#let us all forget the amazon abomination

[writinginsunlitcorners]

January Third

Happy Tolkien Day all you Tolkien fans! 🥂 “To the Professor!”  🍻

“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.” — The Fellowship of the Ring

[thehumanobservation]

Seems like Humans are the problem

T.S. Eliot loves to talk about huminites alienation.

Let us be honest with ourselves; we have all felt that moment where we just feel like we are the only ones in this universe.

However, T.S. Eliot loves the concept of alienation and the sense of being alone that, when reading through his selected poem of the anthology, I could not help but think and feel like being alone. J. Alfred Prufrock, A Games of Chess and Burnt Norton all highlight a sense of isolation in a world that is grandeur and alive.

Reading Eliot's poems during 2020 is haunting as the recent global pandemic event has put all of us under lockdown. We suddenly felt alienated because we have all lost our lives basic need, which is human contact, only to replace it with technology.

The theme of alienation is very dominant in The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, where the speaker J. Alfred Prufrock highlights society's alienating people, whether that be due to differences, education and appearance; society will permanently alienate someone for their differences. It then leads the person to question themselves, just like how Prufrock questions his ability to talk to this woman he feels passionate about but yet repeats himself, "Do I dare? and Do I dare?".

The Love Song of Alfred Prufrock eerily reflects in the society we all live in, especially in a digital world where now days having a brand to your name is a verification of who you are. Although the poem's era is in the 1920s, the concept of societal alienation is fundamental as representing who you are determines everything from social status, wealth, and how you are seen in society. However, as we live in a digital age, that has changed everything because of social media and the easy projection of brands and virtual connection. It put us in a position to lead lifestyles that could be fabricated and very isolated.

Yes, I know we all keep hearing how social media is bad for us and how it has damaged our society but let us not forget they are hard facts and evidence out there if why such point even exists. Eliot's point, as I said, is very haunting because, in his view, modernism shows a “disintegration of life and mental stability” and as we are keeping hearing, that is how social media is damaging our society.

With T.S. Eliot other poems, A Game of Chess and Burton Norton, similar themes are discussed about alienation and modernism problems.

A Game of Chess explores humanity's disconnection by having a dark undertone of how we live in a modern world. First of all, this poem's setting is ambiguous, but it is lavish as “the chair she sat in, like a burnished thorn.” So, is the woman in this poem a queen? We will never know because does the woman know herself if she is the queen. The line “withered stumps of time” shows how humans are disconnected. We use a medieval concept of kings and queens and apply it to our everyday lives where everyone wants to be treated like they part of the royal society, which alienates us from reality.  

Similarly, Burnt Norton explores alienation themes by using phrases like “Internal darkness, deprivation and destruction of all properties” Eliot again show how the modern world is doomed. The difference with this poem is the use of past, present and future all coexist and how humans have repeated the sins of the past, bringing it to the present and will continue it to the future (“on its metalled ways of time past and time future”). Relate this to A Game of Chess, and you can see why the use of iambic pentameter starts to lose its rhythm because as time progresses, the structure changes, making it unstable.  

What does the future mean for humans and technology? Krapp’s Last Tape has one perspective

You must have read this title and must have thought, “hmm, what does the future mean for humans and technology?” Humans and technology have had a harmonious relationship throughout the ages where technology has benefitted our species is progressing throughout the world.

However, Krapp's Last tape would say otherwise. It depicts a decrepit old Krapp at his “den” with a “tape recorder, microphone and a number of cardboard boxes containing reels of recorded tapes.”  That does sound very bleak, but it is meant to sound like that because it shows the over-reliance on technology as we progress more into the future. Technology has been used for good like prosthesis, telecommunications, television, the internet, and other things. However, it does raise a question of how much of ourselves are we going to give to technology? Are we willing to let technology replace us? These sort of questions we have to ask ourselves as the future nears.

The tape recorder in Krapp’s Last Tape may seem like an ordinary device at first. Still, it symbolises a much deeper meaning as Beckett points out in the ending stage direction, “Krapp motionless before him. The tape runs on in silence”. The tape is personified; it symbolises a grandeur “being” of immortality, whereas Krapp is just a fragile old man running on his last leg until he is nothing but bones.

Every year there is a new release of technologies that changes everything. Apple, for example, changes the technological landscape with its latest iPhone, iPad and MacBook every year. Thus, it puts this pressure on everyone to buy the newest product because it is so cutting edge even though it is only a slight improvement from the previous model. As humans, we are like guinea pigs to experiment. Look at the other technologies we have, Amazon Alexa, to remind us of appointments, dates, or even just to have a chat.

Now the tape recorder that Krapp has is just a device that stores audio recordings; it may seem harmless and beneficial but look at it this way. Krapp has a collection of his audio recording that he needs to clinch to his memories. It is for him to relive the past, and that is the troubling thing because, as humans, we are wired and programmed to relive memories through a mental image. If we remove that via an audio recording and even pictures, we release our mind's valuable asset.

It is daunting that we live in an age where we are comfortable with having our data like shopping, searches or what we even ordered on Uber Eats sorted and shared across the digital world; it makes me wonder about our privacy and how much is it valued?  It does question that social media has made it easy for us to share our pictures and have them stored there forever for everyone to see and yet to be analysed beyond its initial reason.

Nevertheless, technology will forever shape our future for good or bad reasons, but our ambition will determine our morality and our existence in that future. What will that future look like when we rely on Artificial Intelligence to meet our human needs? If science fiction has told us anything is those good intentions can be lead us astray.

 Do we have a God complex? Or are we just morally driven to a path of ill ambition?

Have you just sat there and thought, “I wonder what it will be like to create a new being?”.  If you have not, then you are not as crazy as Victor Frankenstein. If you have, then you might be as mad as Frankenstein but not as quiet.

Mary Shelly classic Frankenstein is widely known throughout pop culture and the world to the point where every monster and science fiction tale will have an underlying message and recreation of a human creating a grotesque creature. Still, it is not hard to see why it has been recreated so many times.

Human morality is often debated a lot, especially within the scientific community, because how far are we willing to play God? What is God? Moreover, who is ready to stop us? These sorts of questions are constantly asked within our species as we continue to evolve.

“whose future lot it was in their hands to direct to happiness or misery.” What does this mean to you? To Victor, it is an idea that your parents essentially play God from the moment you are born. Like God, the concept of nurture, care, and help you direct to your future, whether happy or sad, is your parents who do it.

It may seem a little far-fetched, but there is a point to this as when we have children, we want the best for them, like how God does the best for us; however, most of us believe

God is sin-free; he can do no wrong as God is above all beings, so whom do we blame for all the trouble we suffer. We condemn the devil.

So, who are we to even think this? After all, we as species are relatively new, only being 250,000 years old,but the advances we have made are astronomical; from creating languages to art and making substantial scientific discoveries, we have evolved quicker than other species lived. Nevertheless, the one thing we have not been able to do is to create a sentient being.

Has that ever stopped us? No, it never has because our race is built on the fundamentals of finding a purpose within this universe. We always ask ourselves the question of are we alone in this universe? If not, then what other beings are out there and are they more advance than us?

What Frankenstein teaches us that we are scared to be alone, so to eradicate that loneliness, we fantasies and makeup beings that will perfect us. However, in some cases, perfection is also our monster, like Victor’s monster, which leads to neglection, alienation, and judgment.  

Let us be honest; humans do not have an outstanding record of celebrating differences. Our history book is full of events that show us how we despise differences, like slavery and the abomination against Black people, the Jewish Holocaust, Islamophobia. Moments we question humanity, and yet in all of these events, the superior majority is always against the minorities and in my view, that is a God complex.

The idea of humans creating a new life that is intelligent and sentient juxtaposes us. They could be a very high possibility that society will reject a new species that we have created because it is not human. If we cannot accept the differences within our race, how will we accept a new race? We will just reject it like the monster or, even worse, kill it, but even then, we are ideally and morally happy to do that and given our track record with animal extinction.

However, on the other hand, we live in a time where acceptance is becoming more and more viable, especially with everyone difference, so unlike rejecting the monster, we come and love it, but that does bring a problem of how accepting are we willing to be? We are human, after all, and we do not operate in a black and white world; our nature and intention will always put us in this grey area, and that is the area were we initially show our true morality and ambitions.

As technology advances and genetic engineering becomes a reality, we have to think about our intentions and our willingness to act like God when it comes to a new life. Are we ready to use gene therapy to eradicate diseases before birth, and if so, what impact will that have on the human race and its longevity? As Robert Sparrow points out, “Just because we have the capabilities to perform enhancements, it does not mean we need to perform it.”

Charles Dicken’s Tale of Two Cities is very much a reality

Charles Dickens is famously renowned for speaking out against a society catered towards the rich and leaves its poor in debt. After all, his famous books Oliver Twist and A Christmas Carol show the people's inequality during Victorian England, but those books were optimistic; they had a happy ending.

On the hand, a Tale of Two Cities does not have a happy undertone, and in my opinion, it does show the grim reality of how we have created a world that favours the few and neglects the people.

Look at the mills that have survived; mills symbolise a strong workforce, productivity, capitalism a well-established economy. They also represent class distinction, poor working condition, and fear. It clearly says in the book, “samples of people who had undergone a terrible grinding and regrinding in the mills”. Less fortunate people had to experience, and no matter if this was in England and France, the message was the same, humans are expendable, and the poorer you are, the less value you will have to your name. Sadly, that is true to this day, where wealth inequality just grows further.

Let me just throw some numbers out there for you. In England, at the end of the 2020 financial year, the wealth inequality grew to a point where the income of the top 20% grew six times more than the most deficient 20%, and the top 10% had an income stream that was 50% greater than the poorest 10%.

That is shocking, but what is more surprising is that this all happened during a global pandemic that resulted in many people losing their jobs. This is to be expected because of how our society has been structured, and figures like Dickens challenged this economic structure, so are we and will continue to do so.

Dickens novel also points out the force of the people as they make the majority of the nation is solid and to be frightened about as “urging one another, and themselves to madness, with the wildest cries and action.”

Events throughout 2020, like the Black Lives Matter to the Indian Farmer protest, is a perfect illustration of movements reforming and challenging society. Dickens' novel mirrors this that no matter where in time and what era, society will always be dysfunctional due to the few exploiting the rest.

[kurtty-drabbles]

Ocean au (Kidnapping final part)

N/A: Something short and straight to the point if we´re lucky.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @everykurt @muninandhugin

Once the words register in her brain- the synapse took less than a minute or even less- Kitty Pryde drops her goofiness and looks at Felicia with determination in her eyes, the same kind when Columbina does face missions where is kill or die. "Magneto took my sister" is a question and at the same time is not.

Felicia can say to anyone´s face her past never involved blood, per se, she stole things or money, but, Columbina has her own story and Felicia is never one to ask for details.

"Where ...Magneto lives?" Columbina has no witty or jokes in her tone only an icy tone who could match Kokoro in her worst days. Magneto is famous for two things 1) being extremely powerful meta-human 2) never leave a prisoner alive for longer.

"I´ve no idea...no one wants to get closer to that lunatic" Columbina´s stare is not too pleased with this response. "But Logan must know where is..." and Felicia has the speed dial while Kitty already is out of her door and her cat and dog aren´t present in this location.

They do what they must ...and let´s not depend on eldritch abominations so much!

___________________________________________________________________________________________

There´re many stories and speculations concerning every single meta-human in New Gotham. Kurt knows because of most of those stories are just Ryder being a troll.  "And this means Columbina and Kokoro are in love" Ryder read a response of his latest tweet and can only chuckle at this.

Kitty Pryde phased through the door without caring for an explanation and her eyes - usually warm and inviting, looks completely different now- and she speaks in a way that makes Ryder remember a few theories about Columbina, of all people, An assassin guild trained her and she rewards them by killing their enemies.

"Katzchen?" he asked rose from his sit as Kitty takes a deep breath trying to calm herself as it seems.

"Ryder, you know many secrets about the city and sure you know this one...where Magneto is?" Her tone is firm and it gives no argument in her command. Kurt can´t deny how turning on this is, but, he´s sane enough and controlled enough to not ignore such question and her implications.

His eyes are narrow and the man only speaks. "Magneto lives in one place in New Gotham and this is not information any news will ever hear for obvious reasons...he lives..."

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dark Claw wonders when his life becomes like this. Nightcreeper is speaking with a serious Columbina-for once being a tad bit sane once knowing about the situation- Felicia looks afraid and Sparrow for once is sharing the same sentiment.

Magneto is on his list, Dark Claw ponders silently, but can Dark Claw really defeat him? Even can back up?

"Frau, we´ll save your sister. I promised!" Nightcreeper speaks in a soft tone surprising only Sparrow who never saw him in such fashion, not that he was ever malicious, but, he was never this kind either.

"You´re ..." she trails off looking at his golden eyes for a moment. "thank you, why Magneto took my sister?"

Dark Claw and Nightcreeper together a replied as if this is a presentation and Kitty will grade them. "Magneto believes your sister is his long lost daughter and wants to make her the heir of his empire" and despite the situation, Felicia and Sparrow can chuckle at this little interaction.

"What the hell?"

"Jinx" Nightcreeper replied giggling madly and Dark Claw groans at that.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Lorna is out of her blindfold and watches the scene -completely incredulous and even speaks the name "Jupiter" and "Cosmo" in a melodious whisper to see if it is a joke. It isn´t- as Magneto is facing Loki and Enchantress. Being the Oracle meaning you have access to information and information is a type of power too.

Ok, his magic is cut 90% once out of Norway so...wait, this applies to Enchantress too?

Yep, it applies to her too. Ok, I must leave before they notice I´m here.

She slowly leaves as Magneto is spurring some nonsense that Lorna has no interest in hearing whatever this old man is saying, however, when Magneto tossed the already defeated Loki and Enchantress to the side it gives his undivided attention to Lorna.

Fuck!

"Lorna! my daughter, you´re saved now!" Magneto states and Lorna only frowns at this.

"Not your daughter"

"I´m your father! Our powers are proof of our connection" and Lorna´s eyes twitch at this and she speaks the name "Cosmo" and "Jupiter" one last time hoping this is a joke. It isn´t.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

The large commercial building was abandoned as the company moved to another building or something like that, Nightcreeper theorizes the firm was a ghost one and they change location to look less obvious, whatever the case may be...this is where Magneto is hiding.

"We must be careful, Magneto must ..." whatever "must" was in Sparrow´s tongue dies as she sees part of the building being used as a weapon and Magneto and Polaris are fighting.

"Never mind!" Columbina blinks at the scene. "Sometimes, I forget she can do that!" is her explanation and she phases through the car and goes to see the fighting of two meta-humans.

Sparrow and Felicia blink at this confession. "She forgets Polaris can weld metal?"

Nightcreeper laughs amused and Dark Claw is mentally writing this in his mind.

Magneto is not happy for having to fight his lost daughter nor to have to face another meta-human. "Lorna is my daughter!"

Columbina makes a gross-out face. "EWW, you´re talking about our mother. Watch your mouth!" Magneto lost his concentration to respond to Columbina the truth of his parentage in regards to Lorna and Lorna used this time to knock him off.

"My father is Carmen Pryde. He has green hair like mine and has the same powers ...and I meet my grandfather and grandmother" she said lifting Magneto by the collar and looking less than impressed. "and you´re no way near my genealogical tree"

_________________________________________________________________________________________

How the JLX see Lorna defeating a man who claims to be her father? Well, the man in question is Magneto and this is more concerning than if he´s her father or not, Quicksilver and Wanda managed to put him in a place where he can´t use his powers. The Amazon stares at Dark Claw as they both agree in two things.

1) It would be foolish for Dark Claw to face them man alone.

2) And Magneto won´t be locked down for long.

Polaris is not in a great mood when one of the heroes ask if she´s the lost daughter of Magneto. "OH MY GOD!" the only person who didn´t make such a question was the Green Witch. Who only know found out about Loki´s plan and sees her girlfriend hovering around as if is not a big deal.

As she hovers in the air, wanting to ignore this day, only comments one thing with Columbina. "Were you worried about me?" and Columbina only speak "duh" and Polaris continues "good, now you know how I feel when you go to those crazy adventures"

Green witch and Polaris talk in private.

Nightcreeper and Columbina leave when the area starts to get too crowded.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

"So...you phased through my door thanks to an SCP?" Kurt Ryder asked not sure if he believes her or not. There´s 50% of chances this being a lie but at the same time...her cat and dog aren´t normal...

"Yes, I did and I´m sorry if I made you believe ghosts are after you, Kurt" she replied now joking.

Kurt will ignore the ghost's parts. "why you were so concerned and wanting to know where Magneto is?"

Kitty blinks. "I thought he kidnapped my sister, but, it was a big misunderstood, she kind look like Polaris and people bewildered and thought it was my sister"

Kurt Ryder stares at her eyes for a moment. "But is your sister alright?"

Kitty nods. "Yep, as I said, it was a big misunderstood. She´s fine...she´s with her girlfriend"

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Magneto is not allowed to get any visit, per se, however, that never stops anyone from having a chat with him. Polaris enters and the man gazes at her eyes waiting for her to do or say something.

She shows him a DNA test. "I want to give you this!" and leaves. The test says Polaris and Magneto aren´t related in any sense of the word. Now, Magneto is confused.

"Where is my daughter?" Magneto asked and no one replies.

[razieltwelve]

Modernity (RWBY AU Snippet)

Weiss was reading through some research papers when she felt a change in the air. It was a courtesy. Her visitor could very easily have arrived without being noticed. However, Weiss had made her preferences clear. She did not like being surprised while she was in her apartment.

“Working on your thesis?”

Weiss relaxed as Death leaned over her shoulder. “As a matter of fact, I am. I want to be sure that I’ve covered all of the relevant theory, so I’m reviewing some of the more obscure research papers in the area.”

“I remember him.” Death rested her chin on Weiss’s shoulder and pointed at the screen. “He always used to leave cookies out for me.”

“You’re telling me that one of the most brilliant but controversial economists in history used to leave cookies out for you?” Weiss raised one eyebrow. “Really?”

“Well, he did almost die when he was a child.” Death kissed Weiss on the cheek. “He fell through some ice when he was seven. I might have given him a warning before hauling him out of the lake and onto dry land. I suppose it was his way of saying thanks.”

“Interesting.” Weiss scrubbed at her face. She’d been staring at a computer screen for too long. “Do you think you could proofread my newest chapter later?”

“You’re asking me, Death, one of the mightiest of the gods to proofread your thesis?” 

Weiss grinned impishly. “Are you saying you can’t do it?”

Death grinned back. “Of course, I can. I’m Death. I can do just about anything. However, I will need a suitable reward.”

“I’ll give you a cookie.”

“Hmmm…” Death rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I’ll need something a little better than a cookie.”

“How about two?”

Death’s grin widened. “Oh, you can do much better.” She waggled her eyebrow suggestively. “You can clear your schedule for next weekend…”

Weiss’s cheeks flushed. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is insatiable.” Death chuckled. 

Weiss looked away. “You know, people on the InfoNet would never believe you’re like this.”

“Oh?” The InfoNet was one of humanity’s more amusing inventions, and Death and the other gods were some of the most popular topics. It was only natural since they were beings of nigh-limitless power. Of course, some gods were more popular than others. Death was, by virtue of her duties, one of the most frequently discussed gods on the InfoNet. Whether it was wondering how to avoid her or how to curry her favour, mortals the world over wanted to know more about her. “And what do they say about me?”

“As if you don’t know.”

Death did know. Her eyes saw everything, and that included the InfoNet. It did help that Zwei was a big fan of the InfoNet too, and he had developed a liking for funny pet videos. “Humour me.”

Weiss rolled her eyes. “Apparently, you’re this awesomely mysterious and remote deity, one far removed from the trials and tribulations of us lesser beings. You are silent and deadly, and you carry yourself with a sort of dark splendour, your every move crafted to strike terror into the hearts of mortals before you tear their souls out of their bodies.”

“Huh…” Death snickered. “That’s pretty much what people have been saying about me since, well, the beginning of Creation.” She struck a pose. “What do you think? Do I look suitably evil?”

“Stop being a dork.” Weiss got up and reached for a cushion to throw at Death. “I swear, people would be less scared of you if they could bring themselves to believe that you’re actually a cookie-addict with a love of strawberries, cheesy romance novels, and scythes.” She paused. “Actually, the scythe thing probably wouldn’t help.”

Death sighed. “You know, Weiss, you used to look at me with such awe.”

“I was ten when we first met,” Weiss pointed out. “And it was hard to look at you with awe when I caught you stealing cookies out of my pantry.”

“In fairness,” Death replied. “Those were good cookies.”

“You’re a god! Why would you even have to steal cookies?”

“Because I wanted to.” Death chuckled. “And because you’re cute when you’re mad.” She ducked out of the way as Weiss threw a cushion at her. “Like right now.” She winked. “Super cute.”

Weiss blushed. “I’m supposed to be working.”

“You’re too tired to work properly.” Death offered her hand. “Come on. We can go get something to eat. My treat.”

“Please, tell me that you brought normal money this time.” Weiss shuddered. “If you try to pay with gold again…”

“I brought normal money,” Death replied.

“And don’t forget to cloak your presence too.” Weiss scowled. “We almost got mobbed by… by those… those… groupies last time!”

Death snickered. It was well known that the gods could select Chosen. These Chosen received a host of benefits. As a result, whenever gods happened to walk the mortal world, it wasn’t long before they were accosted by mortals keen to become one of their Chosen. Ruby had precisely one Chosen: Weiss.

“Don’t worry,” Death said. “I’ll cloak my presence.” She vanished from Weiss’s sight. “See.”

“Not that much, you dork. Eating dinner with an invisible person would be weird.”

“Heh.” Death faded back into view, and there was something… less about her. Oh, she would definitely draw attention. Even when they disguised themselves, the gods were still remarkable, but she would no longer be identifiable as a god with just a glance. “What do you think?”

“That’s the sweater I got you last year,” Weiss murmured. “You kept it.”

“Well, yeah.” Death shrugged. “I mean… it’s not like I can get cold, but you did give it to me, and it’s not like I can wear my usual clothes when we go out.”

Weiss bit back a smile. Death’s normal clothing tended to made up of divine materials that were either the colour of freshly spilt blood or blacker than the dead of night. To say that she stood out would have been a tremendous understatement. Quite possibly the only god who would have stood out more was Nora who was literally cloaked in a lightning storm when she appeared in her divine form. “That’s better.” She paused. “And will Zwei be joining us?”

At the mention of his name, the divine beast appeared out of thin air. He nudged Weiss’s leg, and she dutifully picked him up. For a divine beast of virtually limitless power, he could be exceptionally lazy. Whenever he wasn’t napping on her lap, he usually liked to be carried around.

“You should walk more,” Death said, poking Zwei gently in the side. “Or you’re going to get fat.”

Zwei just grinned. 

“Yeah, yeah. I know you can’t actually get fat, but you know what I mean. Asking Weiss to carry you everywhere is just lazy.”

Zwei continued to grin.

“All right,” Weiss said. “Let’s go. We can eat at that restaurant on the corner.”

“The one with the pizza?” Death smiled. “I knew the owner’s grandfather. He was the one who founded the place. The only thing he asked me when I came to claim his soul was whether he could be reborn as a pizza maker again because he still had some ideas he wanted to try.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

This is set in a modern world much like our own, but with a few key differences. First and foremost, the gods are real, and they appear in the mortal world on a regular basis. As you can imagine, that makes them the world’s biggest celebrities. As for why the gods appear, it’s largely because someone has to deal with the things that slip through the barrier around the mortal world. Whether its demons, eldritch abominations, or just random monsters, the mortal world does need help from time to time.

As one of the mightiest of the gods, Death is also one of the most famous. Weiss is currently doing a PhD in economics, which Death occasionally helps her with since her many, many, many, many years of existence have given her expertise in a  range of different areas. As for Zwei, he’s still doing Zwei things although he does make regular appearances at his temples to confer blessing of good luck, happiness, and loyalty to dogs and their owners. After all, he is the Lord of Corgis, as well as one of several divine beasts that presides over dogs more generally.

You can find me on fanfiction.net, AO3, and Amazon.

[flappingbrickwings]

No more dirty looks

PARENTS. Bring it in.

Here we are again - so close to the end of the school year, we can taste it. Or smell it. Or wait, no, that’s not summer, that’s the decomposed string cheese I found under my driver’s seat this morning. Anyway - come on you guys, we can do this. Come on. (Did I already say that? I stopped paying attention to anything 17.3 days ago.) Yes, we’re all at the point where we basically don’t give a fuck if our kids learn a single goddam thing between now when that final bell rings and they come marching home carrying a year’s worth of “art” that we have to figure out how to discreetly dispose of - I mean cherish forever. Normally I tell Mila to avoid the cafeteria like the plague, except on the occasional Friday when, after another grueling week, I simple cannot manage to slap together a PBJ and they usually featured grilled cheese anyway (which seems much harder to fuck up than, say, sweet & sour chicken, or even tacos - I remember the tacos at my elementary school and let me assure you, they were no bueno), this week I checked the menu Sunday night and decided with zero guilt (none!) that she could eat pizza on Tuesday and grilled cheese Friday, which means I had exactly three lunches to make this week. So manageable! 

While we’re on the subject, does every school now give kids an open cafeteria account or is it just ours? Who the fuck thought that was a good idea? Let’s stock the shelves with Apple Jacks, chocolate milk, and cinnamon rolls and then let the under-ten-year-olds self regulate. Where’s the oversight? Every few months I get an email notice that Mila’s cafeteria balance is -$0.11 and I have to interrogate her about what she’s been eating on top of the delicious (well ok, palatable) and nutritious (inasmuch as I can manage given everything else I have to do - cook, clean, walk the dog, work, listen to Harry Potter, etc.) lunches I lovingly/sleepily pack for her each morning. Which always turns out to be something un-food-like that she argues is totally okay because one or more friends of her “always get it,” or pancakes and bacon for breakfast: the sequel, “because it just smells soooo good.” What happened to begging, borrowing, or stealing? She just charges it. To me. Are the credit card companies behind this, or is it the sugar lobbyists? Are they working together to destroy our future? 

While we’re still on the subject, one of the rotating items on our cafeteria menu is (I shit you not), “Mac & Cheese w/Goldfish Crackers.” I mean... Thank God our “president” is taking on Michelle Obama’s crazy idea to get healthy food into our schools. Imagine if they had to eat processed pasta and processed cheese without a side of processed crackers. What in the actual fuck?

Listen, I know you’ve had a busy week. So have I. We all have, and we’re not in the clear yet. But just remember, with each end of year concert/carnival/pot-luck/fundraiser/gift-contribution/dress-rehearsal/raffle/silent-auction/butterfly-release/whatever else they’re throwing at us, we are one step closer to that glorious day when we don’t have to have the tiniest members of our household fed, dressed, brushed, slathered, and buckled in by 7:26 am. When we can say, “You know what? Yeah. Yeah, you can have ten more minutes. Fuckit. Take 20.” When we throw all caution to the wind and trust that if we let them watch “Some Assembly Required” (last sidenote: when can we address the abominable children’s programming available on Netflix/Hulu/Amazon? which generation will put an end to canned laughter?) until midnight and we’ll still be able to make it to work on time. When we let them survive on popsicles and sunshine and completely forget how to separate the unidades from the decenas and maybe even how to write a sentence. Not to worry, it will all come back.  

Take a couple warm-up laps, summer. Get limber. We’re coming for you. 

[thekryptonianandthecitygirl]

Alfred

She gets in first. She doesn't look up at him, of course.

Instead, he watches as her trembling hands reach for him, her deep blue eyes filled with sadness, with distress, with pain – so much pain. She settles on the backseat, and immediately, the Bat and the Invincible Woman gently lay his body on her lap.

He didn't know him, not really, but the sight of him, the sight of them, the fallen hero and the shaterred heart he leaves behind, is enough to make his own ache.

Bruce closes the door, but once again, she doesn't care. She craddles his face, shaking fingers tenderly running on his now cold skin, so softly, with so much care. Tears roll down her darkened cheeks, but she doesn't wipe them away. She doesn't, and, her chest shaken by silent sobs, she simply leans down and kisses his forehead, one of her hands reaching for his unresponsive one.

Feeling like an intruder in such an intimate moment, Alfred pulls up the thick glass between the passenger and the driver's sides, and starts the car.

Right before it fully closes, he hears Lois Lane whisper her love to Superman one last time.

Diana

She goes to see her.

With what Bruce told her, they'll have to talk to her, eventually, but this time, it's not about that. She goes to see her, not as a soldier trying to prepare for war, not as a warrior trying to figure out what makes her the 'key' to the future of Metropolis – possibily of the world. None of that.

She goes to see her as a sister. As someone who's lived through what she's living, who suffered what she's suffering.

Diana can see she's surprised to find her at her door. Of course she is. She's mefiant at first, doesn't talk much. The Amazon guesses the woman is not one to open up easily, anyway. It comes as no surprise that she's not keen on doing so regarding that particular subject, either.

But eventually, she tells her.

She tells her about the bad dreams, which after weeks are still there, and about the times when she wakes up, and forgets he's not here anymore. She tells her about how when she reaches and his side of the bed is empty, she wants to die.

She tells her that for the first time in her life, she started thinking about having kids. Not because he wanted to, even though she knew he did, or because she felt obligated to or some bullshit like that – but just because she wanted that. She was the first to be surprised, but she really did - with him, she wanted a family, a lifetime and far more. "Talk about an ironic turn of events."

She tells her about the guilt. She should have figure it out faster, should have known about Lex's plans to create his abomination and stop it in time. She should have been there for him, she shoudn't have let him go and isolate himself. She should have stop him from going to his death, because he didn't deserve it. She hates herself.

Not just herself, though. Everything. Everyone.

She hates Luthor, his sidekicks, all the ones, from the politicians to the wealthy and the poor, who worshipped him. She hates the world, for making him think he was unfair and hated and a fraud. She hates them, Diana and Bruce, for surviving when he didn't. She hates him, for sacrificing himself like that and leaving her all alone.

(Then again, him, she can't never hate for long.)

She tells her about all those damn feelings and how they never, ever leave her alone and it's a constant hell, a living nightmare she can't wake up from. Diana wishes she could tell her it would eventually stop, that eventually, it would be alright. She doesn't.

Lois is far too clever to believe her lie, anyway.

Perry

It's been one year today.

It's hard to forget. He disappeared the same night Superman did, and the city – the whole damn world – is publically grieving, through social medias, in the streets, on the radio. The news won't shut up about it.

Part of him – the cynical one – can't help but think that some of them are just hypocrites, but then the other part of him knows that most of them mean it, most of them are sorry, most of them regret. He certainly does. He knows it won't change much - too little, too late - but he hopes that wherever he is, the poor guy can see it.

Of course, it's impossible to forget the date of his death because of Superman, but even if there hadn't been that, he wouldn't have forgotten.

How could he.

For all the hard time he gave him, he liked the boy. A good kid – a really good one, as annoying as he could get. Gone too young, far too soon. Even now, and particularly today, the thought still wears him down. Shitty life it was.

She hadn't been the same since that day. He didn't expect her to – nobody did. Nobody that knew her, least of all those that knew them. Between those two, it was as fast and unexpected as it was true, he knew.

She put up a good face, of course. She was tough, always had been. According to his wife, that even why she was his favorite ("The only person as butt-headed and thick skinned as you.") But this time, she took a hit, a real one.

The worst life could have dropped on her, and shit, how it did.

All the habits pre-Kent came back, only amplified by a million: the working all day long, sometimes all night long, the unhealthy amount of coffee – and sometimes, he knew, of alcool. Her damn tendency to not feed herself. He could have killed them for the number of stupid lovesick looks they used to throw at each other all day, not to mention the few times they arrived late – from lunch or in the morning - with equally happy stupid expressions, but at least, it put a smile on her face. Always did.

Now, he couldn't remember the last time he had seen one of those on her.

He looks up to see her exit the elevator, lips tighten and eyes betraying that her thoughts aren't here despite her confident walk towards her desk. She's pale. As she drops her bag, he sees her gaze catch with the diamand on her left hand, and he sighs, his old ticker tightening at the look that crosses her features.

She quickly turns and gets back to work.

That day, he can see her stopping herself from turning towards what used to be his desk. Taking the corruptions investigation as an excuse, he takes her to help him out on the field, cursing the sky that that's the only damn thing he can do.

Bruce

When he comes back, she's at their door before they even have the time to reach for her, an unreadable face and a firm and demanding 'What's the plan?' the only greeting they get.

(She barely spares him a glance, and won't do so unless she absolutely has to, in the days that follow. Not that he can blame her.)

She's here night and day, focus never wavering as they search for him, try to find a way to get to him, make him see sense. Deliver him from whatever hold Darkseid has on him, and that made him forget everything he stands for, everything he is.

Sometimes, they see a slight flutter, the pain crossing her blue eyes as she looks up at the screens and doesn't see the man she's fallen for, not yet, right before she averts her eyes and looks away, regaining her neutral expression as quickly as it disappeared.

It lasts for a few days, and seems like an eternity. It does, and at times, it almost seems impossible. But they continue, because they have too, and because they can't let the Kryptonian hero down – not again. Besides, there's hope.

After all, there's one thing he knows Clark didn't forget. Not really.

Looking up as her hurried steps come closer, her engaged in an intense conversation with Diana, Arthur and Alfred, the words come back to him again. She's the key.

As it turns out, she is.

Martha

She lights up again.

Whenever she used to come to the farm, during that terrible year, she'd always try and put up a good face. She did her best to be of enjoyable company, tried to put some enthusiasm in her stories as she told her about work and her on going investigations, fought to dig up some true and sincere smiles. And sometimes, they did manage genuine laughs.

Sometimes, for just a moment, the pain felt a little less, and it seemed that they were able to properly breath again. It never lasted very long, but at least being with each other granded them those few moments of temporary relief.

It did, and even when it didn't, Lois tried – she really tried to be strong. She was strong. But her smiles weren't as bright, and they rarely reached her eyes anymore. Martha would often find her glancing at the photographs of his own smile, at his old cap hanging near the door. More than once, she came out of his room on the mornings with eyes and cheeks redden by wiped tears Martha pretended not to notice.

(She'd just squeeze her hand, and she'd squeeze back, and they both would go on, because they both knew that was what he would have wanted.)

But when he comes back, she lights up again.

She's not like before, not really - never will be. Sometimes, Martha can still see the ghost of it all in her eyes when she looks at him, the inevitable fear that it might happen again never far. There's also the way that in the first days, she's constantly alert, always reaching for him. There's the mistrust mixed with the gratitude he sees and tells Martha about, when the League comes by their apartment that first week to fill him in on some important hero, saviors of the world stuff that can't really wait.

But despite all that, there's also the smiles that come back, the real ones. The vivacity, the witiness, the back and forths with him that leave her eyes sparkling. The bags under them start disappearing as sleep comes back, her cheeks regain their colors. She starts laughing again, and Martha realizes how long it's been since she's heard her done that.

That day, they're on the couch when she gets back in the house, her wrinckled hands dirty from her gardening. The TV is on, and they're watching some action movie. At least she's kind of watching, because Clark is just laying there, back to her chest, dozzing of as her fingers gently go back and forth in his dark curls. As the hero on the screen starts running towards his car, he catches one of her hands and brings their joined ones to his stomach, and, lips brushing his forehead, Lois tightens her hold.

[fyeahwonderbat]

Prompt: Diana doesn't know she's pregnant & goes into a mission which doesn't turn out so good at the end (looses the baby). Diana is heartbroken as well as Bruce, but he does everything to remind her that it isn't her fault

(I made it so she was already pregnant because I felt it was emotionally solid to work with, I hope that’s okay! This idea just came to me and I ran with it!)

Note: This story might be too intense for some readers, as it pertains to miscarriage, so please be advised, moving forward. Thank you.

“A son!?”

“We are Amazons – we are women, mightier and more just than any man!”

“Your son is an abomination worthy of an eternity at Hades’ side! Who are you supposed to be, Persephone?”

“We are not blinded by love like Hippolyta is! We won’t tolerate you dirtying our legacy with your bastard child!”

“Forget your truce. We want war if it means ridding the world of your—”

The force with which Diana threw herself forward nearly tipped her hospital bed forward, nearly toppling the machines she was hooked up to when she threw a fist through the air. Suddenly remembering how to breathe, she inhaled deeply into her lungs but felt the air disintegrate as soon as she thought she had grasped enough. Her well-trained mind in terms of relief efforts and trauma warned her that she was verging on a panic attack due to a mere nightmare, until—

“Diana.” Unsteady in his voice was Bruce Wayne, not the fearsome Batman who would have addressed her firmly and emotionless. His presence at her side felt suffocating. Diana searched the eerily white room, pure and clean and empty of any sort of emotional depth, for anything she could tether herself to as she avoided his partner’s gaze. There was nothing but machines that beeped and tiles without cracks and itchy sheets covering her uncomfortable body…

Her body…

“Bruce,” Stare fixed on the door, waiting for someone to intrude and preparing to strike, Diana demanded to know, “where are we?”

There was a millisecond pause that irritated Wonder Woman’s already aggravated sensibility. Finally, when he did answer her, the Batman was the one who spoke, “Amanda Waller arranged this for you. This is the best facility in the country—”

“Bruce.” She was not to be trifled with, to be treated so delicately. Whether her emotions were flashing across her face as sickeningly as they twisted in her stomach, Diana Prince was not one for pity nor careful handling.

Once more, there was an awkward awareness that the conversation was not keeping up with a natural pace. This time, she met his gaze to hopefully demonstrate her anger with his choice to treat her like a victim.

Like someone who would needed time to heal.

Like someone who might have lost themselves due to someone else’s transgression.

“We are at a private facility, operated by the government,” Clarified Bruce. His thick brows shadowed his own dark eyes and Diana wondered if he was merely offering her a reflection of her own expression. “I brought you here after we escaped Bana-Mighdall.”

Her throat tighten until she needed to cough, but Diana refused. Instead, she gulped once to wash away the internal itch and then repeated him with venom dripping from her tongue, “Bana-Mighdall…”

“Yes.” Was all Bruce managed to say. She could hear the way he swallowed the word instead of releasing it into the room, and the sound alone of the Dark Knight struggling to speak managed to be the moment in which Wonder Woman lost control of her façade – the only time she felt as though she was truly falsifying her strength – and let her mouth fall open.

“Then… Then…”

“Yes.” He answered her again, the word sounding just as horrible as the first time.

Bile threatened to escape her, her honed muscles shaking without any semblance of control, Diana muttered the reality she had been so fearful of accepting as truth, despite being a defendant of such a virtue, “We lost him.”

It was in that exact moment, when she uttered the word ‘lost’, that her warrior’s heart crumbled inside of her chest. There was no desire to fight, to destroy or seek vengeance. There was no need to think beyond herself in that moment, when the reality of her barren belly dropped upon her as if she was Atlas carrying the world. There was no need to be anything more than a woman mourning her child.

A mother who lost her son.

A parent who would never be one.

“O-Oh…” She wanted to cry to Hera, but the feeling of becoming sick overwhelmed her and she threw a hand over her quivering lips. Her body lurched once, twice when her sobs began before her tears welled in her eyes. Her entire being was nothing more than the embodiment of grief as she folded into herself and wished she could take it all back.

Trying to mend the bond between Antiope’s tribe of Amazons with her mothers.

Believing that the promise of her own child could be a beacon towards a peaceful future.

Forgetting how uneducated the Bana-Mighdall tribe was in comparison to Themyscira.

To know that her own sisters had murdered her child only made her feel emptier. She could recall the impact of their sandaled feet, their hateful fists, she could still see their purposeful swings of their swords, aimed at her torso despite the fact that she was armed with her sacred girdle. The irreconcilable hatred they displayed towards her as she fought them on her own was nothing new and yet it tore her apart; they hadn’t lessened their charge in the slightest, even when the rest of the Justice League members arrived.

If anything, the appearance of the League more than likely made the women of Bana-Mighdall behave more like furies than Amazons.

How could they, she wondered over and over inside her mind while feeling crushed by every sort of pain she thought she could conquer. Bones aching, heart broken, womb throbbing—

Nervous though she was, Diana reached for the uncomfortable blankets that covered her body. However, a strong hand grabbed her own and held her still. “Don’t.” Warned Bruce, the word wobbling as he said it.

That was all she needed to hear, to know how truly awful the damage was.

“W-Where is he?” She needed to know, to have some kind of semblance of understanding of what had happened while she had been unconscious, useless.

“We have him,” Bruce promised. “When we weren’t sure if the government would hand him over to us, Barry stole him back and brought him to Alfred.”

The shuddering of breath she experienced hurt her swollen throat. How violent they had gotten, just so she could keep the remains of her own child!? The government was supposed to save her somehow and yet they had attempted to…take her son’s corpse!? For studying!? For mutilating and reconstructing to suit their selfish needs!?

“Then that is where I want to be.”

“Diana, you need to—”

“I need to be with my son!” She exclaimed directly into Bruce’s face. Though she was a mother no more, her instincts were still wild. After all, even if her son was no longer breathing, she was still meant to protect him with everything she had!

Unfortunately, her son’s father did not agree. “You nearly died, Diana! The BatCave has everything but the experience required to save an Amazon from a miscarriage!”

The reaction was instantaneous: Diana punched Bruce so hard across the face, he flew across the perfectly white room and added some texture to it when he slammed into the wall. The crater-like hole his body made signified just how sturdy the room was and it infuriated her further. She felt like an animal in a cage rather than a woman being treated by expert physicians. And to see that Bruce was going along with it…!

With unmanageable impatience did she rip out every needle in her arm, sending the machines in the room into a frenzy. As soon as Diana swung her legs over the edge of the bed, she felt the thorny scar that stretched across her pelvis, but it would not stall her. “Where are my clothes?” She asked her once competent lover while turning to the nightstand next to her bed and pulling the drawers out of their slots.

“Diana, stop!” Bruce commanded while wincing. He tried to stand up straight as quickly as the situation required but the ache he obviously felt in his back was destabilizing. It did not bring Diana any comfort to see him teetering towards her while a swollen cheek.

Nevertheless, she would not be told to halt.

“I’m leaving, Bruce, whether you are with me or not.”

“Y-You don’t…have to do this!”

“Yes, I do! I won’t let anyone else touch my son without—”

“He’s OUR son!” The snap in his voice struck Diana without remorse. It was almost removed, unattached to her in its meaning when he claimed partially ownership over their deceased child. So heated was he that his typical unshaven state only made him look even more sinister, even more unforgiving as he stared her down, pining her to the spot.

The machines continued to beep incessantly throughout their silence. They sounded just as panicked to be disconnected from her as she was, feeling cut off from him emotionally. Ever the caretaker of others in need, she had been so consumed by her pain – both physical and emotional – to even bother paying attention to her own partner, her lover, her Bruce. Seeing him in such a light once again only reminded Diana that she had destroyed not only her own happiness, but his as well, by trying to broker peace that no one had directly asked for.

How could he even stomach sitting by her bedside, after all she had taken from him?

“Bruce…” There were words floating around inside her mind, yet a coherent thought could not be found amongst them.

Straightening his posture, Bruce divulged himself to her, “He’s our son, Diana. I got him back for us; I want to take you home to see him as soon as you can. But don’t make this worse than it already is by losing yourself to your pain! I’ve been waiting hours just to hold you, not fight with you like this!”

The door to their private hospital suite rattled then, warning them both of a third enemy that they had apparently forgotten: the security detail Amanda Waller had placed on standby. A loud set of knocks were nowhere near as mighty as Diana’s own fists, however, they did rattle the room ever so slightly. Thankfully, the obvious sigil of the Batman sat atop of some strange device resting on the doorknob that kept the room safe from any intruders, she could only assume.

“Diana,” That hollow voice of his summoned her attention once again.

She faced the Batman with every intention of standing strong. “Bruce…”

A muffled warning could not compare to the power of her lover’s actions as he approached her without caution, without fear of being struck again. By her fists, at the very least. “You are much too kind to the woman who lost your son.” Diana almost hiccupped on the final word. Now that the flames of her anger were cooling, the frigid touch of reality clawed at the walls she had built out of necessity around her heart, preparing to obliterate her once again.

But then, Bruce Wayne took her hand and held it with a strength she had no idea she was craving. Just as powerful as his grip were the words that he spoke, “I’m taking care of the mother of my child.”

To hear him speak of their son as she thought of him – theirs, forever their first despite his unfortunate passing – was absolutely too much for the grieving mother to take. All she wanted to do was bury her face in his chest and seek comfort in the one person who would constantly remind her of the child they lost, yet simultaneously, be the only person who could possibly understand her pain. It was unlike Wonder Woman to fall so easily.

To collapse into despair.

To lose to her own heart.

But as she let Bruce’s arms form a barricade around her as he released the lock and let the cautionary SWAT team into the room, all Diana wanted to do was allow herself this one moment of weakness and wallow in her weakness, her emotions, her despair.

((A/N: A really dark one here, after Valentine’s Day and right before Family Day (I’m Canadian, in case my grammar didn’t give that away for me)! I never named their son nor stated his age when he was miscarried because it seemed irrelevant – the loss was still a loss to them. I also tried to make Diana hold onto her nature for as long as she could while grieving, but as I have seen up close, grief can take what you know about yourself and twist it on its head. The same goes for Bruce, who remained as reserved as possible and ended up being her caretaker until he nearly became cruel. I meant to tie this into an idea for Diana earning the right to bear a child by the gods, but since I was already referencing Antiope’s Amazons, I figured too much lore would take away from the emotions. Anyway, thanks for the prompt, and feel free to prompt me again! ~ Maiden))