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jaybug-jabbers · 3 years

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Pokemon Prism Review

Well I’m currently finishing up the post-game content of Pokemon Prism.

Dang.

What a fun game.

(what follows is an informal review of the game. it got a little long, lol. it has some spoilers for the game, of course.)

My background

To give you a quick idea on my perspective on Pokemon, I grew up with Pokemon Red on the big grey brick Gameboy. After Red, I pretty much stopped playing for many years. My little brother had a Gameboy Color and had Silver, but I never got one myself. Wasn’t ‘til years and years later I found some emulators and played through several generations of Pokemon at once. So, Gen 2 really isn’t nostalgic for me. It’s close enough to Gen 1 to hit some nostalgia buttons, though. I am admittedly somebody who feels Gen 1 is the best gen of pokemon. I don’t care of people laugh or say I’m a genwunner for believing that. Gen 1, I feel, had the raw creativity and charm of the original idea, and it simply sets my imagination alight far more than any other gen does. Those simple pixel designs for those little virtual creatures just opened up a world in my mind. THAT SAID, I did play and very much enjoyed all the other gens of pokemon. I do not shun things just because they are new, and I am not one of those people who says the new designs of pokemon are stupid. I adore plenty of modern pokes.

Blend of Old and New

Anyway! Pokemon Prism, for those unaware, is a ROM hack of Pokemon Crystal. It essentially delivers a brand-new Pokemon adventure for the Generation 2 games. It’s a really neat blend of classic gameplay and modern features. You’ll find species from modern games all the way from Gen 3 (such as Breloom) to Gen 6 (such as Sylveon) but their sprites perfectly integrate them organically into the Gen 2 environment. You’ll get many modern pokemon moves and conviences but also plenty of throwbacks to older experiences. Miss crafting pokeballs from Apricorns? It’s there. Enjoy a simplier time when there weren’t any Natures? Well, there ya go. Really want to call Joey and talk to him about his Rattata? Well, err, no, you can’t do that, but let’s face it, the telephone feature was probably one of the most hated features in Gen 2. :P

But Prism isn’t simply about updating Gen 2 with some modern pokemon, moves and game features. Not in the slightest. It’s full of original mechanics and gameplay concepts, and has tons of original areas and an original storyline. Pokemon is known for experimenting with new gameplay ideas, so it’s really fitting and enjoyable to see these take shape as you play the game. Mining and crafting is introduced in the game, for example, and there are a couple new pokemon types. There’s even a few sections where you can play as your pokemon, Mystery-Dungeon style. Do all of these experiments with new concepts work? Probably not ALL of them– when you try something new, not all of them will work out as amazing as you’d hope. But a lot of them are welcome and fun additions. And the game is bristling with these new ideas! It’s a joy to see so much creativity and novelty.

Sprites

It should be noted the spritework for these games is A+ and utterly fantastic. There is perhaps 3 or 4 out of dozens and dozens of new sprites that I thought were a tad off? Seriously, they look AMAZING and their animations are perfect and they fit in with the style so well I found myself briefly getting confused as to which were originally from Gen 2 and which weren’t. Saying these sprites are good is no small thing, because they are such a vital part of the game. The backsprites were not shafted, either– something even Gamefreak often shortchanged on back then.

Music

It should also be noted the music in this game is really damn good and has a huge variety. There are tons of classic songs, classic remakes of modern pokemon songs, remixes, and original tunes. There were like one or two tunes I was a bit iffy on, but considering that’s only a few out of so many, that’s impressive. The new bike music and Surfing music are probably my favorites, and they are SO GOOD, and those are especially important ones to sound good, because you typically hear those a lot.

Writing

The writing in this game is fairly solid. Not A+, but still not bad. It suffers occasionally from slightly rough and confusing grammar, and the climax of the story is definitely anti-climactic and very weak. In addition, the post-game story basically does not exist, but that can be excused since most likely more story was planned but they ran out of time. (C&D)

I also felt that at times, the story felt out-of-place within the world of Pokemon and went “too far” in the darker direction. The entire prison sequence, especially, and the frequent mention of inmates being mistreated, pokemon being abused, etc., just felt a bit much. Because this game was largely concerned with replicating the feeling of a true Pokemon game (some hacks intentionally focus on making a story that would never take place in the Pokemon world, like zombie survival horror stories or whatnot), I find it relevant to mention that. All of that said, though, its darker departures were at least not *too* extreme. We don’t get the very jarring and frequent problem of some ROM hacks where it’s full of cussing all the time or intense violence. Compared to those it’s still relatively subtle. And while the NPCs in this game I felt were rude a little too often, (holy crap, it felt like 95% of Naljo and Rijon were crankyass people) I do appreciate the attempts at making people a little more “real” and not quite so freaking happy and idealized all the time like Nintendo tends to do. The dialogue often made me chuckle. It did go a tad overboard with that “realness” (because, hey, a variety of people exist in the world, you know, both rude and polite, optimistic and bitter) but oh well.

So yes, the writing had its drawbacks. But overall, it felt like it was progressing a pokemon-style narrative with some interesting ideas, and wasn’t simply a dreary rehash of the same basic tropes Pokemon has been regurgitating for ages now. I just think if the writing were cleaned up a bit– the grammar cleaned up in a few sections, the plot threads clarified a bit more, and the climax reworked– it could take a “decent story” and make it a great one. There’s definitely some neat ideas there, it just needs polish.

Maps

As to the different towns and locations in this game to explore, there are many. This game is ambitious AF. As I said, it’s FULL of new ideas, features, things to do, and places to explore. Naljo is the region you explore in the main game, but post-game you can wander a whole new region of Rijon (the featured location of an older ROM hack, Pokemon Brown) and beat all the gyms there. In addition, there’s a few towns in Kanto and Johto you can visit (I believe they originally planned to open up all of those regions eventually), AND one town in ANOTHER new region, Tunod. The game’s ambitiousness occasionally outpaces what it delivers, but that’s quite acceptable in my mind, since updates with additions to the game were originally planned. So, yes, there isn’t much to do post-game, but that’s largely because a lot of stuff was going to be added.

Back to the locations, though! It’s an important aspect of ROM hacks. Not everyone is good at designing a good town, with logical building placement, intuitive layouts, aesthetically pleasing locations, and interesting things to explore so it doesn’t feel totally plain and lacks character. I’m pleased to say this game does a great job of it, though. I should point out I have a terrible sense of direction and bad spatial memory. Despite that fact, I found myself remembering important features and where they were located– oh, the Move Deleter house is in Phacelia on the left, the bullet train is in Torenia– and that’s a good sign. Physical travel was not a sloggy chore, and it wasn’t bogged down in a confusing layout. Towns were memorable and fun to explore.

Pacing/Level Curve

Another thing ROM hacks can screw up, because it’s a tricky thing to do, is the challenge pacing. How many trainers? What teams do they have? What levels? Are the Gyms challenging without being insane? I actually Nuzlocked the main part of the game. In my opinion it was well-paced. There’s probably fewer trainers overall in this game than a standard Pokemon game. But it did not take me much extra grinding in the grass– and I was only doing that to play it safe for the Nuzlocke. And that’s GOOD. You shouldn’t have to do tons of grinding in the grass all the time just to have a reasonable shot at the gyms. Pokemon Uranium, sadly, seems to suffer from that issue. So, yeah, the pacing was very reasonable to me, good balance of fair and challenging.

… with one important note. Once you reach the League? Well, we could have used higher-levelled wild pokemon in the cave that served as the victory road. The highest in that cave was level 34 or so, and you were facing trainers with teams ~level 55. That’s a huge gap. Not everyone has the same play style. Some people like to do extra grinding before the Elites. Some people are Nuzlocking and may do extra grinding as a safety buffer. Some people might want to adjust their team & add a new pokemon to their team and need to grind them up from a lower level. For those cases, you NEED decently-levelled wild pokemon to grind on. So, yeah, I really do think the Seneca Caves wild pokemon need a level buff. It would also help with the level gap for the post-game. Trainers in Rijon are suddenly at levels 70ish and higher, and for some folks playing, that’s a bit much and they’d like to do a little grinding first.

Puzzles

This game has puzzles. You have been warned, lol. Apparently a lot of people found the number of puzzles a bit frustrating, or felt that some of them were excessively tricky or annoying. I find it very funny, because usually puzzles are my least favorite part of a pokemon game. But I really enjoyed the puzzles in Prism and didn’t find it annoying or offputting at all. I was sick with a cold through most of my play of Prism, and yet even in my dumb brainaddled state, I didn’t find the puzzles too difficult. I solved them all at a pretty average length of time, even the ones some people traditionally found a little unclear or confusing. (the Ruins puzzle often confuses folks, apparently, but I really didn’t have a problem with it at all.) I was briefly confused on one of the switch puzzles (and it contained an element of bad puzzle design imo– there’s a gap that you can leap down into when normally a gap of that size just gives the ‘run into wall’ sound and is not passable) but not for too long. Even the ice slide puzzles, which I traditionally hate with a passion, were not bad!

All except for one thing. The Magikarp Puzzle. Anyone who has played Prism knows what I mean. Haha, fuck that puzzle man. Even the creator of the ROM hack himself has acknowledged the puzzle was not great, heh. To be honest, I find it kind of hilarious, in a way, though. I mean, obviously it’s a nightmarishly difficult and frustrating puzzle and is intensely exhausting to look at, let alone try to solve. But it’s also kinda glorious in its demonicness. I didn’t spend too much time on it before just looking up a solution to it. It’s tedious and not fun at all, and hey, that’s OK, because even the creator realized that.

pls nerf magikarp

But seriously, outside of the magikarp puzzle, I didn’t just enjoy the puzzles in this game– I felt like they were an important part of what gave this game its character.

Fakemon

There are even a few fakemon in this game! Which I was excited to learn because I thought there weren’t! All of the fakemon are Legenderies. Unfortunately, I don’t care for most of their designs. Like, at all. I think Varaneous and Libabeel’s sprites look really, really shitty. They’re ugly and don’t match the style of Pokemon at all. This feels weird to say, since I love so much about this game, but man, there’s just no way around it, I hate ‘em. Everyone has their own tastes, of course. There’s a couple fakemon I have yet to capture– I’m finishing that up now and the very very last of the post-game. But one fakemon I did capture and ADORE LIKE NO OTHER is Phancero.

I happen to know about Phancero’s designer, because I saw their design years ago. They apparently were approached by the team and were asked permission for the use of the design, which is awesome. I won’t rant again about Phancero here because I already ranted about it before, and literally could keep ranting for pages. :P But yeah, it’s a totally creative and awesome pokemon both in idea and execution, and by FAR my favorite fakemon ever created.

Conclusion

This is the best ROM hack I have played in years and probably ever. I haven’t played hundreds of ROM hacks, but I have probably played dozens over the years. I think they are a creative and wonderful expression of the pokemon community, but let’s be honest. There’s a lot of really bad ROM hacks out there. There’s even more ROM hacks that have a lot of potential but are never finished or anywhere near completion. (And that’s perfectly understandable. People run out of time, they have real life get in the way, etc.) The fact that not only did a ROM hack of this caliber get made, but was 95-99% completed? Is fantastic. It was an intensely massive project and I cannot begin to imagine how much work it must have been. Pokemon games are normally developed by an entire team at a company, and folks are paid to do it. The comparatively small team of devs who made this game in their spare time and implemented these amazing things had to do it all on their own. It’s no wonder it took as long as it did for them to finish it; and the amount of effort SHOWS. There is so much loving attention to detail and polish to Prism. (I mean, yes, there’s still some bugs and the occasional unfinished bits, but of course there are, those were going to be finished, but then the C&D hit)

Most ROM hacks are just strong in a few areas, because it’s one or two people who have strengths or interests in a few things. So, you’ll play a hack with a really good story but terrible fakemon and mapping, or you’ll play a hack with fantastic designs of new areas, but no new story, etc. Prism kinda has everything, though. It really did feel like playing a new Gen 2 game.

(It’s now almost 11pm and oh god where did the time go. I have a problem with being concise. :P This was far longer than I intended but thank you if you’ve read this far!)

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Jan 17, 2017.

#pokemon #pokemon prism #pokemon fan games #pokemon rom hacks #mycontent #spoilers #pokemon reviews

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flightyrock · 6 years

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Laundry Day

Summary: It’s laundry day for a certain pair of half ghosts. But when Vlad digs deeper than he should, he finds more than dirty laundry, testing the bonds between father and son.

A shameless fluff fic in which Vlad is too hard on himself (as usual), Daniel does his best to reassure him, and Vlad proves he is father of the year material.

Featuring: accidental naps, hugs galore, and rambling internal monologues.

Characters: Vlad Masters, Daniel Masters

Tags and Warnings: Father/son relationships, Backstory, Emotional fluff/pain, Really Long Flashbacks, invasion of privacy, miscommunication, allusions to suicide, hopelessness, fake science, grey ethics, fake medical jargon, dehumanization, Vlad’s special brand of angst, mild body horror, clichéd tropes, happy ending, cuteness

If you’re concerned, feel free to PM me and I will be more than happy to provide a detailed summary or tell you what parts to avoid. All of the iffy ones, save for the emotional hurt/comfort, only last for a few paragraphs. Most of them are contained in the flashbacks, which are in italics. But on a whole, it’s father/son fluff and feels. Be safe!

Word Count: ~10,500

I’ll also make this available on AO3 for your viewing pleasure, since I know some people (myself included) prefer that format better. But tumblr makes it easier to share, so that won’t be linked for awhile; I’m thinking a week?

Some notes before we dive in, since this is the first fic I’ve written in this particular universe, so there are a few (read: a lot) of things I need to cover. Explanation and story under the cut!

Update: This isn’t posting right, so I’m going to remove the links for now. If this works, I’ll make a separate post with the links.

This fic takes place in what I’ve nicknamed the “Perfect Son AU,” an alternate universe to Danny Phantom where Vlad successfully created a clone, which he named Daniel. It’s a working title, and someone else might have already come up with something better, but I’m running with it for now.

I did not create Daniel; he was originally introduced as an unnamed character along with a possible future version of Vlad in Butch Hartman’s second “Danny Phantom: 10 Years Later video.” All we’re told is that he’s a mixed clone of Danny and Vlad.

Of course, this premise has tons of potential, and several artists have created content for him. I fell head over heels for @schnivel‘s interpretation; the designs and characterization are just incredible, and gave me that creative itch. I live for that cute picture of Vlad and Daniel at a Packer’s game. There are also a bunch of doodles, and the tags provide fun details, hinting at character dynamics and firmly establishing Daniel’s presence in-universe. The rest of his art is awesome, too; it’s incredibly expressive (facial expressions and body language are always SPOT ON), and he has some really neat OCs, so be sure to check him out!

Schnivel also took the time to chat with me, and answered many of my questions regarding Daniel’s characterization. Thank you so much!

I discovered that other artists loved this version of the character as well, and during one of schnivel’s discussions with prom during one of @promsien‘s streams, she had the fun idea that Vlad knits Daniel sweaters, and heaven help anyone who ruins one of those.

Needless to say, this (and other details surrounding the fallout) gave me…ideas. This incident is only hinted at in this fic, which started out as a cute 1500 word fluff piece I thought up on the bus back to school after Thanksgiving break. But then plot and angst snuck in, and the characters just weren’t quite right, so four rewrites, 9000 words, and about two months later, here we are; the longest piece I’ve ever written.

Keep in mind that this is just my interpretation of schnivel’s canon, based on details from several sources, so the events described here may or may not have occurred; essentially, it’s a fanfic of schnivel’s AU.

This story takes place after about a year after Daniel’s creation, in the transition period between schnivel’s 16 y/o and post puberty designs. While not necessary to enjoy the story, I strongly recommend taking a look at these before you begin reading; you won’t be sorry. Some other quick details to keep in mind:

1. Daniel is still in high school, and is enrolled in Casper High.

2. Daniel =/= Danny

3. Yes, Daniel knows Danny and they do not get along.

4. Vlad and Daniel live together, and share a healthy (and frequently adorable) father/son relationship. They get along incredibly well most of the time, and genuinely care about each other. Vlad is finally happy (mostly), and it’s my favorite thing ever. Do me a favor and do not tag this as ship, please and thank you.

5. Danny is not in this fic, but he is referenced a couple of times; once, confusingly, as Daniel. (I’m sorry; blame Vlad.) It’s not mentioned in this fic, but he doesn’t call Danny “Daniel” anymore, for obvious reasons.

Alright, enough notes! I’ve rambled long enough! Kudos to you for reading this far; I do think the context is necessary to fully appreciate this story, so if you skimmed, I completely understand, but I urge you to check out the five-point list and links [sorry guys, removed these to see if they were the problem] above. And remember to check out @schnivel and @promsien. Thanks, guys! So, without further ado, enjoy!

“Daniel, laundry!”

The amiable call echoed off the interior walls of a luxurious but tasteful mansion overlooking Amity Park; walls that had changed extensively in the past year. Previously, the nondescript barriers existed out of necessity, stabilizing the considerable load of the structure and dividing too much space into too many cold, empty rooms.

One wall in particular, located between the entry and the main staircase, changed dramatically, and now proudly announced to visitors that two shared the space, and quite happily at that.

An eclectic selection of frames housing amateur photographs were mounted artfully in a quantity bordering on excessive. From this, an outsider could reasonably assume that the curator was either an overly-enthusiastic hobbyist or a new parent.

In this case, both assumptions would be correct. Indeed, most of the photos focused on a single boy, specifically, a teenager, sporting unique, striped locks and a smile.

But this wasn’t your average, awkward, get-me-out-of-here, oh-my-god-are-we-still-not-done-taking-pictures-yet kind of smile that most teenagers plastered on instinctively to escape the camera: No, this was a genuine, candid expression of happiness that would make any photographer worth their salt dissolve into blissful tears. It would have been hard to believe the boy was truly a teenager, if not for the distinctive, almost puppy-like proportions that suggested there was still growing left to do.

He was occasionally joined by an older gentleman wearing a smile of his own; more guarded, but no less genuine. In these photos, the boy veritably beamed at the camera or the man himself, expression all the brighter in his company, leaving no doubt just who was responsible for cultivating such joy. Likewise, the boy coaxed the man out of his shell, steadily transforming a shyly quirked corner of the mouth into a joyful grin as the series progressed.

The gentleman in question was currently strolling around the house, dressed casually in socks, slacks, and a button-down. His sleeves were neatly rolled above the elbows, exposing muscular forearms that strained to maintain an awkward hold on the large basket of casual wear. His burden couldn’t have been too cumbersome, however, as he took a moment to admire the photo wall, as he always did.

He shifted the basket, clamping it against his left hip with the same arm, freeing his right to compulsively straighten an already perfectly-aligned portrait of the boy, providing an excuse to linger.

It was one of his favorites; a candid shot he had snagged during one of their first snows together. He was quite proud of it. Daniel kneeled on the plush window seat, dwarfed by the dual floor-to-ceiling windows. His features were alight with childlike wonder and the soft, winter sun, breath fogging the glass as he peered out of the pane, entranced by dancing flakes. Vlad’s eyes grew misty, recalling cold, damp clothes, laughter, and hot chocolate His shoulders softened a touch, mouth pulling upward fondly.

The reverie was broken by an uncomfortable burn in his forearms as the basket slipped slowly downwards under gravity’s influence, prompting him to readjust his hold and resume his search.

It was that time of year again; the relentless heatwave had broken at last. Residents of Amity Park gave a collective sigh of relief, enjoying cool days and brisk evenings just shy of uncomfortable as summer gave way to autumn. Full suits were no longer suffocating. And football season was in full swing.

In short, life couldn’t be better. There was something invigorating about the crisp, cool air that accompanied the changing seasons, putting Vlad in the rare mood to do some tidying. Housework was a small pleasure he had rediscovered recently; busy hands left the mind free for reflection, something that Vlad wasn’t as eager to avoid these days. The reason for this? Well…

“Daniel!” he called again, perplexed by the continued lack of response from his young charge. No, his son, he reminded himself, distracted for a moment by the thrill of excitement and anxiety that still shot through him at that thought. Against all odds, he was a father.

He savored the feeling as he searched, peeking around the corner to the living room on a whim, and bit back another call. Warm affection swelled in his chest at the rare and, admittedly, adorable sight.

His son, Daniel, was sprawled lengthwise across the couch, out like a light. Sleep had hit him hard and fast; the awkward position of his limbs was telling, and looked anything but comfortable.

A socked foot was braced on the floor while its twin was slung over the couch’s far arm, still trapped in a sneaker, laces tangled from an abandoned attempt at removal. One arm hung limply to the side, while the other was likely going numb, trapped against the back and beneath the Maddies, who were taking full advantage of their human’s compromised position.

The opportunistic felines were curled up on the half-ghost’s broad chest, passive-aggressively close to one another, soaking up the warmth. Like many cats, they managed to radiate smug bliss even from the depths of slumber, much to Vlad’s amusement.

He really couldn’t blame them. Naps for Daniel were a rare occurrence, after all; the boy rarely slowed down long enough.

But Vlad had almost forgotten what else autumn meant; school was once again in full swing. A ridiculous amount of coursework accompanied Daniel’s ambitious class load, pushing the limits of an already-taxing daily schedule.

In addition to coursework, he participated in several extracurricular activities, made time for friends, and dedicated himself to a rigorous training and tutoring regimen of Vlad’s own design. No wonder the boy was exhausted.

Not that he had so much as hinted at fatigue, eager to prove himself.

Vlad mentally shook his head, pride mixing with fond exasperation. He had, admittedly, forgotten just how difficult it was to be a teenager (though he thinks he can be excused for this oversight given that it’s been over twenty years since then; twenty long years). He vaguely recalled expectations to tackle a workload any self-respecting, paid employee would strike over.

Daniel, like many teenagers, did that and more with only a fraction of useable energy at his disposal at any given time, resources diverted to accommodate the emotional and physical stress the body underwent as it matured. Puberty had hit Daniel late and with a vengeance. The boy had been shooting up like a weed lately, the gap between his cuff and ankle widening at an alarming rate (not surprising given the state of the pantry at the end of any given week; the teen had to be burning through massive amounts of energy in the process).

As his coach, Vlad had noticed he was struggling physically; his center of balance shifted so rapidly he just couldn’t keep up. Daniel’s frustration was all but tangible at times, face heating with anger and humiliation when he fumbled through warm-ups and drills that had once been simple. Recently, more often than not, he left their practice sessions drained and irritable, shower doing little to dispel a dark mood that carried over into their evening lessons.

Vlad wondered if he was sleeping enough.

Judging from his current state alone, the poor boy needed all the rest he could get. Vlad quelled a rush of remorse for pushing him so hard, reminding himself that Daniel had set the pace.

Insisted, really. He was normally eager, almost desperate, to improve, diving into training with a single-minded intensity that rivaled Vlad’s own. Daniel had protested furiously when Vlad had suggested they take it a bit easier during the school year, pushing himself even harder.

Vlad chuckled fondly; Daniel was his son, after all. But perhaps he could persuade him to revise their schedule to an every other day kind of thing; in hindsight, it was a bit ambitious to have lessons and physical training on the same day…

Musing about schedules, he set the basket aside and approached, debating whether the merits of repositioning gangly limbs into a more comfortable position outweighed the risk of waking the boy.

No, better to let him rest. He was young, after all; he probably wouldn’t suffer from the stiff neck Vlad wouldn’t admit to getting if he slept at the demonstrated awkward though, admittedly, impressive angle. (His neck definitely did not twinge in sympathy. He wasn’t old.)

He settled for carefully prying off the remaining shoe before unfurling a fuzzy throw that hung over the back of the couch, settling it gently over long legs, careful not to disturb the felines. They, of course, would have no such qualms about waking Daniel in their subsequent bid for freedom should they be trapped beneath the heavy fabric.

His fond gaze migrated upward upon completion of his task, settling on Daniel’s face, relaxed in slumber. It was a rare treat to observe his son in such a peaceful state, and he was somewhat tempted to take a picture (too bad his camera was in his room).

Daniel looked so young this way. The man’s eyebrows bunched, oddly nostalgic as he took in the boy’s strengthening features, an early sign that he wouldn’t be one for much longer. Soon, soft lines would vanish completely, giving way to the strong jaw and defined cheeks that were already taking shape.

He would miss these days. Vlad felt an irrational surge of longing and loss, feeling absurdly cheated out of the early years, of a tiny Daniel smiling at him, of endless questions and childlike wonder (which was absolutely insane, considering he didn’t even like children. There was a reason he’d decided to create a teenaged clone). But if that was the case, Vlad supposed he wouldn’t be the Daniel he knew now. It was probably for the best.

He sighed, and ran a gentle hand through thick stripped locks, marveling at the silky softness as it slid through his fingers. It really was getting long, Vlad thought idly, scratching lightly across the scalp, delighted when the crease between Daniel’s eyes smoothed, and he sunk deeper into sleep with a content sigh.

Vlad lingered for a moment before withdrawing reluctantly, gathering up the basket again with a sigh of his own. A nap would do the boy good, he reminded himself, so he’d best leave Daniel to it.

Of course, this meant he was back to square one with the laundry. He was looking for Daniel in the first place to gather his dirty clothes so Vlad could start a load or two before dinner.

Well, perhaps he could still do that. He could always take a detour into the boy’s room himself. He was certain Daniel wouldn’t mind the intrusion; after all, he was simply retrieving laundry, so he wouldn’t be there long.

Decision made, he turned back, pausing to empty his basket in the laundry room before ascending the stairs once again to the wing that housed their personal quarters, hesitating for a moment before cracking open the door and entering Daniel’s room.

It was strange, being here without the room’s main occupant. He felt a bit like an intruder. The space was shockingly well-kempt for belonging to a teenager, not that he was surprised; Daniel was hardly your average teenager.

As expected, his dirty laundry was in the hamper, and Vlad wasted no time in sorting through it.

Something was off, though. Vlad lived with his son, so of course he noticed that Daniel had started sweater season as soon as he no longer ran the risk of suffering heat stroke. That meant there should be about two weeks’ worth of ripening knitwear, as none had been sent out recently. But there were none to be found in the hamper, and, despite the fibers’ natural resistance to sweat and grime, it was certainly time for a wash.

Most, if not all, of Daniel’s sweaters were handmade, knitted by Vlad himself, so required special care. He supposed Daniel could be keeping such garments separate in a display of caution. Conscientious, as always.

Not that it was necessary; Vlad only hired the best, and, of course, always ran a brief inspection of the sorted garments before they were taken to the proper cleaning facilities. Details meant everything in his line of work, and his appearance was one of many he monitored personally. Sure, he was a billionaire, and could afford purchase a new wardrobe any time he wished, but it hadn’t always been this way. He was taught to take pride in his possessions, and waste was unthinkable; far be it for him to neglect his roots.

Shaking himself out of his musings (he certainly was distracted today), he got back to the task at hand; finding the sweaters. He supposed he could simply wait and ask Daniel during their evening session, but leaving the job half-done would bother him.

Vlad was a completionist to a fault, and knew that if he put this off, he ran the risk of losing his productive mood. Not to mention the thought of the laundry sitting half-finished would torture him all evening; it would have been better to have not started at all. And he wouldn’t wake the boy. But this also toed the line of invasion of privacy.

He weighed his options, and decided that a taking a brief look couldn’t hurt; he was already here, after all. In such a neat space, there weren’t exactly an abundance of hiding places.

He checked the walk-in closet first. A thorough search left him baffled by the complete lack of sweaters, dirty or otherwise. He had checked the drawers (meticulously folded), hangers (formal wear was sorted by degree of formality then color), and even the floor (his shoes were lined up so perfectly he put showrooms to shame).

Daniel clearly treasured his possessions, and Vlad felt a rush of pride. His son kept his space in perfect order, and everything had a logical place. Except for the sweaters, it would seem. Which didn’t make any sense.

His frustration grew as he continued to pace the room and failed to find a single one. He was running out of ideas, and was uncomfortable at the thought of exploring much further. On a whim, he ducked his head under the bed, admittedly feeling a bit foolish; this was one of the oldest clichés in the book.

But his eyes were immediately drawn to a large cedar chest, a copy of the one he himself used for keepsakes. He had forgotten the boy had one as well; Daniel had been delighted with the gift, especially when Vlad had shown him the contents of its twin in his private study.

Vlad slid the heavy container out, running a hand across the sanded, weighty lid, hesitating for only a moment before giving in to his curiosity and lifting it before he could change his mind.

Sure enough, here were Daniel’s sweaters. He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. Mystery solved. The quantity bordered on insane, way more than he remembered making, Vlad observed somewhat sheepishly. What could he say? He was a stress knitter.

But he was particularly fascinated with the way the garments were packed. Despite the large quantity, each sweater was folded with a degree of precision that spoke wordless volumes of care. Handmade garments often had quirks; small flaws that made each piece unique, making it nearly impossible to pack them away neatly. Daniel had somehow managed it by treating each sweater as an individual, modifying his folding technique slightly to ensure optimal fit. Even the dirty ones were carefully folded, and placed on the smaller, right-hand side of the central divider. It made his closet look sloppy in comparison.

Reluctant to ruin what was clearly several hours of work, Vlad carefully flipped through layers of sweaters, separated with tissue paper, the garments growing smaller as he descended. He was sure most of these didn’t have a hope of fitting Daniel any longer.

One stood out from the others, though. It rested at the very bottom of the heavy chest, and was individually wrapped, obscured by many layers of delicate tissue and tied loosely with string. This deviation from the established system sparked Vlad’s curiosity further, overriding common sense, and before he knew it, he was carefully removing the wrappings.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

He drew in a sharp breath, unnerved, and delicately traced the ragged edge of a black-rimmed tear with shaking fingers, transfixed. It extended downward from right shoulder to sternum in a great slice, like it had been severed with a hot knife.

Bafflingly, someone had also gone to great lengths to attempt repair; the edges were joined with neat, if pointless, stitches. Only the lack of patching material revealed that this was a rush job. Admirable effort, but an exercise in futility nonetheless; nothing could hope to fix the charred edges.

The garment was utterly ruined. No wonder Daniel kept this one covered so well; it likely brought back unpleasant memories, but the boy clearly didn’t have the heart to get rid of it.

Upon closer inspection, Vlad realized he recognized this sweater. The vague unease grew into a feeling far more unpleasant.

It was the first one he’d ever made for Daniel, not that he’d known that at the time. It had been started with his own dimensions in mind, but modified on a whim; gold and green, stitched together with hands bathed in the eerie green glow of the incubation chamber.

He had been a different person then, twisted by hatred and blinded by his obsession with the Fentons.

Each stitch had been formed in bitter anger, to keep him grounded, patient. Clicking needles helped to cover up the maddening hiss of the central air system and the relentless beep of monitoring equipment.

He knew at his core that this would be the last plot, his last attempt to take what was rightfully his; should he fail yet again, the fallout would be devastating. He would be unable to stop himself from giving up, from descending irrevocably into madness. Because at the end of the day, hate was all he had, his only constant along with his pride. But hatred took energy, and he was tired. So tired.

Lips curled in disgust as he ran the clumsily-constructed fabric sitting in his lap through his fingers, reliving the turmoil through the record of amateurish mistakes that littered the garment. Each pucker and twist, invisible to the untrained eye, glared at him accusingly, reminding him of sins he could never atone for. Made him sick with guilt as they whispered to him, reminded him of a time when Daniel had been merely an “it” and “the clone,” a tool he had every intention to use for revenge.

He was practically living in the dim, sterile, underground room, on standby to respond in a moment should the clone destabilize again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in his own bed (he kept a cot down here), gotten more than two consecutive hours of sleep, or eaten something more substantial than the occasional protein bar. He carefully refrained from imagining the state of the companies he was neglecting.

But this stage of the project was too unpredictable to leave unattended, the clone’s outline in the cloudy fluid filling the tube bobbing peacefully up and down, blissfully unaware that its existence could end in an instant. But he wouldn’t let that happen. He would have his prize. With a completely obedient half ghost by his side, he would rule. He had taken no chances, had combined a stolen sample of the Fenton boy’s DNA with his own. It was his ultimate weapon. No one would be able to stop him. No one could keep him from his rightful place.

But throughout human history, it is in moments like these that astounding things can happen. Picture a person building a perfect pyramid, finally reaching the absolute top, standing on that tiny, sharp pinnacle, at the very highest they can go.

It is when we are at this peak, feel the most unstoppable, have the firmest foundation, are the most confident in our convictions, that the smallest breeze can topple us over and force us to rethink the foundations of our self-constructed realities as we fall, force us to shift our reality; rebuild, or cease to exist.

It is the small things that shake us to the core, that have the power to change us forever.

Be it stroke of luck, fate, divine intervention or pure coincidence, one such moment occurred in that sterile lab when a rare set of circumstances coincided. The fluid ensconcing the clone ran clear for several minutes, reflex prompted new eyes to flutter open, and Vlad happened to look up.

And looked into a familiar set of blue eyes that he hadn’t seen anywhere other than a mirror since his mother had passed away all those years ago (he had searched for her desperately after he learned the nature of his transformation, to no avail). They may have been obscured by fluid, but the shape and shade were unmistakable; they were her eyes. His eyes. Staring unseeingly back at him.

It was…disturbing, to say the least. Blame it on sleep deprivation if you will, but he felt his mother’s eyes cut right through him, accusingly, judging him for his behavior in her absence. Forcing himself to do something he had done his very best to avoid, in a way only she ever could.

So Vlad Masters took an honest look at himself for the first time in several decades.

And he wept, because he knew that she didn’t like what she saw, was disappointed in him. He had known this, on some level; it was why he had been putting off this realization for years. But, he was surprised to find that she wasn’t disappointed he had fallen so far; no, because she knew and he knew now, too, that he had fallen. Which meant that he was capable of picking himself back up and hadn’t. He had chosen not to, had chosen temporary comfort over the harder but healthier path. But he could do better. He would do better. If not for her than for himself.

And on that paradigm shift, he rebuilt his world. The eyes closed.

And Vlad, with fresh eyes, truly looked into the face of the being he created for the first time. But dread overtook him when he realized he wasn’t seeing the face of a clone. No, instead, he was looking into the face of a child.

It took him back to the first time he had met young Daniel at the college reunion, blindsided by an irrational rush of paternal pride and unspeakable longing to get to know this boy, realizing that he wasn’t, didn’t have to be alone anymore. (How wrong he was).

That familiar, fierce longing again surged to the surface, become part of his world once again. A desire he had buried long ago when the hopelessness simply became too much to bear.

All he had ever wanted was someone to love.

He thanked everything he could think of that he hadn’t started the programming, that is, the brainwashing, yet. And he wouldn’t. He’d keep the basic learning protocols, so the boy could communicate, have basic knowledge about the world, but nothing else. If he wanted a son, he’d earn his trust and affection the old-fashioned way. The right way.

But he was forgetting something. New hope warred with sick dread. But why? What threatened his happiness now? Because this being he created wasn’t a tool, this was a child. His child. So still. So fragile.

The realization opened the floodgates, and he fought to keep the rush of panic at bay. What had he done!?

Once again, in a display of arrogance and ignorance, he had put someone at risk. He already cared too much about the boy, was once again on the verge of losing everything. Because the child, Daniel, was dangerously unstable. He could die.

Vlad couldn’t let that happen.

For the first time in years, he was truly terrified of the consequences of failure. Because he wasn’t used to consequences. In an instant, the project had evolved into a horrible tightrope walk between life and death. He hoped the anxiety wouldn’t kill him first.

It was touch and go for a small eternity. Vlad lost sleep, hair, and his lunch to far more close calls than he cared to recall. He was certain he aged about twenty years that month, trapped in a micro-hell of his own design; he still had nightmares about that innocent face devolving into ectoplasm, but awake, screaming in agony from the confines of the tube at a pitch that made his hair stand on end…

Vlad mentally shook himself. No. He thought about this quite enough at night, no sense in dwelling on it during waking hours as well.

Preoccupied with the stressful task of keeping Daniel alive, sleeping in the lab even after the boy had stabilized out of sheer paranoia, he realized he was woefully unprepared to care for a child; embarrassingly so. He panicked when Daniel emerged from the tube, realizing he hadn’t given a thought about basic needs. Like clothing, for example.

His “newborn” was freezing; his small frame shook uncontrollably in the thin sterile gown as he was propped upright on a cot so Vlad could monitor his vitals, a pile of medical blankets doing little to combat the chill. The boy was in tears; uncomfortable and confused, agoraphobic and overwhelmed by this strange new world, so Vlad had grabbed the completed sweater instinctively and helped the boy into it, hoping the warm weight would ground him, rambling about inconsequential things to distract from the alarming machines as he worked to reattach feeds and wires.

He cringed; in hindsight, he had risked further overstimulation that way, and the outcome could have been disastrous. His palms still grew slick with cold sweat, and his blood pressure skyrocketed whenever he thought about everything that could have gone wrong, all the mistakes he had made in those early days. He cursed his stupidity.

Vlad shook off his self-disgust in favor of gathering up the old sweaters, having forgotten his original task, otherwise occupied with the chaos of his memories. They didn’t fit Daniel any longer, so there really wasn’t any sense in keeping them.

It was embarrassing how amateurish they looked now. They were an unwelcome reminder of a time when he was at an absolute low. He just wanted them gone. Especially that first one. The marred fabric seemed to mock him. Yes, better to dispose of it, and bury the anxiety and fear that came with it.

He gathered his legs under him with mild difficulty, surprised to discover he was a bit stiff—he had been kneeling on the floor longer than he thought—and glanced up at the doorway.

Only to lock eyes with Daniel, who stood, gaping, in the doorway, hand frozen in an abandoned attempt to straighten tousled locks. Tension radiated from his too-still frame, and wide eyes flickered from confusion to shock to panic.

Vlad froze as well, uneasy; he had never seen this look in the boy’s eyes before, and never cared to again. Sick dread pooled heavily in his stomach as all other thoughts evaporated; he knew without a doubt that something was very wrong.

“Dad,” Daniel whispered, hand dropping abruptly. “What are you doing with those?”

His gaze lowered, fixed on the pile of sweaters in Vlad’s arms. Vlad looked down as well, and blinked, bemused by the sudden lack of sweaters there.

Daniel hugged the garments to his chest tenderly, like a young child would cuddle a favorite stuffed toy for reassurance after a scare. In moments like these, Vlad was reminded of how new to the world the boy really was; it was too easy to forget when he wore the skin of a teenager.

A familiar, irrational stab of loss joined the budding guilt and self-loathing; that strange yearning for early years that never occurred.

Nostalgia must be a theme today, he thought idly.

Reason returned as he watched Daniel drop carefully to his knees a deliberate distance away to begin refolding the stack. Vlad’s inquisitive and concerned gaze was studiously avoided as the boy focused entirely on the task at hand.

Careful hands guided handmade fabric into precise creases reverently, deep blue eyes gleaming with a look of concentration so intense, it might have been comical under different circumstances. If he didn’t recognize the carefully constructed front for what it was.

Upset was an understatement; and despite an admirable effort, Daniel was unable to conceal the slight tremble that made his hands clumsy and slow, an obvious tell that only intensified the harder he tried to hide it.

Overall, he gave the impression of one who had survived a close shave. As the shock slowly abated, Vlad’s mental alarm bells became more insistent. This reaction was a bit extreme, even for someone experiencing the emotional fragility that was part and parcel of an unplanned nap. Something wasn’t quite right; he was missing some crucial detail.

“Daniel, what…” Vlad trailed off, at a loss, hands reaching toward the boy helplessly, then falling short, uncertain. “What did I—”

“You were going to get rid of them, weren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. The words were tight, clipped. His eyes remained fixed studiously downward, even though it was obvious that he wasn’t truly looking at the abandoned sweater in front of him, fists clenched in an a futile attempt to suppress trembling fingers.

Daniel abruptly rocked back on his heels and wiped roughly at his face, shattering the invisible barrier between them, allowing Vlad to finally take action. He scrambled in his haste to close the gap.

He gathered the boy clumsily into his arms, and Daniel practically melted into the firm embrace before returning it fiercely, clinging to him in turn. A striped head filled his peripheral vision, resting its comfortable weight on his shoulder, and soaked the light fabric covering it in warm wetness.

It was unclear how long they remained that way, respecting an unspoken agreement to set aside the circumstances for awhile in favor of comforting another; indulging in the unique security that came from holding a kindred spirit close.

After a while, Daniel pulled away reluctantly, sniffling wetly and wiping halfheartedly at his nose. Vlad produced a fresh handkerchief and settled into a cross-legged position, facing the teen, waiting patiently for him to collect himself while he gathered his own thoughts.

“I apologize, Daniel,” he began, slowly, when the sniffles had eased, and the boy settled into a similar position, rolling edges of soft fabric anxiously between his fingers as he met Vlad’s gaze.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that I am at fault here, but I do admit that I’m not entirely sure what exactly I did to cause you this much distress. Regardless, I should not have been in your room or searched through your things without your express permission. I knew better, but I did it anyway. I invaded your privacy, and for that, I am sorry.”

Daniel maintained eye contact, reddened and puffy appearance doing nothing to diminish the sincerity evident in their depths.

“I forgive you.”

There was no hesitation. The honest declaration mowed through Vlad’s emotional barriers, and his vision blurred as identical blue eyes prickled with tears of their own.

He bit his lip. His mistakes had long entrapped him, clinging fast and weighing him down. Experience taught him that, once made, he would never be rid of them. This knowledge, this fear, were iron shackles. It was his curse. But this boy…

Never before had he known such forgiveness.

Daniel absolutely hated to see his dad cry. There was just something fundamentally wrong about seeing someone you cared about in distress. So he was quick to reassure, hoping to fend off the flood and the inevitable interrogation.

“There’s really no harm done. They’re all here, they’re safe.”

Honestly, this assurance was just as much for himself. Of course, he would have forgiven Vlad regardless of the outcome; his dad was way more important to him than keepsakes, but this had come completely out of left field.

He had always been so careful, and seeing his collection spread across the floor had been the last thing he had expected after trudging upstairs to finish his homework before training, cursing himself bitterly for falling asleep.

He had really only meant to rest his eyes for a second or two, having gone distractingly cross-eyed while undoing his laces, falling instead into the deep kind of sleep that left one feeling fuzzy-headed and irritable upon waking instead of rested.

Daniel looked over at his favorite sweater, the one he had taken the most care to preserve. As always, fury at the damage was tempered with fond warmth. He flushed lightly, briefly recalling the circumstances of its repair.

His dad, who had since pulled himself together, followed his line of sight, brows drawing together in confusion, focused on the blackened article.

“Why keep these? Most are much too small, and this one,” he pulled the garment closer, “is damaged beyond repair.”

Daniel’s hands twitched instinctively, ready to come to the rescue at any moment.

Honestly? The thought of getting rid of them had never even crossed his mind, so he hadn’t. And he felt much too strongly about the garments to ever consider it.

But his dad was looking at him expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer. He had no idea how to put his jumbled thoughts and feelings on the matter into words, so he called upon the time-tested art of stalling.

“But you made them for me,” he settled on a basic truth, trying to buy a bit of time as he scrambled, struggling to string his thoughts into a pattern his dad would accept.

“I can make more, you know,” Vlad pointed out reasonably. “There’s no sense holding on to something that’s outlived its usefulness. At this point, they’re just clutter—”

“They’re important to me!” Daniel snapped, and Vlad blanched, drawing back in shock.

Daniel’s eyes widened, immediately regretting his outburst.

He didn’t mean to yell at his father! But that statement hit distressingly close to home. It was like Vlad wasn’t talking about the sweaters at all. For a moment, his nightmares were playing out before his eyes…

He forcefully shoved his insecurities to the back of his mind in favor of running damage control; he had hurt his dad, and he looked on guiltily as his father struggled to school his features into a neutral position.

“I’m sorry, Dad!” Daniel rushed to explain, mentally kicking himself for his tone.

“I would never get rid of these. I just can’t. You spent so much time on them, and it makes me feel cared for, kind of important, you know?”

He traced the hem of the special one, eyes softening as his face heated up, but he was determined to get this out before he could talk himself out of it. “Not to mention they’re basically portable hugs. You’re with me all day this way.”

He hadn’t exactly wanted to give quite that much away. But if he had to choose between his pride and his dad, his dad would win every time. It was the truth, after all, and he knew he had made the right choice when his dad’s eyes softened, and he was swallowed in his embrace once again.

Daniel had learned a long time ago that his father’s hugs went beyond the physical; they were part of an extensive nonverbal language, expressing what words simply could not.

Because he maintained a stern public image, a necessity in his line of work, most people didn’t realize that his father was a very emotional man. Daniel had seen how often he was misunderstood and slighted by his peers (to Daniel’s fury) because they never experienced this.

For someone who claimed to have little experience in the area of affection, he sure didn’t act like it. Daniel still had no idea how he managed it, how exactly he coordinated the variations of timing and pressure into such clear but complex expressions. This time, Vlad was conveying relief, awe, gratitude, and as always, more than anything, love.

The guilt intensified, sitting heavy and low in his stomach. He didn’t deserve this. He’s such a hypocrite, furious when others fail to appreciate his father, but hasn’t he done the same thing? Vlad cared so much, almost too much, about other people; he would do anything for the ones he loved, for Daniel. Anything. And yet, Daniel was upset because he had tried to declutter.

Of course, Daniel is fully aware that this isn’t exactly the reason he’s upset, but he’s very careful to avoid the thought. Now is not the time to think about this. It’s much easier to tell himself he’s simply sentimental. Nothing else.

Vlad’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly, seeking reassurance, and Daniel pushed aside the painful train of thought, eager to provide it.

He returned the embrace fiercely; he loves his dad more than anything, and he was determined to convey this. He knows he can’t hold a candle to Vlad’s raw skill in this area, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

He must have succeeded to some degree, because he feels his dad relax a bit. Daniel sighed, settling his head once again onto a broad shoulder, still a bit damp from earlier, and takes the opportunity to burn this moment into his memory, to add it to his collection.

He savored the slight tickle of grey locks on his upper check, sprung loose from their ties; the pleasant burn of cologne mixed with a scent that was simply Vlad drying his sinuses and coating the back of his tongue; the unnatural heat radiating through his silky shirt, warm and comfortable. For a small eternity, he knows nothing but safety, comfort, and love, and basks in the feeling.

They eventually break apart and, once again, take a moment to collect themselves before Vlad looks again to Daniel’s favorite sweater.

“What happened?” he ventured, concerned by the implication that someone had attacked his son in human form (and rightfully so), but reluctant to upset Daniel further.

Daniel gathered it up with a sigh, reluctant to delve into complicated memories again. He began to refold the garment, grateful for the excuse to avoid eye contact as he, fumbled for an answer that would satisfy his father, struck with an annoying sense of déjà vu.

“I took care of it. Doesn’t exactly fix this, though.”

Vlad sighed; he knew that truth all too well.

They kneeled there awkwardly for a moment, neither entirely what to do, caught in that strange limbo that followed any major argument; that period where you tell yourself everything’s okay now, but you know deep down that it’s a lie. Because the cycle of injury, apology, and forgiveness isn’t some magic fix, and no relationship pops back to how it was before even though the issue has been resolved. Things weren’t really okay yet, and they probably wouldn’t be for a little while.

Honestly, the invasion of privacy didn’t sting nearly as much as his own insecurities; he’d move on. But would Vlad?

Daniel glanced surreptitiously his father. Vlad was an expert at the practiced neutral face, but Daniel knew better; his poor father would be beating himself up about this for days.

Sure, he was still a bit shaken, but nothing had happened. Vlad was just too hard on himself. He had been a mess for weeks that time he had broken Daniel’s nose after opening a door too quickly, despite the fact it had healed without a scare in a matter of days. He had hated the way his father had tiptoed around him, hated that tortured look in his eyes as the incident no doubt looped in his mind, on repeat; over and over again.

If only there was a way to reassure his dad that he still had Daniel’s trust, a way to break through his uncertainly. He played with a loose hem pensively, cursing the circumstances that had led Vlad to rummage through his sweater box in the first place…

Sweaters. It was so obvious.

He gathered up the unwearable sweaters into a neat pile again. He was embarrassed by how reluctant he was to go through with this, but if he had to choose between his dad’s happiness and sweaters that didn’t even fit anymore, well…

There really wasn’t a choice at all.

He got to his feet, and hefted the pile (there really were a lot of them), depositing them in his father’s arms. He smiled wryly as his dad looked down at the pile, bewildered, before raising his gaze and quirking an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Take them.”

Vlad blinked, lips parted slightly to respond, before they shut again. He glanced to the side, brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to reconcile the large volume of mixed messages he had received that afternoon.

“What?” he asked, settling on the explanation that, somehow, he had simply misheard.

“Take them.” Daniel maintained firm eye contact, staring into blue pools identical to his own. “You were right, they don’t even fit me anymore.”

“But, Daniel, those are yours,” Vlad sputtered, intelligently.

Daniel smiled softly.

“They were. But now I want you to have them.”

Vlad looked helplessly at the pile, as if it held the answer to the puzzle that was currently throwing him for a loop.

“But why, Daniel? You told me you love those sweaters.”

He left his father on the floor and walked to the door, grabbing his backpack on the way. He’d do some homework at the kitchen table for a while, give his dad some time alone to process. He paused in the doorway, a melancholy smile pulling at his lips as he gave his answer over his shoulder.

“I do. But I love you more.”

><><

This particular project normally would have taken months; Vlad had it done in one. But not because he had rushed; no, he made absolutely certain it was perfect. Nothing less for Daniel. He didn’t sleep much anyways.

Daniel’s demonstration had the intended effect; knowing he still had his son’s trust even after his mistake meant the world to him.

It had been a shock, at first. He hadn’t known what to think when the boy handed his treasured pile of clothing over with barely an explanation. It had been more difficult than he’d like to admit, allowing his son to walk away after sharing such a sentiment, leaving him on the floor to collect his thoughts. But after the shock (finally) wore off, the implications of the gesture warmed him to the core.

(He also was trying his best not to dwell on the implication that someone attacked Daniel. His son. In human form, no less. Because if he thought about that for too long, it took him to a dark place. He trusted Daniel. He did. But surely it hadn’t been out of line to investigate the incident himself, not that he found anything, to his frustration.)

By the time training had begun that evening, Daniel appeared to have forgotten all about the incident. To the untrained eye, that is. Vlad had to give credit where credit was due; he had admirable focus during training and finished all his homework, but he’d caught a glimpse of him with the cedar chest out again later that evening on his way to bed; reorganizing.

Vlad truly had no idea the boy was so fond of the sweaters. He could have kicked himself. He thought he knew his son so well; how had he missed something so important to him? Sure, he always beamed and hugged him whenever Vlad presented him with a new one (which may have contributed to the vast number now that he thinks about it, hmm…) but then again, Daniel always thanked him for gifts, equally delighted be it a motorbike or a new toothbrush.

In hindsight, though, the favoritism for knitwear was obvious, in the way his eyes would light up just that much brighter, how he’d wear it the very next day. And his words…

They’re basically portable hugs. You’re with me all day this way.

He had replayed this exchange countless times over the past month, the warmth in his chest just as strong as day one. Never before had he known such happiness. Such love.

His eyes prickled a bit. It was strange kind of responsibility, to have such a significant role in the happiness of someone else. He both cherished and feared it in equal measure, terrified he would wake up one day, and he’d realize he’d imagined this whole thing. Or worse, that he would drive Daniel away himself one day, just like every other important person in his life. He’d be alone again.

For years, he chased a mirage of this feeling, feeding his obsession with a woman who would never return his affections, and later, her son. At some point, he had given up, resigned himself to a lifetime of loneliness and swore revenge instead. He had cursed his failures, then.

Now, he thanked whatever power was responsible for those failures; any “victory” he may have achieved during that time, which now felt like lifetimes ago, would have been a mockery of the affection he craved, a mere taste that would have eventually driven him mad with longing. Daniel had freely given him what he’d never dreamed could exist. And it meant the world to him.

He didn’t deserve Daniel. But for some unknown reason, he had decided to stay. He was the first person who had chosen Vlad above all others, and Vlad longed to show him how much he meant to him.

He would continue to make the boy sweaters. Socks. Hats. Scarves. Heck, he’d learn how to sew properly and make all his clothes, if it meant this much to him. But one step at a time.

On that note, Vlad put the finishing touches on the piece, feeling the strange mixture of melancholy and satisfaction he experienced whenever he completed a long-term project.

And to his delight, it turned out much better than he had hoped. He had conducted extensive research regarding design and technique; it was pretty far out of his comfort zone, and he only had one chance to get it right. But it was worth it. Anything for Daniel.

He took a moment to appreciate the fruits of his labor before packing it away with the utmost care.

Everything had to be perfect.

><><

Something was up. Daniel’s eyes narrowed as he watched his dad make breakfast. The change was subtle. Only someone who saw the man on a daily basis would notice the difference; he was almost twitchy, movements sharp and almost harried as he fixed Daniel’s plate.

His Dad placed the food in front of him with a quiet “good morning” and a tired smile. Daniel noted the bruises under his eyes were darker than usual. Daniel thanked him before focusing on his plate, inhaling sharply at its contents.

Pancakes. In fun shapes.

Oh no. It was worse than he thought.

He kept stealing glances at his dad as he ate, watched him worry at the handle of his coffee mug and pick at his own pancakes. Daniel hated to leave him like this, but really, there wasn’t anything to be done when Vlad was in one of these moods. And his dad wouldn’t want him to miss school.

If he lingered a bit during his goodbye hug, his dad didn’t comment. Just bid him to have a good day, like usual.

Daniel tried to go about his day as he normally did, but was unable to shake the concern for his father. They texted as per their habit during his lunch break, in between laughing with his friends, but Vlad seemed a bit…distracted, he supposed.

(His friends could have told him that Vlad wasn’t the only one, but, like all good friends, they didn’t comment, opting instead to respect his privacy, confident that he would talk when and if he wanted to.)

Needless to say, Daniel wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when he crossed the Masters’ threshold that afternoon, hanging his jacket on the rack and shouldering his backpack, anxious to check on his father.

“Dad, I’m home!”

No answer.

He deposited his keys in the dish, and moved through the entryway, calling twice more, trying not to worry when he was met with silence.

While uncommon, it wasn’t unheard of for Daniel to get home before Vlad. But with the mood his dad was in that day, he was on edge. Normally, he would text Daniel when he was working late.

Daniel sighed, running his fingers lightly along the wall of pictures as he made his way down the hall and up the staircase, deciding to distract himself with a bit of schoolwork while he waited for his dad to get back. He hoped he was alright.

Daniel deposited his backpack beside his desk, taking a moment to kick off his shoes before pulling out his phone to text his dad, making his way over to sit on his bed, glancing up to check the height (his muscle memory wasn’t the most reliable these days; he was running into furniture and walls so often that his dad often joked about childproofing) only to stop short. There was already something sitting there.

It was a box of medium size, just short of being too large to hold comfortably with two hands, wrapped simply but neatly in white paper. Resting on top was a light green envelope, with his name inked in gold in a familiar hand.

He furrowed his brows, perplexed, and set aside his phone to pick up the envelope. Unless he was very much mistaken, this was a present from his dad. Strange.

Not that surprise presents were an unusual occurrence; on the contrary, his dad loved giving him gifts, much more than Daniel enjoyed receiving them. The quantity had been truly ridiculous at first. It took a while for him to convince his father to relax, admitting that while he appreciated the thought and attention, he felt guilty that he was unable to reciprocate. So they had compromised, agreeing to save gifting for special occasions.

Of course, Vlad pushed the boundaries of this rule, but it made him so happy to do nice things for Daniel that the teenager didn’t have the heart to call him out. As long as he didn’t go overboard, Daniel had decided he could live with the occasional surprise.

He picked at the flap of the heavy paper envelope.

But, unlike any other time his dad gave him a gift, he wasn’t here. Daniel knew from experience that the real fun of gift-giving came from watching the recipient’s reaction.

And his dad’s absence was clearly intentional. Vlad was a master of presentation; the private location combined with the open and inviting position of the box and envelope was not coincidental. Not to mention his unusual absence from the house at large. And no audience meant no pressure, no need to control his reactions with the feelings of other in mind, free to be himself.

Which meant it was a gift intended for Daniel and Daniel alone. He was touched. And intrigued.

He finally managed to get a thumb under the tight seal, prying the glue apart slowly, careful to leave the envelope intact. He pulled out a sheet of simple off-white stationary, revealing a message in his father’s distinctive hand.

Daniel chuckled a bit; for someone so detail-oriented, his handwriting was atrocious. He sat down, and began to read.

Dear Daniel,

I apologize for violating your privacy and your trust about a month ago. I have no excuse. I allowed my curiosity to overrule my common sense and overstepped your boundaries. Worse, I used this knowledge to impose my will when it was neither wanted nor necessary, failing to respect your space, and by extension, you. I am sorry, Daniel, for this, and any similar past missteps that I failed to recognize.

I cannot promise you that something similar will not happen again; I promise to try my best, but as much as I pretend otherwise, truly, I have no idea what I’m doing. You are the first person I have shared a space with in over twenty years, and those past examples did not end well. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I successfully drove away everyone close to me. I hurt people. I’d like to think that I’m a bit wiser now, but I know that’s not entirely true.

To be completely honest, I’m terrified, Daniel. You are my only son. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you as well. And I did hurt you, that day. Others have left for far less.

Imagine my surprise when you forgave me so easily. I simply couldn’t believe that it could be that easy. You know that I trust you, Daniel, but you have to understand that years of evidence to the contrary are not so easily ignored.

And then you decided to prove that there were no hard feelings; you gave the subject of my betrayal back to me, as a sign of good faith. Your prized possessions. Given freely.

I suspect you don’t have any idea clue how truly special you are. So selfless, so kind. If I hadn’t had such an involved role in your creation, I never would have believed that you were my child.

So thank you, Daniel. Thank you for being you.

Daniel blinked back tears, taken aback by the forthright nature of the letter. It was just so honest, so Vlad that he wasn’t sure if he should shake his head or cry. Honestly, he was a bit disappointed; he had thought that his show of trust with the old sweaters had been enough to assure him of Daniel’s sincerity, and relieve him of guilt.

He loved the man, but it killed him how stubborn he could be. He didn’t need to apologize again; Daniel had been tired that day, and overreacted, reading farther into the situation than he should have. They were just a bunch of old sweaters. This was his dad. Why couldn’t his dad see that?

He decided to move on, rubbing at his eyes, unable to suppress a snort at the next line:

Now, because I know you, I’m certain that unlike every other teenager in existence, you read the card first. So do me a favor, please; open up the box before you read the rest.

He shook his head. No one knew him like his dad. He’d worry about the implications of his predictability later.

For now, he took the box into his lap; it had heft, but wasn’t heavy, per se. He turned the package over, searching for the seams, and methodically pried tape away from the wrappings, careful not to tear the paper, savoring the anticipation.

He set the paper aside, and grasped the lid of the oversized white cardboard clothing box, prying it away from the bottom half, and brushed aside green and yellow tissue paper. His hands began to shake.

He was greeted with something familiar, yet new. He traced the old knit pattern, yarn soft from wear, but freshly laundered. He tried a couple of times to lift the bulky block of fabric from the box, but it was packed tight, and he was unable to find purchase. So he gave up and turned the box over onto the sheets instead, then unfolded its contents, eager to see the piece in its entirety. He gaped.

They were all here. All of his old sweaters, the ones that he had given to Vlad that day. The ones that he reluctantly put aside one by one when he could no longer slip into their warm embrace. He had mourned the loss of the memories that went with each one, resigned to enjoy them as mere keepsakes.

He didn’t regret giving them to his dad, but he had missed them.

Here they were, but not as they were; the torsos had been divested of the sleeves and divided in half down the sides, former front and back forming large patches that were sewn methodically onto an oversized sheet of ultra-soft fabric. Parts of the sleeves had been repurposed into artful borders to separate individual sweaters. The construction had been stuffed lightly, and formed a type of quilt.

Overall, the effect was stunning, striking a perfect balance between respect for the past and celebration of a new era.

As far as he could tell, every salvageable part of his collection had a place.

In the middle, framed like a piece of art, was the front of his favorite sweater. His first one, complete with mar and repair job. He traced his friend’s handiwork reverently, taking a moment to reflect before taking action.

He arranged the quilt on top of his comforter, admiring the personal touch it brought to his space. He itched to burrow under it immediately, but he knew better; there was no way he’d be able to avoid falling asleep right now if he was that warm.

It was, without question, the most thoughtful gift he had ever received. So much time and care had been poured into this. He had no idea how his dad had managed to organize the diverse collection into the aesthetically-pleasing and functional piece of art resting on his bed. He felt a rush of concern for his dad. When had he found time to sleep this month?

With a jolt, Daniel remembered that he still had half a letter to read.

He bit his bottom lip, conflicted, and decided to take a calculated risk; he burrowed socked feet under the quilt and shimmied down to his hips, sighing in delight. The warm weight was unbelievably comfortable, and his feeling of nostalgia only intensified with contact. He had missed this. His dad’s voice colored the rest of the text.

Life is full of change. I often did my best to resist it, believing it could bring only pain. You have taught me that this isn’t always the case. Change can bring pain, but it often brings benefits as well. Especially when it brings about growth.

Take your sweaters for example. You were, and still are, incredibly fond of them, despite the fit becoming uncomfortable as you outgrew them. To continue to grow unhindered, you had to take the small sweaters off.

You’ll continue to grow in many different ways. I look forward to seeing who you will become.

But you will find that you will outgrow more than old sweaters in the course of your life. Mindsets, routines, places. At some point, you’ll realize that they’re no longer as comfortable as you remember, but moving on can be hard.

When you reach the point of no return, Daniel, you must promise me you won’t linger. Trying to fit into that “old sweater” again, as tempting as it is, will only bring you pain.

I regret to say I speak from experience. I was stuck, for many years, trying to fit into my own “sweater,” denying the restriction because it was all I had. I was stuck, longing to change my circumstances, but unwilling to release my hold on the “then” and embrace the “now.”

It was painful, to say the least. I wallowed in anger for years, refusing to share blame, placing it fully on the shoulders of my friends, pushing them away. Then I wondered why I was always unhappy and alone, with only my dark thoughts to keep me company.

I was still that person when you came along. No hope, intent on using you as a tool for revenge and conquest. But you were greater than I ever dreamed, far more than I could ever hope: A person. My son.

It terrified me; you were too good for this world, too good for me. And I was ashamed, thought myself unworthy to be your father, terrified I’d ruin you. That I’d fail you.

Please don’t make my mistakes. Make your own. Grow. Live.

Let this quilt remind you that it’s okay to remember the past, but not to dwell on it. With some imagination, your memories can grow with you. The past has its place, but life can only continue when you let go.

You taught me this, Daniel. Let me return the favor.

And no matter what else in your life may change, you can rest easy with the knowledge that I will always be here for you, for as long as you’ll have me.

I am so proud of you, son. I can’t wait to see what kind of man you’ll become.

I love you.

-Vlad

An ugly mix of tears and snot streamed unchecked down Daniel’s face, dripping off his chin onto his shirt, arms carefully outstretched to preserve the letter.

Sure, parts were a bit embarrassing. And sad. But while his dad expressed his love often enough verbally, it was a different experience altogether see it in writing. It felt more authentic, somehow. Perhaps it was the deliberation that was required to record such a sentiment on paper; completely separate from the heat of the moment. Sincere.

Today had been a roller coaster of emotion, from pancakes to quilts; he was exhausted.

When he first slid under the blanket, he had thought he’d never want to get up, reminded of his dad’s embrace. But now, he found himself longing for nothing less than the real thing, confident he knew where his dad had been hiding under the circumstances.

In his haste, he elected to phase out from under the quilt, pausing only to set the letter carefully on his desk before phasing through several walls into Vlad’s private study.

Sure enough, there he was. Daniel barely registered that the man was staring blankly, hunched over an old photo album before it was lost from sight as he released the transformation and buried him in a hug from behind, over his shoulders and the desk chair.

Vlad tensed at first, so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the boy come in.

“Thank you,” Daniel whispered.

Vlad relaxed, closing the book before turning around with a tentative smile.

Daniel let go, and Vlad stood so he could hug his son properly.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you had just as much fun as I did writing it! I’m pretty new to writing fiction (I normally write research papers), so I’d appreciate any feedback you’d be willing to give me. Feel free to point out any mistakes or oversights! Overall, I’m really happy with how this turned out. I guess fifth times’ the charm and all that. I was concerned about the pacing being too slow, so I’m curious to see what you guys think.

I’m also open to requests! Feel free to hit me up. I have a few more shorts planned in this universe, namely, the story of how Daniel’s favorite sweater was damaged and an, admittedly, crack-ish short where Vlad and Daniel react to the sketch that started it all (Vlad commissions a family portrait, but has mixed feelings about the result); but after that, nothing’s planned, but I do have a couple of vague ideas.

Thanks for reading!

#flightyfiction #danny phantom #fanfiction #vlad masters #daniel masters #au #this got really long #oops #long post #tumblr didnt like it the first time #i hope its fixed #update: progress has been made but it still doesnt show up in search #maybe its the links #i might try a link-less version later #here it is #if this fixes it ill post the links seperately #technical difficulties

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