#so expecting people to be social without a proper way to protect themselves would rightfully put them off

[flightseason]

I don't think grinding for currency is a good way to keep people engaged with Sky; on one hand TGC acknowledges that candle running has become a chore, but on the other, the ways they said they thought about to keep players active for at least half or more of an event revolves around grinding (either with the high prices or by adding yet another currency).

Also I can't put it into words well without sounding like I'm reaching but is anyone else confused by how AFK farmers were talked about ? Like I get the frustration because I've been in a server where everyone was asleep while trying to open doors, but I don't think "exploits" are the root of the problem.

Which leads me into my next comment, there's this push to make us social that quickly becomes suffocating when you're more introverted and don't always have the social batteries for that. Sky is a social game so I find the expectation that I should be helpful and courteous to strangers reasonable, but expecting and forcing players to constantly interact with eachother becomes exhausting, especially since you can't properly curate your experience (the block system is wack and you can't stop someone from teleporting to your server once you became friends) so it feels overwhelming, especially with people that get clingy that may range from young children that don't mean to be like that (which I can tolerate) to folks that talked to you once, so now you're their therapist/partner... And I find it also affects closer bonds too ? There's this general unease around enforcing boundaries, I have to reassure new friends that they can tell me they're busy or can't hang out for any other reason, since I sometimes teleport to them just out of curiosity to see what they're doing.

It's just my two cents of course, but I think that there should be proper ways to enforce boundaries before players are pushed to talk to eachother if you want a majority of them to happily do so.

[miss-choco-chips]

What if- Janet Drake was a good mom

Hers.

This little… warm and squishy ball of spit was hers. 

Her son.

His eyes still not defined, bald little head fragile under her hand and so, so vulnerable, she wouldn’t have believed he had come out of her  if not for the pain still lingering on her body and the vomit stains on that hateful nurse’s shirt, the one that talked to Janet in cooing, condescendent voice during the whole birthing process. Her son had rightfully avenged her honor by burping all over her the moment she took him out of his mother’s arms.

Her arms.

God, she was a mother. She was this baby’s mother.

Sitting by her bedside with his stupid, well meaning smile, Jack apologised half heartedly at the nurse, ignoring the proud look his wife was giving the little creature back on her grasp. He had given up on trying to take him from her, too. The almost hiss he had gotten after the first three tries was enough to let him know that wouldn’t fly well a fourth time. Slow, but he had learned not to come between a new mother and her child. Specially not a vicious, dangerous new mother like her.

-So, what’s this cutie’s name? -asked the (still annoyingly chirpy) nurse, notepad at the ready.

Jack looked at his wife and waited. He had asked for the middle name to be Jackson -which had gotten him an eye roll from the back then still pregnant lady-, and let the first one for her to decide. He hadn't tried to argue that right out of her, because, well, he valued his life and health and, despite what many people thought, wasn’t completely stupid.

Janet looked down to the- to her baby, and smiled lightly. Still high from the thrill of having brought to life something so perfect, it took her barely a moment to decide. 

-Timothy. Timothy Jackson Drake.

To honor God, in thanks -if he or her actually existed- for having let one of their angels down to earth and into her arms.

Yes, she was still hormonal for giving birth, So sue her.

The nurse cooed and took her baby again, to clean him up and measure him.

He vomited on the neckline of her scrubs this time, directly on skin.

Janet laughed.

Her son.

---.---

The party was socially required and expected. It would stain both her and Jack’s reputation if they didn’t give in to the unspoken rule. People would  no doubt start wondering why weren’t they showing off their offspring. What was wrong with them. 

What was wrong with him.

That, mainly, was what got Janet to accept it and organize the whole affair. In between, of course, to leading the company and tending to Timothy. If it was only about her, she’d first let the whole world burn than subject her son to the stupid but voracious pack of wolves that Gotham’s elite was, but if they started talking shit about him, her options were to give in to their demands or silence them the easy way. And, after a quick talk with her lawyer, she decided on the actually legal option.

Not that she couldn't get away with the other one. But she wasn’t about to contaminate her hands, the hands that held her son, with those fools’ blood. What if stupidity was contagious? She wasn’t taking that risk. Jack’s genes were enough of a wild card as it was.

A tea party seemed the most appropriate option. A ball would upset Timothy’s carefully planned sleeping schedule (as in, closely monitored so any time he woke up at night, it would always fall in Jack’s designated ‘baby duty’ hours; two weeks into it, she expected another three before he catched on), and with a tea afternoon she had an excuse to disappear back into the Mannor when -not if; when- their half witted guests started to get too much on her nerves, claiming ‘Timothy’s bedtime’ as a perfect getaway.

Halfway through it, though, she realized it wasn’t all bad. No one tried to hold her baby -men probably too uninterested in the actual child beyond the expected pleasantries, the women scared away by her ‘I fucking dare you, bitch’ glare-, Jack was properly entertained by tending to the guests, the staff doing a good job of maintaining the insides of the closed off awning at the proper temperature to keep the star of the party from catching a cold, and anyone entering the place came bearing an offering to Timothy, like peasants at a deity’s temple. It was satisfying to watch. 

‘He’s going to be everyone here’s boss, one day. The city will be his’, Janet smiled, accepting with a tilted head another gift, adding it to the growing pile on the big chest she ordered for the occasion, every socialite trying to outdo the former one.

It was going perfectly fine, and she had almost forgotten her reluctance to the whole thing, when everything inevitably crashed and burned.

Because there were a set of arms extended in her direction, accompanied by a polite ‘May I?’.

If the reaction of the people closest to her was an indication, the sound that came out of her mouth was an actual growl. Instinctively, she drew her arms closer to her chest, baby hold as tight as possible, as if she might protect him better like that.

Timothy, the angel, didn’t protest. He barely ever cried, and never when with her. Just gazed up at her face, his own eyes starting to gain pigment day by day, looking now almost completely like hers a good month after his birth. 

Hers.

Jack appeared by her elbow in barely a second, a wonder since he was at the other side of the backyard the last time she saw him, entertaining people in the farthest of the awnings she had had set. Nicole, her lawyer and one of the few people she was willing to call a friend, was at her other side a moment later, sider glass at hand and looking between her and the brave -stupid- man with equal parts amusement and trepidation.

Bruce Wayne was asking her for a turn holding her child. Nineteen year old Brucie, who had just come back to Gotham after his nine year ‘sabbatical’ from who knows where, with a high school title she was almost completely certain he had faked. Brucie, who acted as a fried brained, goofy, easy going guy, well meaning despite his supposed shortcomings in the mind department. Who was her playmate a time or two during their childhood, which is why she knew he was too damn smart to be who he showed to the society.

Or, maybe not so smart. He was asking for her baby, after all.

For a minute, Janet merely assessed him, two predators staring the other down, looking for weakness, soft spots to sink teeth into. Literally, in her case, if he tried to pry her son away. There was the shadow of amusement hidden behind the dumb, fake smile in his face. The bastard probably was asking just to watch her try to summon her inner meta human and fry him with heat vision. Oh, if only.

While she was busy staring down the threat and looking for an answer stronger than ‘fuck no’, Jack pulled a quick one over her, sliding his arms between hers, retrieving the still and warm bundle, and depositing him in Wayne’s arms, all in one smooth move.

The betrayal. Jack was sleeping on a guest’s room for the next year. How dare he give her child away? And to this man, of everyone? Smart as she may know him to be, who could promise her no harm would come to Timothy so far away from her arms?

Gods above, what if Wayne dropped him? Then she would have to throw him off a plane. Into open waters. Right in the middle of a shark circle. Tied up. 

With rocks weighing his feet.

Nicole gently grasped her upper arm, just below the dress’ sleeve (a lovely red, perfect for hiding blood stains), a gesture that might have gotten her a hole on her toes the exact size of Janet’s stiletto heel, hadn’t she been busy watching Wayne accomodate his arms to better hold her son.

At least he was supporting his head. He wasn’t a complete fool, then. Not like Jack, who might as well start writing his will (dedicated entirely to her and their son, of course).

-He… -Wayne wasn’t looking at her anymore (in any other situation, where he wasn’t holding precious cargo, a mistake), eyes drawn to Timothy’s, who returned the gesture without a hint of fear.

-He, what? -barked the offended mother, now held in both sides by best friend and husband, the only force keeping her from making a scene.

The young man smiled, still not parting his gaze from the baby. She could understand the sentiment; it was hard to look away from perfection like that.

-He looks like you -was the honest answer. A finger carefully caressed the soft, round cheek, and Timothy’s toothless mouth parted in a pure, innocent, bright giggle.

Well. Maybe Wayne wasn’t quite so bad. He’d be allowed to live another day.

-What was his name, again?

Relaxing a little, since he seemed to have an adequate grasp on the baby, Janet composed herself and answered.

-Timothy Jackson Drake.

The blank expression that overtook the man for a second when the middle name was pronounced made her feel slightly vindicated. She, too, thought it dumb the need to put himself plus the word ‘son’ on a baby. As if they didn’t already know Timothy was his. Whatever, she couldn’t complain. Any other choice about their son was hers to make, she couldn’t exactly deny Jack that one request.

Said child choose that moment to move, raising his tiny arm from the depths of his blankets, catching Wayne’s finger in a miniscule fist.

Janet saw the exact second the man melted. Huh. Well, there was an idea.

Not like it was needed, but the love and protection of one of the most rich men on earth, the richest in Gotham, might end working up on Timothy's favor. One could never have too many minions willing to put themselves at risk for their master’s wellbeing, after all.

Janet looked at Wayne, playfully moving the finger in her son’s grasp, eliciting another laugh from him in payment, and let her mind whirl.

----.----.

A little over a week later found Janet sitting on the floor next to her desk, important documents scattered around her. Timothy was napping in her lap, hence why she wasn’t on the chair (too much of a risk of falling), while she worked. Jack had been sent to entertain the board of directors of DI, one of the only chores she trusted him to not fuck up without her supervision, so mother and son had the evening to themselves.

That was, until the phone rang. Snake-quick, she raised a hand and snatched it from the desk, eyes scanning her son’s sleeping face to make sure he hadn’t woke. When she was assured, she held the device to her ear.

-Really, Jannie? Wayne? You choose Wayne as a godfather? Did giving birth melt your brain?

Swiftly, she hanged up. Then, just in case, she stretched her arm and unplugged the machine. 

Five minutes later, the butler came in, holding her cellphone (which she never had on herself during Tim’s nap time) on a silver platter. She waved him away.

Half an hour passed, and Nicole walked into her favorite tea room while she was breastfeeding her baby. Her venom-green eyes shone gleefully, kinda like they did when she utterly crushed her opponents in court.

Because she was her best friend, and Jantet reluctantly liked her, she had sent the lawyer a copy of Timothy’s daily schedule, so to be sure Nicole would never interrupt it and thus get murdered by his mother. It was no coincidence she entered the room just as Tim was finishing his evening feeding.

-Janet, wonderful to see you! 

-Tell that brain dead, lavender wearing fool that I’m not taking his call.

The other woman barreled on, ignoring her. She was lucky she was holding her son; more difficult to dismember someone.

-Aww, how’s my little baby godson? Had a good nap? 

Sighing, Janet offered the bundle of spit and genius that was her baby to her for burping duty, something she didn’t even do with his father.

-Hello, Nicole, nice to see you too. Or it would be, had I actually invited you over -she played along, accepting a cup of coffee from the maid while Nicole sat at the other side of the small table, baby held against her shoulder, little towel protecting her blouse from any substance the baby might cough up.

She would hope he puked all over her, but that would mean he’d have an upset stomach. So she switched to hoping Nicole would spontaneously combust.

-Oh Jan, you say the funniest things. Hey, one guess as to who called me half an hour ago!

Finally to the point- Tell that waste of space, colorblind idiot that if he wants to keep his place in the stock market, to never bother me again when I’m spending quality time with my son.

-He was sleeping, Jan.

-Are you a mother? No. Shut up.

Nicole rolled her eyes, and, after a few burps, cradled the baby more securely in her arms. Timothy immediately started playing with her long necklace, which she probably wore for that particular purpose, as she wasn’t particularly fond of such colorful jewelry.

-Can you even drink coffee while you’re breastfeeding? 

A scowl- It’s decaffeinated. I’m just desperate for even a taste. I have the service saving all the empty cans of this aberration, and I’m making a burning pyre with them the moment I’m allowed to drink the good kind again.

Nicole threw her head back and laughed, long black hair tragically held in a bun to keep away from the baby’s greedy chubby fingers.

-The doctor ordered it for Timmy’s good, I’m sure you can’t be that mad about it.

-I’m sure your parents must have indulged in far more dangerous vices during your conception and pregnancy, and you don’t seem worse for that.

-That’s as close a compliment I’m ever getting from you, huh? It doesn’t change the fact that I’m not your secretary, Jan. Pick up the damn phone, if only to tell Luthor to stop calling me to reach you.

As on cue, Nicole’s phone, carefully placed in the table between them, rang. Both women stared it down for a few seconds, before locking eyes. When the loud noise started making Timothy grumble and whine, Janet sighed and picked it.

-What do you want, you sad excuse of a businessman?

-So it was a good idea to call your lawyer. Hello, Janet, how is your afternoon?

-Getting worse by the minute.

-That’s no way to speak to your dear old friend.

And she couldn’t even have her usual migraine medication. Now she understood why many women choose to hire someone else for breastfeeding; if she trusted anyone else with her son to that degree, she might have done the same.

-And speaking of things that are rude to do to your favorite people, choosing someone else as godfather for your one and only son is quite the insult.

Nicole, even though she couldn’t hear the other end of the line, was smirking as she rocked the baby. Seemingly having the time of her life.

-One; you are not, by a long shot, one of my favorites. That’s a list of two, and you wouldn’t  make the cut even if one of them died.

-Timothy and Jack?

-Timothy and Nicole. Jack is currently being punished for daring give my son to someone else, and has been demoted.

-Hmm. And two?

-Two: who’s to say I’m not having another child?

-Please, you wouldn’t be able to go another year without coffee.

True, but still- Don’t presume to know my limits.

-Why him? -Insisted the man, and if they weren’t such good friends (and old classmates, from back in the day) she would have thrown the phone halfway across the rome at his pathetic whine- Is this an insult to me? Are you trying to communicate your displeasure over something I did lately? You could have done that a thousand ways, without giving such a honor to someone like Wayne.

She sighed. Nicole’s attention turned to the baby currently patting at her chin, and she let her eyes wander over them both.

-I needed someone willing to risk his life for my baby. Wayne seems like the kind of man that would, if he cares enough for someone.

-And you’re saying I wouldn’t. That…

-...is completely true. You would kill, and let other people die, and for that I already have someone -Nicole blinked in her direction, venomous green eyes stone cold for half a second before her smirk took the edge off it-. Wayne is here to provide light heartedness, and if the situation called for it… well. And you, as my friend and business partner, are bound to provide safe sanctuary when he undoubtedly reaches adolescence and runs from home in a rebellious bout.

-Still a pathological need to plan sixteen years into the future, I see.

-Still a pathological need to be chosen first, I see. I’m having memories of back in school when someone was elected first for a team during PE.

----.----.

Her baby is a genius. Of course, it was expected, being her son and everything; but with Jack’s ‘normal’ genes in the way, it was a coin toss as to whether he’d take after her or him.

He starts talking way before other babies do. Momma, Dadda, I’ole for his godmother, Bose for his godfather, and Atez for Lex. He knew how to ask for water or food, and to be carried. He had also learned to walk, although clumsily, and would be seen following after Janet’s skirts as she circled around the Manor attending to her various duties.

She was so proud of him. So excited each day, floating in a cloud of wonder of ‘what will he learn next?’, ‘how will he surprise me today?’. Nicole and Alexander were a stronger than ever presence in their lives, with Timothy as an excuse to visit as often as she would allow. And, in the softness granted to her by motherhood, she was far more lenient than she’d ever been. Still bringing fear into the hearts of whoever dared cross her but… less bloodthirsty, if her best friend’s words were to be believed.

Then, Jack came, practically demolishing her peacefulness and joy  with all the grace and delicacy of a grinning, hammer wielding moron.

-Dear! I got the perfect site for the next digging.

Time seems to stop, for her, as breathing turns suddenly an unachievable chore and her steely eyes bore into her husband’s happy ones. 

Jack, who seems to have forgotten about the very same baby currently in Janet’s arms, who had her blouse in a tight grip -as if suspecting of the situation, keeping her close-, drooling a little over the little blanket handmade by Wayne’s butler.

Her little bundle of spit, snot and genius. Her baby.

She had known, intellectually, that things were bound to change, the moment her baby was born. She had all but decided, back then, that she’d hire some good  babysitter and keep going things the way she liked them, flying from digging site to digging site, remotely managing the company and meeting her friends at fancy galas. With enough money, keeping her lifestyle, and still get her son the care he needed, without her sacrificing anything, was affordable.

But now, it was different. If she went, she would be sacrificing things. She’d be leaving the chance of seeing her son grow behind. She would be putting him in someone else’s arms and hope they’d raise him the way she wanted. 

Her son. Hers.

She looked down to the baby in her arms, and then up at her husband. Jack loved archeology, he would be leaving with or without her. 

Breathing in deeply, Janet made her choice.