#this entire year made me rethink any other problems i ever had i miss those problems i miss worrying about not having friends

[alarawriting]

Inktober #12: Dragon

Yeah, out of order again. I have plans for prompt 11 but this was the one that came to me first.

***

Ichtyrios bent his head very, very low to look inside the nursery. “They look so unfinished. Like fat little larvae. Do they undergo a metamorphosis?”

His companion, Ysabriem, laughed. “It’s a lot like that, but they never enter a cocoon… over the course of 12 years, they change into smaller versions of the full-grown ones. Before that age they need enormous amounts of care, and they’re not very useful. We start training them when they’re 5, teaching them mathematics and ciphering, and then the physical tasks around the age of 7.”

“But they’re not useful until they’re 12? That seems very odd. Aren’t they supposedly intelligent?”

“Oh, they’re very intelligent. Excellent problem-solvers, and those tiny little digits of theirs are incredibly dexterous.”

“So why does it take them so long to become useful?” He lifted his head. “Our young are born knowing enough to be fully functional even if their parents are dead.”

“Our young take 30 years to hatch. They grow their young in their bodies for not even a full year.”

Ichtyrios nodded, his talons reaching up to stroke his chin. “That’s a good point. I hadn’t thought of that. They’re halfway through their lives by the time one of us is ready to hatch.”

“Closer to a third, but yes.” Ysabriem began walking toward the Choosing creche. “You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“It’s why I came, yes,” Ichtyrios said impatiently, huffing a quick puff of smoke. “I just – I’m not sure. A commitment of seventy, eighty years? Hardly forever, but it’s not trivial either.”

“It’s true,” Ysabriem said without looking back at him. “If you’re not prepared to make that commitment, you really shouldn’t take on a human Companion. They’re loyal, talented, smart and easy to train, and I’ve never known a dragon who regretted the decision… but that’s because every dragon who comes here to be Chosen is certain. You have to be sure before making the commitment.”

“What happens to them if it doesn’t work out? If the dragon dies while they’re still alive, or doesn’t get along with them and wants to give them back?”

Ysabriem shrugged. “Some Choose again, and become a different dragon’s Companion. Some never do; their hearts are broken, and they can’t bear to live among dragons again. We try to make sure only the most resilient ones are allowed to make the Choice, but humans are much more fragile than dragons, in more ways than just the obvious physical differences. Their emotions are nothing to toy with, Icht. If you’re not sure, I won’t allow a human to Choose you.”

“You don’t have one.”

“I’ve had two, in my lifetime. It’s… terrible, watching them die. One lived out her natural span, so at least I was expecting it… but the other one died fixing our ship’s reactor. Radiation poisoning. It’s a terrible way to go.” She sighed. “So I work with the nursery and the creche. I don’t have my own human anymore, but I get to see and care for hundreds of them, when they’re youngest and least likely to die.”

“But you gave up space for that?”

“Yes, well.” Ysabriem’s nictating eyelids slid closed, one of the few involuntary expressions of sorrow that dragons made. “I regret losing space, but I don’t regret not taking on a new companion and I don’t regret working with the young humans. Maybe someday I’ll feel able to go back out again, and on that day, I’ll present myself to the fledgling humans and see if any of them Choose me.”

“I want to go to space,” Ichtyrios said. “I’ve been all over the world. There’s nothing more to see here, no more lands to explore. We’ve colonized our entire world. I want to go places no dragon has ever been.”

“You hoard new experiences?” Ysabriem waved her tail in an expression of friendly cheer. “Many do. And you’re right, there’s no better way to experience things no other dragon ever has than to explore space. The humans – most of them – are driven by the same desire. They want to see things, to learn things and walk in places that no human has before.”

“They’re so small. So fragile.”

“They are, but they have to be. A dragon can’t work with the micrometer tolerances the engines need… not without tools, and most of our tools die in the magnetic fields we need to keep the fuel bottled and channeled. Humans are much more vulnerable to the radiation, but they’re small enough and their hands skilled enough that they can keep the engines maintained at nine nine’s of efficiency. No dragon has ever managed to pull that off; even when we’ve created experimental craft that don’t need a human’s touch, the best a dragon can manage is three nine’s. We’re just not evolved to care about problems so small; we can’t focus on that level of detail, not when there’s treasures to find. Plus, dragons without human companions have a bad habit of recklessly pursuing treasure and getting killed; we’re too used to being virtually invulnerable, but space can kill us too. Humans aren’t apex predators. They know they can easily be killed, and that makes them more cautious than dragons.”

“I’ve heard a rumor that dragons with human Companions go into heat or rut every time the human does?”

Ysabriem laughed puffs of smoke. “Oh – oh, dear me, no! I’ve heard that one too, and I have no idea why. Humans don’t go into heat, or rut. Or rather, they’re always there. A decade or less after you get your Companion, they’ll be seeking to mate with other humans virtually every chance they get. If you were influenced into heat or rut every time your human mated, you’d get nothing done!”

“Ah.” Ichtyrios laughed as well in relief. “That’s good to hear. I’d heard about the humans mating so frequently, and if your Companion mating causes you to go into rut—oh dear is right!”

“Also, they don’t have to mate with the Companion of your mate when you’re in mating season, you can’t read their minds, they can’t read your minds, they don’t kill themselves in grief when you die – though many humans will absolutely put themselves in grave danger to avenge you if what kills you is a living being, and Companions are chosen for their willingness to risk their lives to protect you and make sure you don’t die. Have I covered all the silly myths?”

“Most of the ones I’ve heard. But they do Choose us, not the other way around.”

“Right.” Ysabriem dipped her head to signal emphatic agreement. “Think about it. They’re choosing a dragon to be Companion to for their entire lives. Of course they need to be the ones to Choose.”

“How do they make the Choice?”

“Well, no dragon is completely certain how they do it… the human Elders keep that a secret. But we’re fairly sure that they teach the children what traits to look for in a dragon to match their own needs, and the children get to review the personality profiles of any dragon coming to the Choosing Grounds. We think sometimes that children who never pick a dragon had their heart set on one who applied to present themselves to be Chosen, but then never showed up.”

“Wait. So you’re saying there might be a human who’s already Chosen me?”

“I know, it seems a little less magic than the thought that they can just look at you and know – and you know, it’s possible they’re doing some of that, too. Humans have very little genetic diversity; they come in ranges of basically three colors, they’re all within around 15% of the same size, and there’s nothing about their face shape, body type or coloration that says anything about their personality. To them, the fact that you can tell certain things about a dragon’s personality from our color, size, body shape or the types of ridges and ruffs we have on our bodies must seem like we’re an open book, in comparison to them. But we do think they’re studying more than that about us, before they make their Choice. So… yes, it’s possible there’s a human who’s already decided to Choose you.”

For some reason that was what made Ichtyrios’s decision for him. If a human didn’t Choose him this time around, maybe he’d rethink his decision, but for now… what if there was a human who wanted to be his Companion already, who’d been studying him and dreaming of being his personal assistant and traveling in space with him, and he didn’t show up and that human’s fragile heart was broken? Humans were far more sentimental and far more social than dragons; they needed the presence of other sapient beings far more than dragons did, and the loss of a person’s presence when they expected one could do them actual physical damage, or at least Ichtyrios had been so taught.

He didn’t want to harm the human who possibly already loved him and dreamed of being his friend by not showing up for that human to Choose him.

“All right,” he said. “All right, I’ll do it. Take me to the creche for the Choosing. I want to meet the humans.”

“And you’ll take whichever one Chooses you as your Companion for the rest of its life, caring for it through illness, injury and senescence, providing for its every need – including the need to express and receive affection from its Companion?”

Ichtyrios dipped his head. “I’m ready to make a commitment, yes. I want space… and I want to meet whatever human might decide to Choose me.”

“Then follow me,” Ysabriem said. “The Choosing is in two hours. You won’t want to miss it.”

[drakepad]

Classic Break-Up Lingo

I need to talk to you when you finish work tonight.

The text was read a first time, then a second, then a third. And then a fourth, just to make sure he was reading it correctly and that he hadn't missed any words. 'I need to talk to you.' Those six words caused Launchpad's chest to tighten and made his heart sink to the lowest pit of his stomach. They were words he was all too familiar with-- words he had heard before, words that he had said himself to other people. And it usually all led up to one thing: a break up.

He continued to stare at the text with wide eyes as his brow slowly furrowed. What could 'I need to talk to you' possibly mean besides breaking up? He had never heard it in many other contexts before-- besides from his boss, usually after he crashed into his fence or his water fountain or his incredibly expensive ice sculpture at that party that one time. 

"Launchpad!" Scrooge yelled from behind him, prodding his cane into the back of Launchpad's driver's seat, making Launchpad jolt and drop his phone to the limo's floor. "Eyes on the road, ya blasted buffoon!"

His hands gripped to the steering wheel, making a rough turn so he didn't crash into the side of a building.  A forced smile stretched across his face as he glanced at his boss in the rear-view mirror. "You got it, Mr McDee!" 

The car ride was agonizingly slow, and deafeningly silent aside from the turning of a newspaper from the backseat. Launchpad tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as they waited in rush hour traffic, accompanied by some awkward humming, attempting to take his mind off of the anxiety inducing text he had received from his boyfriend. 

Scrooge peaked above his newspaper with a quirked brow, with Launchpad's tapping of the steering wheel at an increasing speed and his incessant humming distracting him from the article about himself that he was reading. 

"I told you that you should start switching to decaf coffee, Launchpad." Scrooge said as his eyes fell back onto the article. Launchpad blinked and turned his head to look at his boss, and he let out a loud, forced laugh, making Scrooge jump in his seat.

"Ha! Yeah! You're right, Mr McDee! Tooootally forgot. I'll remember that from now on. Decaf coffee. That's what I need." He pointed a finger at his boss with a grin, before turning back to face the car in front of him with a furrowed brow, clenching the steering wheel so tightly it made his knuckles pop. The sight made Scrooge frown at his chauffeur, and he sighed, folding his newspaper and placing it in his lap. He flattened down the wrinkles of the pages carefully before looking back to Launchpad. It wasn't often that Scrooge allowed himself to become close enough to his colleagues that he would willingly ask them what was wrong when an issue occurred, but Launchpad wasn't just his chauffeur and pilot-- he was family, and Scrooge cared about him as such.

"It's not caffeine that has you so positively on edge, is it?" He questioned gently, entwining his fingers together and placing them in his lap. 

Launchpad's shoulders tensed at that, and then Scrooge heard a sigh. Launchpad took off his hat for a moment, ran a hand through his hair and then placed the hat back on his head. He slung an arm across the back of his seat so he could turn and see his boss better, and with his other hand, he scratched the back of his neck.

"No, sir. It's not." Launchpad finally replied, looking out of the passenger seat window. Silence fell onto both of them after that, and Scrooge quirked a brow.

"The only time I've seen you this worked up is the day after the boys and Webbigail had convinced you to take them to see one of those, eh, new fangled fancy horror movies with all those obscenely obnoxious special effects that appear to be all the rage these days." Scrooge stated. "So either you've watched one too many of those movies knowing that you can't rest for days afterward, oooor something else has put you entirely on edge." He lifted his cane to gently prod Launchpad's arm that was slung over the back of the seat, and Launchpad smiled a little sadly in return.

"Ya got me there, Mr McDee." Launchpad said softly, and then he sighed. He glanced at the traffic, and it appeared they had come to an absolute standstill, so instead of sitting in tense silence for the rest of the drive home, Launchpad figured he would take up the opportunity to confide in his boss about his worries.

Scrooge's eyes didn't leave Launchpad for a moment. Launchpad took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

"So… you know how me and Drake have been together for a while, right?" Launchpad began, still not meeting Scrooge's line of sight. "Well-- I got this, uh… text from him, saying he needs 'to talk to me' or something." He let out a laugh, as if trying to play off that this one text hadn't made him panic and rethink everything he could have done in the past few weeks to potentially have triggered Drake into wanting to break up with him. 

Scrooge frowned. That was it? That was what put Launchpad so on edge that he wasn't able to talk his ear off as usual? He couldn't help the somewhat frustrated sigh that escaped his mouth at what sounded like teenage sweetheart nonsense to him, but he quashed his bitter thoughts and continued to listen to Launchpad,  who, luckily, had not heard the sigh. His chauffeur/pilot needed a friend, and since there was no one else around, he didn't mind lending a shoulder to cry on.

"Go on, lad." Scrooge prompted.

Launchpad fiddled with his tie as he spoke. "It's just-- I've heard that before. I've said that before." He told his boss. "And it almost always means 'we had a good run!' or 'thanks for bringing out the best in me but I think we need to go our separate ways now' or 'I have to change my name and move countries because I'm a secret agent but I'll never forget you.'"

Scrooge pulled a face at that last part, choosing to believe that Launchpad was talking about an ex. Launchpad didn't notice.

Launchpad ran a hand over his face, and Scrooge could swear he could see the glint of a tear in the driver's eye.

“Now with Gosalyn in the mix, too…” Launchpad continued, forever thinking fondly of the little girl he and Drake had come to love and care for within the past few months. “He’s spending the day with her today, without me there. Which is fine, y’know? But… what if he’s… what if he’s realised he doesn’t want me there?”

Scrooge listened to Launchpad silently, ensuring Launchpad let out everything out before even attempting at any reassurance.

"What am I gonna do?" Launchpad said, barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat, and spoke a little more loudly. "This was never just some brief fling for me, y'know?"

Having only had one very on again/off again relationship his entire life, romantic advice was not something Scrooge McDuck particularly excelled in, but he didn't exactly enjoy seeing his usually cheerful and chipper driver being close to tears, so he decided to give it a shot.

"You love this lad?" Scrooge chirped up, leaning his head to the side slightly. Launchpad jolted his head up at that, and looked over at his boss, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He nodded slowly at first, but then his nod became more firm.

"More than I've ever loved anyone, Mr McDee." Launchpad admitted, almost sheepishly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck again.

Scrooge nodded at him, with a small smile and a furrowed brow. 

"And he loves you?" He asked.

Launchpad fell silent, but smiled thinking about his boyfriend, looking out of the window again before looking back at his boss.

"I like to think so." He replied.

Scrooge thought back to all the times he had seen Drake around the mansion since the cancellation of the Darkwing Duck movie, more than a year ago now. All the times he had seen Launchpad wrapping his arms around Drake just outside of the garage, all the times he had spotted them holding hands. All the times he had seen the way Drake looked at Launchpad, how he barely stopped smiling around him, how hard he laughed-- how he appeared to understand Launchpad in a way that no one else could even begin to comprehend. And he knew how much Launchpad adored him, too. He was the one who spent morning and night with him, just the two of them in the limo together. He was the one who had to listen to how amazing Drake was daily and how Drake had said the funniest thing the day before. It was something truly special indeed, and it did his old heart good to see Launchpad so happy. Not to mention the way Launchpad beamed when he laid his eyes on both Gosalyn and Drake, as if this little girl he had come to know in such a short space of time had been in their lives for as long as she had been alive.

"I may not know Mr Mallard as well as you do," Scrooge began, shifting in his seat and clearing his throat. "But what I do know is that he cares about you. Deeply. Clearly, you both have a lot of love for each other. And yes, he may need to talk to you-- but that could be something as simple as, eh… not wanting you to eat burritos in bed anymore." 

Launchpad let out a genuine laugh at that, and reached up to wipe his eyes. Scrooge smiled at the sound.

"Yeah." Launchpad said, smiling at his boss warmly. "You're right. Thanks."

"Not at all, McQuack." Scrooge replied, returning the warm smile in kind. "Now, uh, if it's all the same with you, I'd quite like to get back home now." He stated, pointing at the large space between the limo and the car in front of them, and a loud beep that came from behind them made Launchpad jump.

"Yep! No problem, Mr McDee!" Launchpad exclaimed, flooring the gas pedal and jolting them both forward.

Each step towards his boyfriend’s apartment was another step in the direction of gut-wrenching anxiety. His talk with Scrooge certainly was helpful, but as he neared Drake’s residence, Launchpad couldn’t help his thoughts from escalating. He made a futile attempt to ignore them, but as he stood outside Drake’s door, his hand nearing towards the door handle, he couldn’t help but brace himself for the worst.

He took a moment to compose himself, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, before finally opening the door and walking into Drake’s apartment. Launchpad cleared his throat.

“Hey!” He exclaimed heartily, eyes still on the door as he closed it, only to be met with a harsh ‘shush!’. Launchpad’s brow furrowed and he looked over to Drake, who was carrying a sleeping Gosalyn in his arms. His heart melted at the sight, with Gosalyn being a more than welcomed recurring figure in both of their lives these days. Launchpad looked at him apologetically, mouthing ‘sorry’, and Drake sighed softly in response. The response made Launchpad’s heart sink even lower, and he unzipped his jacket it and tossed it onto the coat hanger along with his hat as Drake left the room to place Gosalyn carefully on his bed. 

He swiftly walked back into the room moments later, and Launchpad noticed how tired Drake looked. He knew Gosalyn had boundless bouts of energy (he’d spent his fair amount of time with the little girl they had saved a few months ago, too, and she had spirit unlike anyone he had ever seen), and with patrol on a night, it appeared to be taking its toll. Drake smiled at Launchpad, and made his way over to him, his arms wrapping around his middle in a gentle embrace. Launchpad enclosed his arms around Drake, squeezing him just that little bit tighter, and placed a kiss atop his boyfriend’s hair that lingered, almost as if he was savouring that moment--almost as if it’d be one of their last moments.

Drake let go at what felt like all too soon for Launchpad’s liking, and Launchpad watched as his boyfriend made his way into the kitchen of his apartment.

“I made you some dinner.” Drake said simply, a hint of raspiness to his voice that Launchpad recognised from the many mornings he had woken up next to Drake in the last year. “Oh, and we need to drop Gosalyn back off at the orphanage in an hour. She passed out after a rather intense game of hide and seek.” A look of fondness found its way to Drake’s face then, and Launchpad smiled warmly at the sight. “I heard her snoring behind the couch just before you came in.”

“And here I thought Gosalyn could never tire herself out.” Launchpad said with a gentle laugh, and Drake didn’t say much in return apart from a brief exhale of air, clearly meant to represent his own tired laughter.

Launchpad followed Drake to the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, almost as if he were trying to hide his anxiety. Drake seemed to be a little preoccupied, cleaning the counter and passing Launchpad the sandwich he had made for him without even so much as a second glance, and Launchpad was practically begging Drake in his mind to look at him. But instead he took the sandwich with thanks and placed it to the side, his usual bottomless pit of an appetite failing him. Had Drake forgotten that he wanted to talk to Launchpad? Was he scared to finally break up with him? Was he trying to drag it out as long as possible? Launchpad tried to ignore the thumping against his chest but he was almost sure it was audible. He picked up the sandwich as he leaned against the counter and fussed with it, eyes barely leaving Drake as he moved around the apartment with the same amount of noise as a gentle cat with not nearly half as much grace, tripping over various toys Gosalyn had left on the floor, but Launchpad watched Drake with barely blinking eyes, taking in this sight of domesticity he had come to love and cherish so dearly that he may never get a proper chance to see again.

The apartment was silent apart from the low hush of talking coming from the TV, which sounded much too loud for Launchpad. Drake was barely saying anything apart from mutterings to himself whenever he tripped over or bumped into something, and Launchpad had given up on eating his sandwich entirely, arms now folded over his chest again and fingers tapping anxiously on his own biceps. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Drake asked, quirking an eyebrow as he looked at Launchpad from across the counter. Launchpad’s eyes widened, and his breathing escalated so that his chest was visibly heaving. Drake shot him an expression of worry, and opened his mouth to speak again before Launchpad interrupted him.

“If you’re gonna break up with me, can you do it quickly?! Just-- like a bandaid, y’know? Rip it off!” He yelled, flinching immediately after as if bracing himself for the impact and holding his head in his hands.

Drake stared at Launchpad in silence for a moment, before stifling a confused laugh and moving towards his boyfriend. He pried Launchpad’s hands away from his face, holding them in his own hands. “What are you talking about? I’m not breaking up with you!”

Launchpad averted his gaze for a moment, but then his eyes fixed on Drake’s. “What? You’re not?!”

“No!” Drake clarified, eyes not leaving his boyfriend’s face. “Why would you possibly think that?”

“You texted me saying you needed to talk to me! That’s classic break-up lingo!” Launchpad frowned in frustration. Drake looked at Launchpad, then rolled his eyes with a smile, shaking his head.

“Sweetheart, I am not breaking up with you. That’s not what I needed to talk to you about at all!” He stated, lifting a hand to caress Launchpad’s face gently. Launchpad melted into the touch as if he hadn’t felt it in years, and every worry he’d had throughout the day seemed to wash away with that one touch. “I’m sorry-- today has been pretty chaotic. I just needed a moment to tidy round before we talked.”

Launchpad’s brow furrowed. “....So...what did you need to talk to me about?” He asked, voice slightly softer now.

Drake smiled warmly, and held a little tighter to Launchpad’s hands. He guided him over to the couch and sat him down before sitting down beside him, and he took his hands into his own again. Launchpad looked down at their hands and ran his thumb over Drake’s knuckles before looking back at his boyfriend, who’s smile could put all the stars in the sky to shame.

“Well… there’s sort of… two things I need to talk to you about.” Drake started, and Launchpad nodded silently, holding his boyfriend’s hands with the usual firm but gentle touch he always had that forever made Drake feel safe and secure.

Drake cleared his throat. “The first thing is… I’m kinda tired of you going back and forth all the time.” He said, and Launchpad frowned, and opened his mouth to speak before Drake pressed his hand gently to his beak. “And before you jump to any conclusions, let me get to my point first.” He laughed softly, and then continued. “I’m tired of you going back and forth from here to the mansion all the time because… I want you to live here. I want you to stay here, with me. I want you to move in-- that is, if you want to.” He reached up to the front pocket of his shirt, and lifted out a key, placing it in Launchpad’s hand. “I… I got you a key cut already, too.”

Launchpad blinked, staring down at the key that had just been laid in his hand, then a smile beamed across his face. “Drake, I--”

“Hold on, hold on, I’m not finished.” Drake said, wiggling a finger with a grin, and Launchpad sat back slightly, although his smile remained.

“My bad. Go on.” He said through teary eyes.

“I want you to stay here with me. But I also… want Gosalyn to stay here with us, too.” He said softly, eyes looking over to the corridor where his bedroom was, where the duckling lay sound asleep atop his bed. Launchpad’s heart leapt into his throat at that, and his hands gripped a little tighter onto Drake’s.

“What are you--”

“I’m saying…” he took in a breath. “I’m saying… I want to adopt Gosalyn with you. I want her to be ours. No more taking her back to that orphanage, no more painful goodbyes at the end of days spent with her. I want her to be ours.” 

Launchpad felt a tightening in his throat, and he was almost at a loss for words. “You-- you want me to be Gosalyn’s dad? With you?”

Drake nodded slowly, then quickly, tears forming in his eyes that were threatening to unravel his calm exterior. “That is-- if you want to. If you don’t then I… I get that. It’s a lot to undertake. Being a parent, that is. I don’t want it to seem like I’m pressuring you, or anything, I-- I just want to give her a good life. A safe life. And I… I see the way you look at her when you’re spending time together. Like you would do anything to keep that beautiful smile on her face for as long as possible, no matter what it takes. That’s what I want for her. Parents who cherish every second they get to spend with her. Parents who would do anything to keep her safe. Parents… like us.” Drake said gently, giving Launchpad’s hands a squeeze. Launchpad had been frozen up until that point, and once he laid the key to the apartment that he had just been given to the side, he immediately pulled his boyfriend into a tight embrace, gaining a yelp of surprise from Drake as he was enveloped into his boyfriend’s arms but it was an all too welcomed gesture. 

“And to think I thought you were going to break up with me all day.” Launchpad said, his voice cracking as he held back his own tears, and Drake nuzzled his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder, his hands grabbing at his shirt as if his life depended on it.

He pulled away, cupping Launchpad’s face in his hands as he did so. “Never. I love you so much.” Drake told him, thumbs gently running over Launchpad’s cheeks in reassuring motions. Hands rested upon Drake’s waist, gripping almost a little too tightly in an effort to be as close to Drake as possible in that moment. 

Launchpad finally loosened his grip on his boyfriend to wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I love you, too. More than anything-- or anyone. I mean, apart from…” He gave a nod to the direction of the bedroom, and he felt himself almost overcome with emotion. “God. I’m going to be a dad.”

Drake snorted a laugh, then sniffed afterwards, tears rolling down his face with him powerless to stop them from doing so now. “You are. We’re going to be dads. If it all goes according to plan. God, I hope…” he said barely above a whisper, and Launchpad gave his hands another squeeze.

“It will.” Launchpad clarified with a firm nod, and Drake looked at him, and nodded back, smiling. “When we drop her off tonight, we’ll tell them we want her to be ours, and we’ll go from there. Before you know it, we’ll be bringing her home without ever having to take her back.”

Drake wiped his own eyes, and nodded again. He leaned in and pressed his beak against Launchpad’s, arms wrapping around Launchpad’s shoulders, and Launchpad pulled him closer with that same familiarly firm grip. They parted, and nuzzled their beaks together, and Drake pressed a few more smaller kisses on Launchpad’s mouth before pulling away to look at him.

“You really thought I was going to break up with you?” Drake asked, raising an eyebrow as his hands lifted to play with the hair on the nape of Launchpad’s hair. Launchpad looked at him, almost embarrassed, and nodded.

“I may or may not have totally chewed Mr McDee’s ear off about it on the drive home.” Launchpad confessed, letting out a small chuckle.

Drake shook his head with a smile. “Oh, honey. No. Although if you don’t stop eating burritos in bed once you move in, I may have to sentence you to the couch for a few nights.”

Launchpad looked to the side, frowning. “How did Mr McDee know…?”

Drake snorted, then looked at Launchpad fondly. “I love you.”

His heart swelled at that, and he pulled his boyfriend closer once more. “I love you.”

They were then interrupted by the presence of the young duckling that accompanied them in their now shared apartment, yawning and walking into the living room slowly as she rubbed her eyes. Gosalyn’s curly hair was sticking up on end as she made her way over to where Drake and Launchpad were sitting. She asked what was going on, and they welcomed her onto the couch with opened arms, ready to tell her about the proposition they had just decided on together. Their arms enclosed around her shoulders simultaneously, and they both relished in the comforting thought that one day, someday soon, when they were all sat on the couch together on a quiet night like this, they would never have to take her back to the orphanage again.

[hopesiick]

𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐃 // vice detective, thirty-three, red ridge native.

— unflinching, grudging, brainy, irreverent, plucky, mulish. loosely inspired by dominique dipierro (mr robot), laurie blake (watchmen hbo), eve polastri (killing eve), wendy byrde (ozark), and allie pressman (the society). this vine, too.

howdy, folks! i’m dev. 🤠 this is my dearest brain babie, jordan. normally, this is where i’d get all mushy-gushy on y’all, but the rest of this introduction is already too long as it is, and i’d rather not add insult to injury hehe. just know i’m happy to be here & even more excited to get to know you all + your brain babies, too! 🥳 @redridgeimp​​

— pinterest, stats + connections page.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: bullet points marked with three asterisks (***) feature mentions of domestic abuse and unfit parenting. reader discretion is advised.

the toussards are old money. her mother’s side of the family have made their fortune off of hay farms scattered across the state of nevada, and her father’s side of the family have mostly been cattle and dairy farmers. together, they decided to venture into real estate, too, by buying up farm land plots and selling them at a higher price, along with residential plots, too. 

they’re not showy people, but they definitely make good use of their money. jordan’s childhood home is a plantation-style house on a big ole plot of land situated on the outskirts of town. they had healthy green grass with sprinklers and a full garden. inside, everything was real wood, ivory, and silver. they had a maid and gardeners and the whole nine yards. still, if you hadn’t seen that or recognized their family name, you might have expected them to be any other family belonging to red ridge. 

to many, they gave off the image of a picture-perfect, all-american nuclear family. it’s easy to pretend, seeing as they live so far away from all the glitz and none of them -- no matter how they feel -- are willing to shatter that golden reputation, but it isn’t real. elise, her mother, wanted a doll more than she wanted an actual child, and it was society’s pressure on women to give birth that forced her hand, not any sense of innate desire for expanding the family. joseph, her father, was too caught up in his wife’s every wish and whim to really pay attention to jordan in a deep way. he never turned his back on her, but jordan never felt any deep belonging to him either -- if anything, he felt more like a 2d stand in for the father she wished she’d had. 

*** that meant there was only one adult left to really pick up her parent’s slack, and that was corinne, her aunt. corinne, who had an awful habit of bringing terrible men home. corinne, who was bipolar and unmedicated, and often in charge of taking care of jordan from the moment she was in diapers to the moment she graduated college. corinne, who was manipulated by her own sister. corinne, who was helpless to protect jordan against her mother’s attacks, and unable to shield her from the rage her boyfriends spat. corinne is like a mother to jordan. she was the hand that rubbed her back when she was sick. she was the open arms that held her when one of jordan’s teenage dates went sour. she was the one to cover for her when she snuck out and the one to teach her everything her mother considered too immoral and dirty. corinne is her mother in the way elise never could be, but still .. jordan can’t help but feel anger towards her. 

*** jordan’s known how to use, fire, and clean a gun from the age of eight. she learned how to hunt at the age of ten. she knew and helped her father field dress a handful of animals by the age of twelve. you may think this was just a bit of heavy-handed bonding between a father and daughter, but it wasn’t. elise and joseph used to go away a lot, both for pleasure and business, which left jordan in corinne’s sole care. that wouldn’t be a problem, if it weren’t for the fact that a grand majority of corinne’s relationships were abusive, specifically physically. jordan was a child, but she was a child with a duty -- a duty to protect her caretaker if necessary. at the time, jordan didn’t think much of it. she liked feeling like she had an in with her father, liked feeling important. it was only when she got older that she realized how fucked up everything had been, and how that’s the driving factor behind the feeling of fear she just can’t drop, and the mistrust she has in others. the anger she feels towards corinne is rooted in that. she can’t help but feel like it’s corinne’s fault and she hates that her aunt -- a fully grown adult -- was the center of her childhood, instead of her own self.

skipping forward a bit, jordan went to college right after high school to major in criminal science. her lifelong exposure to such abuse left her with a taste for vengeance. see, jordan wanted to be a police officer to protect her hometown, sure, but she also wanted the badge so that she could finally dish out the punishment that so many of the officers she’d seen were unwilling to. the only way to stop that culture of turning a blind eye was to do it from the inside, and that’s exactly what she did. 

jordan’s been a cop for twelve years now. she started her career doing patrol and eventually working with the gangs and narcotics team for five years. after a lot of pestering and brown-nosing, jordan became a g&n detective. she was mostly in charge of surveillance, carrying out raids, and the planning of both. ( she had an opportunity early in her career to go undercover, but jordan’s too obvious for that. ) eventually, jordan switched departments over to the special victims unit, but that stint really only served as a segue into where she is now: the vice and support department. she used to specialize in community outreach, helping bridge the gap between the community and the precinct. she worked with groups focused on helping those affected by drugs and sex workers who have been abused. when one of the detectives assigned to missing persons cases left, jordan was quick to apply for it. needless to say, she got the job and has been doing that since.

she’s got the nose for it -- all the digging and reviewing and passion for the relentless pursuit. she doesn’t particularly like dealing with the families of those affected, but it’s part of the job. on most days, she genuinely enjoys it, but with the rise in crime and the amount of deaths at their feet, jordan can’t help but rethink her choices. she’s competitive by nature; she can’t handle these losing games. 

jordan’s a very cutthroat cop -- especially in her g&n days, when it was all heat, all pressure, all the time. she’s got an eye for weakness and isn’t afraid to exploit that on the job. she’s not above making threats -- promises, really -- and has always been the type to gather as much evidence as humanly possible, because she wants prosecutors to see justice through. she’s just really efficient. she wouldn’t be where she was at only thirty-three if she wasn’t. most of the time, you can catch her putting in overtime hours. 

that being said... jordan has a big heart. she doesn’t believe in institutions as a whole, but she does believe in people. the law is the law and rules are vital for a functioning society, but .. she may be willing to look the other way sometimes, if you’re close enough. ( i mean, she was married to a valencia member at one point, so. ) she may not agree with what some people do, but she’ll really only go after you if what you’re doing is truly heinous. ( but don’t tell her supervisors! 🥺 and don’t mention the hypocrisy to her face. )

outside of work, though, jordan’s pretty chill. she used to be a loudmouthed firecracker in her youth, but she’s calmed down significantly since then. really, she’s not so bad! maybe it's because she can't handle being alone, but she thrives from being in groups + will strike up a conversation with anyone and everyone. if she likes your shoes, she'll tell you. if you need a ride home then she’ll walk with you because she’s most likely equally as inebriated. kind of the person that you’re hesitant to approach, but when you do she treats you like you’re old friends -- even if you're not. you know that drunk girl in the bathroom that gives you sagely advice or tells you she loves your hair? that’s jordan, except she’s not drunk. 

when jordan makes her mind up on something, it’s almost impossible to get her to budge. it doesn’t matter if she’s in the wrong, she’ll trudge on no matter what. her flippancy in the face of danger – a prized act at this point – has landed her in trouble before, and it most certainly will again. she’s unyielding and unapologetic; not willing to change herself for anyone. getting her to talk about her emotions is like pulling teeth, except even that would probably be easier. she’s incredibly honest about some things as a way to hide behind it; it’s a farce that distracts people into thinking she’s being honest with them, when really she’s not -- not entirely, anyway. 

loves love, but she’s rotten at it. her anxiety gets in the way, tells her that she’ll mess it up somehow until she finally does, like a self-fulfilling prophecy. ( something-something abt the fact that she can’t comprehend someone loving her if not even her own parents could ). she’s a much better friend, and jordan thinks that’s more important anyhow. genuinely, if you’re her friend then she loves you endlessly and earnestly.

𝒇𝒖𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓 !

jordan is that friend that gets a little bit too into car karaoke.

she’s also the type to order a screwdriver during an 11a brunch.

it’s a wonder that she doesn’t have tinnitus, considering she always blasts heavy metal music in her car.

makes jokes about getting married and divorced, because if you can’t laugh at your pain then you’re fucked.

if you ever visit her unannounced, you’ll spot her in t-shirts that say “milf in training”, “god looks like me”, and more.

if you’re mean to her she’ll give you a parking ticket.

she plays dirty in fights. used to bite a lot as a child and she still does. all is fair in love and war, babie! enjoy getting that tetanus shot and lovely hospital bill! 💋

pantsuits from monday to friday, and overalls without a bra on the weekend because fuck that shit. also extremely partial to shirts with low plunges. a lil bit of side titty for everyone. 

if you’re leaving a drink behind she’ll finish it for you because daddy didn’t raise no quitters.

has a lot of self-worth issues, but she’d sooner die than ever tell anyone about them or even confront them herself. 

don’t let the pantsuit fool you! there’s pure muscle underneath that two-piece, babie. 

𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄. 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔:

“i am the shape you made me. filth teaches filth.”

"can i be blamed for my efforts? all men are drawn to the sea, perilous though it may be."

"there is a place, deep in the heart of fear, where you trap yourself and claim that is safety."

"still, a great deal of light falls on everything."

"i hold a stalk in my hand. i am the stalk. my roots go down to the depth of the world."

“i always figured when i got older, god would sorta come into my life somehow. and he didn’t. i don’t blame him. if i was him i would have the same opinion of me that he does.”

“nothing washes off.”

“you cannot be stolen, ransacked, looted like an emptied bank account or a burgled house. you are the tough old tissues, the exquisite scars. you are the thing that would not die.”

𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚, 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒔 ! ( open to any gender ) 

jordan can’t function without a best friend, so.. gimme, please! 🥺🤲

i once read a passage talking about how the friendships you make in your childhood can never be mimicked in your adulthood, and you know what.. #true. where’s jordan’s childhood friends at? do they still keep in touch? did they have a massive fallout as teenagers where jordan told them to get hit by a truck because she was a very dramatic 16 yr old? were they frenemies? do they still have one of jordan’s things because she was terrible at remembering everything after a sleepover? did jordan’s parents help your muse’s family out? idc, just gimme!

exes / almost exes. remember what i said about jordan being a shit when it comes to love? they could’ve been serious at some point whether as adults or in their youth, maybe it was short-lived, maybe jordan never even let it get off the ground. could be on good terms or bad terms or no terms at all. 

neighbors!! jordan pulls some odd hours n sometimes plays her music a little too loud and burns her food more often than she should at 33 yrs old. she may or may not be the best neighbor to have is all i’m saying, but she tries!! 

friends!! platonic love is the most purest form of love there is and she’s got a lot of it to give!! come and get ya some! 

enemies / hateships because sometimes .. it just be like that. whether this has to do with a falling out of some sort, just straight up hate at first sight, or something to do with an encounter on the job, or something else entirely i’m here for it! 

one night stands / [old] fwb. i’m gonna be honest with y’all: if jordan likes you, then she can’t sleep with you. now, i’m gonna be honest with y’all again: jordan’s very much a yes-girl. she says and does things just to get a reaction sometimes or see what’ll happen ( something-something "sometimes if you let people do things to you, you're really doing it to them" ). that being said, she’ll sleep with just about anyone. maybe they don’t talk about it ever, maybe they only ever talk when they want something, maybe they regret it, maybe it’s all gucci, and maybe it was good until it wasn’t. idk! 

jordan has been shot twice in her career thus far. the first time was during a noise disturbance call and the second time was during a narc raid. if your muse wants in on that we can discuss the deets! 

and also literally whatever else your heart desires because i’m both here for the fluffiest deepest connections ever and also the angstiest makes-me-wanna-die type shit. i literally don’t say no to anything so if you have any ideas you think jordan can be a good fit for, i’m all ears!! 

[thatfanficstuff]

The Light in my Darkness - 2

Pairing: none yet

Warnings: language but if that bothers you should quit reading this now. 

A/N: I meant to have this up way earlier but ya know. Enjoy my lovelies. This is so much fun to write. 

***

“I don’t understand why you won’t give me this one thing.”

Sharon’s voice had taken on a nasal quality that grated on Clint Barton’s nerves. Of course, the entire argument was an annoyance he shouldn’t be bothered with. They had an agreement for a reason. He clenched his teeth and worked the muscle in his jaw. He was choosing his words carefully, not wanting the conversation to devolve any further. “I’m going to assume you didn’t mean to imply that I don’t provide you with everything you need.”

Her full bottom lip curled out in a pout and she batted her eyelashes at him. “You know I didn’t mean that, baby. You take such good care of me.”

He arched a brow but didn’t bother to respond. The monthly credit card bill was more than sufficient to show that she was more than taken care of. He crossed the room to look out the window, putting her at his back. Not for the first time, he wondered if it was time to end this. Sharon could be difficult at times but did it outweigh the time and effort he would have to put into finding a new companion? He sighed. God, I sound like a miserable bastard, he thought. Though he tried not to think about it too hard as he was far from happy with his current situation.

Small hands ran over the back of his jacket and across his shoulders.  He resisted the urge to shrug off her touch. 

“Look, we’ve been seeing each other for awhile now. My father thinks it time the two of you met. That’s all.” She’d curbed her tone to sound more reasonable and less whiney, but it was all a game. Everything that came from her mouth was calculated to get what she wanted. It should probably have bothered him more than it did, but he knew what she was when they started this.

He turned to face her. “The only reason he wants to meet me now is you’ve led on that we’re more than what we are. You could have told your parents that this was a casual relationship.”

Her lips pursed and she huffed as she turned away from him to grab her drink off the table. “They aren’t likely to believe that when I’m living with you.”

“We do not live together. You’ve never even seen my house and I’m barely ever here. I hate this apartment.”

Her brow furrowed as if this was news to her, though he’d mentioned it before. “What?”

He shrugged. “It’s cold. Impersonal.” Everything in the apartment was chrome and shades of gray. Nothing about it remotely said home to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I thought you’d approve. The designer I hired was one of the best.”

“I did say something, but I’m not the one living here, Sharon. If this makes you happy, so be it.” He raked a hand through his hair.

Her scowl slid into a sly smile. “See, I knew you cared about my happiness.” She sauntered back over to him and slipped her free hand into the front of his jacket. “You want everyone to think you’re so cool and unmovable, but you’re such a good boyfriend, Clint.”

Panic crawled up his spine when she called him her boyfriend. That wouldn’t do at all. He grasped her upper arms and moved her back away from him. “That’s not what this is and you know it. Quite frankly, I’m getting tired of having to remind you.”

“Why are you like this?” Tears welled in her eyes.

Clint didn’t even bother to hide his eye roll. The tears were about as real as the rest of her. “I’m the same as I was the day you met me.”

She slammed her glass down before crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s precisely the problem. By now I thought you would have come around to the idea of us. We’re perfect together. Why can’t you see that?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Don’t love you? It’s too late for that.”

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose. He pulled out his phone and began to send a series of texts. Without looking at her, he spoke. “We’re done here, Sharon. Tonight signals the end of our agreement. This is over.”

“You’re breaking up with me because I told you that I love you?” Her voice was low, little more than a whisper.  

He bit back the harsher words he wanted to say. This was a business arrangement, nothing more. He wouldn’t let her get to him. “You don’t love me and don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise. You love my money. Not that I expect you to know the difference.”

Her glare might have made a lesser man pause, but Clint barely acknowledged it. “You can’t do this to me. I’ll tell everyone the truth. I’ll let them know the kind of man you are.”

His brows lifted and his mouth twitched at the threat. He licked his lips. “You signed a contract that forbids you from doing precisely that. Do it and you’ll hear from my attorneys. Besides, do you really want to tell everyone that you agreed to be in a relationship with me in exchange for money? I don’t think it’s me people will be judging.”

She stomped her foot and growled in frustration. His eyes followed her as she paced angrily across the floor. Suddenly, she snapped back toward him. “I’ll tell them you hit me.”

Anger flared through him then, hot and hungry. His shoulders rolled back and his spine went rigid. “You want to repeat that?”

Sharon ran her gaze over him and whatever she saw must have been enough to make her rethink her words. She shook her head. “I deserve more than this. I deserve better.”

“You deserve nothing. I have paid your every expense for the past eight months in exchange for you decorating my arm in public and a few nights in a lukewarm bed. I was clear from the beginning that was all this was. All it would ever be. I am not responsible for your delusions.”

“But it’s not a delusion. You really care for me. I can tell.”

He felt a twinge of sympathy for her until she continued.

“Please don’t cut me off. I need you.”

“As you’ve just made abundantly clear, you need my money. Not me. Frankly, you aren’t worth the headache anymore. I’ll give you three days to vacate the apartment. You may take personal belongings only. Everything else is to remain.” It was harsher than he intended to be, but apparently it was needed in this situation.

Her arms dropped to her sides as she gaped at him. “You can’t just expect me to leave. This is my apartment.”

“No, it’s my apartment. You really should read your contract, sweetheart.” And with those words, he turned and left. He slammed the door on her cursing his name and took the stairs two at a time down to the garage.

As his driver opened the door to the car for him, Clint smiled. He felt lighter than he had in weeks. Yes, Sharon was a weight he should have done away with some time ago.

“Is Miss Carter not joining us?” Scott asked and Clint didn’t miss the way the corner of the man’s mouth kicked up. His driver had never cared for Sharon and the feeling was mutual.

“Miss Carter will not be joining us again ever,” Clint answered as he slid onto the back seat. He could have sworn he heard Scott mutter ‘thank fuck’ before he shut the door. Clint chuckled and finished sending the emails he needed to make sure the flow of money in Sharon’s direction stopped.

His relief was only dampened by the fact he would have to find a new companion or he’d be right back to dodging money hungry women in no time. One soul-crushing relationship in a lifetime was enough. He had no desire to ever repeat the experience.

***

Once he arrived home, he dismissed Scott and entered through the kitchen door at the side of the house. He jerked to a stop when his eyes fell on Wanda sitting at the table with a pint of ice cream in front of her. Though she was scowling at the food in front of her, she wasn’t crying. Clint could handle anything as long as she didn’t start crying. Despite her obvious upset, he found himself smiling. He was always happy to see his girl. The house had been far too quiet since she moved into her own place closer to school.

He unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged out of it before tossing it over the back of one of the chairs. After that, he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves to reveal several of his tattoos. There. Now, he felt more like himself. He eyed Wanda but she still hadn’t acknowledged him beyond lifting her spoon in a wave. Moving to the fridge, he grabbed a couple of beers and went to join her at the table. He offered her one but she made a face.

“Beer and ice cream? Yuck.”

He grinned and cracked his open. After taking a long swallow, he sat the bottle on the table. “Lay it on me.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m just a little bummed.” She rested her chin in her hand with a sigh.

“If it’s not a big deal, why did you drive all the way over here to eat my ice cream?”

She scoffed and narrowed her eyes at him. “Since when do you like pistachio?”

He shrugged and took another sip of his beer. “Talk to me. Who do I need to kill?”

That got him a laugh and his heart lightened considerably.

She shook her head. “It’s Y/N.”

Clint’s chest tightened a little at the mention of your name. You’d been a fixture in their lives since high school. He’d gotten used to having you around. Sometime in the last couple of years, he’d realized his feelings for you had shifted. Once he had, he’d done his best to stomp them into the ground and when that failed to work entirely, he started to avoid you. “Did you two have a fight?”

Wanda’s brow furrowed. “Of course not. We’re just not getting the apartment together anymore.”

He leaned back in his chair with a frown. The two of you had been planning on being roommates forever but it wasn’t practical with you in business school. Your change in majors had come with a transfer to Wanda’s college so now was the perfect time. “Well, why not?” Clint prompted when she didn’t continue on her own.

“Her father refuses to pay for anything unless she goes back to business school. He’s kicking her out of her apartment and cutting her off completely. She planned on financial aid covering her expenses but they won’t give her any money since her dad makes too much,” she told him quickly without taking a breath.

“Fucking Rumlow,” Clint muttered. He hated that man and still didn’t understand how someone like Y/N could have the same genes. “She doesn’t have to pay for her portion of the apartment, Wanda. You know I don’t care about that.”

She pointed at him with her spoon. “I know that and I told her as much, but she won’t do it. She can’t afford her classes much less her half of an apartment. They offered her all the hours she wanted at the diner but she won’t do that either. She’ll think it’s taking advantage of their kindness. You know how she is. I think she’s going to get another job. I’m never going to see her.”

Clint sipped at his beer as he mulled over the situation. If it was up to him, he would just pay for your tuition and your half of the apartment, but Wanda was right. You wouldn’t take it. You were one of the best people he knew and you certainly didn’t deserve any of this. Maybe he should call Rumlow and have a few words with him. He doubted that would have any affect on the situation, but he couldn’t think of what else to do.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. A glance at the screen showed a text from Natasha wanting to verify he and his plus one would be attending a charity gala on Friday evening. He started to type back a reply but froze, his thumb hovering over the phone. He’d just had a fantastic, horrible idea. He slipped his phone back into his pocket without responding.

You needed money, which he could provide. And he needed someone with a flexible schedule to attend events with him. Go to the occasional dinner. Someone to make him appear unavailable. You were always ready and anxious to help where needed. If he explained this right, maybe both of you could end up with what you needed. And if it meant he spent more time with you, he wouldn’t complain. He could manage to keep his hands to himself while you enjoyed each other’s company. He’d been practicing for years now.

He cleared his throat, catching Wanda’s attention. He met her eye and smiled. “Have Y/N come by the office and see me tomorrow. I might be able to help her out.”

[mochimochipie]

Yandere BTS profiles

This is my perspective on how BTS would be if they are yandere or if they let their shadow win. This is entirely for entertainment purposes only; I do not condone this in real life. If someone is being toxic and your life is in any danger; fight back with your wits and strength.

Jungkook: Mysterious

(A/n: I see Jungkook as mysterious because he can fit all of the categories of being a yandere. Jungkook is a wild card because of the characteristics I am giving him. This is my first time creating something like this. It depends on how his life plays out and what circumstances he is in; it also depends on how you respond and act.)

Jungkook has always been quiet and reserved. He was always a “good boy” to everyone. People went missing after he hacked into their system to know what they really think of him. No Jungkook is not a robot, he is a human that can do anything he wants.

He also becomes sadistic to others because he knows everyone is fake with their emotions. He does not know anything about love and has nothing to do with it. He was a lost little bunny underneath all of the murdering and manipulative behavior. He also knows if he met anyone that he liked will also die due to him being a wild card.

Once he does met her it was in a bank and he held a gun to her head because she was working front desk. His cold eyes met hers and everything defrost as if she was the key to everything. He kidnaps her due to the circumstance. He wants to cuddle her and make her know that he is already hers and vise versa. Alas he can not since she already doesn’t trust him. He smells it on her when she lies and it does not smell good.

“I don’t like you at all, but since you think I’m playing hard to get I’ll show you to my basement.”

“I just want someone to understand me and love me for me. HELP ME BECOME BETTER!!”

Taehyung: ultimate worshipper

(A/N: Taehyung is an worshipper because you came at his aid when he was at his lowest. He wants to repay you with his life so I can see him being one of those who will defend you even if you are in the wrong.)

Taehyung knew that you were a goddess by the time you bumped into him. You helped him up since he was new to the school that you were in. You showed him around and told him that he is two year older so he would be a senior and she is a junior.

Taehyung did not care about this little age gap. He was going to protect you and annihilate anyone who would defy you. He starts to cry eveytime you look at him and has a big smile one his face. He would fanboy like a little boy but he would do it while no one else was watching.

One time he saw you cry... once and he concluded he did not like seeing you cry. He asked is something was bothering you and you said your father died. He comforted you and you complied with hugging him back.

“Have you ever just seen someone so magnifique that you just cry and make a fool out of yourself because you can’t talk properly. Yea that’s how I feel when she(you) walks around.”

“(Y/N) I love you, I love you, I will die for you I will die for you, I will KILL FOR YOU, I will KILL FOR YOU!!”

Jimin: Two-faced

(A/N: Jimin is two-faced toward everyone even you. He can be your angel or he can be your demon; you decide. I can also see him being a soft manipulator.)

Jimin never felt attachment or loved with anyone before. He always felt empty and alone. The only thing that got him excited was murdering. He became sadistic with the punishments.

So when he met you all he wanted to do was cuddle you and worship you because he never felt this way before. The only time he go pissed off was when your attention was away from him. Someone was trying to take you away even though you have a boyfriend; even though you guys are friends.

Jimin knew how to scare others away so when he scared people away from you. So when you came to him with tears in your eyes he comforted you and he promised to always be there for you. If he had to punish you he would handcuff you to him much to your dismay.

“Wow She is so beautiful I will follow her until the end of time.”

“Say That again about her and you will be begging for mommy and daddy.”

Namjoon: manipulator

(A/N: He is too smart for his own good. He can even twist his own brain if he isn’t careful. Again I feel like he is two faced but in a different way.)

Namjoon knew how cruel the world was so he got accustomed to how life was. He also just wanted to be loved but he gave up that idea long ago due to the fact that no one actually loved someone who could manipulate their brain. He also wanted someone who was smart as him so he could overpower everyone and make the world a better place.

When Namjoon meet you he was busking the streets because he was already a busy CEO. He walks into a small café only to run into you and made you spell coffee on yourself. He kinda just stared at you until he apologized profusely. He help you up and gave you his number and left due to the fact that he was late.

Namjoon never believed in love or soulmates. However he knew how to act to get whatever he wanted. He wanted the little café waitress that bumped into him and humiliated herself in front of him. He knew what soulmates felt in that moment and it made him feel even more powerful than he already was.

“I am so sorry miss I hope this means you and I can go on a date to make up for my brute introduction.”

“She will be by my side.”

Hoseok: Delusional boyfriend

(A/N: Be careful around him is all I got to say. Have you ever go accused to looking like someone else? If you have then watch out because crazy over there will think you are his deceased wife even though he never had a wife.)

Hoseok was always making people happy with his smile. He was always smiling even though he knew he was empty but that didn’t stop him from wanting to make people happy even if he was not happy. He got up to start the day and he bumped into a petite woman. He looked at her with an awed expression before helping her up. She smiled at him and told him that she was grateful but she was gone before Hoseok got to say anything.

He knew that she was his soulmate because she made him feel human. She made him feel invincible and he was devoted to her ever since. He starts to watch over her and protect her without her knowing that he killed everyone that was near her for too long.

Hoseok wanted to be her everything. If she wanted to stab him, he would let her with an awed expression. She can do nothing to make him hate her. She can cheat on him and he would still love her. She isn’t his, he is hers and he would stop at nothing to get her to love him. Oh wait she already is because Hoseok is nuts about her, he already told all his guy friends that he is her soulmate, Comrade, and best friend.

“Oh that’s no problem..hey wait-“

“You are so lovely my little sunshine. You made me want to live and I owe you my life and I will give it to you.”

Yoongi: Overprotective stalker

(A/N: Dispite his cool attitude he is a softy. He can be a tusundere and a yandere so yea good luck with him. I can see him snapping in the future due to the fact he knows you do not love him like he loves you.)

Yoongi was at a piano recital due to the fact that he needed credits for his major so he took the opportunity to do it at a piano recital for the elementary ballet students. He saw the most beautiful woman in the crowd and almost missed his key to start but he played for the woman that caught his attention which was you.

Yoongi decided to follow the both of you after the recital to see if anyone would try to harm you. He did not know why but he did not mind the way you gave him life after one single look. He would never let you know he loved you already.

Yoongi knew his appearance was coldhearted. That did not stop him from trying to make you his. He can hold his emotions in for a long time. You do not want to be there when he snaps. When you wake up you find yourself in a cage with a creepy Yoongi smiling with tears in his eyes.

“Who is she, she is the apple of my eye!”

“She would be the perfect companion since she and I go to the same school together.”

Seokjin: Fatherlike/traditional

(A/N: I can see him being fatherlike since he is the oldest hyung in BTS. He is trained and he will train you like he has been trained; strict and obedient.)

The first time he met you was when you both were younger. He always was taught and trained to respect every lady and treat them as if they were queens. He always stuck around you because he wanted you to become his queen.

He was also taught to be the man of the household. His parents were very traditional and strict on him because they did not want him to end up like them. They were about to divorce and that caused Jin to rethink about what his parents said. It happened when you had to move and that’s when he snapped.

No longer he was mister nice guy to anyone else. He snapped on everyone and became narcissistic and bitter. The thought of you being with someone else made him want to train you instead of him. He isn’t sadistic in anyway he just wants you back with him. When you came back Seokjin was a whole new man but with you he was still the soft man that wants to protect you from the world.

“My beloved still remembers me and loves me for who I am.”

“Speak to her again and I make you wish your mother never gave birth to you.”

[kalesandfails]

i like my body/ and it is not your body

My weekend was great, thanks! I ran ten miles each morning, and running is the closest I get to approximating what it feels like to have properly firing neurons. I listened to two loves of my life, Jon Lovett and Stacy Abrams (about whom I will write more another time, but don’t wait for that;  go give her project to resist voter suppression your money here). I read books to the literal piles of humans I have made, dizzy with the sheer acreage of their cheeks. I had a conversation with my autistic preschooler about Ariel — the first proper conversation my daughter has ever initiated with me.

So, I’m doing okay right now, thanks for not asking while I proceed to say some stuff.

I’m saying this not because my voice is the one that needs to be uplifted in a conversation about  either fat-shaming or ectopic pregnancies, but because I went to bed thinking about the distressing common thread between the current weird preoccupation of other seemingly uninvolved parties with the two phenomena. And because, while I think James Cordon, God among men, gets this, and I know that other survivors of miscarriages, ectopic pregnancies, and the million other situations in which abortion has been a Godsend — as in, the best option or only tenable option for a specific human being at a specific point in time —I’m just thinking that maybe the people who need to hear it, literally cannot hear it enough, or from enough people, until they have plunked their toned, tailored-suit-wearing man asses into some comfortable seats, ones from which it is somewhat labor-intensive to emerge, and sat a round or two out.

The first is this: you, fat-shamer, and you, pro-lifer who, surprisingly, is willing to “let God decide” if a college student with a fertilized egg threatening to rupture her fallopian tube and kill her should live or not — since the role your God presumably had in supplying the skill and technology to save her life wasn’t a clear enough sign of His will, and despite the fact that God apparently can’t be trusted to supply Her children with appropriate sexual and gender identities — you get a single body and that is your body. And that body, and control of that body, are just going to need to be enough.

Look: there’s no reason to believe that someone who is insulting people over their weight has any strategic goal related to either health or weight loss. To claim otherwise, to walk back your antagonistic bullshit with a sanctimonious “but I’m concerned for [their] health!” : this a is mindbogglingly bad-faith argument. Because the human being you are shaming, or, honestly, any person acquainted with how people feel when you’re shitty to them, will point out that humiliating people and promoting discrimination against them doesn’t effectively motivate them to change their behavior, let alone the physical body they inhabit, and you will say — what, that it should?

At that point, it will become clear that what you, the fat-shamer, want, is for these people to change their bodies in response to your comments about whether or not they can see their penises or get laid or give you an erection; that, basically, what you are doing is doubling down on a system in which if you are a woman, you should feel embarrassed and subhuman if your body is an inadequately hot commodity for the consumption of this unnamed but all-important (male) consumer. (You, right? It’s you to whom we’re trying to make our bodies presentable?)

And if you, the fat-shamed, are a man, your worth is still determined by men, this time the ones who supposedly know how successful you are at getting women to have sex with you based on their opinions of your body, and who have decided that this is the metric by which your worth is established. (Side note: straight guys who know so much about what women want, I’m guessing you don’t want to rethink your premise that your estimation of other guys’ bodies is the one that matters when determining what women find attractive, but it would behoove you to do so. If there were one thing women don’t like (there’s not!), it would be straight guys mansplaining our sexuality to us).

Basically, what fat shaming is about in your sixties (because that is how old Bill Mayer is, friends!) is what fat shaming is about in sixth grade. It’s just one more way that a certain group of people, a group  with relatively more power than others and a deep fear of losing it, maintain that power by saying: I am going to tell you what matters, and I am going to tell you whether or not you have that thing that matters, and I am going to make it so painful for you to not have it that you will remake your body to get me off your back, because it is weirdly important to me to exert this control over you.

My furtive eighth grade crush got fat shamed in middle school, and he was pretty fat. But, you know, so did I, and I’ve never had a medical doctor express concern for my weight. Discouragingly, it barely registered with them when I was losing my hair and hadn’t had a period in a year. But other helpful randos, from grandmas to girls in my gymnastics class, started calling me fat at age four, and the only way I was able to stop them was to self-regulate so effectively that by the time I went to college, I was throwing up when I “lost control” and chewed too many pieces of Juicy Fruit.

That’s the goal of fat-shaming, fat-shamers: someone who has accepted your right to tell them who they are and what their worth so unreservedly that she can graduate Phi Beta Kappa on the one hand, but still believe that she is “too fat to sit down” on her graduation night. And — as one person with a running leitmotif I like to call “pathological need for control” running through my adolescence and early adulthood to another —- can I suggest you slow your roll and take a look in your own goddamn mirror?

I can’t speak to why a person might experience exerting control over the bodies of other people as catharsis, why what they need to self regulate is to make someone else feel worthless. I can only imagine that this bullshit behavior comes from the same sense of existential dread that makes two missed days at the gym feel like that a night in one of those sky cells on Game of Thrones to me. But I can be compassionate towards you and also take a hard pass when it comes to “tolerating” your “opinions” about the value of people around you, or your right to patrol the size of their bodies or to determine that they need to be harassed into having a body you like better. Your feeling about thigh gaps or whatever is your deal, but the fact that you think other people should be treated badly or should endanger their health in an effort to make their bodies acceptable to you is also, 100%, your deal, and not the problem or the responsibility of the people in those bodies. Take your body and do whatever you want with it, but shut the mouth part of it first.  

Similarly: I’m not going to explain to anyone why a fertilized egg in one’s fallopian tube is 1. not a viable pregnancy and 2. not something to “watchfully wait" over. “Watchful waiting” is appropriate when the risks of intervention are significant, or the benefits unclear, or both. In the very few cases in which this might be what a doctor would advise, that decision is made though a cost-benefit analysis with the mother, because the mother is the patient being treated. There is no “child’s life” to consider because, as with any pregnancy, but maybe especially an entirely nonviable one, there is no child yet.

If you are anything but shocked by the idea that someone should be expected to “wait and see” if their medically treatable and potentially fatal medical condition will kill them or not because of how another person, living in another body, feels about the situation, then you don’t give a shit about life. Not the life of that woman, which you are endangering. Not the lives of any existing children she has or partner she has or parents or students or siblings or friends. What you are saying, again, is that you decide what this woman’s life is worth — and your expectation is that she accept that when it comes down to it, your random feelings about her body both define the value of that body and should be factored into the clinical decision making of her medical provider.

As with our fat-shamers above, I’m just wondering where it came from, this idea that you’re entitled to control the bodies of other human beings, and the weirdly aggressive efforts to do so.

Are you ok, Representative? It seems to me you are not.

It doesn’t even matter that an ectopic pregnancy is not viable. Because pro-life arguments are about “preserving life” the way fat-shaming is about “promoting health”: that is to say, they’re not about that at all. It’s about being unwilling to either take responsibility for working out whatever damage you have, or to acknowledge that the way you are choosing to work that damage out is by violently exerting control over the bodies and lives of others.

Forcing a woman to carry a pregnancy she doesn’t want is violent whether that pregnancy is only somewhat likely, as it is in the case of a viable pregnancy carried in a country with the highest material mortality rate in the developed world, or pretty effing likely, as in the case where the pregnancy is lodged in a tube that will not accomodate it. When you legally compel another human being to risk her life carrying a pregnancy in her body because of how you feel, that is violent.

I want to have compassion for you, person who sees no better option than hurting other people to deal with whatever it is life has handed you. I’m something of a poster child for irrational or detractive ways of dealing with the parts of the world I don’t like: see above, where a teenage permutation of me was vomiting gum bile. But I also feel like we don’t serve anyone by looking the other way while they evade the responsibly we all have to handle our own shit.

Certainly you get that, right? If a person’s body size, the pregnancy they carry, their health status, are all issues of personal responsibility, surely you, too, can own up to the fact that you have this thing where, instead of overdoing it at the buffet  — or, I don’t know, getting pregnant in the wrong part of your body?  — you insist that other people’s bodies should be altered to your specifications, and that you should decide if those bodies are fed, or wear shorts, or receive medical care. You can acknowledge that this is a weirder and less palatable approach to managing your dark feelings than is eating too many carbs or whatever it is you think we’re all doing with our insufficiently controlled, overweight, inconveniently fertile bodies. You can set aside that weight-loss tea you’re sipping and consider that maybe, the one who’s “ready for a change” is you.

[drkoestersmithrpg]

JUST FOR YOU

“I’m sorry it got so loud.  But god Tony, I’ve never felt like …. no one’s ever done that to me before.”

“Hmmmm….I enjoyed it to. But I must admit, I do miss having your legs wrapped around me.”

“We can do it that way next time,” Peter said, grinning.  “We can alternate.  Split the difference.”  

He closed his eyes and pressed close, grinning from ear to ear.  This had gone so much better than he could have ever hoped.  He had gotten Tony in bed, had just received the fucking of his life, and now, more surprising than anything else, he was laying sleepily in his lover’s arms and it was everything.

Tony, on the other hand, was still analyzing.  “Ummmm….” he hummed to himself, thinking, still stroking the back of Peter’s head, keeping him close.  “So, all of your guy-friends, are you saying no one’s….no one’s topped the mighty Peter Parker??”

“I’m not saying that.”  Peter opened his eyes and lifted his head enough to let Tony him him roll them, then snuggled further into Tony’s embrace.  If he was going to be forced to have this conversation again, he was at least getting to enjoy it.

“No, no, I want details,” Tony was saying for the umpteenth billion time, and Peter knew he only had himself to blame.  He HAD pushed their late-night tech-talks into this intimate territory – it WAS his bragging about his extracurricular activities with his male co-eds that was the beginning of his seduction of one Tony Stark.  So whose fault was it that this was one of Tony’s favorite subjects?

“I told you, mostly guys want me to do the honors….”

“And did you like that?”

“Oh yeah it felt good, it felt great.  I was pretty sure … yeah…this is what I’m supposed to be doing.  And I mean, I mean everyone who I was with was asking me.  So it started to just make sense.  But then…”

“But then when someone else asked to do the honors?  Did anyone get to pound you from behind?  I thought you told me that crowd was a bunch of geniuses.  How are you telling me that of all those geniuses, every one of them turned down the opportunity to pound that sweet ass?”

“They’re not…..it wasn’t……” he said, punching Tony in the arm ineffectually.  “They aren’t the ‘pound that sweet ass’ types Tony.   They’re more like, we’re all like….we’re all shy geniuses.  So when people asked … I mean….I mean when guys asked….

“No…see….I….tended to take the lead in these things,” Peter said.  He was starting to blush furiously against Tony’s shirt, but still pushing forward, needing to be understood.    “So I’m like, you should just lie on your back. And they would lay on their backs and I would … take it from above.  That’s how I had giving it to everyone else…. that’s the most logical position.  The person on top controls everything, so if you’re taking a dick for the first time or the second or third time that – that just works best.”

“So that’s the way you took it every time.”

“Yeah…. ok.  I guess I just like to be in control.  It worked out well for everybody.  I mean you just ride them and they close their eyes and think about someone else and enjoy it.  It always felt good when someone else did it to me.  And getting it done to me felt even better than doing it. But nothing…”

He sat up a little to touch Tony’s face.

“No one ever made me feel like that.  I don’t ……I have no idea where all that noise came from…but god Tony that was amazing.”

“Well, as honored as I am to be the first one to hear Peter Parker make those noises, it appears that’s because I’m the only one to be brave enough to give you a good pounding from behind…” he said dismissively, and started to rise from the bed, but was surprised to find himself thrown back down and pinned to the bed by the same Peter Parker, first by his shirt, then by his shoulder.

“SHUT UP…..will you just stop it?”  Peter growled (reveling, for just a moment, in the fact that he was fulfilling a very old fantasy of using his superior strength to pin Tony Stark to the bed and hold him down while he confessed his true feelings.  Only problem was, now that they were there, there was nothing but a very startled look from Tony, and Peter, stumbling over his words as usual.)

“This is real. Tony can you please just … I need … you’ve got to … “

Peter gave up and brought their foreheads together again.  This seemed to be the best position for talking, and so he stayed there (while still forcibly holding Tony in place.)

“Tony I need this. For godssake I’m a grown man dressing up as a freaking spider and returning stolen bicycles.   I get to watch you and New-Bruce and Steve talking and the world using your real names and me – I stuck standing on the side with the guy who dresses up like a Panther.  I’m a secret, and it’s driving me nuts.  I always thought it would get better after I left highschool but I don’t see how college is going to be any easier.  Pretending I don’t know how Thanos really died, pretending that I don’t know you invented time travel just to … just to get me back…”

He was crying again dammit. Tony tried to reach around his arm to stroke his face again and Peter had to separate their foreheads to shake him off.

“Nothing is real.  I dress up in a leotard to pester car-thieves, but that’s not really me.  Then I dress up like Peter Parker and I hawk set-up pics to a newspaper where they think Spiderman is some kind of vigilante badguy, and I just stand there and look stupid and that’s not really me, either.  This double-life it – it’s just exhausting.  I need something real, Tony.  I need this.  I need you.

“And I meant everything I said before…texted before.  I don’t care if this implodes in 20 days or 20 weeks or 20 years.  Neither one of us may be alive by then.  I need to live in the moment.  We need to live in the moment.  So spare me this ‘It’s just because no one ever did this to you before’ bullshit you egotistical bastard…”

He was losing his steam, not to mention his grip on Tony’s shoulder AND his ability to form sentences. What he was feeling he couldn’t even explain to himself – how was he going to explain it to this guy?

He straddled the man and put his hands on both sides of his chest.  He took two fistfuls of Tony’s shirt and tried gesturing with them, only to find he had run out of words.  He tried to bring their foreheads together again but wound up laying his head on the bed next to Tony’s – this secret required closer contact.

“You made me scream while you were fucking me because that was EPIC,” he whispered.  “Because you are Tony Stark.  Because we are supposed to be together.  Ironman and Spiderman.  We’re legendary.  Don’t try to pretend that it was anything else.”

Tony was smiling, and that should have been a good sign, but then he was laughing and suddenly Peter was rethinking that I’ve-only-want-to-haul-up-and-punch-my-lover-on-occasions philosophy.  Point fact he wanted to punch someone right now.  He sat up and shook the man, demanding an explanation.

“Its….yes….no I’m sorry.  “It’s serious, isn’t it?  But kid listen to yourself,” Tony said, taking Peter’s wrists in both hands and trying to get himself under control.  “In 20 years? In 20 years I’m going to be 75, and you won’t even been pushing 40.  Where do you think it’s going to go from there, honestly?  

“What you’re suggesting is ridiculous and you’re the only one who can’t see it.  When the others find out they are going to laugh at us, and for a good reason.  You’re getting the short end of the stick….”

With that he knocked both Peter’s arms away and sat up suddenly, grabbing Peter’s face in both hands and bringing him close.

“And you’re the only one who hasn’t figure that out,” he growled against Peter’s mouth.  “And if I were a good guy, Peter, I’d tell you ‘no.’ That’s the part you just don’t get. I.  Am not.  The good guy. I’m a selfish asshole.  That’s why I’m not telling you ‘no’.”

He punctuated that last sentence with a brutal kiss and Peter did not resist.  Nor did Peter resist when Tony flipped them both over and pushed Peter’s knee down to the bed (Peter’s dancer-like flexibility made this position completely painless) and began bucking his hips forward, rubbing his awakening cock between Peter’s legs in a parody of what they had been doing moments before.

And very soon it was no longer a parody.  “Yes, Tony, do it….” Peter was murmuring when his lover finally released him from the kiss and in a few moments Tony was inside him again.

“Does it hurt baby?” Tony was asking and Peter enjoyed a little inappropriate laugh of his own.  “I told you old man, you can’t hurt me. Like the skin on arm or the skin on my face, you can’t hurt it.  You can do this to me all…. Night…. long.”

He enjoyed the wicked grin on his own face and enjoyed it even more when Tony tried to kiss it away. He wrapped his legs around the older man (and enjoyed the appreciative noises that ensued.)  He tilted his hips up until his heels were in the middle of Tony’s shoulderblades and found the noises that this resulted in entirely enjoyable.

He was about to make a comment about Tony was now being the loud one when the man pulled up to look him in the face ask breathlessly, “What were their names?”

“???” was all Peter could manage until Tony, never slowing his pace, leaned over and growled in his ear “Their names.  The names of the boys who fucked you before I did.  The boys that couldn’t make you make that noise.  I want to know their names.”

“Jesus Tony,” Peter tried to argue, but now the man was staring him down, keeping his gaze steady as he rocked into his body.

“Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind, little boy,” Tony growled while he pounded.  “You wanted me, now you have me.  And I want names.  You tell me who got <b>here</b> first.”

Peter turned his head away in anger and frustration.  ‘Little boy’ stung, Tony hadn’t used that hateful phrase since before they had started fucking.  Then he made a quick calculation and decided to comply.

“First there was Luke,” he said, flinging one hand out to the bed and fisting the cover and focusing all his senses on the picture that made – it was very much like the first days before he had discovered he could shut out the constant input his brain was giving him by putting on the dark glasses.  Honing in on the fisted bedcover Peter managed to forget about Tony’s cock pounding into him, forget about the incredible noises the man made when he dug his heel in-between the shoulder blades…

“Yeah, Luke was first. Everybody else kept asking me to do it to them.  Luke-With-A-Beard was the first to do it to me, I never did it with Other Luke.  Next came Ashley and then Percival, no wait, Ashley and did it several times, like we kept doing each other several times, THEN came Percival.  And I did it for one of the Simons but I don’t remember which one.”

He let go of the cover and turned his head back to the man on top of him with a triumphant grin.  He had taken Tony’s challenge and matched it and, now that he had finished with the *actual* list of lovers, began to improvise.

“And I did it with both Paul’s,” he whispered, canting his hips even further upward by walking his heels even higher up Tony’s body.  Right now he was more thankful for his spider-bite powers than ever before.

“Gay Paul and Poleaxe Paul,” he lied freely, pressing one heel above the other until he finally had one pressing into Tony’s neck.  “Together, they took turns with me.  But I don’t count them because they only came for each other, yes Tony….”

The sounds Tony was making now were most satisfying and Peter held on to Tony’s head, first with both feet and then with his hands.  “Yes…. it’s perfect….. ah god Tony…”

Wrapping both arms and both legs around his lover Peter listened closely to the unique sounds his lover was making and wondered if this had been what it was like for Tony just moments before.  Although their positions had been comparable to some encounters on countertops Tony had never made noises quite like this and Peter treasured every one of them. At the same time Peter had to, reluctantly, admit that it had been the angle after all – this position was inspiring zero noises out of him personally.

[davidmann95]

This weeks comics?

So much to cover, and just so we’re all clear upfront, SPOILERS ahead.

Sideways Annual #1: I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive the cover for simply reading “All-out Action, guest-starring Superman” rather than the declaration of “The Champion of the Oppressed is BACK–JUST WHEN THE WORLD NEEDS HIM MOST!” it demanded, but otherwise what a delightful comic. It’s a mess in so many ways given Morrison’s working with what DiDio laid down for him (which he seems to demonstrate hilarious contempt for when he almost literally drops a bridge on the no-hoper who’d been set up as the arc villain before he can do anything) and jumping on mid-stream to boot, but it’s basically just an extended excuse for him to put dialogue in Superman and the Seven Soldiers’ mouths again and remind everyone how rad his takes on them are, and thereby shame us for abandoning the former. Plus give us a taste of what his voice for Spider-Man would be, which it turns out is a perfectly fine one in spite of his past professed skepticism that he could pull it off. And above all to assure us with a smile and the proper send-off (a particularly satisfying one for me personally given my arachnophobia) we never got before that even if we never see our pal cop-punching, bank-busting, casual Fridays Superman again, he’ll be out there, along with all the other cast-off good Superman ideas, helping out wherever he can.

Also, who else caught the nudge and wink about the Tailor, and how that tells devoted Seven Soldiers fans just how much of role Morrison really played in saving his take on Superman?

Batman #60: Batman is…Batman is weird lately. I honestly don’t have anything else to say about this issue, except that the bit with Alfred cleaning was obviously killer.

The Unexpected #6: So Ronan Cliquet is bad, right? Like, we can all agree that dude is just bringing nothing to the table? I’ve never seen pages so plain look so simultaneously cramped and barren. This book has been such a damn disappointment: clearly promises were made about how much space Orlando would have to work on this that have been entirely broken, he’s cutting past what was clearly intended to be dozens of issues of buildup and fleshing-out of the concept to the grand finale, and he’s already obviously and understandably checked out. This should have been one of those “hey, you never heard of _____, but it was quietly one of DC’s best books for awhile there!” titles you learn about 20 years after the fact, but it was stillborn and unable to explore even the slightest sliver of its potential. It’s almost reached a point where it can make me think its coming conclusion is a mercy killing, but then, said conclusion is the problem.

Justice League #11: The debut of the Super-eyepatch! Otherwise, while it’s definitely not my favorite issue thus far of Snyder’s Justice League, it might be the one that feels the most well-realized in terms of getting his vision on the page thanks to Francis Manapul. I desperately hope he sticks on the book past Drowned Earth, because as much as I absolutely love what Jorge Jimenez and Jim Cheung are doing, his vision feels the most in line with the, as Snyder put it, ‘magisterial’ tone this title is going for a lot of the time.

The Green Lantern #1: Not my favorite Morrison title of the week in spite of its lack of clutter and outside influence, to the point where I’d honestly say it initially left me pretty cold, but much as with Morrison’s last major #1 in Action Comics, a reread did wonders for me once I knew what sort of tone I’d be grappling with. I do think it was oddly structured in a way that didn’t benefit it, leading with the mundane-flavored-with-cosmic with the alien beat cops rather than Hal’s more grounded perspective leading into the awe-inspiring, but given it sets up an immediate contrast with his ‘civilian life’, I’d call it a calculated risk that didn’t quite pay off. Hal himself is interestingly realized, this blunt, bored dude who only really comes alive when he’s on the clock, who’s as hyper-competent at his job as you’d think the Greatest Green Lantern Of Them All would be but almost seems to be sleepwalking through his days. It’s when we reach Oa with the mission statement for the Corps that the book really comes together, meshing up the beautiful design sense, an evocation of some of Morrison’s past recurring themes and elements, and raw high concept into the most powerful evocation of the basic idea of Green Lantern’s Deal I’ve ever read. And Liam Sharp mostly does justice by it; I know some find his style off-putting and his anatomy wonky, but he sells the what-if-GL-was-a-2000AD-strip sensibility, and his work has a framing and structure and a tangible, doughy 3Dishness that recalls the flavor of some of Morirson’s best prior collaborations. Not that, to be clear, I don’t think plenty of those prior collaborators couldn’t have done a much better job with this, but I think this’ll pan out just fine.

On top of that a couple minor notes: I suspect David Uzumeri might have been right regarding the possibility that this could be the book where Morrison delves into the basic question of whether superheroes are by nature cops, and thereby police brutality (Maxim Tox and Hal himself both have some startlingly severe moments in here) and the moral feasibility of the whole business. Rather than rethinking his process in his time away, Morrison’s storytelling tics are as prominently on display here as just about anything he’s ever done. And I was genuinely shocked to see the acknowledgement of Manhattan in here - a landmark chapter in The Last War In Albion in the making if ever there was one - right alongside addressing Snyder’s Justice League, making this to my knowledge the only book in the company’s lineup to acknowledge both contenders to the throne of DC’s current actual Important Cosmic-Scale Story. I suppose Lantern is the place where that makes sense, but both bring interesting elements of their own, as with the Source Wall Morrison’s going right on in and acknowledging how other creators have brought his ideas and spirit to the forefront of the DCU in the last several years, and with Manhattan, having a Grant Morrison DC Comic acknowledge the presence of Watchmen characters as parts of the grand scheme of things makes that whole bizarre business feel real in a way even Doomsday Clock itself hasn’t for me.

Adventures of the Super Sons #4: What a charmer! I harped a lot on Pete Tomasi by and large sucking on Superman, because by and large he sucked on Superman, but put that dude on just the right project to play into his strengths and he absolutely shines.

The Dreaming #3: Wound up in my pull file since I’d unsubscribed so recently, and decided to give it one last chance. It’s pretty and confident in what it’s doing and I’m sure lots of people are rightfully getting a lot out of it, but I’m not one of them and it won’t be getting another shot.

Border Town #3: It feels odd to think this given how much positive attention it’s been getting and how well it’s sold for a modern Vertigo book, but Border Town absolutely still feels like the sleeper hit of 2018. It so feels like the sort of comic that I usually can acknowledge the quality of but doesn’t do it for me personally, so I keep picking it up expecting to not quite gel with a given issue, but each time I’m dead damn wrong. It’s brimming with energy and personality on every level, and it’s still early enough that I can’t possibly recommend enough that anyone who hasn’t given it a chance yet jump onboard.

The Wicked + The Divine: The Funnies: Speaking of titles that I can acknowledge the quality of but rarely do it for me, I’ve followed W + D from the beginning on the understanding that the fairly subdued joys I take from it on a month-by-month basis will be eclipsed by the scale of my love for it on a full reread, as was the case with the team’s Young Avengers. But boy did this one buck that trend, because it was a hoot. Honestly couldn’t tell you which was my favorite short, because like half the book is made up of front-runners.

Death of the Inhumans #5: Because Death of Some Inhumans, But Don’t Worry Not Any of the Good Ones, Other than Maximus wouldn’t have shifted as much copy. Donny Cates is establishing himself as a solid mid-tier superhero writer alongside your Tim Seeleys and James Tynions, and Ariel Olivetti’s a treat, but I have to call this one a miss.

Shatterstar #2: As I expected it didn’t grab me as much as the first issue since the tenants aren’t front-and-center, but I’m still digging it to a truly startling extent!

Marvel Knights #1: Okay? I mean, I liked it (aside from the unbelievably poorly-chosen ‘I can sort of see even though I’m blind’ line - had to be a dozen better ways of putting that), but aside from that it’s gritty and involves some of the characters with notable history in the imprint, I have no idea why this is the Marvel Knights 20th Anniversary book as opposed to just a random Marvel miniseries that I suppose could be published under that imprint if you wanted. The conceit feels so odd for the intended purpose.

The Immortal Hulk #8: This book is SO FUCKING GOOD ALL OF THE TIME AT EVERYTHING AND YOU ALL NEED TO BUY IT AND TELL YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT IT. CHRIST. Still the best super-shit on the stands.

DC Nation #6: Yanick Paquette needs to write Batman explaining science so as to teach us how to better fight crime for as long as he lives, if not in fact longer.

[violetsmoak]

no safety or surprise [1/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035168/chapters/42616919

( See First Chapter for full Disclaimers & Warnings)

Summary: A haunting broadcast reveals the Joker’s final act and sets off a chain of events that will destroy the world. Terry finds himself collaborating once more with the estranged members of Bruce’s former team. As the end nears, however, he and the other Bats are faced with hard choices about survival—and forgiveness.

Rating: T (may change depending on the amount of graphic/details I decide on)

________________________________________________________________

chapter one: the calm before the storm

Neo-Gotham, Friday, June 13, 2042 9:04 AM

MCGINNIS

Siblings, Terry thinks as he scowls down at the little gremlin on the couch, are highly overrated.

At some point, while he was getting ready for school, Matt snuck into his room and stole his comforter. The twip is now wrapped up like a giant burrito, watching television and pretending he doesn’t see Terry’s irritated expression.

“Don’t you have your own?” he grumbles. “You’re going to get your sick germs all over it.”

“You can just wash it later.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I think it’s cute,” Mom interrupts, stopping the fight in its tracks the way she always does. She doesn’t look up from her phone, thumb flying through a text. “And you used to do the same thing, by the way.”

Terry blinks. “I did not.”

“You did. With mine and your father’s bedspread. That, and homemade soup? Always made you feel better when you were sick.”

Which, okay, Terry can sort of remember that.

There was something safe about being wrapped in blankets that smelled like Dad’s aftershave and having Mom spoil him with food made just for him. A pang of sadness hits him, leeching away from his irritation; Matt was never able to do that. Their parents divorced rather soon after he was born, and Dad wasn’t around Matt much afterward, let alone when he was sick.

Since Warren McGinnis’ death, Terry is the only adult male presence his brother has in his life.

And I’ve done a pretty crap job of that so far.

He’s always so busy, working for Mr. Wayne on and off the books. The criminal element in Gotham makes it practically impossible to maintain connections outside the life.

It’s ironic that Batman is better at being a role-model for Matt than Terry is.

The fight drains out of him, and he gives a put-upon sigh. “Fine. He can have it. But if I get sick, I’m going to hang him over the balcony by his feet." He turns away, but knows Matt is sticking his tongue out at the back of his head; it’s what he’d do at that age. “So, what’s the verdict? Staying? Going?”

Whatever Matt has, their mother seems to be coming down with as well. She’s been debating all morning about whether she intends to go into work or not. Terry’s stuck around, in case she does decide to go, and he has to watch Matt; he can Livestream his classes, she can’t exactly do the same for her job.

“I don’t know,” Mom says, frowning at the screen. “Jarvis and Riley are out today too apparently.”

Terry whistles; he’s happy he hasn’t caught whatever’s going around. It’s still the cold part of June, around the time when the temperatures fluctuate between mild and freeze-your-nuts off. Mom always tells him how when she was a young girl, the weather already started warming up in May, but because of global warming summer doesn’t really arrive until July.

So now, June is the summer flu season.

Point being, I could still catch it. And won’t that be fun.

Because Batman doesn’t get sick days, and Terry knows from experience that having a cold while wearing the cowl is probably the most disgusting feeling ever. And that includes wading through sewage and cleaning rotten food out of the refrigerator.

While Mom continues to debate with herself, he fires off texts to Dana and Max, asking them to cover anything he misses for the first period, in case he’s late. There are about ten seconds before he gets a response from Max.

‘No problem. Is it work? Or work?’

Before he can respond, Dana’s text comes in. ’everything OK w/ mr wayne?’

And he can’t help a smile at that, because he doesn’t have to make up any kind of lie or excuse, because they both know. He’s still getting used to the fact that Dana knows, and that she understands. And wants to help.

It’s more than he ever thought he’d get when he started this whole thing.

‘Wayne OK far as I know,’ Terry texts them both back, mentally crossing his fingers that he isn’t jinxing anything. ‘Mom & Matt not feeling great. Keeping an eye on them a bit.’

‘aw, sux. tell them feel better from me. dnt worry, got u covered! <3’

There’s a minute or so before Max responds.

‘Too bad. Nasty flu this year, huh? Not feeling great either, but test period 2, so…’

Terry’s eyes widen. ‘Wait. What test?’

‘LOL.’

‘Srsly, what test?!?!’

There’s no answer, and Terry frowns down at his phone, trying to decide if Max is messing with him or not. He’s about to double-check with Dana when his mother speaks.

“I think I will stay home,” she decides, rubbing her cheekbones. “My face hurts. I really hope it’s not another sinus infection. That’s all I need on top of everything.”

“Hey, take it easy,” Terry tells her with a comforting smile. “It’s been a while since you had the day off. Besides, the world’s not going to shut down because one astronomer doesn’t come into work.”

“You say that now,” Mom says dryly. “If an asteroid is hurtling toward the earth and it’s my job to spot it, you’re going to feel pretty foolish.”

“Nah, never happen.” He grabs his bag and starts for the door, stopping to press a kiss to the top of his mother’s head. “With Superman out there? And the Justice League? Pretty good job security, I’d say.”

“Lame,” Matt grumbles from his blanket cocoon. “Batman can take them all. He probably has a special rocket to shoot stuff down.”

And, okay, maybe Terry might rethink his stance on siblings, because damn if those words don’t make him grin.

Matt notices and frowns at him. “Why are you smiling at me like a creeper?”

And, there goes that good feeling.

“Trying to decide whether to take a pic and send to your friends and show them how pathetic you are right now. You’re like a human-larva hybrid. It’s gross.”

“Yeah, well—well, you’re adopted!”

That’s his latest insult to everyone when he can’t think of anything else to say.

“Matt!”

“At least I was planned,” Terry retorts.

It takes a moment before the penny drops, and his brother’s overly pale face goes red. “Moooooom!”

“Terry, leave your brother alone, he’s sick,” she sighs, rubbing her eyes.

“What’s his excuse for the rest of the time?”

“Go to school, hon.”

Matt smirks at him, and returns his attention to the television, flipping through cartoons. Terry rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything about favoritism, because it always comes back to how he’s an adult now and should know better than to stoop to the level of a ten-year-old. 

I can win a fight against the deadliest member of the Society of Assassins, but not this. Go figure.

“Will Mr. Wayne need you today?” Mom asks as he puts on his jacket. He knows she’s wondering if he’ll be able to come home and relieve her from Matt-duty at some point, which he totally understands.

“We’ll see. I’ll probably drive out to check on him tonight, but I think I can get home after school if you need a break.”

“That would be appreciated.”

“Do you want me to bring you guys anything while I’m out—?”

There is a sudden, sharp drop in pitch throughout the entire house. Terry’s ears pop a little, the same way they do whenever Shriek mutes the sound in the surrounding area, but somehow his hearing simply becomes sharper now.

Before Terry can wonder if it’s a sign the sound-terrorist is back out on the street, the living room is filled with music. A jaunty, haunting carnival tune that instantly has the hair on the back of Terry’s neck raising.

His gaze whips to the television screen, which is flickering between static and a blank screen with the words HA HA HA flashes across it in red.

His mouth goes dry.

________________________________________________________________  

WAYNE

Bruce is starting to wonder if a Lazarus Pit might not have been a better idea than the liver transplant. Of the methods for artificially prolonging life, at least with the Pit, he would eventually start to feel like he was recovering.

After the madness subsided, at least.

On days like today—when it’s damp and chilly, and there’s nothing going on in Gotham to keep him glued to the computer screen in the Cave—it’s hard to remember the arguments he’s always made against using the restorative powers of a Lazarus Pit. His body protests with every movement as he eases it through several slowed kata variations. Part of his physical therapy, as suggested by his doctors.

Since his procedure, he feels the exhaustion much more keenly. It’s bone-deep fatigue that seeps into every muscle, emphasizing the way his bones creak and grind against each other, cartilage worn away from age and decades of abuse. It’s the way his energy levels drain so much faster now, to the extent that even his usual ability to will himself into action seems to wane every day.

Not that he really had a choice in the matter. He was in end-stage liver failure, and the nearest Pit is in New Cuba. He’d just been lucky that there was a suitable donor in the hospital at the right time.

‘Luck’ is one word for it. ‘Cruel irony’ might be a better phrase.

Douglas Tan is one of the names he’s going to carry on his conscience for the rest of his life; or, at least on his liver.

Terry still makes jokes about Batman having a piece of a Joker inside him, but then Terry tends to use humor to cover up when he’s worried. Dick always did that, too; and Jason.

Bruce scowls, bothered by the direction of his thoughts, as well as the raggedness to his breath. He isn’t even moving very fast, but it’s taking him every bit of strength to keep at it.

Ace is curled up in his usual spot in the cave, watching Bruce with what seems to be narrowed eyes. As if to say, don’t overdo it or I will knock you over.

The dog is smarter than most people.

Ace is one of the reasons the doctors were willing to leave him to pursue recovery on his own and not under some beady-eyed nurse in the hospital. Money isn’t as much an incentive as it once was, with so many legal and health standards in the way; the older he gets, the less likely people are to trust his ability to make decisions, lawyers or not.

He tolerated a private nurse for about a day while having Terry make other arrangements and manufacturing a piece of paper saying Ace was a certified service dog. He’s not, but Bruce has no doubt the dog would activate the medical alert button at the computer if something were to happen. And Terry has an alarm set up, keyed into the surveillance and motion sensors in the Cave. If anything were to happen, he can be here faster than any ambulance.

Old age has fed into long-buried fears, and it gives him an embarrassing sense of relief knowing there’s someone to look in on him. It has always bothered him, being dependent—being weak.

Some days he’s more accepting of it; some days he wishes he had Kryptonian DNA.

Which is usually the point at which he forces himself to occupy his mind with other things because envying Kal-El can only lead down a dark, frustrating path of self-pity. One he’s determinedly avoided ever since meeting the other man.

After another fifteen minutes of forcing himself to think about nothing but the movement of his limbs, Bruce finally finishes his exercises. Sweat coats his back and his muscles ache with the same burn as if he just spent several hours grappling through the Gotham skyline. Even if it took fewer challenging movements to reach this point, that burn is comforting.

Familiar.

And that’s a word that’s been cropping up more in his thoughts lately. History tends to repeat, after all, but it’s still strange to experience. Terry’s been an excellent example of that.

Like Bruce, the McGinnis boy started out with nothing but a suit and an old man’s voice in his ear. Now, he’s got a network. Friends who he trusts and who will keep his secret. A steadily growing list of allies in the field.

The Police Commissioner. The Justice League.

And a Catwoman too, for Christ sakes.

He wonders what Selina would think about that.

Bruce just hopes the kid won’t make his mistakes. Forty years is a long time to rack up regrets.

At least Dick’s back in contact now.

Sort of.

He showed up the second night that Bruce was recovering from his procedure at the hospital; he’d managed to convince Terry to go out on patrol instead of wasting his time watching an old man sleep.

“Batman doesn’t get a day off.”

Bruce had dozed for a bit, but not deeply; it wasn’t difficult to discern that he wasn’t alone. 

One minute the room was empty and in the next, Bruce could feel that familiar presence—the one of a man who had carried the mantles of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman—and somehow lived to tell the tale. Then his estranged son was stepping out of the shadows, glaring down at him, muscles in his jaw working and fists clenching and unclenching.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Bruce had croaked, wishing he had thought to ask for ice chips before the nurse left. “I’m too stubborn to die.”

The silence hanging afterward was filled with everything he couldn’t say yet. For once, Dick didn’t call him on it.

“You’re more stubborn than God,” his boy countered.

(He’ll always be a boy to Bruce, grey hair and eye-patch be damned.)

And yet, Dick sat, arms crossed and spine stiff for the rest of the night. Still angry, but present nonetheless. He stayed until morning rounds without saying anything and then left.

They haven’t seen each other since, but sometimes Bruce can hear feedback on the comms when he’s directing Terry’s patrols. The tinny whisper of signals crossing from the bug he pretends he doesn’t know Dick planted on the underside of his medical ID tag.

It’s not much, but it’s something. The opening of the possibility that at some point, he’ll come around.

Barbara did, after all.

Mostly because of Terry, but afterward Bruce started making the effort. They can have conversations alone now that don’t end with her yelling at him (or punching him, on one or two memorable occasions). Bruce forgot how much he enjoyed her sense of humor and intelligence—how much he enjoyed their friendship—from before they slept together.

(That might be one of his life’s biggest shames. Oh, he has regrets associated with all of the family for one thing or another, but this is the one that still wakes him up at night feeling dirty.)

In a way, it’s easier with Tim, and that’s a bridge Bruce thought had been obliterated long ago.

Granted, he’s leaving Gotham again—the last incident with the Joker army rattled him enough that he put in for a transfer to the Beijing division of Wayne Enterprises—but he stuck around long enough to collaborate with Bruce on a subdermal antitoxin deployment implant against Joker venom.

(None of them want to be caught unawares again.)

It’s in the prototype phase, with only five of the devices in existence; he, Tim and Terry are testing them personally. It’s not exactly something the FDA is going to approve for human testing anytime soon, not with all the new legislation, but with the state of Gotham, it’s unwise to wait on it.

(He sent one to Barbara and one to Dick but doesn’t know if they’ve bothered to activate them. At least they haven’t sent them back.)

If the implant works, Bruce is seriously considering modifying the tech for the Wayne Enterprises medical division. There are a lot of illnesses and viruses out there which require regular dosages of medicine to keep them under control. The difficulty is finding funding and ensuring the board of the directors doesn’t jump on the chance to charge exorbitant amounts of money for the technology. The whole point of the tech is to help anyone who needs it, not just the filthy rich.

Maybe that’s the next project, after CAIN, he muses, grabbing his towel from where he draped it over one of the computer processors.

His global Clean Air Initiative Network is something he’d been working on before stepping back from the company. It was shelved almost immediately by Derek Powers when he took over, but since Bruce has been back, he’s been revisiting a lot of old projects.

Lucius’ boy did most of the technical work on it, and Foxtecha will have joint ownership of the patent when it’s ready for public consumption. Bruce would have asked Tim, but he knows how determined his estranged son is to get out of Gotham. He can read it in the tone of his emails, which have thankfully lost the stilted, formal business tone they’ve had since he returned to the company.

(Bruce mentioned paying a visit in the future, and Tim didn’t say no, so he counts that as a win.)

It’s a little disconcerting how the family is coming together again; disconcerting but welcome.

He’s received a vid call last week from Cassandra expressing concern over his surgery, and then a short, gruff email from Duke all-but ordering him to get better. There’s even a letter from Stephanie—or Eurus, as she goes by these days—smelling of dust and desert sun and incense found only in Nanda Parbat. Her messy, looping scrawl, echoed Dick’s sentiment about Bruce’s stubbornness and alluded to its genetic inheritability.

(That said more than if she had mentioned Damian outright; his youngest son has remained stubbornly silent.)

Bruce lost track of her not long after Damian’s short and brutal stint under the cowl; it had surprised him to find out she ended up in Tibet.

It also relieved him. Because no matter how dark a path his son wandered, at least there would be someone to challenge him. To not obey without question. To give him a link to the life he once had, to being human and alive.

(Bruce very carefully doesn’t think about Jason—doesn’t wonder if things had been different if he wouldn’t have reached out as well. Even after so many years, that wound is still raw.)

The whole thing is a stark difference from the last few times he ended up in the hospital, including when he was dosed on Joker venom several months ago. He didn’t hear anything from them at that point, which makes him think someone really thought he was dying this time and reached out.

Barbara, maybe. Or Dick. However much tension there is between himself and Bruce, he does keep in touch with the others. Hell, it might even have been Terry. The kid doesn’t know the rest of them personally, but he’s gotten adept at navigating the computer in the cave.

And he’s always been curious about his predecessors.

Bruce’s first family.

Or maybe just the first phase of the family.

Bruce shies away from that secret bit of knowledge he has about Terry, and his brother Matt. What he discovered the first time the kid returned to the Cave with bloody gashes that needed stitching up. The files and medical information buried beneath every firewall he could fashion, so the latest Batman can never stumble upon it accidentally.

The most Bruce has allowed himself to acknowledge it is an amendment in his will setting aside trust funds for both boys.

As if triggered by his thoughts, the screen of the Bat-Computer flickers to life. He rolls his shoulders, expecting an alert on some heist or robbery going on in the city; another case to add to the docket for Terry to investigate after school (depending on the severity).

Bruce doesn’t expect the Cave to suddenly fill with a jaunty, haunting carnival tune that makes his entire body seize in recognition. And yet, he already knows what’s coming even before the words HA HA HA coalesce upon the screen. 

“Hell-O World! It’s your favorite rascal…”

________________________________________________________________  

GORDON

There are times when Barbara misses being a vigilante, if only because there was a lot less paperwork involved. Questionable legality aside, there was always a simplicity to the whole endeavor: track down the bad guy, entrap-and-or-beat said bad guy into submission, and then drop them off at the GCPD.

Now that she’s the one behind the desk, though, she has a lot more appreciation for the work her father did. She wonders how he never developed an aneurysm or stress-related heart condition due to the grief Batman (and the rest of them) caused the department.

She has barely sat down in her office, but there’s an influx of emails flooding her inbox. She scans through the first few—requests from someone in IA sniffing around some of her open cases on the barest hint that she’s allowing Batman to help, reminders about upcoming social functions she would rather skip, two officers that have to be brought up on disciplinary charges—and sighs. It’s just the first two dozen.

Today is going to be a triple espresso kind of day, I can tell, she decides, rolling her shoulders and tilting her neck from side to side.

Another message chimes as it comes in.

Crime Alley and Tricorner are requesting more plainclothes officers in the area, ostensibly to deal with an upswing in crime over the past twenty-four hours.

Barbara frowns at this—it must be significant if those particular precincts are reaching out, they usually hate working with Central. Then again, everyone’s been jumpy about security since the Jokerz almost destroyed Gotham.

They’re still finding bodies from that one. She’s got three of her officers’ families grieving without any closure.

Barbara goes back over incident reports from the last few hours, noting a rise in attacks on the homeless, property damage and extreme road-rage (twenty-six separate incidents of that, which is a new daily extreme for her). From the initial investigations into each of the unrelated events—all in different areas of the city—there doesn’t seem to be any motivating factor or link.

What the hell is going on?

A crime spike isn’t ordinary for June; they usually start around now and then play out over the course of weeks.

Not hours. Have any of our usual players been released from custody lately? There’ve been no outbreaks or escapes that I know of.

If there is someone out there stirring things up, she hopes to God it’s just someone like Walter Shrieve. Arrogant and brilliant offenders she can deal with; they’re always so eager to prove themselves the best, and it always leads to their downfall. It’s the criminally insane ones that keep her up for days on end trying to restore some semblance of sanity to a city that’s never going to get any better. Even worse is a combination of the two.

Uneasy, she fires off a message to her counterparts in New York and Toronto, to see if they’re seeing similar phenomena in their jurisdictions. She hopes this is nothing, but she’s getting a hunch. And her hunches never lead her to anything that could be remotely called good.

“Get me Commissioner Sawyer over at MPD,” she tells the computer. She and Maggie go way back, and the other woman doesn’t pull that intercity rivalry crap when it comes to sharing important information.

“Yeah, the dregs are coming out of the woodwork here, too,” Maggie tells her after they exchange the requisite pleasantries. Her voice is carefully measured in a way that tells Barbara she’s not having a good day, either. “We had a damn flash mob that caused an A-trak derailment this morning. I have no idea how there weren’t more casualties, but…”

“Where’s Superman when you need him, right? I’d heard he was back in play.”

According to Bruce and Terry, anyhow.

“If he is, he must be off-world or something, because I doubt he’d be sitting on his ass at a time like this. What about on your end?”

“Well, we’re not exactly beyond the powers of the GCPD right now,” Barbara replies, a little smugly. “No need to take the Bat-signal out of storage.”

Yet, the unwelcome voice in her head echoes.

“Oh-ho, aren’t we getting confident in our old age?” Maggie sneers, but there’s no real malice to it. “For all our sakes, I hope it stays that way. But I’ve got a hunch...”

“Yeah,” Barbara sighs, her stomach dropping. “Me too.”

It’s not a good sign when both she and her opposite number in Metropolis are on the same wavelength.

As Maggie hangs up, three more incident reports pop up on the side of her screen. Skirmishing at Gotham General—that’s all they need now. If things are just warming up, it’s looking like another long day.

Sam’s not going to like it…

Barbara dials in the number herself this time on her personal line. There’s a trill and the viewscreen pops up to show her husband in his office at the DA, scowling down at a tablet. His expression clears when he sees her.

“Didn’t I just see you this morning?” he jokes. “Or were you that keen to see me again?”

“Always,” Barbara tells him, softer than she speaks to anyone else. “But I’m actually calling to apologize. It’s going to be a day, and I don’t know if I’ll get home for supper.”

“It must be bad since you just got there.”

“Things have been hairy all night,” she admits. “I’ve got incident reports multiplying as we speak. You’d think with the bug going around people would be staying home to recuperate, but it looks like they think it’s an excuse to break the law.”

“Well, it’s Gotham. After all this time, it’s not a surprise.”

“It’s really, really not.”

“I know I’d rather be home in bed,” Sam says, and normally a comment like that would have innuendo behind it. This time it’s all too earnest. He rubs his face tiredly. “I think I’m coming down with it too, to be honest.”

“If you give it to me, you’re sleeping on the couch for the next week,” Barbara informs him automatically. “I can’t afford to miss any work for the next…forever.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, hon. The minute they see you blink in this business, you’re dead in the water.” Sam grimaces and rolls his shoulders, and Barbara experiences a tinge of concern because he does look pale.

“Maybe you should go home,” she suggests. “You can work on your cases at home, can’t you?”

“Unfortunately, no. I’m due in court at ten o’clock.”

“If you’re dead from the flu, do you know how many criminals are going to walk free?” she demands, only a little bit joking.

He chuckles. “Come on, Babs, you know no one’s died of the flu in twenty years.”

Barbara has a witty retort on her tongue, but it stalls when Sam’s image freezes in front of her. It seems at first to be a lag, but then the screen morphs from his office to what looks like a brick wall.

She feels an icy cold slice through her, the same one she always gets when anything is associated with him. It’s the echo of a bullet, tearing through her internal organs and spine, and the hair-raising chill.

Barbara doesn’t really read the words, too focused on the high, cold cackle in the that somehow blocks out every other sound. 

________________________________________________________________

DRAKE

For the first time in a long time, Tim is happy.

His house is a gutted mess of boxes and detritus, but unlike in his younger years, it’s not because some supervillain has come crashing in to threaten him. He smiles, a little whimsical, at the date on the holographic calendar, and the word that hovers there: Moving.

In a week, he and Arlene will be in Beijing, and forever free of Gotham City.

They made the decision together in the weeks following the Jokerz attack, after Tim escaped the Cave the last time. He made it clear to Bruce and his new apprentice that it was the last time.

He doesn’t mind continuing to work for Wayne Enterprises—hell, he helped build that company, he takes a certain amount of pride and responsibility for it—but he won’t be doing that from Gotham. There’s too much history here, too much…everything. Apparently living on the outskirts or even in the same state (even on the same continent) isn’t enough for Tim to completely escape the lingering, nightmarish legacy of Batman.

Of Robin.

He wants normal. And after everything he’s been through, he more than deserves it.

“Oh, I’ll be sure to tell your dad, he’ll be happy to hear that,” Arlene says, chatting with their daughter Janet on the vidphone across the kitchen. In the den, the low sounds of the television provide background noise.

“—the level of unrest breaking out in the world’s major cities, has politicians asking, ‘is this another Yellow Vest Movement?’—"

“Honey, Janet says she and Maeve will be coming to help with the move after all.”

“You mean coming to eat pizza and beer,” Tim replies with a smile; they’ve already hired movers.

“Semantics,” he hears his youngest daughter laugh. “Either way we’ll be there.”

“Always happy to see you, kiddo.”

“Now, I’ve got to let you go,” Arlene says. “I have a nine-thirty conference call with Peking U., but I’ll speak to you later on.”

She has a follow-up interview for a position in the Linguistics Department there. It’s a step down from her current professorship at Gotham University, where she was on the tenure track, but when Tim pointed this out, she insisted his mental health was more important than her job prospects.

He tells himself he gave in so easily because after so many years of marriage it’s futile to argue with her. He tries not to acknowledge the total relief that he didn’t have to argue with her about it.

“Yeah, no problem Mom. Talk to you soon.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too!”

The video feed of their daughter winks out.

“Do you need me to get out of your hair?” Tim asks.

“No, I’ll take the call up in the office,” his wife replies and presses a kiss to his temple as she passes. Then she pauses, turns around and grabs the coffee pot to bring with her. “And I’m cutting you off. Any more of this and you’re not sleeping tonight.”

Tim sighs. “It’s like you know me or something.”

“And don’t forget it, mister!”

He listens carefully to the sound of his wife retreating up the stairs and over the landing, and then reaches for the microwave, where he surreptitiously stashed an extra cup earlier that morning.

And swears when he finds it missing; a quick glance to the sink sees it already washed out.

Damn it, she does know me.

But the thought is more fond than irritated.

Arlene is the only sure thing in his life, especially after his trauma. They met through Kate Kane—or rather, because of Kate Kane. The two women attended West Point at the same time, and Arlene acted as a character witness for Kate prior to the dishonorable discharge. Though Arlene graduated from the Academy, she did not spend much time on active duty before she was injured by a roadside bomb and lost her leg. Afterward, while dealing with her own PTSD, she pursued an academic career. She and Kate lost touch, and it wasn’t until the media released news of Kate’s murder that she heard of her again.

Arlene attended the funeral, which is where Tim met her for the first time. Two weeks later, they met in a support group for trauma survivors and started getting coffee together. It took Tim a year to figure out she was flirting with him (which Jason never stopped teasing him about, even when he was on his deathbed). After everything with Stephanie, and then with Jason, Arlene offered a safety none of his other partners ever had.

There’s a high-pitched trill from his cellphone, and he glances down to read the text from Cass.

‘ayt? need yr flight info. to pick u up from airport next wk. :) :) :)’

His sister still prefers to text over talking by phone, even all these years later, which he’s pleased about. So much these days is done with face-to-face screens or even holographic technology; he wasn’t really a people person before, but it’s getting rarer and rarer to have any kind of privacy. Texting—especially across the encrypted server he’s set up—is a relief.

Tim relays the details to her, along with the implied greetings from his wife, and expects that to be it. But then he gets another text.

‘question? 4 work.’

Tim tenses.

Cassandra Cain works as a retired ballerina who opened her own school of dance; it’s highly unlikely the work-related question has anything to do with that. It’s probably for Black Bat.

But he cautiously texts back, ‘As long as it’s just a question.’

He’s had to re-learn to establish boundaries.

‘fair. u worked cybersecurity. ever hear of Morningstar. hacker/agency???’

Tim frowns, thinks back, and shakes his head even though she can’t see it. ‘No. Never dealt with anything like that.’

Ok! 3Q. worth a shot. will c u & arlene on thurs. 520GG!’

‘88MM’

He waits a few minutes, but there are no more messages forthcoming, and then sends out the last message—‘88MM’, before putting his phone away.

Unlike everyone else from his vigilante days, Cass knows how to not push.

And yet…

She rarely asks him about anything that might involve her after-hours work, both out of familial courtesy and because her operation is, at least unofficially, supported by the Chinese government. Legally, there’s not a lot she can involve him in; when she does, it’s only where she has absolutely no other recourse and it involves paperwork and non-disclosure agreements.

Only twice has she asked him something in an off-hand way, which he knew instinctively had to do with Black Bat but pretended not to realise. The last time, his information helped her locate and dismantle a eugenicist breeding program using homeless girls.

Perhaps that’s why he finds himself reaching for his laptop and looking into anything to do with Cass’s mysterious ‘Morningstar’.

The word generates a broad spectrum of results, even when he searches through the Dark Web. Nothing to do with drugs, nothing related to human trafficking or weapons—nothing that wouldn’t immediately stand out to Cass in her own searches. He narrows search parameters, skating through encryptions and IP trails and layers and layers of disturbing data—

Within ten minutes he comes across the exact word in connection with a burgeoning hacktivist group known as DevilNight, but no indications as to what it refers to. It’s odd, considering the group has only existed for a short while and has hardly done anything worthy of attention. It makes no sense that something like this would be on Cass’s radar, especially considering based on his tracking, the group is based in Idaho.

He has just started to peel back the layers of the group’s security when his computer screen freezes. A beat later, words begin to type on his screen, and the blood drains from his cheeks.

H E L L O  J U N I O R

Even as the words register, Tim is already shoving himself backward, away from the screen. His hand slaps against the spot in his neck where Joker’s microchip was implanted—the spot where he injected Bruce’s anti-venom deployment system. It’s a reassurance, a reminder, he will be safe—

Horror suffuses him as another message typed out in front of him:

D O N ’T  B E  A  N A U G H T Y  B O Y

Bile rises in his throat and Tim feels the world spin. Instantly, he is back in that horrible room, hysterical laughter in his ears and a falsely cheerful melody playing in the background.

He has to fight himself back under control, checking his surroundings, going over simple facts about himself in his head—

Not Junior not Junior not Junior—

My name is Timothy Jackson Drake. Drake-Wayne.

He is still that, even if he never uses the name anymore. He never got around to changing it, never had the courage to.

My parents were Jack and Janet Drake. Mom died when I was a boy, Dad remarried. Dana. But they died—

Kidnapped, poisoned, murdered, went insane—

No, he’s getting off track. Facts, he needs facts about himself, to ground him, to remind him of who he is and not what he has lived through.

I work as a communications director and do contract work for Wayne Enterprises. I have two daughters—Kate and Janet. Kate is a veterinarian; Janet is a stockbroker. She married Maeve last year. Kate is pregnant with our first grandchild. Arlene and I go to Florida every winter…

At long last, he gets himself under control again, can separate himself from the specter of Junior.

He expects the laughter and the inner echoes of carnival music to fade away.

Instead, it becomes louder and more distinct.

Tim stares at his screen in horror as the message vanishes, the words replaced with something even more sinister.

HA HA HA.

No.

Not again.

He can’t do this again.

________________________________________________________________  

GRAYSON

Dick only ever feels his age in the mornings.

There’s just something about his body waking up after a long sleep, before his training kicks in to ignore the aches and pains, that can’t fight off the heaviness as fast anymore. Every day it’s more painful putting himself through the usual routine of exercises to keep himself in shape. 

Thankfully, he’s still outwardly put-together enough to hide it.

He smiles ruefully at his reflection in the bathroom mirror—more of a grimace, really—and studies the patchwork of old scars and not-so-old bruises across his chest.

He knows he doesn’t look his age. It’s not even due to cosmetic surgery or organ replacements or even the personal holograph projections that have gotten popular in the last decade. Longevity just happens to run in his family; John Grayson’s father was still pulling triple somersaults at eighty and Mary Lloyd’s grandmother lived to be a hundred and thirteen.

The only thing artificial in his body are metal plates and pins that replaced bones fractured beyond natural healing, and the biotech keeping the bullet in his spine from moving. (And the antitoxin implant Bruce sent him; because no feud is worth getting dosed with Joker venom, whether the bastard is dead or not.)

Not bad for fifty-nine, he decides and heads for the kitchen.

There’s a moan from his bedroom, and he pauses briefly as he passes to consider the woman lying in his bed in nothing but his bedsheets. In her sleep, she curls to one side, causing the sheet to slip a little and reveal bruises in the shape of his fingers across her hip. He can feel the matching set on his own back.

Definitely not bad for fifty-nine.

For a moment he debates the merits of returning to bed and continuing where they left off last night, but that would be against one of the unspoken rules they established when they started sleeping together.

The other is that they don’t use real names.

He doesn’t know or want to know hers—after a lifetime of failed relationships and broken hearts he knows better than to get attached. And though he’s aware she knows his—the world knows his name since that fiasco with the wannabe Hush—she never uses it. If she must, she calls him Wing, and it’s a clear reminder that she has no intention of crossing any boundaries to let things become personal.

He has no problem with that; he calls her Black.

He’ll never call her Cat because that’s what Bruce called Selina Kyle. Associating this Catwoman with the original just feels a little too oedipal to Dick.

(Selina never really gave off motherly vibes, but she was the most constant presence of all Bruce’s paramours, so she sort of ended up in that role by association).

The original Catwoman was the only one Bruce could never completely push away—though that might say more about Selina’s stubbornness than the old man trying to keep hold of the people in his life. She decided when they were in a relationship, or out of one, whatever Bruce wanted.

In the end, even that wasn’t enough though. Her heart was never as strong after the incident with the real Hush.

Dick remembers attending the funeral. Bruce didn’t show up at the service or the burial. It was a few years into his self-imposed exile, right after Damian’s departure, and soon after Steph and Cass. He obviously hadn’t wanted to face any of them (maybe couldn’t face them).

But there was a crack in the headstone the next time Dick brought flowers (an imprint of a fist he would know anywhere) and he knows Bruce blamed himself for that too.

Dick heads to the kitchen, grabbing a coffee for himself. He debates for a moment, leaving one out for Black, but if the usual pattern holds, she’ll be jumping out his bedroom window soon without even coming into the kitchen. She’s not exactly one for goodbyes. Instead, he leans on the counter and pulls out his mobile, scrolling through the day's news stories.

Call him old fashioned, but he prefers to read the news than watch the featureless blue talking heads on the television. He spends about a minute skimming a beat piece on the successful launch of Wayne Enterprises' latest environmental initiative. Tim was telling him something about that the other day; it was the most animated and relaxed Dick had seen him since that night with the Jokerz.

“It’s basically like a planetary rebreather,” his estranged brother enthused. “You know how trees take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen? It’s sort of like that, but on a larger scale. Once it's all set up, any toxins pumped into the atmosphere will get filtered out and converted to oxygen.”

Tim had then gone on a lengthy explanation about the technical details that Dick had no chance of following, but given how enthused he’d seemed, it hadn’t mattered.

He’s going to miss him, now that he’s headed off to Beijing, but Cass is ecstatic. As far as Dick knows, they haven’t seen each other in ten years. It almost makes him want to head over and join the reunion.

Except that would be counterproductive to his current plans.

Dick is in Gotham on the pretense of opening a second athletics course, but really, it’s to keep an eye on things.

He doesn’t trust Bruce not to screw up whatever he’s doing with this new kid, and the boy’s too green to notice the signs of losing himself to Bruce’s mission. When the old man cuts him off—and it’s when, not if, because Bruce will inevitably screw this up—the McGinnis kid is going to need someone to keep his head above water.

Dick’s only been around him a handful of times, but there’s a cockiness and attitude there that reminds him of Jason. That’s concerning enough on its own, but what really makes the hair on the back of Dick’s neck stand up is the sense he has of this kid’s potential to do damage. He’s seen that, before, too, along with the results.

Christ, the kid even looks like Damian. If I didn’t know Bruce so well, I’d think…

He shakes off the thought because it’s too disturbing to contemplate.

The point is, Terry McGinnis needs someone looking out for him, even if he doesn’t realize it. Bruce isn’t going to do it and Barbara has clearly forgotten a hell of a lot of history since she’s allowing the boy to fly around her city risking his life.

So it’s up to Dick.

Again.

I’m way too old to be getting another brother, he thinks darkly, in what once might have been genuine humor but now feels just exhausting. Especially considering his track record with the others.

He doesn’t even know where Duke ended up.

Something flickers on the edge of his eyesight, and he turns to look out the window of his apartment. Across the street, the giant vid-screen advertising the latest energy drink blinks and goes briefly blank. Along with every other screen as far as the eye can see.

Dick narrows his eyes, taking a step forward to study the phenomena, and then freezes as his quiet apartment is invaded by obscenely cheerful music and a laugh he wishes he could forget.

Every screen for miles spells it out, and he knows immediately that things are about to get worse.

________________________________________________________________

⁂

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Next Chapter

[catsundercherryblossoms]

|Chapter 9: Man or Monster?| Her Forgotten Past // Attack on Titan fanfic//

I sat on a large crate, a jug of water in my hands. No matter how much I drank my throat still remained parched. How long was it since the cannon fire? Hours or minutes? How much time had I spent staring at the floor, stuck in a limbo of madness?

"You're shaking like a leaf." A voice said.

I unglued my gaze from the floor and saw Reiner standing next to me, arms folded and head tilted sympathetically.

I tried to smile. I really did. Perhaps in my mind, I pictured myself smiling back politely like any normal person, but nothing about me felt normal at the moment. In reality, I gave him a nod of acknowledgement and continued staring down.

"Hey, everything's going to be okay." He sat down besides me. "Once this is over, it'll be like old times again. Just you, me, Bertholdt, and Annie. A life together in the MPs is waiting for us."

"Thanks, Reiner." I said. The corners of my lips barely lifted into a smile.

He frowned. "But?"

I let out a sigh, defeated. He must've read my gaze. Reiner always, since I first met him, had this annoying habit of reading me. I didn't like it.

"Reiner, I don't know if..." I hesitated.

"If what?"

The battle wasn't over yet. Only a fool would think that. There was definitely going to be more bloodshed. I don't know how I knew, but I trusted my intuition nonetheless. The future seemed so uncertain. Would I survive to see tomorrow? Or would I die at the hands of a Titan? Say I actually make it out alive... what next? My dreams of joining the Military Police and living the comfortable life I've always wanted now felt so meaningless. It was the main goal that kept me persevering through three years of training, and now it didn't mean shit to me. This battle... all the horrors that I witnessed in a span of hours had reduced that goal to the worth of dirt. I mean, how can I possibly choose the Military Police after all that I've experienced? It'd be like turning my back on those who died. No, I've seen too much. All my life I was dormant. Ignorant. But now my eyes have been opened. I've seen humanity for what it really is: caged animals. We live in fear of the Titans. Inside these walls, we are born cowards and we will stay cowards unless we fight back.

I'm not the same person I was hours ago, on top of the wall, cleaning the cannons with my comrades. That all changed the second the Colossal Titan appeared. My worldview was entirely changed. I couldn't go putting a blindfold on myself now. Not after everything I've seen.

"I don't think I can join the MPs." I said finally. It felt good to let it out.

Reiner looked confused. "What? Of course you can. You made the top ten!"

"Sorry, let me rephrase that." I explained, "I don't want to join the MPs anymore."

Creases formed on his forehead. "Jo, no offense, but maybe you should consider your mental state right now. What you just went through is scarring. Maybe you shouldn't be making decisions—"

"That's exactly why I can't go join them, Reiner!" I said, a bit snappy. "I've been scarred! Living in the interior— its all materialistic! There's no purpose, no worth! I want more than that." I paused. An emblem of wings popped into my mind. "I think... I want to join the Survey Corps."

"Are you insa—" he stopped himself, and rethinking his words, he continued, "You're going to get yourself killed. Please, at least join the Garrison."

"Reiner, I can protect myself. Why are you acting so weird all of a sudden? You're usually so supportive." I stood up, facing him and folding my arms stubbornly.

He stood up too. "Its that suicidal bastard, isn't it? Damn it, I knew he'd get to you."

"Who, Eren?" I huffed. "He has nothing to do with this! It's my decision."

"Really? How come all of a sudden you have a knack for becoming Titan food?"

I gritted my teeth. "Annie would be more supportive."

"Yeah, well Annie doesn't have feelings for—"

"Archer! Has anyone seen Cadet Archer?" Someone behind us said.

I whirled around and saw a Garrison soldier walk inside the tent. It was Ian Dietrich, the leader of the elite squad that I was recruited into. I shot Reiner one last look, as if to ask 'are you done?'. He looked like he wanted to finish his sentence, but he backed down. Whatever he needed to get off his chest, it could wait.

I walked up to Ian. "Yes, sir?"

He wasn't pleased. "What happened to you? You left our squad without a reason. An act of insubordination like that deserves a punishment."

"If you must know... I was swallowed by a Titan, sir." I gestured to my red uniform.

His face went pale. He stared at me in disbelief. "You're kidding me... Impossible... how did you— Never mind that, cadet!" He snapped. "We need you on the Elite squad that's going to protect Eren. Follow me." He turned on his heel and started walking off down the street.

Protect Eren? From what? What in the world was he talking about? I hurried after him, trying to keep up with his long legs. Damn short people problems.  "Wait, sir! I'm afraid I don't understand." I said.

He groaned. "I guess I'm going to have to explain this. Damn rookie."

Long story short... The Garrison had planned to execute Eren Jaeger, until Commander Dot Pixis intervened and proposed a deal with Eren. The deal basically consisted of Eren using his powers to shift into a Titan and lift the massive chunk of wall debris sitting to the east side of Trost. He was to carry the boulder and use it to plug the breach in the wall. Soldiers would be split into squads. Other squads would be hanging on the side of the wall, supported by their ODM gear, and serve as a distraction for the titans. The elite squad, the one I was placed in, would accompany Eren on the journey to the breach and serve as his defense.

The minute Ian told me this plan, I smirked. It was very ingenious. The Armin kind of ingenious.

We took the lift and ascended to the top of the Wall. Ian held open the door and I stepped out. The afternoon sun blazed down on us as we walked. I could see Dot Pixis up ahead. 

"Stay here." Ian told me and I nodded, knowing he probably wanted to discuss parts of the plan. He walked off.

I let out a sigh and overlooked the city. Hell, was I exhausted. My limbs ached, and the back of my throat felt like sandpaper due to so much screaming. But I had made it this far. It sounds like optimistic bullshit, I know. I don't think I've ever been an optimist in my life. I'm not Marco. Usually I keep a realistic perspective. But the fact still stands that I, Johanna, have made it this far into battle. I have escaped death's cold grasp and I have survived.

That's got to account for something, right?

"Jo?" A voice shuddered behind me.

The second it reached my ears, my whole body tensed. It was so familiar.

I slowly turned around, meeting the presence full front. His gear was missing, his uniform was tattered and bloodstained like mine, his skin patchy in some areas where he was exposed to boiling temperatures. But those eyes... even after everything that's happened, they still held that remarkable fire that never seemed to extinguish.

What was once shock soon melted into pure relief. The muscles on his face eased and he allowed himself a broken smile. "Jo!"

Next thing I knew, Eren was tackling me in a hug. "You're alive!"

"Somewhat." I chuckled.

His tall build and strong arms crushed me. He smelled metallic like blood, but I returned the embrace anyway, knowing I probably smelled the same. The only person I accepted hugs from was Jean. But... this wasn't so bad.

Maybe I could get used to this.

A soothing feeling settled into my chest and I allowed myself a little smile. He was alright. He was okay.

"Sorry to interrupt this lovers reunion."

We both jumped apart, flustered when we saw Ian standing there. He held a pair of ODM gears. How long had he been watching? Ugh, that's embarrassing.

"No— I— We—"

"It's nothing like that." I said on Eren's behalf, who's face resembled a ripe tomato.

"Well whatever it is, time to quit it. We've been given orders to go. Move out!" Ian said, practically throwing the gear into our hands, and he started walking off.

Eren and I hastily put our gear on. More soldiers from our squad joined us as we ran after Ian, all of us heading towards the end of the Wall. It felt weird being active again. I wondered how my legs managed to stay upright even after all I've experienced. Funny how your body is capable of a lot, and it's really your mind that tricks you into being weak.

"Jo!"

I looked to my left and saw Mikasa. She ran besides me. I was glad to see her alive, although the fact that she was placed into this squad didn't surprise me. The girl ranked number 1 in the top ten. Who wouldn't want her skill?

"I want to apologize." A tone of shame lingered in her voice. "Everything you went through... I should've kept my personal matters to myself. I never should've asked you to check on Eren. I—"

"You didn't." I interrupted.

"What?"

"You didn't ask anything of me. I made the offer. Trust me, Mikasa, this is not your fault. Soldiers don't die because of soldiers, soldiers die because of those man-eating bastards. In a perfect world without those beasts none of this would've happened. Besides," I began to wield my blades as we neared the end of the wall. "I'm still here."

"Thanks to me." Eren said teasingly.

I shot him a look. "I could kick your ass, Jaeger."

"Yeah? Well when we make it out of here alive, you can try it sometime." He sounded so sure of himself. Goddamn his blind determination, I thought with a smirk.

"Stop flirting. This isn't the time!" A soldier with short, silver hair and glasses caught up to our speed.

I let out a huff of annoyance. Twice in a row? Seriously? What is it with these Garrisons breathing down our necks?

"I'll just put it straight. The fact that the fate of mankind rests on a brat like you doesn't make me hopeful." Another Garrison soldier said to Eren.

"All of you! Enough. We're in range of the boulder." Ian snapped.

He was right. I could see it a few hundred feet away, wedged between two destroyed houses. It was giant and dense. Could Eren really lift that? Even in his Titan form, it was a challenging weight to carry. Looking around the perimeter, I didn't see any titans. The decoy squad must be working to lure them away. So far, they were doing a great job.

Perfect. Now's our chance.

Eren jumped off the edge of the wall first, and I followed second, and Mikasa third. We soared on our gear, swinging past buildings and alleyways like birds of a feather, making our way towards the boulder. The cold wind swept my face and ruffled my uniform, and I loved it. I absolutely craved this thrill.

I watched Eren from a few feet away. I had to give him space for when he would transform. He burned like spitfire, shooting his anchors and whirling in the air, setting foot on rooftops only to dive off again in a blaze of glory. He carried humanity's fate on his shoulders, and yet he seemed weightless. Now, I'm not saying he was some indestructible god at the moment. No. Even under the bullheaded facade, I could tell he was nervous. No one wants to be a failure. But my point is, he wasn't buckling under the pressure. He had a solid purpose.

Maybe I would find that too someday.

"Now, Eren!" Mikasa shouted.

I watched in astonishment as he bit down on his hand. It was very deliberate, like he knew exactly what to do. I heard the sound of his bone crunching, and suddenly there was lightning. A BOOM! rattled the area and before I knew it, I was looking at a fifteen-meter tall Titan.

I stopped on a rooftop and tried to collect myself, but it was hard. Eren had just turned into that. He was the Titan, and the Titan was him.

Woah.

Mikasa landed on the rooftop of the building next to me. We gave each other nods of apprehension and watched Eren, who stood directly in front of the large boulder.

We watched.

We waited.

Huh. Why wasn't he doing anything? Was he okay? I observed his motionless figure from afar. The Garrison soldiers went over the plan with him. There's no way he could've gotten confused. It was so simple, a baby could do it. Well... if the baby had Titan strength, that is.

"Oi! What's going on?" I called out.

Suddenly and without reason, Eren turned and smashed his fist into the roof where Mikasa stood, abruptly crushing her. My heart stopped.

"MIKASA!" I screamed. I couldn't believe it. No way. What the hell?

Then I saw her. She hurried out of the debris and shot her anchor onto another building, quite startled, lifting herself up. She must've avoided the hit somehow. My chest heaved a sigh. Thank goodness, she was okay.

But what in the fuck was that all about?

"Eren!" I yelled, my lungs burning. How dare he? His own sister, for Sina's sake. Had he lost all control?

"Archer!" Ian yelled. "Don't—"

But I was already doing it. I shot my anchor straight into Eren's giant forehead and zoomed towards him, careful to be considerate with my gas. I didn't want to repeat my mistakes. I landed right on the bridge of his nose. It was weird, being so up close to a Titan this way. But it was Eren. Despite the cold monstrosity in those big, green eyes of his, I knew Eren had to be in there. Somewhere.

"Idiot!" I yelled at him. His eyes watched me without an ounce of recognition. They held only animalistic and bloodthirsty instinct. "Snap the hell out of it! You're human! This isn't the time for games, we have a breach to seal!"

A low rumbling came from his mouth. A growl. 

"Eren!" I yelled frustratedly. I waited for a sign. Anything that meant he was back to normal.

"ARCHER! GET OUT!"

I leapt off just in time. Eren's fist, intending to crush me, came flying at his own face instead and he ended up punching himself. I gasped as his whole fist exploded from the force. That was close. Too close.

He let out a screech that pierced the heavens and he lost his balance, slumping against the boulder. He stayed there, motionless. Moments passed and nothing, not even a twitch. Was he even conscious?

"It was naive to rely on a Titan to save us." Rico, the soldier with short silver hair, said coldly. She took out a flare and shot it. The smoke rushed up into the sky, streaking it red. Now the other squads and the Commander knew we had failed. Damn, what a let down.

But still... I looked at Eren, and I couldn't help but feel a great opportunity going to waste. What if we could do something? Maybe if we tried again...

"Look alive! Four titans coming this way! All over ten meters!" said Mitabi, also a soldier from our squad. He hopped off his rooftop a few streets away and came to us. "Ian, we're waiting on you. Let's go!"

"Go?" I repeated incredulously. "We can't just leave a soldier here defenseless! What are we, barbarians?"

"He's a Titan, for god's sake!" Mitabi sneered.

"Yeah? So what? You're so desperate to get out of here alive that you don't see this brilliant opportunity right in front of you!" I gestured at Eren's unconscious form. "He's too valuable to just throw away!"

"Oh please, this plan was doomed from the start!" He said. "Was it worth a shot? Sure, whatever. We did our best! But the only option we have now is going back over the wall!"

He spun on his heel and began walking away. I saw Mikasa seething with anger next to me, and she drew her blades, ready to go after him. But before she could do anything, Ian put an arm in front of her and prevented her from going further.

"Team Rico, take out the twelve meter approaching from behind." Ian ordered grimly. "Team Mitabi and I will handle the two front runners."

"Are you nuts?!" Rico gasped.

"In case you've forgotten, I'm the one in charge!" He told her strictly. "We're not going to leave Jaeger defenseless. Period."

Rico looked like she was ready to start an argument, but Ian continued before she had a chance. "Change of plans," he said, "We'll take down all the titans and protect the area until he recovers. Whether we like it or not, he's our best bet. We're not about to abandon him. We're expendable, but he isn't. He can't be replaced."

"Oh please," Rico said dryly. "Don't talk to me about our best bet. He's a failure. Countless soldiers have died because of him. Just look at him, Ian! Are you saying you want us to risk our lives for that!"

"Yes!" He raised his voice. "If that's what it takes, so be it!"

My eyebrows raised a little. It takes guts to make a claim like that.

Rico was at a loss for words.

"No disrespect," I spoke up, looking straight at her. "But didn't you say soldiers are risking their lives at the moment? The longer we stay here bickering the more are dying by the second. Forget trying to see eye to eye. We need to take action."

She glared at me, but we both knew I was right.

"Enough." Ian said with finality. "Let's show those titans humanity's wrath."

The mooning around finally ended and we split: Mitabi went with Ian, Rico left with her own team, and I joined up with Mikasa. I was glad we were left to work together. I felt confident when she was around. We headed towards the first Titan we saw: a ten meter. This one's eyes were ludicrously large and glassy, displaying its avid hunger for our flesh. But no matter. It was done and killed in a second thanks to us. The next one was a little trickier. Mikasa had to distract it while I made the surprise attack. The abnormal beast, only 8 meters this time, thrashed around like a bull once I gouged its eyes out with my blades. Getting tired of its stupid wailing, I finished it off with a clean slice across its neck.

"Son of a bitch," I said, looking down at myself and my uniform, now wet with a fresh coat of blood. It began to evaporate slowly.

I looked around, noticing Mikasa wasn't nearby. I found her presence a few streets over, already beating me at this game of bloodshed, handling a Titan expertly all by herself. Sheesh, the girl had no chill. I was about to join her, but a shuffling noise and a small grunt made me turn around instead.

"Armin!"

The blonde was climbing Eren's large, slumped back. He looked up at the sound of my voice.

"Jo, go take care of the Titans!"

I blinked. He had a focused, steely look on his face— something I'd never seen before on him. But I wasn't about to take orders from anybody.

"Are you crazy!?" I yelled at him, watching as he kneeled at the base of Eren's neck. "Get off, that's dangerous!"

"I know what I'm doing!" He wielded a blade and stared at it's sharpness warily. "At least, I think so... when Eren emerged from his Titan the last time, it was from the nape of the neck. I might be delusional, but I think that's the control base of this whole body. I just have to make sure not to hit the center..." He made eye contact with me and then looked down. I watched as he raised his blade tentatively. A little gasp got caught in my chest.

"Armin, what are you—"

"This won't kill him, but it's going to hurt." He raised the blade an inch higher and then brought it down. "A lot!"

"ARMIN, NO—"

A twisted, inhuman screech made my warning sound pathetic. It was Eren. The second the blade stabbed deep into his neck, he arched his back and thrashed around wildly. His flailing arms missed Armin by only a couple inches, as the poor guy held onto the handgrips of his blade for dear life. I watched it all happen, my ears ringing at the constant screeching, until finally Eren gave up and slumped against the boulder again.

"Jo, you need to go help out the others!" Armin said, stricter this time. "They need all the manpower they can get! I'll handle Eren! Go do what you do best!"

I clenched my jaw. Dammit, he was right. I hate it when other people are right.

But I couldn't dilly dally any longer. Soldiers were dying, for pete's sake. I looked down at my blades, and gripped them tighter. Time to go into beast mode...

It wasn't hard finding team Mitabi. They were all working together to take down one 14 meter abnormal. One. And the worst part? There were more coming their way. I let them handle that one and instead created a bloodbath with the other approaching ones. That powerful feeling came back again. It fed every cell in my body and suddenly I was indestructible. I was reckless, yet calculating in every move. Rageful, yet calm on the exterior. I was no longer a girl with feeble dreams of entering the MPs, finding my parents, and living a peaceful life in the interior. It seems ridiculous to think about now. I could laugh at that naive, yet determined girl and give her a cold slap of reality. This is what I was made for. There's so much more to life than luxury. And there's so much more to life than running back to the people who abandoned you in the first place. Right now, as I carved these Titans inside out, I found my purpose:

Defending humanity.

And making these monsters pay the price.

Suddenly, it was all I cared about. Forget those indulgent bastards in the interior. Forget trying to find my parents. Survey Corps, here I come.

Well... If I get out of here alive, that is.

I killed the last Titan in a group of five, and flew over to a roof where team Ian and Mikasa were.

"The situation is bad." Ian said grimly, overlooking the area. "Even with you two helping out, things aren't looking bright. There's just so many... if only the plan hadn't failed, dammit. If only we had plugged the breach, then—"

Thunder.

No, scratch that. Not thunder. Footsteps.

The roof beneath us trembled. The three of us turned around. And my... It was certainly a glorious sight.

Eren was slowly but steadily making his way through the town. And guess what? He was carrying the fucking gigantic boulder over his head.

A breath escaped my mouth. Was it a delirious laugh? Was it an astounded gasp? I couldn't be sure. Whatever. But seeing him up and conscious... and seeing that fire in his eyes that was so purely human, so incredibly Eren... I felt like all of humanity's hope and joy collected inside of me, and I wanted to combust with pride.

"Yes! Yes, he did it!" Mikasa and I broke out in cheers.

Ian simply stood there, mouth agape. All vocabulary seemed to have failed him. Oh well... words are overrated, right?

"You two," He told us once he snapped out of it. "I want you to stay by Jaeger's side! Defend him till the end of the journey, got it?"

"Yes, sir!" Mikasa and I saluted.

"Move out!"

In order to defend Eren as he carried the boulder across town, we had to get lower to the ground. And god, was it grisly down here. The stench of pooled blood burned our nostrils, but we had to keep going. Thankfully, Armin joined us by our side. It was a relief to know he was okay. I made a mental note to praise him later for reviving Eren.

It was hard and sweaty work. Every Titan that came within a mile radius, Mikasa and I killed it with expertise. Some weren't even give the chance to turn the corner. We would already be on them, blades drawn, slicing the hell out of them.

But admittedly... not everyone had the same success. 

All around us, as we accompanied Eren, soldiers here and there and everywhere were dying. Eaten like prey right in front of our faces. Sometimes we were able to help, but sometimes it was a lost cause and we would have to keep moving forwards.

But oh god, the screaming. The shouts. The gargled cries as they were chomped on.

I tried to ignore it as best as I could. Impulsiveness would only get me killed.

Then I caught sight of the breach. I'd never been so happy to see a gap of crumbling stone in my entire life.

"Look ahead!"

A Titan was down on all fours, impeding our path. Rico, the one who had warned us, came flying in at jet-speed. Her glasses twinkled as she spun and gouged out an eye, blinding the Titan. The Titan, unable to see properly on his left side, brought his hand down on us but missed. I saw the fury on Mikasa's face, and I let her have it.

While she took that one down, Armin and I accompanied Eren on the last few meters (which were only a couple footsteps for him) towards the breach. My heart beat faster the closer we got, until eventually, there was no more distance to cover. This was it. What we had fought for was finally being granted to us.

Eren's arms quivered underneath the weight. Could he hold it any longer?

"NOW!"

The whole world froze, allowing Armin's voice to resonate across town. Then came Eren's sky-rattling roar, announcing humanity's triumph as he lowered the boulder and jammed it into the breach, sealing the hole.

There was a heavy silence. The titans continued munching in the background, but they hardly mattered now.

All at once, I realized just how weak my body felt and I allowed myself to drop to my knees, trying to catch my breath from all the constant running. I felt a pang of numbness wash over me, and I looked up at the sky. The clouds were orange and pink, swirling together to make a beautiful, sunset masterpiece.

We did it. At the close of day, we finally made history. We won this battle.

I would've cried tears of joy, but after such a painful day, I didn't have any tears left. It's fine, though. Celebration could be dealt with later. Right now...

I observed Eren's now unconscious body, steaming and hunched over the boulder.

We need to make sure he's okay...

I forced my exhausted legs to get up again, and ejected an anchor onto Eren's neck, pulling myself upwards. I kneeled down and hissed as the heat burned my knees. How hot was it here... 500 degrees? While the other soldiers busied themselves with the remaining titans inside the town, I started cutting Eren's nape in order to free him. I was pretty worried, to be honest. In this heat, any normal person would suffocate...

Normal person. Well, I guess he's not that. Not anymore.

But... I couldn't think of him as a monster either...

Grunting, I finished the cut and chunks of the nape began to disintegrate, revealing Eren— The true Eren, only 5'7 in height. Thank goodness.

Uh oh, I thought, grabbing his torso and trying to pull him out. But he wouldn't budge. I peered over his shoulder and saw both his arms were fused with red, slimy tendons and muscle. Great. Now what am I supposed to do? Not to mention, he was practically burning me like I was holding a lump of hot coal.

I took a look at his face. His eyes were closed and peacefully ignorant to the world. I sighed warily. You've really outdone yourself this time, idiot...

"Jo! What's going on? How is he?" Armin asked from below.

"He's burning up and he's fused to the Titan! I can't get him out!" I shouted. One by one they landed besides me on the carcass: Armin, Mikasa, and Rico. "We need to get him over the wall quickly so he can get medical attention!" I said, tugging his body to no avail.

"Then we cut." Rico said, already brandishing her blades.

Mikasa, for the first time ever, actually looked startled at the thought of violence. "But we don't know what that will do! What if—"

But too late. Rico officially wins the award for 'Most Impulsive Person'. Without any sort of warning or hesitation, she swiped her blades and cut the tendons connecting Eren to the neck. The resistance was no longer there, and next thing I knew, I was falling backwards with Eren down the Titan's back. It was a rough landing, but not too damaging. Eren appeared fine for the most part. However, there was no denying my ass hurt from hitting the ground. I looked up at Rico, a bit annoyed. "You could've been more care-"

A shadow loomed over me. Not the normal kind, though. No. A huge shadow that chilled the air.

Shit.

I looked over my shoulder, already knowing what to expect. And there it was. Actually, there they were. It was two titans, a double threat. Both of them were thin and lanky, staring down at Eren and I like we were the last cookies on the platter.

One of them made a move and stretched out its hand.

"Jo! Eren!" I heard Mikasa scream from above.

My first instinct was to huddle Eren protectively. I don't know why, but it just happened. Maybe it was a reciprocation of what he did for me back in that Titan's stomach, holding me tight and all.

But dammit, they were so close. There's no way I could attempt to kill them.

And the groping hand only grew closer and closer.

I shut my eyes, wondering which one it would pick first, if not both of us at the same time.

Shing! A pair of blades were put to work. I heard the clanging of ODM gear and then suddenly, the darkness of the shadows was gone. What happened? Was it safe to open my eyes now?

I decided 'screw it' and opened my eyes. The more I took in the sight the more they widened, shocked.

Both titans were face down on the ground. Dead.

On the carcasses, a soldier stood boldly against the sunset plastered in the background. Wait, no— not just any soldier. He wore a green cape with the wings of freedom imprinted on it, the fabric rustling in the wind.

But when he looked at me...

What the hell?

"Alright, you brats." He spoke coldly, "this is the part where you explain yourselves."

End of Chapter 9

[tagfer]

you should analyze it! i'm curious

urff okay so. I’ll do it. Here’s some overanalysis on how Ultra Sun and Ultra Moon’s story caused almost all of its major characters to become nothing but jokes compared to their original Sun and Moon characterizations.

With full disclaimers, I actually enjoyed playing Ultra Sun. As far as enjoyment goes, it was probably more fun than Sun and Moon. Story? So much worse.

[Massive USUM spoilers! Of all sorts!]

Also a secondary note: I may have missed a thing or two, so if I have incorrect info, please let me know.

Looker & Anabel (and in a way, Nanu) get their postgame removed. Altogether. None of it happens. Looker shows up early to foreshadow Episode RR, but that’s it. Then postgame, there’s a like, ten line cutscene where Anabel introduces herself as a member of interpol and says she’s going to the Battle Tree, and Looker remarks that she’s not that strong. Yeah, let’s put the dude without any pokemon on guard duty for his boss who also used to run a huge battle facility in another universe.

Compare and contrast to SuMo, where the three of them got an entire story. A very horrifying story, but well written, where it’s explained the consequences of falling through a wormhole turns you into a magnet for extraterrestrial beings who will likely kill you, but not out of malice, and that despite her higher rank than Nanu or Looker, that she’s only being used as bait for those creatures. And it explains Looker and Nanu’s past, showing that Looker was a member of interpol years before the quirky guy we meet in Platinum. And that they had a friend/colleague actually die in front of them, and how they both hold immense guilt for that. Oh and that Anabel is likely from a different universe.

But these characters didn’t have destroyed characterization as much as they don’t get any whatsoever because Looker and Anabel get a mass of maybe 20 lines total, only one of which has anything to do with Episode RR.

I included these first because I’ve previously written plenty about Anabel and Looker, and I absolutely loved their plot, so seeing it absolutely absent is the biggest disappointment of USUM for me.

Lillie loses so much that it’s sad. Let’s be honest, Sun and Moon’s plot is really the story of Lillie. How she can grow from a timid girl afraid of the world to realizing that she has her own strength and can determine her own future.

When you first meet her, she’s afraid of birds. By time the climax happens, she’s traveled to another universe to deliver a Why You Suck speech to her abusive mother (and gets one of the best intense musical numbers in the game!). Early in the game, she idolizes your strength, but over the course of it learns she has her own strength and that just because she isn’t the strongest out there doesn’t mean she can’t overcome her own trials and obstacles. She even has some of the best symbolism in the Pokemon games, ever; discarding her old clothes that signify her mother’s control over her and using ones she picked, saying that she’s now going to take control of her life. And she does.

By the end, it’s emotionally impacting when she takes charge to leave Alola on her own journey.

In USUM, the story has shifted. She’s no longer the main character, you are. Which is classic for a Pokemon game, but compared to the games released a year ago it makes everything hollow. It goes from a story where you’re helping your friend who has family issues that spiral deeply out of control to you being the Chosen One who has to defeat Evil Teams and Lillie is just kind of a companion much like previous “friends”.

Her character arc and foreshadowing plays out perfectly in SuMo where as in USUM it falls flat. In Sun and Moon, the entire reason you visit the Ultra Deep Sea is to finish Lillie’s character arc. During their first confrontation, Lillie (symbolically wearing her first outfit) was not strong enough / did not believe in herself enough to confront Lusamine for everything, but she decides that that’s what she needs to do, and that’s what forces her development and drives the plot. In USUM, she never gets to confront her mother at all. And the plot is driven forward partly by Lillie/Gladion’s want to save Lusamine, but mostly because the Ultra Recon Squad needs more help defeating Necrozma.

This makes all her personal growth so much more shallow. Her motivation is to help you instead of you helping her.

Her becoming a Pokemon trainer in Episode RR isn’t foreshadowed at all either (as far as I know) and rather just comes a surprise when you’re forced into a double battle.

Gladion and Type: Null lose a bunch too. In Sun and Moon, he’s a soft kid who tries to hide his gentleness under a facade of badass edgelord. His escape from Aether Paradise, while obviously inspired by his mistreatment, included saving a Type: Null, because he knew it was in pain. He slowly grows and learns the power of friendship. He even names his Type: Full friend.

After the game, he takes over Aether Paradise in order to make sure everything goes right. Which could be seen as unsatisfying but it’s clear he has grown to the point to accept responsibility.

It looks like it was going to be this way in USUM, but it turns out he just gets a Silver complex. He just wants to be the strongest there is. He implies he kidnapped Type: Null not because he wanted to save it, but because he wanted to train it as the Beast Killer it was meant to be, to the point he even points out its concept as a Beast Killer and attempts to follow Lusamine into Ultra Megalopolis.

Even his leaving Alola is just merely a lust for power instead of Lillie’s search for independence. Wicke even comments that Gladion wants to beat trainers like you and Hau. And he does come back for championship title defense matches (a month after you complete the story). That’s it. He didn’t go on a journey, he went on a training mission. His personal growth has really been traded for a Silver complex, of hollow growth but unending lust of power.

Lusamine is a disaster and arguably gets a worse redemption than she did in Sun and Moon despite having a full redemption in USUM.

SuMo Lusamine is by far one of my favorite villains - both in Pokemon and in general. This is cause despite the fact it clearly isn’t, she totally believed what she did was completely justified. She didn’t see herself as a villain at all. And that’s what makes a good villain. She wasn’t just “oh I’m evil, I want to control the world/etc.” Which Pokemon has a lot of.

Her obsession with beauty (and mistreatment of Lillie and Gladion) was the culmination of years of sanity slippage caused by Nihilego and the loss of Mohn. She even more or less forgets the reason she was looking into Nihilego and instead focuses on Nihilego’s beauty. So while it doesn’t justify what she did, we’re at very least given an explanation as to why she is the person she is.

…

In USUM, so much of this changed it’s… unbelievable. Other than the appearance of Nihilego at Aether Paradise, Nihilego plays no role as far as we know. She suffers little sanity slippage other than delusions of grandeur of helping/defeating Necrozma on her own. She also hopes on seeing Mohn.

She’s still obsessed with beauty. She still treats her kids as ornaments. She still uses Guzma. She still experiments on living creatures, freezes living creatures, and creates chimeras. (And Type: Null gets a special note here because her focus was now Necrozma and not Ultra Beasts - but she was still okay with creating a Beast Killer.)

She also gets no real redemption. Despite all that she did, she suffers no consequence. Lillie never gets to really call her out. Nor does Gladion. She seems to repair her relationship with her children near immediately. Nobody comments that she’s got a giant office full of cryogenicly frozen pokemon, and how she openly announces that her goal was to save Alola from Necrozma to keep that collection. She doesn’t get anything. In fact, you, her, Lillie, and Guzma share a laugh at Faba’s expense right in front of one of her pods, with others also plainly visible.

Post Episode RR, talking to her reveals that you made her rethink her views on beauty. Or something. Honestly, it sounds like the kind of lie you’d feed a kid, but it’s more likely bad and forced character development.

In Sun and Moon, she even remarks to Lillie, who had just stood up to her and then saved her despite Lusamine lunging to kill her, “When did you start becoming beautiful?” Which is a perfect line for her character and Lillie, acknowledging Lillie has grown (and completing Lillie’s arc and foreshadowing). Afterwards, Lillie’s speech to you implies she’s got a chance of redemption - while she doesn’t understand what she did wrong, Lillie is attempting to explain to her, and even though you were a constant disruption to her problems she attempted to visit your championship party. With her trip to Bill to hopefully help her problem of (most likely long-term) neurotoxin poisoning and Lillie’s patience, she could eventually come around and realize what she did was wrong and try to make amends for what she’s done.

Instead, in USUM, she seems to be instantly forgiven for everything. Lusamine deserved better than that.

I will always understand why people hate her. I get it. And trust me, I have strong feelings about what she did too. But she’s still my favorite villain and I will be personally suing Game Freak for what they did to her.

Hau gets a BW Cheren complex where one or two lines of dialog from a character make him rethink everything an in the process lose the major part of his personality that made him noteworthy. Cheren lost his goals, and Hau lost his carefreeness. He’s still a sweet kid and everything, and I’m proud that he actually achieved some more goals in USUM than in SuMo, but his (and Hala’s) changes seem so forced, like they were shoehorned in.

At least for Cheren, he got a game two years later showing how he had developed. We’re probably not gonna get that for Hau.

Guzma is one of the only ones that get a bump. But that’s only because his involvement in the story was hardly affected - he was still Lusamine’s faithful servant, even though she had massively changed.

But because change in the story was minimized for him, his inclusion in Episode RR actually helped his character. And afterwards, he says he’s still looking after his crew. So while the growth was minimal, it was there.

Colress is the only other one I can think of who got better, too, but that’s only because he only had like seven lines in Sun and Moon. This time, it’s shown that… well, he hasn’t changed at all, still being but a selfish, hedonistic scientist who will double cross anyone who asks for his help.

And this is more than proven true when he confronts Ghetsis. Although he didn’t try to hide it in B2W2, he full on says he hates Ghetsis. He was only using him for funding and science.

This is not a real shock.

Like I love Colress’ passion but y’know. Everyone who’s asked for his help got it but also got double-crossed. Oh, and now his technology is reaching scary advanced levels.

[MASSIVE SPOILERS BELOW.]

-

-

-

-

-

Mohn. If you were hoping for a happy ending for the Aether family, I’m here to tell you you’ll be sorely, viscerally unsatisfied. While in SuMo he got nothing, somehow, they made it worse for USUM.

Because they finally meet him.

And they choose to let him live his life not knowing he has a wife, children, and friends who have all been looking for him for like, a decade.

Despite the plots of both SuMo and USUM being set into action by his disappearance, he gets no resolution. 

He fucking comments on how nice Aether Paradise is! And they decide to not be like “oh hey yeah you kinda were a major part of it.”

[thegreatpikminzx789]

Beyond The Stars - Chapter 4

Took a while to get this chapter up because other things kept interfering, but here it is.

Wattpad | AO3 | Fanfiction.Net

"Are you sure you still want go through with this, Hilda?"

"For the last time, Keiko, I'm dead set on it. If Korey turns out to be a better leader than my previous one, what's the harm in trying again from the start?" Hilda addressed, not wanting to change her stance while the opportunity to join a guild is still open.

"I'm still irked at my previous guild leader, and just sitting here and doing nothing is NOT helping me calm down at all... I just want to get back into the labyrinth and show him that I'm not useless just because an FOE managed to injure me. I got nothing left to lose, anyway..." She continued, rubbing the side of her head to try and relieve herself of any headache's she could get from arguing.

"Sounds like you want to get revenge on your previous guild leader, Hilda... And I honestly don't like where this is going." Demetria sighed, getting rather annoyed with Hilda's attitude.

"Well, what else do you want me to do? Forgive him for replacing me and dumping me all of a sudden? It doesn't happen like that, Demetria... Nothing happens without a firm cause." The Harbinger clarified, before taking a seat and taking deep breaths.

God, how did this one meeting about joining a guild turn south real quick? And they were barely even done... Hilda's patience was strong, granted, but arguing about her previous guild leader was not going to get the conversation anywhere.

Ever since the conversation divulged from joining the guild to Demetria bringing up Hilda's previous guild leader, was doing nothing but wasting the time they needed to discuss it. The stares of passing explorers also didn't help matters, as some of them whispered to another about who knows what or how they viewed the little situation.

Keiko stood beside Hilda and attempted to calm her down. Demetria could only utter to herself, leaving Beta to poke his nose against her legs in an attempt to calm her down. She could only sigh and rub his fur, signaling to the canine that she would be alright.

A few minutes passed, and Demetria noticed the brown haired fencer coming down the stairs. He seemed to not have any trouble finding them, which Demetria silently thanked him for his arrival. "Good morning, girls. Hope I'm not interrupting anything..." Korey greeted, as Hilda and Keiko greeted him in return.

Though Kyo seemed to be missing.

"Hey, is Kyo still sleeping or something?" Demetria inquired, as Korey turned to face her. "No, she's awake. She just told me to go on ahead and talk to you girls, she usually takes her time doing her hair. Kinda happens all the time ever since I first met her..." He answered, as he took an empty seat and sat down.

"Feeling better, Hilda?" Keiko asked, as the white-haired Harbinger nodded, although this didn't go unnoticed by Korey, as he looked at Keiko to fill him in. The Therian swiftly responded, "Oh, Hilda and Demetria had a little argument earlier, and I was just helping Hilda calm down. She'll be fine."

"I see," he acknowledged, clearing his throat before continuing, "in that case, did you take my offer into consideration?"

"Yes, we kinda woke up early in the morning to discuss it," Hilda clarified, as she sat back in her seat, as her eyes focused on Korey. Guess that explains why he didn't see the three of them there when he woke up...

"And despite the short argument between me and Demetria, we've decided that the three of us will accompany you in your guild. However, I only know how to go through the first three floors..." She continued, seemingly trailing off when Korey seemed to get the message she was hinting at.

"That's understandable, Hilda. I didn't come here to find a guild who knew everything about Yggdrasil itself, after all." Korey couldn't help but chuckle to himself after finishing his sentence, causing Hilda to be confused about what he was laughing about, before storing that in her memory for another time.

"Honestly, I'm glad I asked you girls to join us. I would've been in quite a mess if I hadn't gotten three more members by today..." Korey addressed to the Therians, alongside Hilda,  as he was slightly embarrassed at the thought of aimlessly panicking around Iorys...

"It's no problem, Korey! I'm just as excited as you are! Me and sis have been waiting for this very moment with baited breath!" Keiko commented, beaming brighter than the time they first ran into each other. In fact, in the corner of his eye, Korey saw Demetria smiling at her sister.

It almost reminded him of the day he decided to head to Iorys, and his sister smiled, praying for a safe journey. Guess family bonds were one thing that he wasn't going to find to be a rarity around these parts of Iorys. Before Korey could even speak, Keiko zoomed passed him and Hilda up to the stairs, vanishing from their viewpoint. Was she too excited, or...?

"She likely went to get out belongings. Don't worry about it." Demetria addressed, as Korey simply nodded in response.

"She might've had the right idea, to be fair. If we're gonna register this guild, we'll have to do it soon before it gets too full. I'll tell Kyo the good news, and we'll head to the Explorers Guild together. Does that sound like a plan?" The Fencer clarified, as Demetria and Hilda nodded in agreement.

"We'll be waiting for Keiko, then." Hilda added, as Korey got up and took the stairs up to their room. Although she was relieved to finally be in a guild once more, it was... rather worrisome that she would likely fail another guild before the year goes by. Perhaps it was too soon to be rejoicing in this soon-to-be formed guild...

"Are you worried, Hilda?" Demetria's voice caught Hilda's attention, as she placed her left hand onto her right arm. "Unfortunately, yes... I'm worried I'll screw up on this opportunity, and I'll really be back at square one, with nowhere to go this time." Hilda hesitated as she spoke, desperately trying not to recall that event in her mind...

It was rather painful to go through it once, it would be awful to go through it a second time... And she wasn't sure how well she'll do at making sure history won't repeat itself. Hilda looked towards Demetria, almost seemingly begging with her eyes. Someone whose last hope remained with this one opportunity... Demetria gave her a reassuring smile, placing her hand on the Harbinger's shoulder.

"You don't have to worry, Hilda. You have an entire new guild who is willing to support you. If anything's wrong, by all means, please tell us. We're in this together, and as long as we're around, we'll make sure we'll fix it together."

The words Demetria spoke out seem to ring with an alarming amount of truth... Hilda was too focused on the past to ponder if the same mistakes would occur again, and even Korey brought that into light when she first brought it up. It was something he would not want to repeat, and would even do all that he can do to prevent it from happening... or from something much worse.

If it was possible to meet with her old friends again, there will be a time where it will be crossed. But the time to think of the past is done... Hilda started grinning at her friend, feeling in a much better mood than she was before.

"You're right, Demetria. I'll... keep that in mind." She considered, hoping that she'll remember the Therian's words throughout her new journey through the World Tree.

Minutes passed, and once Korey, Keiko, and Kyo went back to the lobby, they departed for the Explorers Guild, arriving in a short amount of time. Upon their arrival, it was easy to tell that the long line the Therians, Korey, and Kyo witnessed last night, was drastically shorter.

"It seems the majority of those people in line actually manage to form their guilds last night." Demetria began, putting her hand to her chin, trying to rethink her sentence. Although Kyo was quick enough to enter the conversation at hand, "Either that, or they likely weren't able to get theirs made in time and they had to wait much like us."

No doubt that the possibility is there, but none of them could confirm it outright. "I just hope Egar didn't pull an all nighter..." Hilda sighed to herself, and headed straight towards the line, as the others soon followed.

As they entered the building, Korey noticed that despite some of the gray bricks appearing to be chipped or have cracks on them. His eyes then drifted over to the red carpet below his feet, seeing as it led to something akin to a large file cabinet, easily standing out from the gray and red with it's obsidian-like texture, and adorns several gold pieces of various shapes, complete with a dragon statue. If the inside was this wonderful, the labyrinth would surely surpass his expectations.

"Hey, focus Korey. We didn't come all this way to sightsee."

Hilda's voice ringed in Korey's ears, as he swiftly turned to see the white-haired girl with a stern look. "Honestly, if all you ever do when you step foot in some new location is sightsee, we may already have an issue." She continued, sighing in worry if this is going to be a common theme whenever they will set foot in the World Tree.

"I can't help it, Hilda. It's usually the first thing I do whenever I find somewhere new and exciting..." The fencer responded, as he quickly checked to see if the line was any shorter before continuing.

"Besides, I'm sure you did the same thing the first time you entered the labyrinth, didn't you?"

Another question that threw Hilda off for a change. She recalled exactly how happy she was when she first entered into the labyrinth, seemingly awing in amazement at the types of flora that grew within... Soon, a smile grew on Hilda's face, attempting to look away from Korey as if to hide it.

He let out a chuckle, despite Hilda's best efforts, before focusing on the waiting line in front of them. She honestly felt embarrassed, but she was surprised when he didn't start convincing her to spill it out. Perhaps he was taught to not be too nosy when it came to the little details?

"Next."

The familiar voice she knew all too well spoke, prompting Hilda to regain her composure, and walk forwards with the four people she was going to be in a guild with. Although his face was hard to see under the helmet, she knew she was the center of his attention.

"Ah, Hilda. Feeling better after the incident with your previous guild?" The man inquired, surprised that she would return despite her outcome.

Hilda took a couple of seconds to gather her words, looking at the armored man when she finally composed herself. "Not completely, but enough to settle on finding a new guild. I shouldn't focus too much on the past. I'm determined to move on, despite this setback."

It was honestly hard to grasp any emotions from the man while he had his helmet on, his voice spoke volumes in regards to this incident that had occur to others. "Well, it's great to see you in a much better condition than you were that fateful night. Many others feel your pain of being replaced, and not many recover from it, but I'm glad you're making it up by continuing on." He responded, attempting to assure the Harbinger, before turning his attention to the Fencer beside her.

"I take it you're the one who gave Hilda this opportunity?"

An opportunity? That's personally something Korey never consider that before, since he was hoping to have guild members to travel with and build memories alongside him and Kyo. Korey could only nod in response because he couldn't find any words to reply to what the man before him asked.

"I normally don't say this to newcomers that come to explore Yggdrasil, but thanks for giving her the chance to pick up where her previous guild left her." He thanked, leaving Hilda and Korey surprised, as the man prepared papers in front of him.

"T-Thanks, sir..." Korey hesitantly said, as the man looked at him. "Please, just call me Egar. That is my name, after all." Egar addressed, placing a piece of paper in front of Korey.

"Now, if you're going to explore Yggdrasil, you and your guild members will have to sign your name, along with your guild name. That includes you too, Hilda."

Korey takes the nearby feather and dips it in ink, then signs his name, along with the guild name. He passes the pen to Kyo and the others as they sign their name. When Hilda finishes her signature, she moves the paper towards Egar, who then takes the paper and looks over it.

"...Lux Guild, eh?" Egar questioned, turning his attention to Korey when he spoke up. "Yeah... I know it's not the fanciest thing in the world, but I came up with it yesterday when me and Kyo were on our way here."

Egar looked back to the paper, then nodded as he placed the paper aside. "I've seen names weirder than yours. But yours is but one of the rare guild names that actually has a meaning behind it. And I must admit, I like it."

Korey felt a smile grow on his face, looking back towards Kyo, as she greeted him with a beaming smile as well. Keiko was basically hugging Demetria, shouting that 'we did it' over and over again, which gained a chuckle out of Hilda as she witnessed Demetria attempting to get her sister off of her. Beta was even wagging his tail in excitement.

"That aside," the armored man began, as everyone turned to face him. "you can get more guild members than just the five you have, but know that you're only allowed up to thirty guild members. We only allow five members of a guild inside the labyrinth to ensure that there is no massive wipes from guilds who take more than five in a labyrinth. Got it?"

"Y-Yessir, I got it." Keiko replied, followed by Demetria and Kyo nodding in agreement. "Alright, we'll keep that in mind, Egar." Korey declared, as Egar hummed to himself.

"Great. I wish you good luck when your journey begins. Hilda, I'm sure you know where to go from here." The white haired girl nodded in understanding, and followed her fellow guild members, as Egar spoke up for the next upcoming guild that their turn was next.

They stopped just short of the entrance to the Explorer's Guild, when Korey turned to Hilda and asked her a question, "If I may be bold to ask, Hilda, are we allowed to fully explore Yggdrasil now that we're a guild?"

Hilda shook her head, and turned to the brown haired fencer. "Not quite. If people were easily able to go into Yggdrasil willy-nilly, it probably wouldn't be available for everyone after all these years... There's a mission that new guilds that have been formed must go through in order to prove they can handle whatever lies inside Yggdrasil. And in order to take it, we're going to visit the prince."

Keiko's eyes widened upon hearing that they were going to visit the prince, she ran right over to Hilda, surprising her and Korey when she spoke, "Oh my god Hilda, are we really going to meet him?! Are we, are we?!"

"Y-Yes, Keiko, we kinda have to in order to fully-" Hilda tried to respond, but the Masurao didn't allow her to finish speaking. "Oh my god, yessssssss, come on, come on, let's go go go! Lead the way, lead the way!" Keiko gushed, effortlessly grabbing Hilda's hand and started running towards the Council Hall.

Korey stood there, befuddled of what just happened. "Is your sister always this excited to meet royal people?" Kyo asked Demetria, who was face-palmed at her sister's sudden change of excitement. "Only when it comes to other races of royalty... Makes me wonder if she even learned anything growing up." Demetria addressed, as she signaled the Celestrian and Fencer to come along.

This was only the beginning of their journey... and who knows what they expect from the labyrinth. And it all began, like it was only yesterday...

[dailydosemiku]

So I just beat Yume Nikki -Dream Diary- 100%

I’m gonna write this as an in depth review I guess. So I got done just recently discussing it with an old friend, the very same friend who roughly a decade ago showed me the original game. We have pretty polar opposite opinions of the game and I’m seeing that seems to be the trend with people who have played it so far. This isn’t a call out post or “Your opinion is wrong and mine is right” bullshit. I just want to explain why I liked it and maybe help some people see the game from a different light.

First things first. I want to premise, if this even gets read, that nothing will ever top or match Yume Nikki the RPG maker game that has gained a cult following. Even Yume Nikki on a second playthrough, will never feel like Yume Nikki on a persons first playthrough in my opinion, granted that is if they enjoyed it. Before this re-imagining came out there were mostly 2 kinds of people and barely anyone in between. People who loved it for it’s entire concept and execution and people who thought it was the most boring chore in the world. There is barely anyone I know or have met that’s in between those who are just like “yeah it’s ok I guess” Just because this re-imagining came out does not mean the original is now bad or doesn’t exist and I will respect your opinion if you think one is better then the other, because it’s an opinion, and they aren’t the same.

Below this is the Steam Store page, I want anyone reading this to read it and read it again.

“Yume Nikki has been hailed as one of the greatest (and most controversial) games ever created with RPG Maker. The new YUMENIKKI -DREAM DIARY- is not a remake, but a full reimagining of the original―reconstructed and enhanced using elements and styles of modern indie games. “

If you read this and thought this meant that this is going to be the same game, you went in with your expectations to high. One of the biggest reasons Yume Nikki was so beloved and how most people go into it was, THEY KNEW NOTHING, hell I knew nothing, I got like 2 sentences and like a 5 minute gameplay video of the game and that sold me. Then these people were to learn after diving into this strange game that only told you things with visuals, the creator disappears. For years even. So to do both games right I want to break them down into some basically game design elements to the best of my ability. Gameplay, Soundtrack, Story, Visuals, and Atmosphere/Presentation. Of course I’m going to reference both games because that’s what everyone else is doing for each of these.

Gameplay, well there really wasn’t much of a game to play in Yume Nikki the RPG maker game. I’m sorry I love Yume Nikki, but there’s not a lot of interactivity. It’s more of an experience, a long giant question of How and Why did this game get to this point? If you were at all like me, you kept playing to answer these questions and ultimately you either didn’t get an answer and were happy with it or you found your own answer, which if you ask me is part of the magic of that first playthrough. But as a 2D free RPG Maker game with no admission to entry, it was an experience and just that AN EXPERIENCE. As for Yume Nikki -Dream Diary- the 3D platformer, there’s actually a game to be played which understandable makes it very different then the RPG maker original. But this is an re-imagining, it’s not fair to directly compare the 2. They are in completely different medians and special in their own ways. In it’s essence, whether you agree or not both games at their element are about exploring an experience. If one having gameplay elements, that if you ask me were fairly well tested but not perfect, makes it less of an experience and was frustrating, then I don’t think you remember some of the frustrating non-sense that the RPG maker version had, such as navigating NES World, Locating the Bike which for most of the playthrough you were guaranteed to use because the normal movement speed was slow as shit and that’s usually what stopped a bunch of people from getting farther into it. But I say this with pride, it was part of the experience, it was part of the fun and by all technicality, was it’s own form of rudimentary puzzles and gameplay. Now yes I hear some of you die hard fans cry but there’s not as many effects and not as many doors and worlds, not as many themes and they took out so much. I am sad to say some of the things they took out I will miss, that is if the original game was wiped off the face of the planet with this games release, but it wasn’t.The original is still there as it always was. Because it can’t be replaced. It won’t ever be replaced, people have tried. So onto the point, the gameplay of the 3D one. It’s a horror platformer with puzzle solving and a few jumpscares I guess. You are sitting here reading this, I hope, going wow it’s that easy to categorize? Well yeah sorry to say guys it’s 2018 not 2004, in the time between the first RPG maker classic which I love to death and this newer retake of the very concept of Yume Nikki in 2018 we have had 3 different presidents, saw the rise and fall of many platforms like Vine, went through not 1, not 2 but 3 generations of Video Game Consoles, got 10 versions of the IPhone, like 8 versions of Samsungs Phones and a bunch of other stuff. Needless to say, times change, information is easier to access and we have gotten older and more analytical when it comes to the things we do as hobbies or otherwise. If we are to just look at the word re-imagining at face value and by definition.

reinterpret (an event, work of art, etc.) imaginatively; rethink. 

Is the new Yume Nikki a reinterpretation of the RPG classic? Absolutely, it’s a different take on what the game was. Key word different, problem is in 2018 things are easier to find then 2004, communities are larger, people are older, and things in general are going to less surprising. So from a gameplay standpoint is the new Yume Nikki the 3D Platformer a well thought out game from a gameplay standpoint? Yes it is, it has it’s bugs which is unfortunate, but even games that got GAME OF THE YEAR were horrible buggy messes when they came out and those were backed by Triple A developers, COUGH COUGH FALLOUT 3 EVEN THOUGH I LOVE YOU YOU ARE A MESS COUGH COUGH. Moral of the story for the gameplay, it’s different yes but that doesn’t make it bad just not the same. If you can effectively get from beginning to end regardless how the journey goes, the game did what it needed to do. If you felt obligated to finish -Dream Diary- that was nostalgia and that almost need to feel the magic of the first playthrough of the RPG Maker classic, meaning you aren’t taking Yume Nikki -Dream Diary- as it’s own game, you are trying to take it as a replacement for a beloved classic.

Now that I’m done with that portion I guess, hopefully my point was more or less digestible and hopefully didn’t come off as if you disagree I hate you, cause that’s not my intent, if you don’t like it, you don’t like it, I just want to give a separate perspective. The Soundtrack. I think the Soundtrack in both games is just weird and beautiful and bizarre and conveys messages on a spectrum going from of uncomfortable to serene to almost intimidating. I’m no music expert or major or whatever but the music in Yume Nikki -Dream Diary- not only was very good and did what it meant to do in my opinion but was an incredible nod at the RPG Maker classic featuring a lot of remastered tracks from the original which I think portrayed similar emotions as I felt from the first game. I don’t have much else to say on the soundtrack, it’s timing and consistency felt as good as the original in it’s own special way but should not be interpreted as the same.

So the next thing I want to bring up is story. Now if you are a fan of the RPG Maker classic, you know as well as I do that the story is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, it’s almost entirely up to interpretation. The story was what you thought it was, you just get kind of a beginning and kind of a ending. People who wanted a classical game with a story with a beginning middle and end, would not really even touch this game. Cause it doesn’t hold your hand, but not in a “is this the dark souls of RPG Maker games?” kind of way. It’s entire conception, how it came to be, how the game played, how the game ends and how you get an ending to begin with and the mysterious creator and their disappearance are all ultimately part of Yume Nikkis’ Story in my opinion. The time the game came out, the so little information about the game that was known, the fact that Youtube was still young, fuck me I was using SKYPE when I played this game in like 2008, it was the perfect storm but only because of the games story outside of the game as well as inside. It was a mess, but it was such an amazing mess that was so hard to describe and time and time and time again the only thing people could really say is “you just have to play it, I can’t explain it without ruining it” That was also a part of the games story if you ask me. It was so strange and so meta but it always made people say the same thing. Now 14 years later, the developer is back, is older, sees his own mistakes better then any of us ever could, and I know if anyone reads this, some of you are artists or content creators or game designers and you know EXACTLY what I’m talking about being hyper critical of your own work. And now he has help now, a team of developers and even though he worked side by side with these people, of course there’s going to be a disconnect, something lost in translation, that’s exactly what fangames are, an interpretation of the original. So yes sadly there’s a bit more going on that’s coherent now but it’s 14 years later being lead by a guy who knows his own mistakes for a game he made alone, which is an achievement yes, but he has seen and allowed to be published in the very beginning of this new game a nod at where his last game left off. Meaning of course he acknowledges what he made and knows people adored it, but people also hated it. It was a judgement call, and you may not like the result but I assure you it was a decision in good faith, at least that the message I got from this game. Now enough beating around the bush, this games story? It does it;s job without telling you to much and honestly I still feel like in this games case like the last one, explaining what happens loses the impact, and some of the impact is because I played the game prior. So I think it does it’s job at re-imagining the story of Yume Nikki the RPG maker game well enough.

Next is visuals, now as an RPG Maker game you could argue it’s not good looking, till you think about it, that one guy, made all of that basically from scratch, it’s poetic, it’s awe-inspiring, that this one guy makes this strange game and it moved people so much and all you really do is just look at things. It’s a stunning game to the eyes because you want to know what this guy could have possibly created next and each environment is so different from the last, each effect so silly and cute or scary and gross all at the same time making you feel these mixed emotions of joy, excitement, nausea, tension all at the same time. It almost mesmerizes you into this feeling of wanting to do everything while simultaneously fearing when it’s all over and the dream ends both literally and metaphorically. It’s only because of this, in my opinion is why visually the RPG maker game is such a work of art. Now for Yume Nikki -Dream Diary- if you ask me I think the game is breathtaking, there’s so much care put into so many little details, yes there are clipping issues and the animations aren’t great but remember Yume Nikki the RPG Maker game wasn’t perfect either, we didn’t care though, we were young, we just wanted to take whatever it was in for what it was worth. From a technical standpoint I feel like this game is stunning in the visual department, but it’s not that complicated compared to games of it’s time, much like the older classic. The older classic came out the same year as Half Life 2, which was a technical marvel when it came out, now it’s kinda dated but regardless that didn’t make Yume Nikki in 2004 any less of an unique experience, and I feel like that same way of thinking should be applied to this new title as best as a person can. I’m going to steal a line from another reviewer loosely, Portal 2s biggest flaw is that it came out after Portal 1.  I must have heard those words 5 years ago or something and they still stick with me. If you look at Portal 2 it’s literally an evolved embodiment of Portal, but you already knew the concept of Portal cause it already came out so it’s shock value, it’s rare and raw punch is lessened because something did that already. It’s the same reasons fangames and Yume Nikki -Dream Diary- won’t feel the exact same. Cause it came out afterwards.

Lastly I wish to touch on a final point before closing this review I guess, more of an analysis. The presentation and atmosphere. Broken down as simply as I can both games share this. They are Surreal Horror Exploration games whose job is to seemingly immerse you in the strange world of a little Japanese girls dreams. That’s where the disconnect begins. Cause even though you wouldn’t think of the RPG Maker classic to be a horror game it has horror themes and the occasional jumpscare or visual for shock value. Now as a re-imagining does the new Yume Nikki -Dream Diary- fit the bill for an amazing strange atmosphere just like the first? Absolutely, it tells most of it’s story passively, no dialogue, nothing crazy, just you and a simple platformer. But alas, it’s a platformer with tension and parts with severely more interaction then the original causing you to feel urgency and demand to escape or jump the next hurdle or challenge, which is not the same as original. Which understandably is this games biggest flaw, if from the very beginning it said it was a remake and that the original is no longer an actual concept. If we were to look at Yume Nikki -Dream Diary- the same way as the original, where we had nothing to compare it too, it’s a lot better of a game and it’s creepy atmosphere is on point, the environments are great and the nods it makes to the older game make me happy.

All in all I think that even with it’s flaws on release that Yume Nikki -Dream Diary- is a stunning love letter to the original game, written by a team of people copying down the words of the creator, ultimately dedicated to those of us who gave Yume Nikki it’s following while simultaneously being something more accessible to wider audience so that by chance they may also play the original game to fully understand why this game exists and what purpose it serves. It’s a thank you letter, an attempt to redo in a different sense what we have tried ourselves many times to recreate and even though a lot of the fan games are great they don’t feel the exact same and neither does this, it’s fantastic but we should all know by now that it can’t be done again, that’s why it’s special. But the creator knew this and wanted to try again but with more knowledge this time and I respect him for it, I respect the team who worked on this game, flaws and all. Perfect or not they wanted us to feel that special feeling one more time, and maybe it wasn’t what you wanted but I don’t even know what I wanted.

-Katy

[godemperor307]

I’m just a Luthor with a Super

Supergirl.

She was Earth's greatest champion. She had risked her life many times over for Lena, and indeed their whole world, despite not being from it. In quiet moments, Lena enjoyed silently admiring the hero from afar, but she knew it was far deeper than that. Supergirl's muscles, powerful figure, red S on her chest. It all made Lena blush and she considered it a miracle no one had caught on to her barely-concealed crush, especially during the day she unveiled the statue in Supergirl's honor.

Of course Lena was not stupid. Why would such a kind and wonderful hero date a Luthor? I'm just a Luthor. Supergirl was with that Mon-el boy, last I heard but that seems to have ended. No...I dare not hope to dream. I dare not think about her pretty blonde hair, soft face, kissable lips-STOP. What is wrong with me? I am a Luthor, not a One Direction fan.  Yet Supergirl did have that effect and Lena wondered silently just how many girls she had managed to swoon. Oh who am I kidding? She's Supergirl. Every baby-gay is into her. Every baby-bi too.

Lena knew she would eventually have to break things off with James. He was nice, and treated her right but he clearly refused to take the hint. All she ever talked about with him was Supergirl (and Superman. He is the Jimmy Olsen after all. He knows a lot about the Kryptonians). He simply could not compete with her true crush, and it was unfair of him to even begin to try, or for her to continue stringing him along (to be fair it is extremely difficult to compete with Supergirl). Kara Danvers, her bestest friend in the whole wide world always seemed flustered as well whenever Supergirl became a topic. I wonder why that is? Questions for later.

Lena had three friends in the city, Kara Sam and Supergirl. It still warmed her heart to this day when Kara promised to protect her. But how can you protect me better than Supergirl protects all of us, Kara? I love you but you don't even begin to compare. I should call her. Get me in contact with Supergirl, even if I can just befriend her a little.

She grabbed her phone and began dialing the number.

"Oh my gosh, Lena. I'm so sorry, I forgot our lunch-date!"

Lena giggled at her best friend, "It's more than ok, Kar. But I was just thinking....it doesn't really matter, it's a silly idea-"

"No, tell me! Maybe I can help." Aw, Kara. Always wanting to help. She reminds me of Supergirl so much.

"Well...I was wondering...ifyoucouldcallsupergirlformesoicankissher-" Wow. Smooth.

"W-what?"

Lena blushed and stammered "Uh.....uh-um...I was wondering...if you could call Supergirl...-you know her, right?-and get me in contact with her because...I have things to talk about with her...Sciency things."

"Ohhh..." Kara laughed. "Of course! What are besties for? Supergirl is great. She's a badass." I know, Kar. I know. "Maybe you guys will, ya know, hit it off. I mean you guys are friends already, you know what I mean. Doesn't hurt to be more friendly, I mean- that came out wrong-"

Lena laughed softly at her friend's awkward rambling. "I know what you meant. Tell her to meet me at my office."

"Ok Lena! So good to hear from you!"

"You too, Kara."

Only a few moments later, Lena heard a whooshing sound, as the caped heroine swooped in and landed. Lena started to stare at the blonde's cheeks, and bright eyes. God....I am so freaking Bi right now.... I mean I'm always bi...shut up brain.

"Miss Luthor....you wished to see me?" Are you really blushing like a schoolgirl right now? Idiot.

"Y-yes....Erm...It has occurred me that you and I have saved the city at least twice together, yet I barely know anything about you. What's your name? Why did you only reveal yourself 3 years ago? What are your hobbies? Your name can't literally just be Supergirl."

"...You're absolutely right, Miss Luthor. I have been quite disrespectful to you." God, even her voice is like a goddess's....What the hell are you doing Lena? You don't need to know any of this. She's perfect how she is.

"I am from a planet called Krypton. I was actually originally sent to Earth to protect Superman, my cousin. But....my ship was trapped in another dimension and could not arrive here until my cousin was already grown up and saving others. I wished to be just a normal girl....but I decided I could not keep living a lie and denying who I really am." Lena sighed in awe, never considering how hard it must have been to lose one's entire planet  only to end up having to fit in to survive on another.

"I am sorry, Supergirl. I hope you are now at peace with yourself. Of course everyone knows the dumpster fire that is my life."

"Yes Kara Danvers told me much about you." Supergirl said, as she smiled warmly.

"She did?" She did?

"Of course, Miss Luthor. That's how I keep saving you just in time, after all."  

"Well you protect everyone, right? I can't be that important!"

"Don't underestimate yourself, Miss Luthor. You helped me save the whole world twice. You were voted the smartest woman on the planet three times."

"You were voted the most beautiful." Lena muttered, pouting cutely. "And you definitely deserved that." Lena whispered, blushing.

Supergirl laughed. "Please allow a hero some humility." Shit. Super-hearing. I forgot.

"Super-hearing! That reminds me, what powers do you have that you haven't used on TV yet?"

"Well, Kryptonians are essentially immortal. I won't age, at least not for a very long time."

"That is sad...."

"It's ok, Miss Luthor. According to Imra, your accomplishments last through the centuries. In a way, that is true immortality."

"I suppose you're right." Lena smiled at her friend, feeling a lot better. Supergirl was truly the giver of hope. She would never lie, never let her down, never make her feel unworthy. Never get drunk and hit her, or say she was too busy hanging out with Kara. Supergirl was super-amazing.

Lena could not wait any longer. She started moving closer and closer, wanting to feel the alien woman's warmth and grip. Her powerful warrior body.

"I am truly sorry about Mon-El. I know how much he meant to you."

"Do you? Ah, Kara told you....Yes I had to send him away but it was to save his life. Then he returned, with a wife. I realize now that...perhaps i over-idealized our relationship in a way. Perhaps the fairer sex is an option too."

"You're-?"

"I don't know, Miss Luthor. That's...not a problem on this planet, right?"

"O-of course not!" If only you knew....

"Someone has said things to me that made me....rethink all my interactions with other women. Even Mon El's new wife. I called her a goddess." You're a goddess!

"I'm bisexual. Always knew it. Only told Lex, Sam and Kara before now. It is a tremendous weight off my shoulders to tell you."

"I'm sure you will find someone amazing, Miss Luthor. You are a badass." I did. Supergirl grinned. Stop it, you cutie. I am gonna have a heart attack.

"Do you ever...get scared? Scared you won't make it home? This job...it can be a lonely one."

"Reign beat that fear into me, I think. She is the most powerful enemy I have ever faced. And yet, I'm still scared every single day, Miss."

""W-why? You're literally the Girl of Steel."

"Doesn't mean I'm invulnerable. There are beings out there, not just Reign who could tear our Earth in half without even trying. My war....our war...is to protect it for as long as we possibly can."

"Even so.....It doesn't have to be so lonely. I can help...let me help you, Supergirl." She began wrapping her arms around the blonde, squeezing her tight. Supergirl gladly accepted the hug.

"By the way..."

"Hm?" Supergirl hummed. The vibration made Lena slightly shiver in pleasure.

"You should call me Lena."

"Very well, Lena." Lena's mouth broadened in an almost painful grin, hearing her name from Supergirl's sexy lips. I love you so much.

As they began parting, Supergirl started to lean back in, then thought better of it. Lena curiously wondered why. Did she-No. There's no way....And yet I cannot look away. Her beautiful pink lips are just so kissable. Her rosy cheeks beg to be pinched. Her sexy chest was just pressing into her own.

Lena was red like a tomato by now...yet she could not stop herself, despite James, despite what Kara might think, despite her own self-esteem and self-hate. Her crush, the greatest hero Earth had ever seen, the Girl of Steel, the completely sexy, beautiful, blonde bombshell. She had to kiss those lips, and this seemed like the best chance she would ever have, in the woman's strong arms, staring into her bright blue eyes- It was finally happening. She felt the Kryptonian's lips on her own. To her ever-astounding surprise, Supergirl did not pull away and instead returned the soft, gentle kissing. She had been in love with the blonde alien going on three years, and she was finally tasting her lips. A sharp electrical feeling jolted through her entire body. She had never been kissed like this, not even by Jack. This was unlike any kiss she had ever had. She never wanted it to end, yet knew she had to breath eventually. Pulling away for air was the hardest decision of her life.

"Lena..." She was staring at her with utter shock. 

Oh no....I will never forgive myself if she hates me for this. I screwed up! Damn it!  Of course a Luthor and a Super would never work out!

"Lena, what was that for?" She asked softly.

"I....Christ, Supergirl....I just love you so damn much! Ever since you first showed up! I know I'm with James, I know there's probably no chance for us, but I can't help it!" She collapsed into her chair, sobbing. Supergirl rushed to her side.

"Hey, Lena. no, no, no. Don't cry. I was just surprised. I'm not angry with you. Actually, thank you for the kiss. It was...nice." Nice? I really screwed up! She doesn't like me like that! Lena cried harder, as Supergirl again cradled her in those powerful alien arms.

"My sister is gay and I was shocked at first too. I'm truly sorry you felt you could not tell me about this sooner. I am truly a bad friend."  Supergirl's sister? She has a sister? Wait...

Lena sniffled, "It's not y-your fault. I'm the one who's gone and...f-fallen for a Super, despite being a Luthor."

"Is that what this is about? You're so silly, Lena! I promised you already, that I would always protect you."  What? Wait.....WHAT?

Before Lena could respond to such a reveal, the blonde's lips pressed upon her own.

"I'm so sorry, Lena that I could not tell you sooner. I love you. I always will love you, my Lena."

[aion-rsa]

The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 19 Review: Panic on the Streets of Springfield

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This The Simpsons review contains spoilers.

The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 19

The Simpsons Season 32, episode 19, ” Panic on the Streets of Springfield,” is one of the most pointed parodies the series has crafted in a while. It takes on pre-teen angst with the dry iced wit of an 80s anti-Brit-pop band. But it also follows a slow, sad slide into anguished irony.

I was looking for a laugh, then I found a laugh, and heaven knows I’m miserable now. My head hangs heavy with the pain of laughter. Not only does the episode strip Lisa of what appears to be perfectly suitable accompaniment for a life of lonely elitism, it also makes us all rethink Slapify. It may offer Millennial rock at Baby Boomer prices, but it teaches Lisa good taste is a curse.

The spiky haired, middle child is very picky about her music. After hating everything she hears, Slapify suggests music for people who hate everything, and the top artist is Quilloughby and his band The Snuffs. This is a stand-in for Morrissey, lead vocalist and lyricist for the Smiths, very thinly veiled behind a shroud of the Cure and Joy Division. The Snuffs’ shows have been called “A three-hour dance party in a freshly dug grave.” They made depression hummable for alienated teenagers in the 1980s. With hits like “How Late Is Then,” “What Difference Do I Make?” “Simon has a birthmark,” and “Everyone is horrid except me and possibly you,” they made parents wonder if their kids would ever get out of therapy.

The band’s sardonic brand of radical vegetarianism turned “The flesh that comes with cheese is proof of your moral disease” into an anthem. Lisa falls in love with “Hamburger Homicide,” and her descent is expertly choreographed. The lyrics are inspired sub-genre satire. “Every day I draw my bath and pray I will drown,” Quilloughby sings, and the audience gleefully wishes him the utmost success. The songs were co-written by the episode’s writer Tim Long, and Bret McKenzie of Flight of the Conchords.

Benedict Cumberbatch is sublime as Quilloughby. He brings out the true ennui behind the lyrical content. He sees Springfield as very much like his own town, “dismal, and nothing good will ever come from it.” Cumberbatch and Yeardley Smith deliver devious comic chemistry. Ralph establishes the innate self-involved, exclusivity in the brightest kid in his class. “Lisa doesn’t like it when other people talk,” he notes. So, when Quilloughby dropkicks Ned Flanders’ pileous affectations into the pews with “facial hair is not a substitute for personality,” they bond like two Sideshow Bobs.

Lisa’s lines take on the bite of an eight-year-old, “Every day you wave your wand, but nothing magical happens,” she tells the Springfield Elementary School band conductor. This pleases the nihilistic phantasm, “I enjoyed that and I enjoy nothing,” but doesn’t play well with the administration. Skinner calls in Homer and Marge over concerns Lisa has become “poetically world-weary.” This is a very Simpsons kind of observation. It cuts to the quick with a finely skewered edge of self-awareness.

The principal’s seen this before, which means he’s had an opportunity to misjudge it in the past. Skinner recognizes Lisa’s black booties as an emo cry, which he blames the current popularity of music of the past. Music is an easy scapegoat on The Simpsons. “Making teenagers depressed is like shooting fish in a barrel,” Bart observed in the “Homerpalooza” episode from 1996.

Bart is having his own problems with Lisa’s new friend, though he is clueless, a perennial problem he usually skateboards around. Bart believes he’s “the drumstick in the chicken bucket” he calls his friends and therein lies his destruction. Nelson plays right into it: of course he stays up night thinking of how fresh Bart keeps those old tired pranks.

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The school bully gets in quite a few good lines, which push the narrative. He dismisses the lunch special tacos’ meatless replacement because “mushrooms are chairs for frogs.” When he hears there are little pieces of bacon between the Shiitake, he almost tearfully exclaims “this taco had a mom.” This perfectly encapsulates Lisa’s dilemma. The entire school laughs as Lisa, even Miss Hoover, who has probably been waiting for this moment.

Dr. Hibbert is now voiced by Kevin Michael Richardson, who has been playing smaller roles since 2009. Tonight, the affable physician ladles out bad news to Homer. His sugar is up, and his testosterone is down. Homer now has to face harsh realities. Something he has historically run away from, usually shrieking. He will never get to be an NFL quarterback who is really an international superspy. Hibbert prescribes a drug, but Homer gets hooked on the commercial he has to sit through before listening to instructions. There are only two things the real men of Springfield believe can boost manliness: weapons and trucks, and guns don’t come with ultimate torque. The triple XL 550 won’t be found in any medical journals, but reading journals is one of the leading causes of lowered testosterone.

Marge is a different person this episode. She’s not out of character, and reacts wholly within the defined role, but she is uncharacteristically hard-lined. This is the first time she is not an enabler. She has zero tolerance for the triple XL 550. One of best visual sequences is when we see Marge banging her head against the wall in its infrared. Not only does she force Homer to accept she’s more a truck guy than he’ll ever be, spouting the definition of torque, but tells him she’s “dealing with an actual problem.” Marge also makes Lisa swallow her bitter pill in a very familiar way. One of the earliest episodes dealt with sadness and music, and the saddest kid in grade two fought for her right to sorrow then too.  

Though Quilloughby is credited as the product of Lisa’s fractured psyche, he’s really more like Jojo Rabbit’s imaginary friend slumming on Evergreen Terrace. In his lifelong quest to disconnect with society, Morrissey went from the Socialist Red Wedge to the Great Replacement Theory. Watching Lisa lose her idealized relationship slowly dissemble actually softens the blow we should get from the reveal. She’d already begged Quilloughby “don’t ruin it,” so I won’t spoil the ending, but it would have been more devastating to have Winston Churchill surrender without warning.

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I know there is nothing more tiresome than gratitude, but “Panic on the Streets of Springfield” appreciably defies expectations. The Simpsons is on a roll this season, mixing light comedy with deeper character developments. Arcs have sunk into darker areas, and the conclusions consistently temper the sweetness with subversive ambiguity. Tonight, Lisa learns she should listen to people, one out of five times, and her mother will always be waiting on the other end of her slammed door. Marge lets Homer keep truckin’. The episode is surprisingly warm, and almost depressingly funny.

The post The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 19 Review: Panic on the Streets of Springfield appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[raisingsupergirl]

Pre-K, Go Away

I think I might have a problem. I mean, I know I have a problem. It's just that I always claim to be a laid-back dude, all calm and collected. But ever since my wife gave me my first daughter, there's been this thing. It's not fear, exactly. And dread is too strong. It's more like reverse nostalgia—like my heart aches for the memories that I'm creating currently, and even for the ones that I haven't even experienced yet. I look at my three year old and my 8 month old, and I wish I could get back the time I'm spending with them right now. And as if that's not confusing enough, time got away from me somewhere. I spend every day cherishing the little things—the milestones and the giggles—but I blinked one day and missed something. So what did I miss, exactly? Well, at some point, my beautiful first-born went from being a toddler to a preschooler.

You'd think I would have noticed. I mean, her pre-K screening last month should have tipped me off. She counted to fifteen, named shapes, and said most of her alphabet (for the record, she can count to twenty and say her whole alphabet, but she gets a little distracted sometimes… wait, what was I saying?). She didn't do perfect, but the standardized assessment of her abilities, performing for a judge and receiving a score, it was all so surreal. It got me thinking, which is never a good thing, and suddenly I was seeing the writing on the wall everywhere I looked (not literally, thank the Lord. She hasn't reached that stage yet).

The second thing I noticed was her eating.  I've said in the past how Avery is a terrible eater. Not that she's picky, exactly. My lovely wife has made sure her palate is about a mature as a middle-aged Californian. Seriously, she loves everything from avocado toast to zucchini noodles. BUT, she takes somewhere around twelve hours to eat a single meal. At least, she used to. But as of a couple of weeks ago, she routinely "beats" my wife and I, meaning she finishes everything on her plate before we do. Which is something she did maybe once her entire life before this new change.

And as if the improved eating wasn't enough, we had to deal with the consequences of this change when we went to the dentist and were told she had not one, not two, but three cavities. Even though she—with the help of Mommy—brushes her teeth twice a day and eats less candy than any child I've ever seen, she still inherited horrible teeth with "deep grooves" from said Mommy. Two of the cavities can be filled, but the third is so bad that it's going to need a crown. A crown! Even I don't have any crowns. But what's a $600 bill when it comes to the health of a bunch of disposable baby teeth, right? Especially if they use laughing gas. Getting that on video would be worth the price on its own.

And then came the big one. A couple of months ago, we moved our youngest daughter from her cradle to a convertible crib (yes, the top comes off), which our oldest was previously using as a toddler bed. But with the baby now occupying it, where did that leave our oldest? On a mattress on the floor next to our bed, that's where. And because it was so temporary, it didn't really impact me much. But no child can survive on her parents' floor forever (at least, the parents can't survive it forever), so the day came when we had to get her an actual big-girl bed. And that day was this Sunday.

After Mommy and daughter picked out the PERFECT day bed, I tore open the package, unwrapped all 1,425 parts, and got to work. Even after doing our taxes and getting pinched all day for not wearing green (I’m like half Irish. I shouldn’t have to wear green on St. Paddy’s day!), product assembly actually took less than an hour, and I only stripped one bolt, but it wasn't the assembly that had me worried. It wasn't even the level 99 Tetris game of trying to fit the bed into the same tiny room as our baby's crib. What really had me nervous was waking my precious angels up in the morning and seeing one of them roll out of bed to greet me.

But all of this doesn't nearly do the situation justice. Her personality, her habits, phrases, and mannerisms—they surprise me daily. She has conversations with Alexa (yes, my wife allowed the devil Amazon Echo into our home, thus giving up our final thread of privacy, but happy wife, happy… never mind, I think they're listening) that astound me, and her moments of child-wisdom are matched only by her creative whimsy. It's all just too much.

Meanwhile, my wife is freaking out about our second daughter. "She's almost a year old!" she exclaims. The little monster's eating solid food, propping up on hands-and-knees, pulling up on every piece of furniture she can find, and saying, "Mama," and "Dada," like a champ. Her first tooth has popped up on the bottom, and she's trying it out on everything (let's hope it doesn't have a cavity yet). My wife's premature detachment anxiety even had her rethinking her, "I'm good with two kids," verbal contract, though only briefly. And yet, I can't help thinking I've been through all of that before. I'm not the one breastfeeding her (you're welcome for that mental image). I'm usually not the one putting her down for naps (though she's passed out on my chest as I write this, which is pretty awesome). I'm not the one who grew her in my belly.

For me, I'm not scared about our baby becoming a toddler because I already have one of those. I'm actually excited about it because our first is so awesome that I can't wait to do it all again. What I'm worried about is our first child growing PAST that awesome stage. I'm worried that what comes afterward is a bratty, know-it-all teenager who doesn't need Daddy anymore. I just want to keep her snuggled up beside me watching Clifford and Voltron forever.

Of course, I know I can't slow down time. I know change is the spice of life, and it's cyclical and all of that dumb stuff. But I think this has been the hardest stage of all for me because it's the beginning of the end. She'll likely be in pre-K this fall, in kindergarten the year after that, and then grade school. Up until now, she's been growing with us. She's learned from Mommy and Daddy, changing in our presence, depending on us. But a time is coming very soon when she's going to get her first taste of independence.  There will be other people in her life who will teach her, and feed her, and take her to prom, and steal her away from me. Okay, yeah, dramatic, but it's how I feel, so get over it.

But there's still time. I'm still my oldest's "boyfriend," and she still gets excited when she makes me proud. And, hey, even when she gets older and thinks she knows everything, I still have a few years before my second daughter's flies the coop, right? Okay, fine. I give up. Looks like the only option is to have a few more kids and keep the party going. In fact, I think I'll bring that one up at the next family meeting. And if I go missing, you'll know why. But until then, I guess I'll keep on cherishing every moment. I mean, in the end, what else is there?