodding sharply at the train attendants as they boarded the sleeper train. The attendants only nodded back, stepping aside to allow one of the groups of the armed men to pass.

The first pair of boots clambered up the short steps at the front of the train to where the conductor was waiting, hat in hand.

“Good evening.” The conductor’s voice was firm, a clear attempt at establishing his authority of his visitors. It may have been regulation to allow the military men on board, but it was still his train and he wasn’t prepared to hand over control so easily. It a sentiment that was quickly brushed aside by the military officer before him.

“Your passenger and cargo lists, conductor.” When the conductor hesitated, gearing himself up to remind him just who it was that was in charge, he added, “Quickly now.”

After another moment of indecision, the conductor relented, shuffling over to gather the requested papers. When they were handed over, the officer turned away without another word and marched back out into the small hallway and down the steps to the platform where the rest of the unit remained. The papers were divided up between the awaiting men, who quickly scanned the pages, their eyes squinting against the dark and snow. The papers blew and shook in their hands with the wind, but not a single man said a word. The leader of the group waited as they read, the flicker of a lighter briefly illuminating his dark features as he lit a fresh cigarette.

Another moment passed as the soldiers finished their pages one by one. When the last man had signaled their readiness, the leader threw down his cigarette butt, crushing it into the snow using the heel of his boot.

“Let’s us begin.”

#Captain Swan #cs au fic #ouat fanfic #cs fanfic #IINYE #It Is Not Yet Evening #captain swan ff #cs ff #nextfewwords #captain swan fanfiction #ouat ff

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theladythecla · 5 years ago

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Rant: LN Whales Encouraging Spending Need to Quit Doing That

I’ve seen this attitude for a while now and decided now, at 1:32 AM, is the right time to rant about it. LN players who pay a monthly amount for diamonds or whatnot are fully in their rights to do so, but when they encourage others to spend money those players might not have, that’s where my problem lies. We know that all game developers use microtransactions to prey upon gamers’ sense of insecurity. Unsurprisingly, this nonsense has the impact of dragging gambling addicts back into the throes of their addictions. I don’t have the research on this, but the awesome Jim Sterling is always calling this crap out, and he’s right.

LN does the same thing other, predatory game developers do: make us fear missing out by making the suits seem exclusive (many times they are, if they’re collabs, and if they’re not exclusive, often we don’t know when/if we’ll get a given event back), make it seem like a particular pack is a good deal when it’s really not, baiting us in by telling us what an item is worth in the premium currency (diamonds). Now, I’ve spent some money on the game (a very large amount once that was close to $200, and yes, it’s money I didn’t have and money I fully regret spending even though I love the suits I got with it). I still think that regret is a good thing as it encouraged me to better budget and it’s a good wake-up call because this is a game, not a tailor-made commission from an artist I adore or a craftswoman on Etsy. In other words, I spent money on things that are not tangible. They are things I can keep as wallpapers and avatars long after the game is done, but I could also have just googled them for that purpose later on. The joy of those images is temporary and the utility of them is absolutely tied to the game (competitions and rankings in the arena).

If you can spend, life’s great and the sky is the limit for you on events. The rest of us aren’t that fortunate. My plea is simple: quit encouraging people to spend. The game does enough of that. To get an automatic completion button (”done 10″/”done 3″) on Maiden and Princess stages, you have to at least spend to a V4 status, which is around 260 diamonds, and as of this writing, that is $5.00. Most people would wonder what the big deal is about $5.00. If you’re making $12 an hour at two jobs, $5.00 is often a meal, and LN wants you to spend that money on fictional gems so you can buy nonexistent outfits for your avatar on a mobile game. Moreover, that’s not all they want you to spend. LN’s latest update put a recharge thing up at the top of your daily sign-in screen so that people without a V status are sure to be reminded that they should be spending by misclicking that “recharge now” button on the way through their dailies.

“But the poor corporation must earn money.”

The poor corporation makes more than enough money from the debutantes with cash to burn. I seriously can’t stress this enough: you, the individual and occasional $5.00 recharger is a drop in their vast bucket of money. They just want to milk more from you (i.e., they want you to be a whale). Their company will not go bankrupt from you not spending.

“It’s your choice.”

I hate this logic. I understand it, of course, as this is how the world works, but it’s… patently untrue when in this situation. You have to pay to complete sets, and often you never have enough of a free currency during a free event for a suit (the recent brushwork suit comes to mind with its ridiculously difficult selections between outfits and themes). Moreover, LN knows this and they know how people work (ad execs are paid to figure out how to milk money from us to keep us enthralled). They are counting on you not wanting to leave a suit unfinished until or if it ever returns for crafting. They are relying on your impatience in crafting the last item in that lifetime suit or whatever else you have in your queue. And yes, that’s why they always have those “recharge now” or “user boutique” popups in the lull between events. They want your money and then some more.

“What about shareholders?”

Corporate boards must be more realistic about returns. Seriously, that’s the problem with this whole model: shareholders are given unrealistic expectations, which leads to them demanding more as money rolls in, and the corporation then has to try wringing pennies from the rest of us consumers.

“Would you rather the game be a PAID game?”

Yes? It’s a product, not a service. Or, it should be a product and not a service for many reasons. It should be a product because shit like this just shows how badly things go when a game tries to be a service (it’s not like legal advice or a doctor’s appointment, after all… it’s a game and other games, such as tabletops, are permanently yours once you buy them). The way we used to do things was you bought a license for the game and it was yours through the accompanying hard disk. I think mobile games should follow this model… but that would require having a finished product as opposed to something barebones they are constantly updating (and charging us all money for in the process, essentially making this a paid game anyhow but worse as it’s potentially a subscription).

“Haven’t you spent money?”

Yes, and the $5.00 I spent recently to get Royce and Neva’s suit in the present event was well spent. However, even if I hadn’t gotten that suit, I would’ve been able to quit because I don’t have a gambling addiction. (I reigned myself in after that shockingly large purchase a year or so back... and that was just about $100-$200, not the thousands some people spend on this game.) An addiction means that the choice is literally not yours to make as addiction is a disease that you should be treated for, rather than encouraged in. That’s my problem here: people with money are basically encouraging anyone to spend money on this game (including the addicts and people who don’t have that money to spend). It’s such a selfish, naïve worldview that we really need to staunch.

“Should whales be ashamed?”

Yeah. No one should spend a $100 on this game or $200 or, as I know is the case, far more than that. It’s a mobile dress-up game. Let that sink in. It doesn’t mean I’m going to shame you personally if you are a whale, but objectively, someone who spends loads of money on this game should be personally ashamed. I was ashamed and I haven’t spent half what some people have on this game.

“Isn’t it just like the opera or Broadway?”

Are you comparing a mobile game to a work of musical theater? A show is an experience. A bunch of pixels in a game is a bunch of pixels in a game that you will, likely, store and forget about until/if this game goes offline.

“But... quarantine means I’m bored.”

I am too, but I’m also broke and scared shitless for my future. Don’t make your financial situation worse by burning money on this. I’d say, take this time to indulge in a hobby you already had (and/or one less expensive than LN… knitting or macramé or hand-sewing a quilt out of old t-shirts) or pick up a language on Duolingo (Spanish, French, German, anything but Klingon and High Valyrian, unless you’re after nerd cred and even then I’m going to side-eye you). Now’s a good time to network too, since people are actually answering emails. Phone your buddies… text them… Zoom/Skype them. Don’t just spend money because you’re bored. That is the worst decision to make now.

“Any tips?”

Delete your card/Paypal from Google or Apple. Laugh at people who are spending $100 on that ridiculous recharge (our only recharge suit, I might add)… just not on the Reddit since you can’t shame people for making bad decisions there (or for relentlessly bragging about their purchases [it’s not an investment, that’s something different, JFC]). Never feel bad for not being able to spend or being unwilling to spend or both. It is what it is, and frankly, you should be proud that you have a low/no V-level.

I am sorry if this is incoherent. It’s 1:30 AM. If you disagree and have cash to burn, good for you, go ham. This post isn’t for you; it’s for the rest of us who are normal people. My main message to people with money to burn is to quit encouraging others to spend money on this game as that’s not healthy and often is more harmful than helpful.

#microtransactions and mobile games #LN rants and diamonds and universe tide

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ethelbertpaul444-blog · 6 years ago

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Spotify Saved Music. Can It Save Itself?

Daniel Ek, Spotify Technology SA‘s co-founder and ceo, was in a celebratory humor on Feb. 28, the day his streaming music company filed to go public on the New york stock exchange. And like any modern CEO with faith in engineering to rearrange “the worlds”, he celebrated by warning anyone who stands in his course. Spotify, he wrote to investors, will make enter names and publishers obsolete by connecting creators instantly to devotees.” The age-old mannequin favored certain gatekeepers ,” he responded, but today” craftsmen can develop and liberate their own music .” Ek, 35, started Spotify in 2006 because he thought he could stamp out the robbery that had desolated the music business. He was right. Total world-wide music auctions have grown three straight times after a 15 -year slump. More than 70 million people now pay Spotify an average of about$ 5 a few months to access 35 million chants, plus playlists and podcasts. In private events, investors have appreciated the company at more than $20 billion, a market covered countless reporters expect Spotify to apologize when it directories its shares on April 3. There’s only one small-time mistake in the business simulation: Spotify doesn’t make any coin. The service has reported higher losses in three consecutive years despite quadrupling sales. It’s hard to be profitable when music-rights holders accumulate more than 75 C/ on every dollar that comes in. Daniel Ek, chief executive officer and co-founder of Spotify . div> Photographer: Akio Kon/ Bloomberg Investors weighing whether to bet on Spotify need only look at the chorus of predecessors that tried and failed to meet the same challenges. Pandora Media Inc . hasn’t been rewarding in six years old as a public corporation. Deezer SA, a European assistance once be considered to be a Spotify rival, announced off an initial public offering in 2015. If you don’t remember Grooveshark, MOG, Songza, or Rdio, it’s because they shut down or were bought by big fellowships. Meanwhile, the tech whales don’t mind losing money on music if it helps sell other nonsense: Apple Inc . doesn’t care what it liquidates the industry as long as Apple Music moves iPhones. Ek has to improve blatant boundaries for Spotify to survive on its own. With the its further consideration of public business a couple of weeks away, he’s been visiting ministerials at the three main music companies–Sony Music Entertainment, Universal Music Group, and Warner Music Group–to propose more Spotify-friendly organisations, tell execs at those companies, who declined to be identified. But Ek may need to crank it up to 11. Matt Pincus, the founding fathers of Songs Music Publishing, responds Spotify has to be” at such a scale that they are unable jostle it down the music industry’s throat .” The Stockholm-based company’s tone to investors hinges on that message: “scale.” More than one billion people worldwides have their charge card information on their smartphones, and countless are just waking up to the appeal of paid music business. Spotify is the dominant participate, with as numerous subscribers as all its adversaries combined.” We’re just in the second largest inning of this play ,” Ek added at an investor lecture on March 15.” Spotify is a lot large than you thought, and the possibilities of onward is much, much greater than you realise .” To convince Wall Street, Ek hired Barry McCarthy, the finance whiz who taught investors to adore another due work. McCarthy was chief financial officer of Netflix Inc . when it became public in 2002. He’s also the primary exponent for Spotify’s unorthodox road to public groceries. The music service is eschewing a conventional IPO, in which business question stock to raise money, and instead is giving existing investors sell their shares instantly to the public. The unexpected approach has led to much dispute of determining whether others will follow. The practice McCarthy encounters it, Netflix was a fledgling DVD-by-mail business where reference is ran public, and it needed an IPO to raise enough uppercase to fight the Establishment( Blockbuster, R.I.P .). Spotify is an international brand and already produces enough currency to keep the light-coloreds on. If Pandora is the worst-case example for Spotify, Netflix is the best instance and the analogy McCarthy is eagerly realise. Investors have overcome very concerned about Netflix’s spending–it budgeted at the least$ 8 billion for programming in 2018 — because more than 100 million people around the world wage about$ 9 a month to be part of the binge-watching change. The corporation is valued at more than $120 billion. Like Netflix, Spotify has created an on-demand alternative macrocosm. It knows what you listen to, when, and for how long. It handles that data to churn out usage concoctions such as Discover Weekly, a collect of chorus from cliques you haven’t heard and deeper gashes from those “youve had”. Spotify’s premade playlists account for about 30 percent of listening on the services offered, which devotes them the power to obligate vocations. Irish singer-songwriter Dermot Kennedy was frisking wall street of Dublin until he got on more than 500,000 personalized Discover Weekly playlists. Now he tours the world. Yet unlike Netflix, which produces original TV presents and movies, Spotify holds it doesn’t want to stir music. It is making an effort to emulate another tech monstrou, Facebook Inc ., and be used as a platform for content others form. McCarthy was “ve brought” because he’s one of the only CFOs to successfully navigate a subscription service to the market. He left Netflix before it started meeting original series. Record names, of course, would revolt if Spotify vied for flair. As it is, the company’s last round of negotiations with service industries dragged on for two years, the same section as the compromise considers eventually indicated, which expire in 2019. Spotify made descriptions more controller over what music was offered free to the 90 million useds who don’t sign up for the pay work, and the labels agreed to take a smaller part of marketings. These periods have improved Spotify’s perimeters, but frequency pieces accomplish exclusively so much. So the company is looking for alternative ways to cash in. Creators use its data to project album liberations and its marketing to reach new love. In high-level visits with music ministerials, Ek has moved the idea of accusing for the purposes of our work or asking for a share of the dollars the purposes of the act utter that Spotify can relate instantly to its promotions. This might be a hard sell. Dozens of craftsmen, including Taylor Swift and Radiohead’s Thom Yorke, have blamed the service for devaluing music–though Swift stimulated her recent book,, accessible. Representatives for Tom Petty and Neil Young are suing the company for not them. Spotify recognise not reimbursing some artists and is working to settle excellent squabbles ahead of its public debut. Spotify has also dabbled in new enterprises, such as podcasts and videos, that descriptions don’t get a slouse of. And it helps masters to mansion with publishers, including Kobalt Music Group Ltd ., which rally a smaller share of royalties.” Spotify is a good happen for the music industry ,” remarks Willard Ahdritz, CEO of Kobalt, which represents acts such as Beck and De La Soul.” I’m embarrassed by how cruelly the music industry has given Spotify .” In 2012 the Red Hot Chili Peppers ratified an exclusive dispensation deal with the company. It’s since stopped following such arrangements and has focused instead on originating implements and works that enable musicians to bypass labels altogether. In Spotify’s thinking, the costs of production is so low-pitched that artists don’t need evidence names, whose sell and deployment subscribe isn’t as important in today’s decentralized pattern as it used to be. The bigger Spotify gets, the more critical it becomes to the music industry’s bottom line–and the more leveraging it has. It’s so important to artists that simply a duet, including Jay-Z, still avoid Spotify( they don’t like that it has a free tier ). Concern about the service’s growing power is propagandizing the industry into alignments with the tech beings that the labels commonly suspect because they miss a battle royal: The more antagonists, the less influence any one of them has. Ek is rosy.” The music industry today is quite inefficient when it comes to breaking craftsmen, when it comes to promoting and marketing masters ,” he said at the investor rendition.” There is a tremendous opening in connecting these 3 million artists we have today with these 160 million-plus customers that we have .” The investigate now is whether investors think he can do that and how much revenue he was able to wring out each time he does. BOTTOM LINE – Spotify hears itself as the next Netflix, but unless it notes a acces to improve perimeters, it could wind up as the next Pandora. Read more: http :// www.bloomberg.com/ report/ articles/ 2018 -0 3-23/ spotify-saved-music-can-it-save-itself http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/06/03/spotify-saved-music-can-it-save-itself/

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junker-town · 7 years ago

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Tottenham Hotspur

Projected starting XI

Hugo Lloris; Jan Vertonghen, Toby Alderweireld, Eric Dier; Danny Rose, Victor Wanyama, Mousa Dembele, Kieran Trippier; Dele Alli, Christian Eriksen; Harry Kane

How do you feel about your club's summer transfer business?

What business? At the time of this writing, Spurs have brought in a total of zero additions to the squad, and their only transfers have been outgoing. The most high profile has been the departure of England right back Kyle Walker to Manchester City for a staggering £50 million, which is a great deal of money, but also a move that weakens Spurs' back line. The football punditry on Tottenham's window has ranged from aghast indignation that Spurs don't seem to be even trying to improve their squad, to proclamations that Pochettino is playing multidimensional chess by improving the squad through keeping (nearly) all of his best players and promoting from Spurs' impressive academy.

That last point is important, though: with the exception of Walker, Spurs have managed to keep ahold of all of its top stars in this offseason, and the club just beat back Manchester United who tried to poach Eric Dier. That's big. Keeping the band together is probably the single most important thing they can do to keep their positive momentum.

Nobody really expects Spurs to make zero signings in the transfer window, but at the time of this writing the only signing that looks likely is Ross Barkley from Everton, whom Pochettino seems to think could be Mousa Dembele's replacement in Spurs' midfield. A lot of Spurs fans aren't happy about this, especially considering Everton have been holding out for a ludicrous £50m fee, and because Ross Barkley is... well, Ross Barkley. He's just OK.

In short, Spurs fans are bracing themselves for another transfer window that could go all the way to deadline day, and are fearful of another Moussa Sissoko-esque panic buy. That doesn't feel too great, but thankfully Spurs are starting with a very high baseline.

Are you happy with ownership? Elated? Cautiously optimistic? Furious?

It's safe to say that Tottenham chairman Daniel Levy divides opinion. Spurs have steadily improved under his stewardship, progressing from a club that was well outside of contention for Champions League places in the 1990s to a club that has made a title run for two straight years. In addition, Spurs are building the newest, biggest, and best club stadium in England, which will open in fall 2018. That new stadium is expected to greatly increase the club's revenue in upcoming years, which will hopefully put the club on more equal footing with the biggest clubs in the league, and allow it to offer better wages and transfer fees to its players. This is all due to Levy's leadership, and he should be commended. The club is focused around a core of young, inexpensive, and extremely talented players, and there's a great deal of optimism about the Tottenham's overall direction.

But it's transfer windows like this one that raise the ire of supporters and further Levy's other reputation for being a tough negotiating, penny-pinching miser who doesn't listen to supporters and who won't just open up the pocketbooks and sign good players.

The truth is somewhere in the middle. Levy has been undeniably fantastic for Tottenham, but for some no matter how high Spurs go he'll always be the person who simultaneously ended "the way the club used to be" and is holding back the club from reaching it's true potential.

What's the highest reasonable goal your team has and what needs to go right to get there?

After two top-three finishes, and especially after finishing second last season, you'd forgive many fans for expecting Spurs to push for their first league title since 1961. But as always, Spurs' status as financial minnows compared to the whales of the Manchester clubs, Chelsea, Arsenal, and Liverpool make that prospect difficult. Spurs may retain the overall best starting XI of last year's Premier League, but they haven't done a thing to improve it. It's a long season, and winning the league is hard.

Still, that's one heck of a starting XI. With players like Harry Kane, Christian Eriksen, Son Heung-Min, and Dele Alli, it would be extremely reasonable to expect Spurs to finish in the top four and play Champions League football again in 2018-19. Anything above that would be gravy.

What are you scared of that might derail your season?

Injuries. Tottenham's first choice team is amazing, they have the best back four in the league returning (minus Walker), and they should be able to hang with any team in the league. But if one or more of their best players go down with injuries, there isn't an equal amount of talent waiting in the wings. If two-time golden boot winner Kane misses significant time this year like he did last year, Spurs will be relying on players like Vincent Janssen, Moussa Sissoko, Kevin Wimmer, and Georges-Kevin N'Koudou. Considering their output last season, that's concerning.

The other wildcard is Spurs' year at Wembley Stadium. White Hart Lane is now completely gone while they build their new ground, and Spurs will play all their home matches at England's national stadium, a place where they haven't had the best of luck in recent years. The hand-wringing about playing a season at Wembley may be overblown, but Spurs were undefeated in the last season at the Lane, and it's always tough to adapt to playing in a new place. A few clunkers at "home" next season could force Spurs off the rails.

Who will be your team's MVP this season, and why?

Harry Kane. He is Tottenham's talisman, their home grown superstar, and the best striker in the Premier League two years running. His scoring output is a huge part of Tottenham's success, and next season should prove no different. Plus, this is his chance to prove to the rest of the league that he's more than just a three season wonder.

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300iqprower · 3 years ago

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Seeing Kanou fight his bosses just to give us a free ssr ticket makes me wanna cry. What have we done to deserve such treatment from the heads of fgo. All we've done is support the game for the past 6+ years. We want it to get better but those assholes running the game and deciding what changes/qol updates get implemented have different ideas.

it's because people have so fervently supported the game that they're like this. That's the fucked up thing about capitalism, it doesn't run off the idea of "if something is successful it gets better" it runs off the exact opposite idea of "if something is successful you make it worse and cheap out on it as much as you can get away with". They see people who play the game in spite of all its bullshit and dont think "wow, they still play it? We should strive to be better and reward their support and loyalty." They think "Wow, they still play it? Let's see how we can wring even more money out of them!"

And while I definitely don't wanna compare Kanou to the absolute fucking vultures running the shitshow, FGO's general game design is inherently greedy to a point I'm not exactly willing to assume he's innocent either. I still have buried in my drafts a mile long rant about how this game is fundamentally designed so the only people who can comfortably play it are day 1 players and whales. The lynchpin of that is how there's tons of things that financially still make no sense like the lack of reruns. But then again, unless we somehow get to see the design process of the thing, there's no way of actually knowing which decisions are up to Kanou and the developers, which to Nasu and the writers, and which are up to the vultures in charge.

#never thought i'd get an ask #fgo #dont play gachas kids #despite my use of the word developers im aware that the actual developers have no real say #we already have that issue in 'real' game development #im sure its leagues worse in development for a gacha #I dont actually hold much against Kanou and things like this show he is on some level trying #I think he's just....not that great at game design #as opposed to the genuine hate I have for Nasu bc I believe he has no ethical standard whatsoever AND has makes tons of bad decisions #thats not even to say kanou is a bad designer but its a gacha you cant afford the amount of misteps a 'real' game might get away with

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ethelbertpaul444-blog · 6 years ago

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Spotify Saved Music. Can It Save Itself?

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