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currentfandomkick · 5 years ago

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Marinette did not sign up for this part 7

So i kind of live, and this continues on.

first part here previous part here ao3 here

Stephanie twitched when she finished comparing financial resources needed to handle a covert operation, butterfly garden underground, AND manage to keep it secret from the rest of Paris. Cass checked her numbers and it became very apparent that only—and she stressed the only—someone insanely wealthy and is a recluse could be Hawkmoth. And in Paris, that meant one man—Gabriel Agreste.

Cass was the one to narrow it down to him, and Steph argued with her about it being impossible as “He’s been akumatized!” Honestly, Cass was acting like the Ladyblogger who published one of her early ‘could be Hawkmoth’ theories with Gabriel Agreste as a option with “probably had Mayura as Hawkmoth in her place” argument. It was retracted, and there was a apology put up for it that included: this list was not intended to be serious guys—I put multiple known akuma victims here and ways they could have been Hawkmoth no matter how public the akumatazation was. Did not expect this one to be taken so seriously, my sincerest apologies to M. Agreste and Mm. Sancoeur.”

Steph could smell the ‘I was forced to do this’ off the apology, and did her best not to agree with Cass that it was forced as then Cass would argue it was a serious accusation put in mixed with less serious ones to get people thinking. To get Ladyblog followers to take notes and pass it to Ladybug and Chat Noir for further investigation. Which, would be a good way to contact the heroes. Except…

“She interviews the Miraculous team on a bi-weekly basis Cass, she’d have plenty of opportunities to tell them her theories.”

Cass crossed her arms. While they might heavily disagree on this aspect of who Hawkmoth and Mayura are, there is another aspect that is held in contention between the two of them…

“Plus, Hawkmoth and Mayura are totally a couple, and everyone knows Gabriel Agreste is too hung up on his wife’s disappearance to consider moving on, let alone do it.”

“Professionals.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes. Cass is good at body language. There is no doubt about her being better than most. However—Hawkmoth is an egomaniac. Egomaniacs don’t give up when their goal is in reach for a henchman getting ill or injured. Not unless said hench is, well, romantically involved with them. She knew from watching Gotham’s underbelly for years—their romantic relationship had to be rock solid for it to even be considered. Married or may-as-well-be.

“He’s ended how many battles early for her? Totally bordering on, if not actually, married.”

Stephanie paused when two girls joined them, the ladyblogger herself with a too big grin, and soup girl if Cass wasn’t mistaken.

“Hawkmoth and Mayura relationship debate?” The blogger grinned.

Stephanie nodded, as yes, and this is serious. “Cass is convinced they’re just professionals with standards.”

Soup girl groaned. “Not this again!”

“Girl, I told you, I’m not the only one who thinks they’re a couple, and serious.”

Stephanie grinned as Cass huffed. A vote for Team Hawkyura!

“I told you, Hawkmoth is too obsessed with the miraculous to be capable of human emotions, and Mayura is too smart to fall for him. He’s probably paying her a lot or cancelling out a debt for her to work for him how she is,” Soup girl reasoned.

Stephanie shook her head while Cass rose victoriously, scooting a bit closer to her fellow ‘stop shipping the villains’ teammate. Which is ridiculous—it isn’t shipping if it isn’t even subtext at this point.

“No, no,” the blogger leaned forward, settled into their table on Stephanie’s side. “That means the relationship would have to be healthy, and its perfect possible for it to extremely unhealthy and for Mayura to be in a bad relationship with someone who isn’t wroth her time. Why else would she keep using a broken miraculous that’s making her sick?”

Stephanie nodded at the blogger’s side. “And abusive relationships can happen to anyone. Back in our home city,” Steph gestured between herself and Cass. “A top psychologist went villain because she was manipulated into thinking the guy just needed her love to fix him and fell into a life of crime and wanted to stay by the guy’s side regardless of how many times he hurt her.”

Cass nodded at that, frowning at that. She wasn’t there for Harley Quinn, henchman of Joker. Stephanie was. She did see the aftermath and bits of Harley’s (ongoing) recovery.

Soup girl shook her head. “Its not that, everyone knows the Peacock is emotions so she would know he’s toying with her. She would know she deserves better. She’s staying because of finances or blackmail or maybe even being able to fix something that’s unfixable.”

Cass hummed in agreement. “Needs to survive.”

Soup girl nodded. “There’s no motivator more powerful than that.”

“Um, love,” Stephanie supplied. She may not be the best at all its forms, but loving gotham’s citizens enough to want to save them was part of what drove her to become Spoiler in the first place. Spite too, but that didn’t seem like the best thing to mention at the time.

“Exactly,” the blogger passed Stephanie one of her cookies. “Love makes people do crazy things, or did you forget Hercules.”

Soup girl looked exhausted at that, pinching her brow. “We agreed never to bring Disney logic into these arguments.”

“The quote is true—People do crazy things when they’re in love. And Mayura is in love with Hawkmoth, and he’s in love with her.”

Soup girl rolled her eyes. “Then you’d have to give up the Gabriel and Natalie theory for good. He’s still in love with his wife, and he treats Natalie more like a tablet than a person. No way that’s how he’d treat someone he’s in love with.”

“Are we forgetting how he treats you and Adrien?”

Stephanie and Cass exchanged a look. Stephanie focused on soup girl then. Really looked at her. Tired, twitchy, all signs of needing and not getting a good night’s rest.

“Okay, he goes way overboard with supervising and has control issues, I’m not saying he doesn’t, ever. But he doesn’t let me take commissions unless my grades are up there, hires tutors for me and Adrien regularly, and he’s let up on controlling who Adrien can be safely friendly with to avoid crazy fans ever since I joined.”

“You joined, therefore are something he can control, and are therefore not going to endanger Adrien or Gabriel since it would hurt your career,” the blogger explained.

“Sounds like Hawkmoth,” Stephanie added absently, then froze as Cass grinned at her. back track time, ASAP. “But it can’t be since the guy was akumatized.”

Soup girl looked relieved at what Stephanie said. Though, thinks weren’t looking up much on that front. She might have Batgirl pay the man a visit… after hacking the girl’s schedule and Adrien’s and seeing how much this man really was trying to control them both.

Cass raised an eyebrow at her.

“Thank you—can you get Alya off that train too?”

The blogger leveled Stephanie a look that reminded her too much of Lois Lane that time she tried to interview the Batfam on Gotham crime rates and the effectiveness of vigilantes in a city that was entrenched in corruption and if it was better to just gut the Gotham justice system and start anew with different training and such, to prevent villain strength and intensity escalation. In short—she scared Stephanie. Just a little.

“I think maybe Lois Lane could, but I doubt it.”

“Lois Lane is the hero the world is not good enough for and her word is worth more than all of Metropolis.”

“Not that hard to achieve,” Stephanie said without thinking. There is a lot of property damage there after all, they just have a more white collar-exclusive criminal element. Plus, Lex keeps his bigger projects in other places that are harder for Superman to find.

Soup girl snorted at that.

The blogger took offense.

Stephanie would say all-in-all, not her worst time out on a mission doing detective work in broad daylight.

Marinette was quick to transform into Multimouse and meet up with Rena in the Lourve. It wasn’t the first time either—Alix’s dad took to helping her translate Gaurdian since she hadn’t learned it all before Fu died. Besides her, he was the only one who could read the spell book… though that reduced the miraculous grimoire to nothing but the potions. It held the history of the kwami, how to summon and bind them, and even how to craft weapons for them. It included instructions on how to become a Guardian and what was required of her the sole guardian, and how the Order operated with mentions of ways it could be reformed should it ever vanish.

It was the closest thing Marinette had to a mentor on how to re-build the Order and choose members, and how to make the best choices as Guardian. It even listed allied organizations and how much stock should be put into trusting them.

But right now, she wasn’t there as Ladybug to go over another passage or talk about possible meaning and philosophies (did they really mean her job is to kill to protect the miraculous, or like, be that ready to ensure they remained safe?) or the whole “is the soul splitting a metaphor or actual magic” (magic). No, she was there as Multimouse, with Rena Rouge, as representatives of the Miraculous Team to meet up with the Amazonian Historian sent by The Former Ladybug, Hippolyta.

“Greetings Alwphekion,” the woman nodded at Rena. “Muidion,” she acknowledged Multimouse. “I am Vupyte of Themyscira, and our leading historian on the miraculous. How may I be of assistance, young Champions?”

Multimouse stepped forward, forgetting she wasn’t Ladybug at the moment. This question had been burning in her mind since she was told of the missing pair. “Could you tell us how the ladybug and black cat miraculous would interact with the main five if it wasn’t for Hawkmoth?”

Rena glanced at Multimouse, knowing that something was off. It was possible Marinette may be more involved intellectually than she’d been letting on… though given her unofficial spy-work, it was possible that Marinette was Ladybug’s first choice in help… which lead to questions Rena had to keep silent… until Hawkmoth was defeated.

“Ah, that is both simple and complex. If you wouldn’t mind,” Vupyte gestured for the pair to sit with her. “I was expecting something like that to come from Alwphekion, not you Muidion.”

Multimouse would have been flustered a few years ago. Hell, even a few month ago, before Fu was compromised, she would have panicked a bit. But right now?

“Ladybug tasked me to get any information to help her rebuild the Order. I won’t fail her.” She couldn’t fail the kwami. Especially Tikki who never gave up on her, even when Marinette was ready to throw in the towel a hundred times over and give her miraculous to Alya—the brave one she once had to mimic to handle being Ladybug.

“Ah.” Vupyte leaned back. “No wonder there’s such a storm in your eyes.”

Multimouse didn’t know how to handle that, so she brushed it aside.

Rena put a hand on her knee and squeezed.

Multimouse was glad she wasn’t alone in this.

“That story goes back far beyond when my people interacted with the miraculous. Perhaps I could have a figure you trust help me digitize my research on the history in full for your Ladybug?”

Multimouse nodded. That… “Director Kubdel was vetted by Ladybug previously for his discretion and understanding of how sensitive the miraculous and miraculous matters are.”

Vupyte agreed to use the man at a later date. “For now, I can give you an overview of how the work together.”

“That would be sufficient.” Multimouse did her best to copy M. Agreste’s professional affect. To hide how out of her depths she was at the moment.

Vupyte grinned. “First off, The Savior, your Ladybug, has the role of creation. Her role in the group is to guide them to growth, to safety. She is your strategist in battle and the team’s healer. You know this already. She is the only one able to undo the Destroyer—your Chat Noir’s—abilities. However, she can only undo his damage so long as she believes it needs her intervention. Should she find his judgement—and his punishments for those violating the contract between those under the Miraculous’ protection, the Order, Champion and Kwami—be just, she cannot undo what he did.”

Multimouse felt her heart seize. Plagg mentioned the Atlantians tried to convince a Fox into destroying a rival kingdom, a kingdom that was not doing as the Atlantians’ claimed. When the Fox refused… Plagg never said what happened after that.

She knew only a third of the Atlantian’s survived the sinking from what they’d released to the public about their history.

“A ladybug is given all the creative force that exists between her and her black cat, while the cat is given all the ability to detect danger. Half of each of their souls are swapped to ensure this ability switch remains, and that their bond is unbreakable so long as they are called on as Champions. The cat protects her from harm, and she supplies him with what is needed. They are only ever called on in times of absolute crisis—when the Contract is violated, or when the world’s balance is nearing a breaking point.”

Rena was too still by Multimouse, piecing things together. Multimouse hoped she didn’t pass this on to the others… not until Marinette was certain they were safe to remain in the Order and that they want to be in it—that they don’t feel obligated to out of duty but truly want to protect the kwami. Even if it means never being a hero again.

“The turtle shields them both—the Cat in battle and the ladybug when healing. They can even bring forth another weapon, though what it is, there is no record that we have found reliable.”

Multimouse raised an eyebrow.

“Shelter?”

The Amazonian shook her head. “No Muidion, something else entirely… the incomplete records I found mentioned people being pulled to the turtle, feeling absolute safety and complete trust in them no matter what happened around them. What causes this, is unknown.”

Multimouse felt the need to roll her eyes. she was fairly certain it was a cross between ‘must parent them all’ and the turtle’s capacity to ensure nothing broke Shelter. Possibly making it opaque, or something else. She’d ask Wayzz when Nino was asleep.

“Often the turtle focuses on getting civilians out of the area to safety. They are often aided by the Peacock, who creates a creature from a single emotion and ties it to an object, to direct its actions. The turtle protects those in danger with their shelter while the peacock’s creation and the peacock keep enemy combatants busy.

“The butterfly may check for spies among their ranks, potential traitors too by their emotions but that is often another’s role. They often connect members across distances with those outside of their ranks, acting as a diplomat and choosing new members. At times, they might even make use of their full ability and create a champion of their own, granting them the power to make an army to help the cat while following the ladybug’s plan, or to test a possible candidate’s worth by seeing what they do when given power, and how it is used while having the failsafe of taking it away again.

“The bee tends to fight beside the Cat, at times ordering the butterfly’s champion should their connection fail, and is ready to take down said champion should they betray the group with a single sting. The bee answers to the ladybug and cat alone—following the pair’s vision and ensuring it is executed whenever one or both of the pair is absent.

“Then there is the fox, like you Alwphekion. I assume you have grown fond of your ally,” Vupyte gestured to Rena’s flute. “They let you craft any illusion you want. But I doubt you were told of the true power of the fox.”

Multimouse shifted at that. “The Gaurdian was young when their temple was destroyed. I doubt they hid it intentionally.”

Vupyte paused at that. “I did not mean it like that Muidion, simply that the Fox is given little emphansis by the Order to the point it was given a dishonorable title for their champions to inherit, the Deceiver,” Vupyte spat the title like sour milk. “Alwphekion is the one who sees all in their truth, through every lie one has spoken or believed. A fox is not a crafter of fallacy, merely presenting what one feels or desires. Their greatest gift is in their true voice, the one that none can lie or withhold information upon being addressed by it.”

Rena leaned forward, focusing on Vupyte. “How?”

Vupyte sighed. “The records of that were destroyed in Alexandria’s flames. It is a power a fox can only use with great conviction and motivation. Until then, they can only sense deceptions in shades while the truth rings of their own melody according to legend.”

Rena stared at her lap.

Multimouse put a hand on her arm. “We’ll figure it out.”

Rena leaned into the touch then, sighing. “I have a question of my own, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly I do not,” Vupyte assured. “I am here to help the Miraculous Champions however I am allowed by you. I owe your predecessors more than I could ever repay.”

Rena nodded at that. “What are the chances a butterfly user could make themself a champion?”

Vupyte opened and closed her mouth, lips pressing and pursing until she found words to her liking. “It is not impossible for them to do so. They would have to drop their transformation to do so, which would prevent proper guidance, and would need to give themself a very limited power.”

Rena took a deep breath.

Multimouse took a sharp intake. That changed the rules. A lot.

“So, hypotethetically, if one’s power could only affect a specified amount of things at a time, say, put into a given space and then whatever new thing was put in was then ejected from said space,” Rena continued, “would that be a feasible power for a butterfly’s champion to use without a butterfly guiding them?”

Multimouse felt her stomach drop at Vupyte’s hesitance.

“That is… rather specific.” Vupyte pondered it for a moment more. “While I can’t be certain of the logisitics, it is one of the safest abilities to give in those circumstances. Tight limitations, a weak ability that lacks army-growing capacity, so no need to use the butterfly champion to connect their chosen champion to their subjects, and it is straight forward so no need for an explanation, or perhaps the lack of one would make their reaction to discovering this limit more genuine.”

Multimouse felt sick.

Things aligned quickly in her head. Finances. Schedules. Timing. Targets of preference—teens at Dupont where Adrien goes and is able to talk about his day to either Natalie or Gorilla, who would report it back to him. Even Adrien’s concerns for them—weaknesses, insecurities, fears…

It made too much sense.

Multimouse stood up. “I have to go, excuse me.”

Rena gawked at her. “Wait, Mul—”

Multimouse ran out quickly, running to an alley to detransform and get Tikki to get her head on straight as Marinette spiraled.

Gabriel Agreste couldn’t be Hawkmoth.

He couldn’t be.

Outside the alley, Tim, Cass and Stephanie froze as the girl Tim was convinced was Ladybug appeared. She was in a grey suit before.

Rena looked back at Vupyte, hoping her girl got the air she needed. She knew Marinette would come around eventually, but for now…

“One moment.”

Alya sent off a quick text to Aurore. The girl was good at keeping Marinette distracted, out of a spiral, and helping her process.

Aurore confirmed she found Marinette in an alley bordering on a panic attack and was taking her home.

Rena sighed in relief.

“Okay, now that that’s settled, there’s something you didn’t spill.”

Vupyte smiled at Rena. “You are a clever Alwphekion.”

Rena raised an eyebrow.

Vupyte sighed. “A ladybug and black cat take the longest to mature in their team. It is no fault of their own; a side effect of half of their being being doubled and the other being taken. Of the two, Ladybug requires the longest time to come into her own as a strategist and healer.”

Rena snorted at that. “Have you seen Ladybug?”

Vupyte sucked in her breath through her teeth. “I have.”

Rena watched her more intensely then.

“She is not even out of her training suit, while the rest of yours have become personalized, implying that you are not being overtaken by your role. That you have blended with your kwami and role, rather than be consumed by it.”

Rena froze at that.

“What do you mean be consumed by it.” it didn’t come out like a question, it fell out like doubt defending fear.

“Ladybugs fill in any holes in their group. Right now you are missing two, and one is injured,” Vupyte noted.

Rena filled in the blanks. “Until we get a Butterfly and fix the Peacock, Ladybug isn’t really Ladybug, is she?”

Vupyte sighed. “She is a child trying to run a home alone until they are both present as allies.”

Rena frowned at that. “Then why isn’t Chat affected?”

Vupyte looked far older then. “Have you not noticed that he can only extend and shorten his staff?”

Rena opened her mouth, only for no words to come out.

“He should be able to turn his weapon into whatever hand-held weapon he desires at that moment to protect your team. He cannot fulfill his role as Judge and Protector proper. He may be his own person within his transformation and within the team, but he lack his full range. Ladybug has her full range of abilities, but lacks her individuality as a Ladybug proper. Her team is incomplete, so she must continue to cover and cover and cover until it is complete with all five of her strongest allies at her side. Until then, whoever is under the mask will give and give and give until there is nothing left.”

Rena swallowed thickly. “How do I stop that?”

Vupyte leveled Rena with a few words. “Find Hawkmoth and Mayura, take their miraculous, and once the miraculous is fixed, hand them to worthy champions—ones who are strong judges of others for the butterfly, and of who is in need for the peacock.”

Rena felt her mind waver to Rose for the peacock—the girl who fought for everyone. She was blanking on a butterfly though—a strong judge of character was hard to think of as a core characteristic of someone she knew she could trust.

“You have one in mind,” Vupyte said quietly. “Good. You will have to find another for the other, or an ally of yours must find candidates. The sooner this is determined, the sooner your Ladybug will come into her own. The only other way… would be dangerous.”

Rena nodded. She texted Chat and Carapace to meet her to talk about what she learned. They’d protect Ladybug. Their Leader. Paris’ Savior. And their friend.

Aurore is many things. Miss Sting is a necessity to keep Paris safe. Aurore of the weather girl duo on KIDZ+. Miss Mandeliev’s favorite to call on for environmental studies and among Bustier’s favorite to read a well researched report. She is also one of poor Marinette’s longest standing friends, and one of the only people who can catch her mid attack and get her to pull out of and process her spiral without setting off a different bout of anxiety.

Which is why she captured the akuma in a jar, hid it in her backpack until Chat or LAdybug could handle it, and nabbed her friend in the first place when Alya messaged her. She is not on the best of terms with the reporter (she might be holding a grudge over Lady Wifi calling her a hack and may have gone on a spree fact checking the Ladyblog in the early days and found holes on a Certain Person who has been since excommunicated by the students of Dupont and left the school in disgrace within a less than a week of attending). Especially since she insisted on being Mairnette’s best friend when Marinette has her already. honestly, the other never has been the best at seeing the obvious…

Like the fact that Marinette’s anxiety up ticked with Ladybug’s issues. Or that around the time Chat Noir took on being Mr. Bug, Marinette was injured. OR that Chat hangs around Marinette a lot when Marinette is around an attack, even covering for her.

Aurore dealth in meteorology and environmental sciences. She dealth with public appearances, PR, and being a child star. It is not her place to point out that Marinette is clearly (a) Chat and Ladybug’s confidant somehow, (b) a member of the team (c) Ladybug or some combination thereof. She didn’t want to make a call, she didn’t have evidence to back it up, and she didn’t run on intuition like Alya.

Aurore is a Bee, and they operate best within rules.

Ladybug made not looking into identities a rule. One she’s certain Rena has been ignoring… but Miss Sting follows Ladybug’s word to the letter. She has not looked into anyone’s identity and actively ignored any possible relveations in favor of working on her civilian life and focusing on capturing akuma before someone becomes akumatized, and bringing her catches to Ladybug or Chat for purification or destruction respectfully. Depending on how schedules lined up for patrols.

Now, Aurore is content listening to Marinette ramble about baking soda and baking powder with buttermilk on her latest recipe and how that connects to their chemistry homework (as they were both smart enough to dodge the math that goes into physics, unlike Adrien or Nino and Rose who were naïve enough to take music theory).

That doesn’t stop her from seeing faint movement on their school roof in reflections.

Ladybug may not have made it a rule to protect Marinette. Chat may not have stated such either, but his actions told her it was a priority. And her duties as Marinette’s longest unstrained friendship demanded she monitor the situation.

Once Marinette went down for snacks, aurore snuck into her friend’s bathroom and transformed to send a single message” I think Chat’s princess has a stalker now. Keep an eye on repeats in her environment.”

Pegasus was furious when he saw the message. Cowboy was hacking camera in the area as they spoke with the other members of the team.

Rena paled and Carapace looked oddly dangerous in that moment.

Chat Noir and Ryuuko were the most deadly of the group… Chat’s suit almost… moving, but it had to be a trick of the light. Ryuuko had the same look Rena did when Carapace did something particularly dangerous—like refuse to flee before his time ran out and somehow stayed transformed beyond the standard five minutes after using shelter through sheer force of will alone.

Ryuuko turned to Chat with a most Peculiar shade of anger. “I will be shadowing her.”

It was not a question, but a demand.

“Shouldn’t we check with Ladybug?” Pegasus asked while continuing to check camera. Nothing. Nothing at all.

This must have been what was setting his friend on edge these last few days. Someone stalking her, but just out of a camera’s reach. Professional…

Pegasus desperately hoped it was some paparazzi after Marinette the Designer’s secret identity, or even MDC. Anything but someone going after her for something… something he wouldn’t let cross his mind.

Chat shot him one look that obliterated the option entirely. Pegasus may not know who his comrades are outside of the mask, but he’d be a fool not to remember that Marinette was a spy on Gabriel Agreste. That she was in constant danger as a civilian.

Was it Hawkmoth?

Mayura?

Someone they hired?

He didn’t know, and he needed to. Needed to protect his friend.

She believed in him when he wasn’t sure of himself. She argued against his worst insecurities (nuisance, annoyance, best left forgotten) and proved she likes Max for Max. For his rambles, for his excitement and passion and his own brand of sass to their friends.

King Monkey appeared with a rare serious expression. He didn’t know of Marinette’s involvement at all—only Chat, Ladybug, Alya and himself did—but King must know Marinette. Because that look on his face reminded Max of a friend he’d seen punch someone a little too hard for their hand to keep Max safe from a pair ready to hurt him for his mumbling as a child.

“Whoever is doing this,” King Monkey stated with an eerily calm. “I’m calling the right to make their life a bit too chaotic.”

“Get in line,” Rena growled, her flute ready at a moment’s notice.

Elsewhere three gothamites were passed out in the same room. They decided to take a break and watch a movie together.

They had no idea the Very Displeased eldest of the batchildren had entered the room and forced them each in a separate bed, or that he allowed a certain “demon spawn” to add a variety of traps that, while they all knew how to escape at this point, were still ass to get out of and made it clear they were in hot water.

Jason hoped things worked out for the best… after his screw up, he figured Dickie and Demon Spawn should at least have a fighting chance. Or at least Nightwing would have a better chance at convincing the Justice League and the Miraculous Team they meant no harm.

He hopes.

---

hope you enjoyed!

BTW we have fanart by @thegreysman!!! here which tumblr is rudely not letting me show off.

@heldtogetherbysafetypins @laurcad123 @raisuke06 @chaosace@jeminiikrystal @toodaloo-kangaroo @kris-pines04 @bisha43rbs @izang

#marinette did not sign up for this #part 7 #maribat #bio!dad bruce #long post #my fic #my writing #can't tag #bio!dad bruce wayne #anyone know how to add a readmore?

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itzagothamcitysiren · 5 years ago

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Welcome to the Family

So yesterday was Tim’s birthday and I had planned out a fic for it BUT I’ve been working a lot and just hadn’t had the time to sit down and write it out. I had kinda forgotten about it and when yesterday came around I was annoyed BUT I was given this idea after going out for the day with my niece.

We had drove by a Red Robin after eating somewhere else and I was mad salty, cause yesterday would’ve been the perfect time to go. Then for dinner we ordered take out and I kind you not, our delivery driver was named Timothy. Like what the hell? lol, I was dude I need to write something now.

So today after work I sat down and wrote this. It’ll be three parts, taking place after my mother’s day story. I’ll post up part one and two tonight, and once I finish three I’ll post it tomorrow hopefully :)

Tell ‘Em That It’s My Birthday pt. 1

“What day is it?!”

Halley’s voice seemed to shriek through the room, causing her now startled teammate, Kori Anders, to jerk her head up from her laptop. The girl’s off guard silence caused Halley to go bug eyed, repeating herself but more frantically. “The day! What day is it?”

The alien princess stared up at the wide eyed brunette unsure as to why the younger girl was so frantic suddenly. The coffee mug she held paused as it touched her lips and now was being held still. Cocking an eyebrow up, Kori gave her a soft and hesitant response,

“Monday?”

“Yes, I know its Monday. The date, I mean the date!” Halley shouted back, using one hand to run it through her hair as the other reached for her phone that she had tossed across the couch only seconds ago.

It was only minutes ago that the device was being held in her hands. She had been ordering herself and her team dinner from their favorite Thai place via Door Dash, it being her turn as Kori treated them to an array of Sushi the a few nights ago. She had found herself chuckling at the realization of the name of their Dasher. His name was Timothy and she couldn’t help but think back to yesterday when she and Kori were out on one of their many shopping trips. They had drove past a Red Robin and she had joked about how if they hadn’t already eaten lunch that they should’ve gone there and taken a picture outside the sign and send it to her Tim.

Why hadn’t it clicked then, she cursed to herself once her phone was in her hands. She let out the loudest groan she felt like she ever had when the date haunted her vision. It was July 20th; fucking July fucking 20th, she cursed to herself again, furiously rubbing her face with her hands as the phone dropped back down onto the couch. She was literally the worst sister in the entire universe.

She had been so consumed with her own life that she had completely spaced that Tim’s birthday was yesterday. She’d never done so before. She had never forgotten a birthday or any day of importance; she’d always made sure to leave herself reminders and be on top of stuff like that. Of course there were times where she would let certain things sneak up on her but she usually had a pretty solid excuse for days like those. But now that she was officially graduated from college she had no other big obligations to keep her truly and utterly distracted.

Sure, she was offered a job at the Gazette, but she didn’t have to start until the fall when they had a spot for her open. One of their tenor reporters was moving to Metropolis around then and Halley was more than okay with being able to take the summer off until then. Kori had asked for her help with getting the new Tower back up and running so it was ready for their new team of recruits.

The team of Titans she knew were mostly disbanded, having gone off to do their own things or another, a new team, a team Tim was a part of, taking over their Tower. Now Dick was in Bludhaven, Hank and Dawn giving up the hero life, Victor now joining the Justice League and Wally and Roy off somewhere no one really knew. Kori had reached out to Halley, asking her to help train her new recruits; Halley agreed and had been here for the last two and a half months.

But this was Tim. How could she just up and forget his birthday?

“Fuck, fuck, I need to call Tim,” She let her hands drop and grabbed her phone once more.

Going to her favorites, she clicked on the second name, dialing his number within seconds. She tapped her fingers against her thigh nervously waiting for the other line to be picked up. Her heart dropped when it had only been brought to voicemail. She didn’t wait to leave a message, hanging up and calling again. The phone brought her straight to voicemail.

He was ignoring her, she gulped.

She held the bridge of her nose, pinching it as she listened through his voicemail, waiting for the beep before opening her mouth to speak. When the beep rang she found herself unsure of what to say. She couldn’t just wish him happy birthday a day late through a voicemail. Biting the inside of her cheek she quickly composed herself, saying, “Hee-hey Tim. Uh it’s me, Halley er-. Look, can you call me? Please? Okay, love you, bye-,” Stupid, she hissed to herself as she hung up.

“Well that was almost as hard to listen to as Garfield when he flirts.” Kori chuckled, watching the girl hang up the phone and let her head drop into her hands.

“Shut up.” Halley spat but was muffled by her hands. She took her head out of her hands, leaning back into the couch and looking up at the ceiling.

Maybe he wasn’t actually in Gotham. Maybe he was with his own team of Titans. Yeah, maybe he was. And maybe he was on a mission and that’s why he couldn’t answer the phone. No, she frowned. She knew that he was in Gotham. Steph had sent her a snap a few days ago of the two of them out at Bat Burger. Wait, she though, bringing the phone back up to her ear. She dialed the blonde’s number but was met the same fate as with Tim’s.

“Ugh they hate me!” She cried out, finally meeting Kori’s eye. “I forgot about Tim’s birthday, Kori. He’s hates me now.”

“Tim would never hate you.” Kori rolled her eyes, waving the girl off and turning back to her laptop and work. “He looks up to you. He’ll understand that it just slipped your mind.”

“Yea but it shouldn’t have slipped my mind. And he’s clearly mad since he’s ignoring me!” Halley yelled, standing up. “Let Gar or Jaime have my plate; I need to catch a flight to Gotham.”

“Halley, wait a bit for him to call you back, don’t just jump on a plane.” Kori squinted at her, noting how similar to Dick she had gotten over the years. He had done the exact thing to her once, way back when she hadn’t answered her phone.

“No, you don’t get it, Kor, we always remember and I can’t believe I forgot.” She frowned, grabbing her phone and heading out of the common room as quickly as she could.

She was so mad at herself. She knew that Tim wasn’t one to just ignore people and send them right to voicemail. She knew he was mad and she was worried that if she waited for him to call her back it would take a couple of days. Halley wouldn’t wait that long, already trying to think of an apology as she looked up flights on her phone as she power walked to her room.

As her head was buried in her phone she found herself walking into a hard chest, instantly looking up with narrowed eyes. In front of her stood one of the last members to join the Titans before the newest kids and Halley showed up. The firm chest of the Atlantean sidekick stared her straight in the face as she slowly craned her head up to make eye contact with his purple eyes.

“Hey Garth, sorry” she said offhandedly, side stepping and moving to walk around him. She frowned when she felt his hand reach out and grip her upper arm, making her stop. “Come on, I gotta go. I have to go to Gotham; it’s an emergency.”

The Atlantean frowned his playful smirk now showing concern as he let go of his grip. He began to follow her to her room, walking a few steps behind. “Is everything okay? Do you need me to go with you?”

“I don’t think the Batclan will want an Atlantean in Gotham. No offense,” She smirked at him, looking him up and down. She pressed down the hall further, “But no, it’s not that kind of emergency. I’m an asshole and forgot Tim’s birthday.”

“You are an asshole.” He teased, stopping behind her when they reached her door. He laughed, raising his hands up in surrender and protection when she turned around to smack him. “Hey, I’m not the one who eats their boyfriend’s kind.”

“I said I was sorry about that!” Halley snapped, giving him a playful push before opening her door. She didn’t bother to close it, knowing he’d just follow her in anyway. “I told you I would be more mindful; I ordered Thai food tonight, no fish.” She pointed out, laughing at the incident that happened when Kori bought them all home sushi a few nights ago. The Aqualad was less than thrilled about her choice and even less than thrilled when Halley openly dug into roll after roll in front of him. “Also, you aren’t my boyfriend last time I checked.”

He watched her as she moved to her closet, pulling out a Superman backpack and throwing random articles of clothing into it. His face flashed from frisky to almost jealous, her words throwing him off as he had already assumed they were a thing. They’d met years ago when they were teenagers and Garth would be lying if he said he hadn’t gotten a crush on her back then. But he had only been with the Titans for one mission back then and quickly went back to Atlantis. When he was offered a full time spot on their roster he was excited when he found out Halley would be joining them for a few months.

It took some time but the pair hit it off, Halley at first reluctantly agreeing to go on a date with him but eventually growing to like the Atlantean. She had only just started dating a few months prior and it was all so new to her but it was somewhat comfortable with Garth. She wouldn’t say that she was falling in love, she was far from it. But she did feel something towards him unlike other’s she dated; she wasn’t bored. It wasn’t as awkward as it was with civilians who knew nothing about her nightlife and it was nice to talk to someone outside of the family who had shared life experiences. She also found herself not constantly comparing everything about him to Jason or holding him to the unreasonably high standards she had to match him.

“Well I haven’t gotten around to asking you yet.” He shrugged but kept a firm face, wanting to show that he was seriously thinking about asking her.

“Oh,” Halley said, placing the last thing she needed in her bag. She zipped it up, trying to shove away her sudden nervousness. She hadn’t thought about getting that committed to someone yet. But as she bit her lip, she looked up at him unable to stop herself from speaking. Giving him a sly look, she spoke “Well, when I get back maybe you can get around to it if you want.”

“I’ll have to make a note of it,” Garth smirked at her, crossing his arms against his chest. “For now let me at least bring you to the airport,” He offered, his eyes followed her as she walked around him and grabbed her phone charger of the plug in the wall and a book from her nightstand.

“Do mermaids know how to drive?” She teased him before heading out the door.

“Wow, you really are an asshole.” He teased right back as he followed her back into the hallway, leading the way down to the garage.

64 notes · View notes

meterokinesis · 4 years ago

Text

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,032

Fandom: Batfamily, DC Comics

Characters: Tim Drake, Ra’s al Ghul, Tam Fox, OFC, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Fasir Nasser

Pairings: Tim Drake & Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake & Tam Fox

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Chose not to use archive warnings

Tags: Canon divergence, Lazarus Pit, Lazarus Pit Madness, Evil!Tim Drake, Blood and Gore, Psychological Trauma, Survivor’s guilt, Unreliable narrator, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Post-Battle of the Cowl, Bruce is dead, Tim is not having a good time right now

Summary: When Tim Drake leaves to find Bruce, he doesn’t expect to get stabbed. He doesn’t expect to die. And he certainly doesn’t expect to be resurrected. However, the Tim who goes into the Lazarus Pit is not the same Tim who comes out. This Tim is ruthless and unguarded in a way he never was before. And when Ra's starts to take him under his wing... well, what's a disgraced Robin to do?

Author’s Note: This work is part of the Batfam Big Bang! (@batfam-big-bang) I couldn't have done this without my lovely betas, @bisexualoftheblade, @crystalinastar, and @houser-of-stories. There's also some amazing art for this fic that I’ll be posting soon!

Read it on AO3

The desert night was cool, with a breeze that shifted the sand beneath Tim’s feet like waves. The stars gleamed overhead, and for a second he was caught up in how clear the sky was. It had been years since he’d seen stars without a haze of light pollution around them.

Owens and Z were in front of him, his babysitters for the night. Pru was off to his left, fiddling with the safety on her gun. The ride here had been as light-hearted as was possible, given the circumstances, but that jovial tone had ended quickly. Their off-roader had died on them maybe half an hour before, and the small group was still huddled around the machine, waiting as Z checked the engine. Every few seconds, Pru glared at Tim, as if blaming him for the hold up. Though the others had made it very clear that this was a fool’s errand, Tim knew that Bruce was here, somewhere. He had to be, or Tim had thrown everything away for nothing.

That was the issue, wasn’t it? Tim might be the world’s greatest detective, now that Bruce was… out of commission. But his hunches could still be wrong. What if- no. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He would bring Bruce back, he had to.

“Hey, Drake, are you done brooding yet?” Pru’s voice echoed over the empty land. Tim huffed noncommittally and looked up to see the bald assassin twirling her gun on her finger.

“I’m a Bat. We’re never done brooding,” he quipped, before fiddling with the little radio receiver he had brought along. It didn’t do more than give off static when it was on, but having something to do with his hands helped.

Rolling her eyes, Pru gestured over to a precariously balanced pile of rocks. “Wanna see if I can hit the top one off without knocking over the others?”

Tim sighed heavily and dragged himself over to her, Owens trailing behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he even saw Z peek out from behind the hood to watch.

Squaring off, Pru brought up her gun and fired off a shot. To no one’s surprise, the top rock went flying and the others remained still, albeit with a slight wobble.

“Fuck yeah! Z, did you see…” She trailed off, her face blanching. Tim followed suit, only to be greeted with Z on the ground, chest bleeding in a way his medical training told him was too much. His brown eyes were already glassy, and his chest wasn’t moving anymore. It was then that the rest of the image came into focus, and Tim’s eyes finally latched onto the cloaked man holding two bloody swords.

“I am the Widower,” the man said, his voice low and bone-chilling. “And here I was, thinking you’d put up a fight.”

Tim drew his bo staff, eyes tracking Pru and Owens as they rushed toward the Widower, guns at the ready. He had barely taken a step, but they were already on the ground, Pru bleeding from a large gash in her neck and Owens trying in vain to keep pressure on the wound in between his ribs.

Quick--what were his weaknesses? No visible limps or injuries, no issues handling the weapons. He moved like a snake through grass, smooth and precise. The Widower’s blades gleamed in the moonlight, and Pru’s blood dripped onto the sand. Tim lashed out with his staff, catching one of the swords right as it flew toward his throat.

“I guess dead birdies tell no tales,” Widower whispered as he drove the second sword, the one Tim had forgotten about, into Tim’s stomach.

The vigilante staggered back, and fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. The blade slid out and even through the gloves of his suit, Tim could feel his blood, warm and sticky. Was this how he was going to die? Mission incomplete, estranged from his family, bleeding out into the desert sand? He had never assumed he would survive in this job, but he’d at least thought he’d die as Robin. Oh god, he was never going to be Robin again.

The ground rushed up to greet him, sand in his mouth and eyes and hair. He supposed that it didn’t matter--it’s not like corpses care anyway. With his last ounces of strength, he rolled onto his back. Somewhere, some last shred of knowledge told him that this would keep him from bleeding out, but deep down he knew it was too late. Tim just wanted the stars to be the last thing he saw.

As darkness encroached on the corners of his vision, his mind drifted back to Bruce. This was it. The only father figure he’d ever had, or at least the only one who liked him as he was, would be doomed to never return. And it was all Tim’s fault.

The afterlife was dark. And cold. Tim had never been religious, aside from that year of Hebrew school his parents insisted he take in middle school, but even he knew that this wasn’t right. It took a second, but the cold and dark sharpened into something Tim knew well, his kitchen at home. Well, at Drake Manor.

The marble countertops gleamed, as did the floors, and Tim recalled tiptoeing around in his early childhood, so not to dirty them. The kitchen--really, the whole house--had always felt like a mausoleum. Cold, impersonable. Lonely. In some ways, a lot like Tim.

He drifted through the house, looking pointedly away from the family portrait that hung above the fireplace. It had been painted a few months before his mom was killed, right after he became Robin. They all looked so stiff, like actors playing a family in a movie. Actually, actors would probably do a better job than they did. That portrait had been the first thing Tim had put in storage when his dad died.

The curtains were drawn, letting in the gray sunlight Gotham was so well-known for. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his lawn, except… not. Gravestones dotted the otherwise pristine lawn, some new and some old and worn. He hesitated at the door, fingertips just brushing the doorknob. He was dead, it wasn’t like he could get hurt. Maybe this was some kind of purgatory that he had to deal with before he could move on. He pushed against the door, anticipating the old hitch in the hinges that had been around for years.

The air held the same chill as the house, pulling at Tim’s breath. Front and center, practically in the doorway, was Bruce’s grave, the one they’d buried him in just over a month ago. But now the death date was scratched out, in its place a sticker like the ones Tim used to put on his skateboard. It read: Eternally Damned To Disappointment. It’d sound like the name of a band Tim might’ve listened to, if he didn’t know that the disappointment was in him.

The next grave was older, cracked and crumbly. The ground in front of it was disturbed, and dried blood streaks marked the bottom of the headstone. Here lies Jason Todd. Well, that didn’t last long. And unlike Jason, Tim knew he wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t that lucky.

Next was Steph, or at least the grave she pretended to fill. It was covered in flowers, some of them bouquets Tim had left himself. Tim had spent hours in front of it, telling her how much he missed her and loved her, praying for the first and last times. When she came back… well, they were more distant than he would’ve liked. That wasn’t Steph’s fault, at least not entirely, but it did make him wonder. What if he never took back the mantle? Would this have been easier? He could’ve been a semi-normal teenager, living with his dad and stepmom, mourning his girlfriend and being blissfully unaware of the shitshow that was heroism. But he wouldn’t have been happy.

And speak of the devil, there’s his parents’ graves, right next to each other. It was almost funny how they were closer in death than in life. A boomerang was lodged in his father’s gravestone, with an old flip phone opened at the base. It listed Tim’s number as the last call. His mother’s had a sticky substance that a voice deep inside Tim told him not to touch. He lingered at these graves for a moment, breath caught in his throat. It’s not that he didn’t miss his parents--he did. But he had only known a piece of them, only just deeper than surface level. They weren’t parents as much as guardians with high expectations. And for the most part, he had met or exceeded every goal they gave him. But it never was enough. There was always another class to ace or language to learn or party to schmooze at. Worst of all, they were cold. If Tim was the chill night air, his parents were Antarctica.

The next grave stopped him in his tracks. Bart. One of his best friends, his ally in all things. Gone, but not in the way Bruce or Steph were. Bart wasn’t coming back. There would be no more Hawaiian pizza and donuts shared over a comic book, or sleepovers on the floor of Mount Justice. No more Wendy the Werewolf Stalker Marathons. There was no more Bart, and it stung in a way that Tim didn’t have a name for.

He turned around, expecting that to be the end of it, but there it was. Conner. All at once, the weight of the world fell on Tim’s shoulders, like his own personal Kryptonite. His best friend, someone he had been more than a little in love with once upon a time. He knew Conner was safe now, alive and saving people once again. Without Tim. Conner’s death had been the one that broke him, more than any of the others. Because if Conner Kent, Superboy and heartbreaker extraordinaire, hadn’t made it, what chance did Tim have? Well, obviously not much. How was Conner going to take this? He wasn’t like Tim, this was the first time he’d be alone.

Aren’t you tired of losing the ones you love? Aren’t you tired of being the one left behind? A quiet voice murmured in the back of his skull.

Yes. No. Yes. A sob tore from Tim’s chest, and his hand flew to his mouth. This was so stupid. He had dealt with loss before. Hell, the past year had been one unending funeral. Of course he was tired, who wouldn’t be?

This had to be Hell, but that felt like even more of a betrayal. Even Jason had made it to Heaven. Was this his punishment for toeing the line? Had he not suffered enough? Biting back another sob, Tim ran blindly toward the door, slamming it shut behind him in a way that would’ve made his mother shriek. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his living room anymore, but the Batcave. Even with his eyes full of tears, he would know it anywhere. And there was Dick in the Batsuit. And the demon in his Robin gear. Tim opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Dick looked up, expression weary.

“Tim, I already told you. Bruce isn’t coming back. I’m Batman now, and that means I get to choose the Robin. It’s about time you accept that.” It sure sounded like Dick. “Besides, it’s not like you were doing a great job anyway. You let Batman be killed on the job.” Damian sneered, leaning against Dick’s chair like a bully in a high school rom com.

“That-That’s not my fault!” Tim cried, heart pounding in his ears.

“Look, there’s an heir and a spare. There’s a new Robin now, you can be whatever you’re calling yourself now. Go do whatever you have to on this suicide mission, but leave Gotham out of it.”

Damian smiled like a demonic cherub. “Yes, Drake. Not even Grayson wants you anymore, if he ever did.”

Tim stood in shocked silence, unable to find words. Sure, Dick was focused on Damian, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care anymore. After all, they were brothers, right?

He’s taken the only thing you had left. Don’t you want revenge? He took your mantle, you should take it back. The voice sounded like Tim, but contorted--like it would on a recording.

Tim--no, not Tim, something else--reached back for the bo staff. As his hand gripped the metal, something flew toward him, hitting him directly in the stomach where he had been stabbed. It clattered to the floor, and through his pain, Tim realized it was a Batarang.

Don’t you want more, Timothy Drake-Wayne? It coaxed.

Yes.

The new Timothy Drake-Wayne took his first breaths in a cave deep in the Iraqi desert, hundreds of miles away from the house and the graves that had haunted his dream. It was cold here, nearly as cold as that dream had been. If he was in Hell, it would be hotter, wouldn’t it?

Tim swallowed hard and pushed himself up. His stomach, where he was pretty sure he had just been stabbed, was free of wounds or scarring. If anything, he felt stronger than he had before. As his feet touched the stone cold floor, he took note of the ninjas scattered around the room. Okay, so he was back at the League. They must have… The prior strength he had felt disappeared as his legs gave out. Normally he would have rolled or caught himself or something, but his gaze was fixed on the other side of the room, where a glowing green pit resided.

Oh, no.

No weapons, outnumbered, barely able to stand. The disadvantages stacked up before his eyes, screaming that there was no hope of him getting out of this one. Not to mention that he was probably already on his way to insanity. Fuck, the last time he’d seen Jason, the former Robin had almost killed him. Would Tim end up like that, homicidal and cruel?

He struggled to his feet, clutching the stone table for support. He could take out two, maybe three, if he just stopped thinking. He was trained for this, he could--

“Hello there, Detective,” a cold voice purred, quiet but deafening in the silent room. A chill hovered under Tim’s skin. It had been a long time since he’d last heard that voice. Detective? Isn’t that what he calls your mentor? There was the voice again, the only remaining fragment of the dream.

Ra’s al Ghul was one of those people who intimidated you just by existing in the same space. He reminded Tim of every strict teacher and cruel board member and snotty dinner party guest all rolled up into one. Oh, and he was the leader of the world’s largest assassin guild. That was important too.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Timothy?” Ra’s said in the same tone.

The teenager opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching for words. “No,” he managed to force out. “No, I didn’t.”

Are you sure?

Ra’s smiled, like a predator that had just gone for the killing blow. “Well, I suppose that you will have more than enough time to complete your quest during your stay with us.” And just like that, he turned, a group of ninjas peeling off to escort him back to whatever pit of Hell he’d crawled from. “If you need anything, ask for the White Ghost. Welcome to the Cradle, Detective.” And just like that, he was gone.

Tim was only alone with his thoughts for a minute before a tall man with alabaster skin and medieval-style chainmail entered the cavern.

Okay, so this was the White Ghost impersonator. The League wouldn’t kill someone they’d just resurrected, so maybe once he was alone he could escape? Go back to Gotham and see Dick and Sebastian and Zoanne one last time before he truly went insane, then start going to that therapist Dick recommended. He could make it through this, he wouldn’t end up like Jason--

And then in walked Tam Fox, looking terrified but for the most part unharmed. And all of Tim’s plans came crashing down.

Tam was a civilian, and a Wayne Enterprises employee to boot. Her life, and his identity, were in danger now. He was both her only savior and her greatest danger. New plan: listen to this knockoff White Ghost, do whatever it takes to gain their trust, then make it out with Tam at the first possible chance. And do it all without going off the deep end.

Easy. Not.

“I am the White Ghost,” the shitty cosplayer said, his chainmail clinking as he moved.

“Isn’t he dead?” Tim murmured under his breath. He’d definitely seen Dusan die. But if Tim was still alive, then maybe…

“There has always been a White Ghost,” the older man responded, as if that answered anything. “Now, it is time you and your guest retired to your quarters.”

Tam looked over at Tim, big brown eyes wide with fear. He nodded once, tried to conjure a press conference smile, and allowed them to be led to lavish bedchambers. They looked like beautiful, windowless prisons.

The next few weeks blended into their own lethal monotony. Tam stayed in her room all day and Tim went to meetings with various members of the League’s regime. It was a little like working at Drake Industries or Wayne Enterprises, just with more murder. A lot more murder. But the meetings were easy enough, and Tim soon found himself getting to know the people he once despised. He didn’t like them by any means, but he wasn’t terrified anymore.

He kept looking for Bruce. The desert gave no answers.

Tam didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push too hard. She had to know everyone’s identities by now, didn’t she? Tim was just one Robin-shaped piece of the puzzle. Here he was, in the desert, yet another failed Robin. His whole tenure, he’d been trying to live up to Jason Todd, and now in a sick way he had. Wearing Jason’s uniform, having been resurrected the same way, he now dreaded catching up to the boy who had once been his hero.

On nights when he cried silently into the silk sheets, trying to forget the way Jason had looked when he first came back to Gotham, the voice soothed: You can be greater than he ever was. You can outshine all of the others. You will be remembered when they are dust.

The desert was cold. There was no comfort here.

His bedchamber was nice enough. There was a large bed with silk sheets and gold accents and an ensuite bathroom. A large mirror took up the space where a window might have once been, like some sort of philosophical conundrum that Tim was too tired to try to unpack. There was a small passageway between his room and Tam’s, and if Tim was just a little more naive he would have believed that the League forgot about it when they placed him in this room. But he knew better. The League never forgot a thing.

Sometimes Tim caught himself in the mirror and for a second he swore his blue eyes looked green. Tam came in the next morning to glass littering the floor and cuts covering Tim’s hands. She said nothing while she helped him wrap up his knuckles.

Tim had always been adaptable. It’s easier than the constant push and shove of rebellion. When his parents told him to take those classes and join these clubs, he did. When he was instructed to give impromptu speeches at galas, he did. He put in the effort, he always had. He was never the best fighter and never would be, but he was smart and quick and brave. That had to mean something, right?

Maybe that’s why Ra’s al Ghul liked him so much.

The first time Ra’s al Ghul asked for a private meeting with Tim, the ground seemed to tilt under him. The well-trained vigilante tried not to show the fear in his eyes as his vision blurred and his heart thundered in his chest. But he went, because one did not say no to the Demon’s Head.

“Detective,” Ra’s began as he sat down at a large, stately desk that seemed out of place in the rest of the Cradle. The voices--he had taken to calling them whispers--that had been clogging Tim’s thoughts preened at the nickname, ignoring its former bearer.

“Tell me what you know about my grandson,” the assassin drawled, his fingers tapping on the desk rhythmically.

“Don’t you have spies for that?” Tim responded, not quite a retort but not an innocent question either. He’d seen enough of the League’s intel that it was clear how much they truly knew about the world outside the Cradle.

“Yes, but I’d prefer to hear it from someone… familiar with him. My eyes can only do so much from afar.”

Tim had no doubt that Ra’s knew everything about Damian: from the route he took to school to the cereal he ate for breakfast to how many times he pet Titus when he got home from school.

“He’s a brat.” Tim’s chagrin even took him by surprise, like it wasn’t really him talking. “He’s rude and inconsistent and incredibly immature. He’s aggressive and undisciplined. A sorry excuse for a Robin.”

And there it was, the green monster of jealousy rearing its head again. Yes, Damian had taken Robin from him unfairly, and yes, he was all of those things. But why did Ra’s care?

“I see. Would you describe him as a leader?”

“No. If anything, he’s a bully and a mama’s boy. Leaders need to be able to listen to others.” Where was he getting this? Damian was a kid, he could learn. He still had time.

“Interesting.” Ra’s rose from his chair and paced the edge of the room. Tim refused to look back and follow his movements. That would be a show of weakness, a drop of blood in a shark tank. “Detective, what do you have in Gotham? What do you have there that keeps you from dedicating yourself to your cause?”

Nothing.

Tim stifled a gasp as he thought of the instant response. Dick and Damian didn’t need him. Stephanie hadn’t called in months, even before Bruce died. Jason had tried to kill him, last they’d spoken. The Teen Titans were getting along just fine without him. Truthfully, the whispers were right. There was nothing left for him in Gotham. If there was, he would have stayed.

“Nothing.” The anymore went unsaid.

“Then I may have a proposal for you.” Ra’s eyes glowed a dangerous green. A pit formed in Tim’s stomach, as the last few vestiges of him that hadn’t sided with the voices screamed at him to just escape.

“Oh?” Tim responded, mouth bone-dry.

“Stay.”

And Tim’s world crumpled.

“Learn under my agents. Train to become better than you are. Continue your quest with my resources behind you. All you have to do is stay and work for me,” Ra’s smiled like a hunter who had just shot big game.

This was a terrible idea. Tim didn’t kill people, he refused. He was supposed to help people, not hurt them. But he couldn’t deny that feeling like he belonged again was incredibly enticing.

Tim opened his mouth, but Ra’s cut him off. “Your friend will not be harmed. I won’t even think about putting you on an assignment until you’re up to par with my best ninjas. I will not make this offer again.”

The voice that responded was not Tim’s own.

“Yes.”

Tim thought that six months of training with Bruce was brutal. Ha hadn’t known brutal until now.

His first day of training, he showed up in his Red Robin suit, now patched and reinforced where he had been stabbed.

The tall ninja that seemed to be in charge scoffed, then sent him away. Not fifteen minutes later, a tailor descended on Tim’s quarters with a tape measure and a face made of solid stone.

“Can’t have you looking like a target, all in red. What was Batman thinking?”

Maybe he wants them to be targets, Tim and the whispers thought in tandem. He balked at the thought, but the tailor’s firm hands kept him in place. What was he doing? Bruce had loved him, did love him. He had taken care of Tim when no one else would. Bile crawled through the back of Tim’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

The tailor finished her measurements and scanned Tim up and down.

“It will have to be black, of course. Reinforced joints, kevlar, the whole nine yards,” she stated in a lilting accent. “Maybe some green accents, dark ones. Classy. Half-mask, no more cowls or dominos.”

Red, yellow, and black were his colors and had been for years. A tribute to a boy he loved and lost then loved some more. But Conner was back now. And Tim was tired of mourning, especially when no one was dead. Well, except him.

“Green,” he agreed, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t Red Robin anymore, not really. And he could always wear the suit again. This wasn’t a finale, just a hiatus.

She nodded once and then swept away, leaving a teenager clutching the last thing he had of his old life. Tim folded the suit, the way Alfred had always chastised him for, and gingerly placed it in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. He wouldn’t need it anytime soon.

The next day, a precisely wrapped package sat outside Tim’s door bearing no signature. He knew exactly what it was.

Upon peeling back the paper, he saw the full glory of the new suit. It was midnight black, with dark green stitches that were beautiful up close, but would be near-invisible from far away. It looked like a cross between the ninjas’ garb and body armor--sleek and sure of itself. A hood was attached to the back of the neck, with the green stitching spelling out something Tim couldn’t discern. A half-mask with built in air filters covered the rest of the face. As he patted the suit down, he felt where all the separate compartments were for weapons and utilities. It reminded him a little of the costumes from high-tech spy movies.

Sitting on the floor with his new suit in his lap, Tim added another item to the long lists of debts he owed Ra’s al Ghul.

His first real day of training, Tim was beaten so badly he could hardly drag himself to his room.

It wasn’t that they had intended to hurt him, but he had gone almost a month without training. Bruises laced up his cheekbone like their own little domino mask, a little memento of times gone by. His joints screamed out in pain as he collapsed onto his bed. At least he hadn’t broken any bones. Or been stabbed. Or died.

Tim only had a few minutes to contemplate the stuntman funniest fails video that was his life when a gentle knock came from the door.

“Come in,” he groaned, flopping over onto his side so he could see his company. His mother would have scolded him for not standing up to greet a guest, but she didn’t have much sway from six feet under.

A girl with olive-tan skin and a brunette bun stepped into the threshold, her smile the gentlest thing he’d seen in a long time.

“Hello, my name is Aminta. I figured you could use some help with your wounds.” Her voice was lower than he expected, but pretty nonetheless. A dark, untraceable accent threaded through her words.

He peered up at her, frowning.

“Is this a hazing thing? Am I being hazed?”

She chuckled, then sat on the ottoman at the edge of his bed.

“Not hazing. The new recruits tend to help each other through the first few months. Safety in numbers and all that. I thought you might want some assistance.”

“So, you’re all friends?” That didn’t sound right.

“No,” she hesitated for a moment, “not exactly. Friends is too... common. We are assassins, but we have honor. When we need to, we take care of our own.”

Ah, so he was one of them now. For some indescribable reason, that didn’t fill him with as much dread as he thought it would.

You have no friends. You never did. Just those who you will rule and those who you will crush, the whispers added.

Tim smiled, the shy grin he used when he wanted teachers and Wayne Enterprises board members to underestimate him.

“Thank you, Aminta. I’d appreciate that. My name is Tim.”

She winked at him, clearly a joke.

“Believe me, I know.”

The League had a mole.

Or at least, they were going to. Tim had known enough corrupt businessmen in his time in Gotham’s upper echelon that he was well versed in the signs of someone double-dipping. At first it was little things: missing pieces of inventory, strange new guard shifts, incorrect mission intel. By the time it escalated to money being skimmed off the top of jobs, Ra’s was furious.

When he called Tim in for a meeting, something that was becoming increasingly normal these days, Tim was expecting fiery rage. Instead, there was steel-sharp cunning. It was a little like looking in a funhouse mirror.

“Detective, it appears that we have a liability in our ranks,” Ra’s began, his fingertips caressing a blade. “I assume you’ve read the data I sent to your quarters, and I’d like your thoughts.”

Tim cleared his throat. He had spent the night before reading the reports, putting together the pieces. If this was a test, it was a wicked one.

“The incidents began shortly after the attacks by the Widower. It’s a piece of misdirection intended to frame either Pru or I as a mole. However, neither of us has any reason for betrayal. Pru is, and has always been, loyal to the League. And you are well aware that I have nothing left for me in Gotham, nor would I be stupid enough to allow myself to get caught.” His voice was smooth, the prince of Gotham giving yet another speech.

“There is someone who has means, motive, and opportunity. After reading your files, it is incredibly clear. He has a family of his own that he is loyal to, and during my resurrection, he was not in the Cradle. His computer prowess would allow him to mess with the system in a way few others could. It would have been a very clean job, if he had spread it out over months or years instead of a few weeks.”

Ra’s stroked his goatee.

“You mean the Expediter.”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Ra’s rose from the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. “Now that we’ve established the perpetrator, it is time to establish the punishment.”

Ah, so here was the test. Ra’s wanted to see how ruthless Tim could be. It was a very good thing that Tim never failed an exam.

“Kill him. It will send a message to our other agents and whoever he worked for that we are not to be trifled with.” Tim’s hands shook, but his voice was full of conviction. He had always been a good actor, but it wasn’t clear how much was truth now.

“And his daughters?”

“Bring them to the Cradle. They’re young enough that they likely won’t remember him, and we’ll be able to shape their childhood. Perhaps one will become just as intelligent as her father, and wiser as well.” The whispers hissed wordlessly in disappointment, but it was worth it. Tim refused to order the execution of a child, no matter how loud the shrieking in his skull became.

There was a beat of dead silence, then Ra’s nodded sagely.

“Wise choice, Detective. I’ll put those orders into effect at once.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming as his dagger had. “I’m looking forward to the rest of our partnership.”

Oh, how the whispers laughed.

Life in the Cradle was, well, nice. Tim was training harder than he ever had, under much more strenuous conditions, yet he felt better than he ever had. He was stronger, for one thing, but for the first time since he’d discovered Batman and Robin’s identities, he was able to rest. He didn’t need to be up until dawn chasing people across rooftops or finishing reports or writing an essay for English class because he’d been too busy on patrol. Even in a den of killers, Tim felt almost safe.

That said, he refused to let his guard down. He’d sat in on meetings with the inner circle of the Cradle for months now, trying to use his famous brain for something important. Which for his purposes, meant destroying the League as best as possible.

That was the only reason he’d stayed, or at least that’s what he told himself during nights where he twisted and turned trying to justify his choices. He’d exploit the League’s generosity to train himself and find Bruce, then take it down. Bruce would have to be proud of him after that, they all would. Maybe he’d even be Robin again.

He’d already taken out the Expediter, Ra’s’ guy in the chair. The guy confessed to the mistake of having a family and trying to work for the League at the same time. Good thing Tim didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

This is good, but it is not enough. You crave more. Do not be a coward, take it.

Now Tim was the techie for an international assassin guild, which would look moderately impressive on a college resume. Maybe it could count as an internship. Ra’s seemed like the guy who would make a relatively okay reference when Harvard came calling.

It always felt strange when he had lunch with Ra’s. It was eerily similar to the fancy lunches his mom used to drag him to, or the etiquette classes he was forced to take where he learned how to properly use a melon baller. Of course, it wasn’t like he was going to be killed for using a melon baller wrong then. Now, he knew that any wrong move could result in death.

Not his own death, of course. There was no point in Ra’s bringing back Tim, just to kill him again. Tam, however, was expendable. And that made the marrow in Tim’s bones shiver.

This particular lunch was more focused on memory lane than shop talk.

“So, Detective, tell me: what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Tim swallowed hard around his tea sandwich, his throat suddenly painfully dry.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a clown. Not a great career path in Gotham,” he began, attempting to keep his voice light. Ra’s looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“Then, I wanted to be a photographer. Then, my father said I would be a CEO or I’d be disowned, so I wanted to be a CEO. I could always do photography on the side, you know?

“And then I became Robin.” He let the weight of that sentence sink over the pair.

“So? What happened after that?”

Tim resisted the urge to stare at his sandwich, instead choosing to meet Ra’s’ bright green eyes.

“Then, I stopped thinking I would grow up.” There it was, the thing everyone had been trying to pry out of him for years.

“I mean, Dick barely made it out. Jason died, came back, went crazy, and now murders people for shits and giggles. Stephanie died, but only kinda. Damian’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide. In the wild, robins live for a year, maybe two if they’re lucky. I don’t think anyone realized how similar we all are to those stupid birds.” Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes, but he didn’t need to cry. All that pain was gone now, replaced by something else. He couldn’t name it, but it kept all the sadness away.

Tim had been sad for his whole life. It was a relief when the roiling ocean inside him froze over. Numbness was an improvement.

Ra’s leaned across the table, his face barely a foot from Tim’s.

“You know, Detective, you remind me of myself. Not when I was young, of course, but when I had just begun to build my empire. All your life you have been told to quiet down and listen instead of speaking. You’re a fine leader because of it. You adapt when others are stubborn. You make plans while they push through without a second thought. You are a snake lying in wait, anticipating the right time to strike. I admire that.”

The air hung in silence as Ra’s stared directly into Tim’s soul.

“You know,” Ra’s finally said, “I think you could be truly great one day.”

Tim barely breathed as he nodded his thanks. When Ra’s finally leaned away, his first breath felt like the first gasp of air from a drowning victim.

“Before our lunch concludes, and I do so enjoy our lunches, I have a query for you.” This wasn’t out of the ordinary, Ra’s liked to give him riddles to keep him on his toes. “Some of our ninjas, though I will not say who, have gone rogue. A year or so ago, they got themselves caught up in some nasty business. My current intel places them here, in this compound, where they’re using innocents as collateral, should they not get what they request.”

“What do they want?”

“My head on a platter.” Ra’s’ smile was bloodchilling. “Oh, Detective? I feel it’s important to note: international news stations are currently reporting you and Ms. Fox as having been kidnapped by these rogues. Any advice on how to fix that?”

So this was the second test. Another chance to prove his loyalty. Let Ra’s’ enemies go free, or kill them and forfeit his old life for good in return.

“I assume extraction is not possible?”

“I’m afraid that those deserters are incredibly well trained. The special units from any nation’s army wouldn’t even make it into the compound. My ninjas could make it in, but there’s no way they could take out the traitors and save the civilians.”

Tim nodded, pretending to contemplate. He already knew his answer.

“Bomb the compound, kill everyone inside. It’s better to cut off the rot now than give it the chance to spread.”

Ra’s did not smile, but his eyes glimmered with pride.

“My thoughts exactly, Detective.”

And just like that, the death warrant was signed.

Tam was waiting in his chambers when Tim got home from a long day of training, his body littered in bruises and cuts that would sting tomorrow. Her crossed arms functioned as a hug, like she was the only thing keeping herself together.

“Tim,” she whispered when he came into view, the word like a prayer.

He glided across the room wordlessly, and she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“I managed to get someone to sneak me a newspaper. Th-They think we’re dead, Tim,” she said into his shoulder, words slightly muffled by the fabric.

His hand came up to stroke her hair, the way he used to comfort Cass after a particularly long day. Tim didn’t respond, and instead let her tears soak into his shirt.

Good. Now you have the element of surprise.

The Council of Spiders had a worthy namesake, as they were just as quick and deadly as any arachnid. Somehow they had crept past the League’s defenses, disabling the ninjas that got in their way. True to form, the assassins’ deaths were just as silent as they were--shadows fading out as dusk began to form.

Tim was preparing for another day of strategy and mind games when Aminta burst into the room.

“The Spiders are here. They managed to sneak in--no one knows how. You’re needed,” she gasped, as if she’d ran a marathon to deliver this message. Judging from her state of disarray, maybe she had.

“Tam?”

“I’ll protect her. Go!”

Tim didn’t have time to question these motives or worry about much more than tugging on his cowl and pulling out his bo staff. He sprinted out the door and into the madness, moving in a dangerous dance with the assassins he had trained alongside for the past few months. The League was good, great even. But with the element of surprise, the Spiders were better.

He couldn’t afford to think about what could happen if they lost. Failure was not an option, not anymore.

A shadow glided toward one of the empty hallways and away from the rest of the frenzy, a sword glinting in its hand. Something that had dug its claws deep in Tim’s bones pulled him toward the figure, urging him to follow. To finish the job.

If others saw red when enraged, Tim saw green.

The figure purposefully stalked toward the large office Tim had started to spend increasing amounts of time in. The footsteps were near-silent, but in his mind they echoed almost deafeningly loud.

The shadow had to know he was there. It had to. Tim was good, but a few months of training could never rival lifetimes.

The shadow glanced over its shoulder, a feline-esque smile on its face. It said something, probably a witty yet scathing remark, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of whispers in Tim’s mind.

Do it.

Finish the job.

Show them who you are, who you can be.

Prove yourself.

You are not a bird, you are not a bat.

You are a demon, and you do not know weakness.

Not a Robin, not Red.

You are Green, Green, Green.

Become who you were always destined to be, Detective.

Tim struck out with his bo staff, right into the shadow’s skull. It faltered, just for a millisecond, and that creature that was both Tim and not lashed out, quicker than it had any right to be. A dagger in his hand, sharpened to a razor-thin edge. He did not remember doing that. That same dagger, buried into deep tan flesh.

Then he was across the room, bones aching from being thrown into the stone wall. If he was still human, still able to rein in whatever was drowning out his senses, he would know to expect pain tomorrow. But he didn’t, and all he felt was the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

And he was up again, throwing himself at the shadow with the conviction of a greek hero who knew that this fight would be his last. A fist full of rings connected with his cheek, and he could feel the skin tear beneath the metal. Maybe it would even scar.

The shadow leaned heavily to one side, though whether it was from the stab placed between its ribs or a prior injury, Tim didn’t know. It lurched toward him, and he stabbed it again, this time twisting the dagger until he felt the give of a lung. The shadow was down now, and deep down Tim knew that he never should have beaten it, never should have landed a single blow. In a logical world, Tim would have lost ten times over. But in a logical world, Tim would have been dead for the past six months.

As if time was in slow motion but he was at normal speed, Tim glided through the seconds, pushing pressure points with the tip of his blade. The shadow’s sword lay across the hall, too far out of reach for retaliation. This wasn’t torture, but it was revenge--for pain and sacrifice and nights spent clawing at his own skin, wishing it still felt like his. Payback for months of sins he never would have committed, for the green that clouded his vision. But most of all, it was a promise.

After minutes that held years of heartwrenching pain, Tim delivered the killing blow, straight under the shadow’s chin and into its brain. He was covered in blood, tacky and rust-toned, but where a past Tim--a lesser Tim--would have balked or vomited at the sight, this Tim stood, cleaned off his blade, and hefted the cooling corpse onto his shoulder.

They can try to revive it with the Lazarus Pit. You cannot allow that to happen. You cannot fail, the whispers urged, but he no longer needed them. They were him and he was them. Green in every breath and thought.

Tim escaped into the desert and finished the job, just as he had always been taught to do. Ra’s would have been proud. Bruce would have been proud.

That night, after the Spiders had been exterminated and the mess cleaned up, Tim sat at the foot of his bed, staring at his hands. The ninjas had looked at him with what could be called pride when he staggered back into the fray, his face bruised and bloody and sporting a wound on his thigh. His silky clothes brushed past the injuries every few seconds, but he couldn’t muster the energy to wince, even though he knew he should.

Tam had managed to hide during the clash, and Aminta had kept her promise. Tim liked people who followed through.

After being given the all clear, he stumbled back to his room to wash out his wounds and scrub the smell of smoke off his skin.

He had only just changed into his silky clothes when a knock came at the door. Without waiting for a response, the White Ghost was in Tim’s room, staring down at the teenager with an unnameable expression on his face.

“Timothy Drake,” the man said by way of greeting.

Tim glanced at him and blinked owlishly, but did not respond.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

This gripped Tim’s attention, and he finally made eye contact with the assassin, his brow creasing in concern.

“You’re going to revive him, right? He told me that you have more Lazarus Pits near here, he can use one of those. How did he die?” A million scenarios raced through Tim’s head, films of the death of the Demon.

“They burned him on a pyre and left him in his study. No trace of cause of death, and we can’t revive him. Any DNA has been destroyed.”

Tim stared blankly, processing. The Demon’s Head, the invincible Ra’s al Ghul, was dead. Gone forever.

“Ra’s made plans, should he die,” the White Ghost continued. “Those plans include a new leader of the League of Shadows. And that leader is you.”

Tim sputtered, “What? You can’t be serious. I’m seventeen years old. Why not you? Or Talia or Nyssa? Or Damian?”

“I do not make light of these things. He said you, so it is you. I am the White ghost. He had not contacted his daughters in years, and his grandson is too unpredictable to be suited to the position. You are the Demon’s Head, Timothy Drake.”

Tim stared back numbly. He was the Demon’s Head. The Cradle was his, these assassins were his, the world was his. He wanted power, and now it had fallen into his lap. The White Ghost kneeled before him and bowed his head. “I will serve you, Timothy Drake, in whatever way you see fit. I will be your eyes and ears and hands. I will obey you and carry out your orders. I pledge my allegiance to you, and only to you.” Satisfied with his vow, he rose to his full height.

Tim swallowed hard, then looked back up. “I accept your vow and thank you for your loyalty.” Then, “When… When will the rest know?”

“Tomorrow, at noon. I thought it might be best for everyone to rest, and for you to know first. We can discuss further details tomorrow morning, but for now, know who you are.”

Tim nodded stiffly and pushed himself to his feet, straightening his spine the way his mother had taught him to. He had been raised to become a prince of Gotham, one of the pretty boys that graced magazine covers and made headlines at charity events. Now, he was a king of assassins, an emperor of the underworld. If only she could see him now. Maybe she’d even be proud of him, for once.

“Thank you, White Ghost. We will speak again tomorrow. Should there be any issues during the night, I would like for you to inform me immediately.” He may be clad in silk pyjamas, but there was leadership in every fiber of his being. The whispers hissed in agreement.

“Fadir Nasser. My name is Fadir Nasser. Long live the Demon’s Head,” the White Ghost--Fadir--said as he left the room, the last remark stinging with a hint of a joke.

The door locked shut behind him, and Tim flopped backward onto the bed, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His gaze fell to the closet, where his suit was stuffed in the corner, smelling of smoke and burning flesh and the irony tang of blood. The whispers quickly supplied a description of the events, but Tim could picture them clear as day--carrying Ra’s to the desert, building and lighting a pyre, then bringing the body back and placing it in Ra’s’ study for someone to find. It was incredibly simple, almost too simple for no one to have done before. But Tim was Green, Greener than anyone had ever been before. And no one would ever know.

He’d need to invest in a new suit befitting his new role, maybe bring back some green accents. He no longer needed to mourn Conner. He no longer needed to mourn at all. He was the Demon’s Head, and he would never die.

The whispers laughed cruelly, like the audience of a poorly-written tragedy.

The transition of power wasn’t smooth, but it was quick. Assassins weren’t particularly known for their loyalty, and Fadir made it clear that any dissenters wouldn’t even make it to the door. They only had to clean blood off the stone floors once before that lesson sunk in.

As far as coups go, it was pretty successful. The whispers had quieted, just a little. Tim could sometimes make it hours without the hissing in the back of his mind, reminding him that he couldn’t rest. With power comes paranoia, and Tim was intimately familiar with both.

Now to rid himself of liabilities.

It had been a particularly lucid day, and Tim’s near-silent footsteps were the only hint of noise in the hallway. Tam had been given the option to move her room closer to his, but had refused. He didn’t blame her, it was hard being the civilian favorite of the assassin king. Tim knew this well.

Tim knocked on the wooden door, two quick raps. Somewhere deep in his memory, he wondered if this would have been his life, had everything been different; maybe he’d be knocking on Tam’s door before picking her up for a date. Instead, he straightened his shoulders, put on the shy smile Tam thought was his true one, and waited for her. Shuffling on the other side of the door, then a creak as it swung open. Tim glided in, and Tam looked at him with those big brown eyes, her expression tainted with a touch of fear. He didn’t remember her ever being afraid of him before.

“Do you want to go home?” Tim asked. No preamble, just his soft question in the quiet room.

Tam didn’t even think about it first.

“Yes.”

Tim nodded, then drew out a one-way ticket to Archie Goodwin International Airport, leaving tomorrow night. He held it out to her, that soft smile on his face and a promise in his eyes.

Tam tentatively took it, but kept looking at him. “Are you serious?”

“You’re not a prisoner. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you leave earlier, I just wanted to make sure the League was stable first. My intention was always to get you home.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Tim slipped his hands in his pockets. “You’re my friend. I just want you to be happy.”

Tam pulled him into a hug, and for a second it felt so nice it almost hurt. Then it was over, and he could be comfortably numb again.

“Aminta will be coming with you, just to make sure you get home safe. Once you’re with your family, you won’t have to see any of my… agents ever again.”

Tam nodded, her face screwed up in an effort to keep from crying. He turned to leave and give her privacy, then paused.

“Tam? Thank you. For being my friend.”

Then the king of shadows disappeared into the night, yet again.

Tim frowned at the wall, a small comms unit tucked in his ear. He hadn’t moved from this room in a day, not since Tam and Aminta left.

“Okay, Aminta, I need you to keep close. You said that it’s just Batman and Robin? No Batgirl?”

“Just Batman and Robin. They haven’t spotted me yet. Robin’s really fallen behind since leaving us.”

Tim growled under his breath and carded a hand through his hair. It was getting long again. Who did Ra’s go to for haircuts? Did he just do it himself?

Focus.

The facts were these: Tam had been contacted by Batman and Robin immediately after Lucius Fox gave word that she was home safe. Tim had been expecting this, and Aminta was sent to follow Tam and ensure that the interaction went favorably. Which is to say that no one killed Tam because of what she knew. Aminta was currently hidden on the same rooftop as Gotham’s favorite heroes, listening in on their rendez-vous.

“What’s happening? Report.”

“She’s telling them--why don’t I just play their conversation? I have the capability.”

“Do it.”

A crackling came over Tim’s comm unit for a few brief seconds before it shifted to three familiar voices.

“It’s okay, Tam. Just tell us everything. From the beginning.” That was Dick. He sounded the exact same way he had when Tim left, tired and a little pained. Serves him right. “Yeah, okay,” there was Tam’s voice, slightly higher pitched than normal. “So my dad sent me to find out where Tim Drake was. And I managed to track him down to Iraq. So I’m in my hotel room one night, and I wake up to someone putting a cloth on my nose. Then everything went black, and the next thing I knew I was in this cold stone room. Then this albino guy tells me to stand up and we walk into this big hallway and there’s Tim. And he’s all sweaty and looks super freaked out. Then they brought us to these bedrooms and told us that we’d be staying a while.”

“Why would they take you?” A third voice asked, the snobby tone immediately registering as Damian. The brat.

“I’m not sure. Maybe my search for Tim sent up some flags? No one ever told me.” Her voice cracked a little, and maybe once upon a time, Tim would have felt sorry for her. Not anymore.

“It’s okay, Tam. After you moved into the Cradle, what happened?”

“Tim spent a lot of time training or with Ra’s. He couldn’t tell me much, but apparently Ra’s took a liking to him. One of the inner circle guys turned out to be a traitor, so Tim took his job. I didn’t see him a lot.”

“Who was the traitor?” Damian again, with a hint of anger in his voice. Or was that fear?

“Some computer guy. The Executioner or something.”

“The Expeditor?” It was definitely fear in Damian’s voice. He sounded like a child when he was scared.

“Yeah, him. I just hung around for the most part. They had books. They gave me makeup and nail polish when I asked for it. I was bored, but never threatened.” Tim snorted. Tam knew more than anyone that just because she didn’t have a knife to her neck didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger every moment of the day.

Dick cleared his throat, then spoke again, “Why did Ra’s let you leave?”

Tam went quiet, just for a second.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

A beat of silence. Tim would have paid millions to watch them right now.

“How?” Damian, his voice filled with fear, and maybe a little pain.

“I-I don’t know. There was an attack by the Council of Spiders. Tim had them lock me in my room with a guard. Some of the girls I talked to said that Ra’s was burned afterward so they couldn’t revive him. No one knew until the day after.” Tam’s voice was shaking now.

“Then where’s Tim?” Dick asked, finally caring about his younger brother after all this time. What a joke.

Tam stuttered a few times, but eventually got the words out. “Tim… Tim’s the new leader. Ra’s named him his heir before he died.”

A hiss sounded over the comms. That had to be Damian.

“Thank you, Tam. I appreciate you answering our questions. You know where to find us if you remember anything else.”

Some shuffling obscured any new words, then Aminta’s voice appeared. “They’re leaving, do you want me to follow them?”

“Yes,” Tim responded, massaging his temples. The whispers were getting louder now, to a point where it was impossible to understand any one message. It was hard when they got like this, harder than when they teamed up. At least then he didn’t feel like a helpless teacher in a rowdy classroom.

Maybe a minute ticked by before Aminta was back. “They just went a few rooftops away. Robin’s clutching Batman’s cape and crying, but it’s like angry crying. He’s mumbling something, but I can’t understand it. Batman’s rubbing his back, but he looks miserable too. Less angry, more sad.”

“That’ll be all, Aminta, thank you. You can return home tomorrow,” Tim sighed. “Our dear friend Tam has done us a favor, so we should be ready for the consequences.”

“What favor? Telling them everything?”

“Not everything. We still have an ace up our sleeve.”

“What advantage could we possibly have, other than knowing that they know?”

“Tam didn’t tell them about my little swim.”

Somewhere, there was a universe where Timothy Drake-Wayne woke up on the morning of his 18th birthday and put on a suit, ready for a day of meetings at whatever company he was interning for before he started college. Maybe he had a party with his family or a date that night. This is what Tim thought about as he busied himself getting ready. He had never been one for birthdays. Jack and Janet were rarely home, and even when they were in Gotham, they had better things to do than celebrate a child. He didn’t blame them. Before he came to the Cradle, he wasn’t worth celebrating.

The ornate mirror in his bathroom showcased his attire: a loose-fitting white shirt, tailored brown silk pants, and a dark green cape that almost resembled snakeskin. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, but he left them. They made the blue stand out. Here was the heir Ra’s had craved so badly. The old Tim would have made a joke about how he looked like a dark prince from a young adult novel, but not anymore. He was the Demon’s Head now. No, not just its head. He was its hands and heart as well. Tim Drake was a demon through and through.

His guests had landed in Iraq the day before, and he had it on good authority that he could expect them that evening.

Tim drifted around the room, preparing for the meeting as one would prepare for battle. His fingertips lingered on the rings he had inherited from his predecessor, and with a deliberate movement he chose the signet ring Ra’s used to wear. He slipped it on and smiled to himself, a snake poised to strike.

Carefully, he patted his wrists, hips, and ankles to ensure his knives were still there. He had always favored batarangs, but he was no longer a bat or a bird. He had left them behind, just as they had left him.

The White Ghost was waiting at his door, ready to escort him to his study. As they walked, Tim absentmindedly ran his thumb over his knuckles. The whispers hissed inaudibly in his ear, wailing for attention.

“Has the room been secured?” He asked, face neutral.

“Yes. I have placed ninjas along the walls and at every access point. Any familiar with the al Ghul child have been sent on missions abroad, though they remain loyal to you.”

“They leave here alive. If they attempt to attack, I want them subdued but not killed.”

“That’s not wise. It will be seen as a show of weakne-”

“Do you think I am weak?” Tim’s voice was as ice cold as he felt.

“No, of course not,” Fadir backpedaled. “But how can you justify it?”

“By the time I’m done, there will be no need to kill them. This is just a courtesy call, a reminder that my prior allegiances are no longer viable.”

Tim swept into the study, his back straight and his jaw square just the way he had always been taught. From birth, he had been raised to be a prince of Gotham, one of the many pretty boys in suits who graced Forbes covers before they could legally drink. He had been bred for greatness, and he achieved it in his own way. Here, no one would ever best him. He was finally free.

Soon you will have everything. All you have to do is make one order.

Tim’s hands shook slightly, but he tightened his grip on his fountain pen as he sat down. The day was full of reports, requests for missions, and invoices. He had been doing most of this paperwork anyway when he was just a lackey, so it wasn’t an inconvenience. It was methodical in its ruthlessness. $750k for a political assassination in France, 40% taken for the League, the rest wired to a private bank account in the Cayman Islands. $25k to kill a cheating spouse in South Africa, the same 40%, and this time headed for a Swiss bank account. A request for a league member to “take care of” an abuser, which Tim set aside. An invoice for new training blades, as the older ones had been dulled. A new Lazarus Pit that was discovered in Iceland.

The sun began to sink outside of his window, and Tim collected himself, drawing the last shards of who he used to be away from the surface. That Tim was dead and gone, and in his place was someone who was finally worthy. If the old Tim was a bleeding heart, this Tim was the knife that stabbed it.

Fadir knocked on the large oak door to signal that their guests had arrived. Tim pushed himself out from behind the desk, pulled back his shoulders, and stalked out of the room, refusing to look back. It wasn’t that he couldn’t show any weakness--it was that he wasn’t weak at all. Not anymore.

Tim walked down the now-familiar hallways, the whispers humming in happiness as others averted their eyes respectfully as he passed by. Aminta stood at the left hand of the large stone throne in the formal hall, and dipped her head in greeting when he approached. Tim took his place on the throne, relaxing into the smooth stone. Fadir took the right-hand side, his hand on his sword’s pommel at all times.

Ninjas lined the walls, all ready for battle at a moment’s notice. Most had been training for decades, long before Tim was even a thought. And now they served him. One lone ninja entered the room, first bowing to Tim and then scurrying up to the throne.

“They have arrived, sir.”

Tim grinned darkly.

“Bring them in.”

Dick looked older than he had eight months ago. His cowl was pulled up to hide his face, but Tim could see it in the set of his jaw. For a man in his late twenties, Dick looked positively weary.

Serves him right.

Damian was stiff, both an heir and a stranger in a child’s body. He glanced at the ninjas placed around the edge of the room, as if searching for a familiar face. He wouldn’t find one.

Tim did not smile when the man he had once considered his brother approached.

“Hello Dick. Damian.” His voice was colder than he ever thought it could be. “You can remove your masks, everyone here knows who you are.” Or they did now.

Dick hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pulled off the cowl. Damian followed suit with a grumble, peeling off his domino.

Satisfied, Tim smoothed a neutral expression onto his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, the words pleasant but the tone as sharp as a blade.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” Dick burst out without preamble. It was a shame that he couldn’t exchange pleasantries, even after all of Alfred’s lessons.

“Not exactly. I was in Paris for a bit, caught up with some old friends.” An old friend, one who probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. None of them had.

You are powerful because you are alone. Others would betray you. You can trust no one. The whispers chimed in, though they were merely repeating what he already knew to be true.

Damian hissed his displeasure, which earned him an evil look from Dick. Look, he’d already been replaced.

“Tim,” Dick began in a gentle voice, the one he used for scared kids. “Come home. We can figure this out. We’ll get you help, maybe even try that therapist I told you about. Or we can shop around, it doesn’t matter. I miss you. I miss my little brother.”

How pathetic.

“Oh, I believe you misunderstood. This is a business meeting, not an intervention,” Tim hummed, examining his fingernails. The cold steel of the knives tucked in his sleeves was a delicious reminder of who he was, who he had always been destined to become.

“In that case, I believe some clarification is in order. Following the death of Ra’s al Ghul, I became the head of the League of Shadows, a position I am very proud of. I will not be returning to Gotham, unless it is for League business, and I will certainly never fight at your side again.

“In truth, Dick, I have not thought about you or your brat once since coming to stay at the League. I understand that our previous relationship may have led you to believe that I would be a naive fool forever, but that is not the case. I have found meaning now more than you could ever dream of achieving.

“Here is my proposition: I will cease training of any assassins younger than age sixteen immediately. I am also currently updating how the League accepts jobs to minimize the amount of innocent casualties. I will waive all rights to Wayne Enterprises, though anything Bruce willed to me will remain mine. In exchange, you leave me and my assassins alone. You will not contact me unless seeking my services. You can keep your Robin, but he lost his birthright a year ago. These are my conditions, and they are non-negotiable.”

The chatty Dick Grayson was speechless. Instead, it was Damian who spoke.

“You stole my birthright.” For a child, he sounded downright murderous.

Tim smiled. “And you stole mine. I believe that makes us even.”

The child nodded, then drew his sword. Along the walls, ninjas drew theirs as well.

“Damian, no!” Dick hissed, glaring at his brother-ward. “Tim, you can’t be serious. We’re family. This is insane!”

Tim’s expression did not display the glee that bubbled in his chest.

“We were family. But you know what they say, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” He dismissed Dick’s other accusations with a wave of his hand. “I have given you my terms. You have forty-eight hours to make your decision. Until then, I believe you have overstayed your welcome. You should leave.”

Green pulled at the corners of his vision as the whispers shrieked, begging him to go ahead and kill them. He couldn’t, of course, that would just invite more prying eyes to the League. But he could think about it, and that was enough.

Dick and Damian were almost at the doors when Dick stopped and turned to face Tim, his posture teenagerishly defiant.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” he spat, as if Dick Grayson had ever truly known Timothy Drake.

Instead, Tim smiled. “I’m the Demon. And you should leave before I make you see Hell.”

A second later, they were gone. Watching them go felt like getting an injection--the pinch lasted for a second, but afterward there was no pain at all.

Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon, the whispers howled as Tim’s blood sang, welcome to your kingdom come.

His hands had always been cold. Ariana used to comment on it all the time--how his touch was borderline freezing. At the time, it had been a running joke: Tim Drake, the boy made of snow, with eyes made of ice and snow-pale skin. It seemed now that even in the heat of the desert, his heart had frozen too.

Nighttime was comfortable in the desert, at least for someone accustomed to Gotham’s climate. Still, the breeze that danced across Tim’s skin left goosebumps in its wake. He couldn’t remember when he’d come out here, let alone what for. He barely even noticed how he gripped the banister of the balcony until his knuckles went stark white.

A little prickle of emotion prodded at his subconscious, but he couldn’t identify it even if he wanted to. There was no room for feelings anymore, if there had ever been. If anything, feelings had gotten him into more messes than out of them.

He had become a vigilante because he felt that Batman needed a Robin. He worshiped the ground Bruce walked on because he felt like Bruce saw him as a son. He broke the rules for Stephanie because he felt as if she could love him. He wanted to be with Conner because he felt that someone finally saw him for who he was. He rejected power time and time again because he felt that it was the right thing to do.

But feelings meant nothing. All that truly mattered was knowledge and wanting. And Tim knew more than ever. And he wanted it all.

Once, he had considered them his family. They had loved him, maybe, but they had never known him. He used to believe in a future spent fighting by their side, but he knew that was a child’s dream now--the same child who believed that he wouldn’t live to see twenty-one. Tim had no such concerns now.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that the League was his new family, nor did he need one. But they would not underestimate him or take him for granted. Here, he had respect and power, and that was enough.

The lights of the nearest city glimmered far on the horizon, promising happiness and gaiety somewhere in the night. He smiled, a secret only for him.

One day, you will rule it all, the whispers promised. One day, you will be king. And you will destroy any who stand in your way.

Long live the Demon.

#batfam #dc fanfic #batfam fanfic #batfam big bang 2020 #bbb 2020 #tim drake fanfic #tim drake #ra's al ghul #tam fox #no grave can hold my body down #ngchmbd #my writing #read the warnings

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gra-sonas · 5 years ago

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Heads up, humans: This interview spoils the events of Monday’s Roswell, New Mexico finale. Proceed at your own risk.

“Howdy, partner.” Those two words will haunt Roswell, New Mexico fans until the moment the show returns for its third season — whenever that is. But before we tear this episode apart, twist by twist, here’s a quick recap of what went down:

After deactivating the alien explosive and saving her town, Liz received an unexpected reward from the universe: Diego returned to Roswell with Dr. Margot Meyerson, a renowned scientist who not only offered Liz a fellowship but also volunteered to sponsor Arturo’s citizenship. (Yay!) But when Max learned that Diego was going to bring Dr. Meyerson to Liz’s lab without her permission, he torched the place, ensuring that no one would catch wind of Liz’s alien experiments. (Boo!) Understandably furious that Max resorted to such drastic measures without consulting her, Liz told him that she needs to figure out where he ends and she begins — making the decision to relocate to California even easier.

In other relationship news, Maria broke things off with Michael, Alex kissed Forrest in public (after performing an original song!), a rehab-bound Rosa told Helena — who’s already furious that Jesse Manes died as a “hero” — to leave town, and Kyle was overjoyed to discover that Liz’s interference saved Steph’s life.

Then came the big reveal. Guided the whispers he heard when he touched the alien console, Max took Isobel and Michael to a secret tunnel, where they freed a mysterious stranger — the stowaway mentioned in Tripp’s journals. And he looks an awful lot like an evil, bearded Max. Below, executive producer Carina Adly MacKenzie answers (most of) our burning questions about this game changer:

TVLINE | I’ve never read [Melinda Metz’s Roswell High] books, and I never watched the first Roswell series, so I was really not expecting that final twist. They did have a clone element on the first show, but it was kind of a funny thing. And it wasn’t in the books. Or if it was, I didn’t know about it because I only read the first one. That story actually evolved kind of organically.

TVLINE | We know he’s the stowaway, but what else can you say about this look-alike, if anything? Very little. But after years of watching Nina Dobrev pull double duty on The Vampire Diaries, I’m really excited to throw that challenge at Nathan [Dean]. We had originally considered introducing his father at the end. We were shooting the scene in Episode 3 where the stowaway steps out of the ship, and I called Nathan and asked him to be the person who puts his hand on Nora’s shoulder. At that point, we were like, “Whoever we cast as Max’s dad is probably going to be a tall, dark-haired guy.” And Nathan wasn’t working at the time, because Max was still dead, so he was just excited to come to set. Jeff Hunt directed both Episode 3 and the finale, so I said to him, “We might [introduce a Max double]. Can you shoot it like we’re making a big reveal?” So he did, and then we saved that footage for the finale. Once we saw how cool it looked to reveal that it was a double of Max, I was like, “Well, I guess we’re not casting a dad!”

TVLINE | Since you brought up Nina, I feel like I can say that the “Howdy, partner” line gave me major “Hello, brother” vibes — in a good way! [Laughs] We had fun with that. I think I had Nathan say it 100 different ways on the actual day, because there are so many ways you could do it where it’s either funny or sinister. And it works because, in the end, they are set up to be partners.

TVLINE | So that’s how we can expect Nathan’s other character to speak? Mr. Jones learned how to be a human in 1948 Roswell, and he certainly has a bit of John Wayne to him. I’ve got Nathan watching old cowboy movies now as he develops the voice — and works on growing his beard.

TVLINE | I hate to boil it down to such simple terms, but Max and Liz are definitely broken up? Not just on a little break? They are definitely broken up, not on a break. Their interests are diametrically opposed right now. On a second viewing, I think people will notice there’s more to Max’s choices in the finale than he might be revealing. He blew up Liz’s lab to protect his family and to stop her from continuing her experiments, but there are also some ulterior motives there. He’s had so many secrets for so long, he’s just not a good partner for her in the way she needs him to be right now. He’s got some growing to do before they can reconcile.

TVLINE | I do love them together, but I’m glad she chose her career. She’s always going to be that girl. Sometimes I get notes from the studio and network, saying, “Can we have Liz stop talk about leaving town? The show is called Roswell. The audience knows she’s not leaving forever.” But it’s not about creating jeopardy. It’s about who this woman is, and she’s not settling in Roswell. It’s just not in her bones. Part of the struggle of telling this story, and part of Liz’s struggle, is balancing ambition with home and with love and with family. She’s always going to be doing that.

TVLINE | I’m also proud of Rosa for going back to rehab. What does the future hold for her? She’s going to finish out her program, and she’ll have been sober for a little while when we catch up with her in Season 3. We’ll get to see her grow up and become who she really is as an adult, as opposed to this perpetual teenager trapped in her angst forever and ever — not that I can relate at all. [Laughs]

TVLINE | She had some strong words for her mother at the end. Do you see Helena having a place in this story, even after her plan went up in smoke? A reconciliation between Liz and Helena is a story we’ll explore down the line, but for right now, she had this grand idea of revenge and justice — and justice wasn’t served. She’s going to have to grapple with that. There’s going to be a statue of Jesse Manes in that town. He died a hero, and that’s incredibly frustrating for her. Meanwhile, she’s grappling with addiction and with mental illness, the same things Rosa is up against. Down the line, there’s a story to be told about her showing up for her daughters, but it’s going to be a while.

TVLINE | Lastly, I just want to give Michael a hug. How is he feeling about himself right now? He’s actually, for the first time in a long time, feeling a little bit of hope. He knows he has to get over Maria before he starts anything up with Alex, but I think after listening to Alex’s song, he has some hope for their relationship. At the beginning of the season, he was pretty hopeless, so just that little glimmer maybe there’s still a story to be told here is enough. We’re making progress. Baby steps.

~ TVLine

#roswell new mexico #rnm 2x13 #rnm spoilers #rnm press #roswell new mexico s3 #carina mackenzie

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southsidelover · 6 years ago

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IT’S THAT TIME AGAIN!!!

The year has come to an end... but what a year it’s been! From the end and the new start of season 2 to 3, from the ridiculous Tumblr purge, from Cheryl-gate, to comic-gate... it’s been a hell of a ride, ladies and gentlemen. But through it all, I’ve ended up meeting and becoming close with such incredible people, not to mention those that have been with me since this madness began. I am legit full of love and adoration for those around me, because I’m who I am today because of the goodness you bring into my life. So! Here’s to another fantastic year, to hoping that you all have wonder and happiness in your life.

Some messages of love to those who have been standout fantastic below!

@yourpaljughead / @thetowcr - V! The V to by Z. My best friend, maid of honour, and a shining fucking star of goodness in this world. You have done... so much for me this year. From scheming behind my back with my fiancé to pull off the most beautiful engagement, to being here as I’ve bought my first house, to just being YOU... honestly, I couldn’t thank you enough for being the light that you are in my life. I know it’s been a challenging year, but I couldn’t be prouder of all the things you’ve done, the steps you’ve taken, the relationships you’ve recognized as toxic, and the growth you’ve made. Next year is going to be insane, and I can’t wait to face it all with you. I’m truly blessed to have you in my life. And... you know. I... I love you. Like. Love you lo-- lol. Wink wink. See you tonight, babe!

@chaosblossomed - Steph, like, holy shit. Can you believe that Choni was finally made real in this year of our lord, twenty gay teen? Basically, we called it, and made it fucking real, by summoning it with the strength of our writing skills. I’m so so happy we met. That you’ve been such a consistent and stable writing partner. That nobody else in this world does Cheryl the justice that you do, because holy crap, how are you not her? And like. I cannot, CANNOT WAIT until I meet you in person at my wedding. You are such a strong and persistent girl, and I can’t help but admire your willingness to bounce back from anything. You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for. I adore you to bits, and I hope you know, we’re stuck together for life now.

@stormedchaos / @yourlittlejellybean - Oh my Lor. YOU have been such trouble, young lady! It was such a trip to meet you in person, and holy shit Ireland was so fun! Now here’s to hoping you can make it to Canada come 2k19, because you so need to be with everyone as we herald this madness for another year. I’m so happy you’re back to writing and feeling good, that you’ve purged out some of the awfulness of the year and are moving to a place in your life where you’re happy, free, and where your head is high. You’re a fantastic person, and you need to leave the shit where it belongs in 2018! Because next year is your year, girl, so own it, claim it, and find it yours, with goodness in your heart.

@goodnessfilled - Now, you, you? You’re such a good person Ric! And this year, holy crap, I swear you’ve made such huge progress! You’re now living in a new country, chasing your next educational step in life, and you’re doing it all while writing the most fleshed out, fantastic Archie, and extended family. Do you know how brilliant that is!? I mean I always remind you but still. I’m proud of you and what you’ve accomplished, and think the world of you - I appreciate that I can go to you when I need a person to bounce ideas off of, I appreciate your solidarity within the community, and I love that you are always there to do the moral right thing. You’re gold, Ric.

@dangeress / @wistcrias / @soleheir / etc - This girl is amazing. She manages to always write such rich, fantastic muses and with such grace. I’m always left in awe, Dani, and while we don’t talk as much as we RP, I want you to know that I always find your muses deep and amazing, and I adore writing with you when we do. You always feel unafraid and strong when it comes to the things that you believe in, and feel so fun when you have your emotions at hand. Just know you’re admired, and well thought of, from this court.

@machiavelliani / @ourpyrrhicvictory / @forslaughter / etc - Oso is like. Wow? I don’t know how else to put it, but seeing the black experience so beautifully captured in writing always makes me sit up straight. Oso’s got this beauty to their writing too that’s so inspiring and makes me wanna do shit better, and I hope that slowly but surely, I’m doing that. Can’t wait to do more with your muses with Agatha now that I have my own witchling muse to play, and never forget how brilliant you are my friend!!

@holyxgrail - Now if you wanna rp with a girl who write female brilliance, this is the one! I always feel bad tossing huge ass paragraphs at her, but man does she inspire me, and her muses are always so much fun to play against. Props to you for a year of finding out more of who and how you wanna play, for finding your confidence and your voice, and for knowing that you’re worth playing for both your boys AND your girls. Especially your girls. And thanks for inducting me into a world where I love Barbara Palvin, fuck!

@pinkxperfectionisms - Gonna be real. This girl? The most INCREDIBLE Betty. Like I love playing the good and the bad and the necessary evils, and how you always keep in mind that Betty is fucking 16 years old, man, like she doesn’t have her shit together, none of them do! They’re kids! You’re such a good bean of a soul, and rping with you and all our future OT3 stuff with V gets me all hella hyped, because I feel you’re so into the world building and understanding of maddening timelines on everyones’ ends. You’re gold babe!

@curiouscast - Nowwww, we started RPing because I found you super randomly in the indie rp tag but I’m so so glad I did! Like not only are all your muses so fun, but you’re so willing to try out new shit, you’re willing to really lean into characterizations, and I love that you keep pace with novella with me! Now that you’re also doing Riverdale and SPN, I swear to god we’re always going to have something going on. This new year is gonna be one that we DOMINATE, yo!!!

@evcryhcrd - My darling-est darling! You always always always inspire me with how much love and devotion you pay to Troy. Like it’s so heartening to know that you can be so invested and that we get to write such beautiful things together. I don’t know where the easiest place to find you anymore is (Tumblr? Discord? Where are you!) but know that I always find you dear in my heart. The last year was so fun to write out in development between Troy and Toni, and even with the angst and agony, I can’t wait to see what we cook up for them.

@mademiistakes / @favorpaid - Megs, my sweetie, thank you so much for the last year of goodness between Toni and Joaquin. Like their friendship fuels me! I know that despite your dolls both being dipped at the moment, I am confident you and I can continue RPing Serpent brilliance because that, babes, is what we do. I appreciate you so much, and thank you for being with me through the ups and the downs.

@heavenlysigh - Girl, I always love writing with you. Toni and Hara have seen so much growth this year, and I feel at the heart of it, that you always wake up this poetry in my writing. I adore it, and their complicated relationship and friendship. It really makes me feel emboldened when I see them together because it feels like such a lovely example of female friendship between the pair of them, in all its loveliness and ugliness. Let’s see all the new shit they stir up this year.

@slayvicr - Sam! Honestly we’re only now starting to get to know each other, but I love how supportive and wonderful you’ve been right out the gate. You’re so lovely when we talk and I can’t wait to see you at my wedding, because I know that you’re a wonderful person and that you’ll be a great person to be there during one of my happiest days. I can’t wait to write with you, either with Buffy or Joaquin or whoever you want to play! A new year, and more stuff for us!

@hoodjunior / @ladyreckoning - Hello JJ you wild warrior woman! Honestly, didn’t expect to get to know you well, and happy that we are talking. You have been so helpful about the things that you’ve helped me with along the way, from dumb Tumblr things, to helping me craft thoughtful statements. You’re a wonderful person who puts up with far too much, and while this year was not kind, I do hope that the next one will be.

@sunshinebarbiiie / @loyalserpvnt - You’re such a fucking sweetheart. Honestly, and writing with both Serena and SP has been a dream. I can’t wait to roll out all the things we’ve plotted between Toni and SP, and developing that rich friendship between Serena and Toni. The things that Serena and Vanessa should have been in the show, had the show been kind to us! Really, you’re fun to write with, and I love having you around.

@ragingicarus - Cries, I miss you load and loads and loads, you sweet human bean! I really want you to know that you’re treasured and loved and that writing Toni and John has been so much fun. I can’t wait to jump back in it with you, and want you to know that whenever you’re ready, I’m so so so ready! Missing you darling! And here’s to a new year full of fabulousness!!

@bubblegumxveil - J, my J~ you’re always out here with a cheerful word and a happiness to all that you do. Even when things are shit you always manage to have such a mature outlook, and I appreciate the hell out of that in you. Thank you for always thinking of me this year, and I hope you know that you’re really great and I appreciate the crap out of you. I hope next year is brilliant for you and you find your happiness the way you hope to find it!

@rxvenhairedprincess - To LA, my princess. I’m really proud of you this year... and thankful, because I know that I can be really blunt, but you’ve taken everything in stride. You’ve seen happiness and are turning so much into your happiness into a day to day thing. It makes me happy and heartened to see that growth in the last year and am really genuinely happy to have you here as apart of my little crew. You’re a good egg LA! Please always keep that in mind.

@swcctserpent / @mcntlethemagnificent / @fairriverdale - Chace! We missed each other in Sydney, but no matter, it does nothing to dull the brilliance in you. Thank you for being so great with both your muses and your own self, in helping give me some perspective when I’m a bit unhappy or unsure about what I want to write, thank you for being around, and thanks for being apart of the Riverdale community. I hope next year is a good one for you!

@snakeblccded - Your Charles is so much fun! And I’m happy you picked him up - really really, I’m happy to have him around and to write out all the good and uncertainty within his life out there on the edges. It’s an amazing thing to find someone who’s able to take what few details that are out there and turn that into writing gold, so really, that’s so cool of you. Can’t wait to see what we see in the new year together!

@wlftempr / @blackhearttm - Couldn’t forget you! I love having all your muses around, from the fatherliness of Alex, to... well, Toni and Spencer being wild. I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately because of vacation, but know that I love writing with you and appreciate you. Like I said on that call we had, I hope that you ended this year in a position where you feel happy and appreciated in your life, because you deserve that. I can’t wait to write with you more too! To a new year!

@uncivilizes - Such a random person to have found in the indie rp tag but wow am I glad! You write John like... holy shit amazing, and even though we haven’t done a ton of writing yet, you really perfectly capture his essence, and I can’t wait to do more over the coming year. I wanted to make sure you knew I appreciated and saw that shit in you!

#( milestones ) &&. in my feelings

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thesevenseraphs · 8 years ago

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Bungie Weekly Update - 5/25/17

This week at Bungie, our ears are ringing.

Last week was an experience in sensory overload. The aircraft hangar that our friends at Activision built for the celebration was booming. The response from the community has been thunderous. You honor us with your enthusiasm for new action.

Ever since the first reveal at the end of March, we’ve been hyping the “Destiny 2 Gameplay Premiere” on the Internet. Inside our studio, the entire operation was codenamed DRE (or Destiny Reveal Event). The games that were played in that fateful airport hangar came from the DRE Build. The presenters who took the stage ran a gauntlet of DRE Rehearsals.

We knew this moment wouldn’t be complete if we couldn’t share it with our community. If you made the trek to join us, we were humbled and awed to hear you roar as your favorite Class activated a new Super for the first time. If you piled into the stream audience to make the chat run like a raging waterfall, we thank you for helping us to break the internet.

If you missed a single moment of the premiere, here’s the full archive:

https://youtu.be/kmFGetMZi6s

With all the lights and noise and games and conversations behind us, we can safely say that DRE is something we’ll never forget.

Destiny 2 Game Director (and Master of Ceremonies) Luke Smith has his own recollections from the center of that storm.

Last Thursday was a blur. Amidst the fuzzy lines, a few moments crystallized and burned into memory. I’ll remember the tireless effort on the part of the crew who was there all week building out the hangar, Steph the stage manager helping us prep, the team running the teleprompters (which none of us had ever used before), and a ton of other folks who made that event go. I’ll remember the conversations with guests sharing their own stories of what Destiny meant to them, their friends, families, and communities. It’s another jolt of energy as we enter the final months of Destiny 2’s development. I’ll remember the moment I walked out on stage for the first time for the rest of my life. And the text I received from my mother after it was over wondering if she should “get into these Destiny games when I retire.” She’s 61, and I hope to still be making them when she hangs up her scrubs. See you soon. -luke

Thanks for being the wind at our backs, Guardians. As Luke said, there is more work to do. With DRE fading into memory, we can return to our mission with a belly full of fire.

Code Words

As we moved through the crowd of Guardians last week, many of you asked important questions about how Destiny 2's networking model will work. The technology we use to bring players together in the world of the game touches on so many crucial topics. We know that you’re curious about everything from how your shots land to the protective measures we’ll take to keep the community ecosystem safe. These topics deserve careful statements from the people who own the code, and a noisy aircraft hangar isn’t the best place to do them justice.

Now that the dust has settled and the ringing in our ears has started to subside, I sat down with Matt Segur, Engineering Lead on Destiny 2, to get some answers for you.

Matt: We've seen a lot of people asking about how the networking model works for Destiny 2. Many are concerned by our announcement last week that Destiny 2 doesn't have dedicated servers. While that’s useful shorthand, the full answer is more complex because Destiny has a unique networking model. Rest assured that we’re doing a lot of testing right now with players all around the world, and working hard to make sure that your experience is going to be smooth on launch day.

So why no dedicated servers?

Matt: Every activity in Destiny 2 is hosted by one of our servers. That means you will never again suffer a host migration during your Raid attempt or Trials match. This differs from Destiny 1, where these hosting duties were performed by player consoles and only script and mission logic ran in the data center. To understand the foundation on which we’re building, check out this Destiny 1 presentation from GDC. Using the terms from this talk, in Destiny 2, both the Mission Host and Physics Host will run in our data centers.

Wait, so we do have dedicated servers?

Matt: We don't use that term, because in the gaming community, “dedicated servers” refers to pure client-server networking models. Destiny 2 uses a hybrid of client-server and peer-to-peer technology, just like Destiny 1. The server is authoritative over how the game progresses, and each player is authoritative over their own movement and abilities. This allows us to give players the feeling of immediacy in all their moving and shooting – no matter where they live and no matter whom they choose to play with.

Why peer-to-peer? Are we trying to save money?

Matt: Nope! We've invested heavily in new server infrastructure for Destiny 2, including using cloud servers for gameplay for the first time. We really believe this is the best model for all of Destiny 2's varied cooperative and competitive experiences. Engineering will always involve tradeoffs and cost-benefit analysis, but as a team we’ve got no regrets about the unique technology we’ve built for Destiny 2.

With Destiny 2 coming out on PC, does peer-to-peer networking put players at risk of being cheated?

Matt: The PC platform poses unique security challenges for Destiny 2, but our security Ninjas have spent several years building a plan for how to engage with this new and vibrant community. We have a variety of top-secret strategies to ensure that the life of a cheater in Destiny 2 PC will be nasty, brutish, and short. And, regardless of what platform you play on, all changes to your persistent character are communicated directly to our secure data center with no peer-to-peer interference.

Does this mean I’ll never see a player warp around the map or shoot me through a wall again?

Matt: We think those controller-throwing lag-induced moments will be reduced for Destiny 2, but we can't promise they’ll be eliminated. Fundamentally, we are trying to strike a balance between three hard problems: (1) make the game feel responsive, (2) make the game accessible to players all over the world, and (3) make the game fair for all. We’ll continue to refine that balance as players engage with the Crucible in Destiny 2.

So what can we expect at launch?

Matt: We have a Beta coming up this summer that will be the first chance for players to get their hands on Destiny 2 and kick the tires on its networking. We have spent a bunch of time working on matchmaking, latency, and responsiveness, and we feel pretty good about it. As with everything we do, we'll be monitoring the situation after launch and reacting to the community's feedback.

To Matt’s final point, the real moment of truth and understanding will come when you get to play. That’s when you’ll know what we’ve built. When you tell us what sort of experience you’ve had, we’ll know too. This is our goal for the Destiny 2 Beta.

Your next obvious question is:

“When is the Beta?”

We’re still tracking toward a summer time-frame. We’re locking down dates and prepping builds. As soon we know for sure, we’ll upgrade the Beta forecast from its current status of “Soon” with exact dates.

We hope to see you there. This is the true test. We’ll need every Guardian on hand to help us launch a game worthy of this community.

Mission Status

Supporting the Guardians is a mission that takes on many forms. Last week, the members of our Destiny Player Support team were part of the Away Team for the reveal event, inverting controllers and hooking players up with their first taste of Destiny 2. This week, they’re back to walking their beat on Bungie.net, looking for players in need of assistance.

This is their report.

Earlier this week, server maintenance was conducted to address some backend issues that were impacting Destiny servers. No changes to gameplay were made. If you are experiencing any issues connecting to Destiny since this maintenance was completed, please post a report to the #Help forum listing the error codes you’re receiving when attempting to play.

Additionally, we are investigating issues preventing various activity statistics from appearing on your Bungie.net Legend. We have confirmed that issues impacting Iron Banner Mayhem Clash stats have been addressed, but we are continuing to investigate issues preventing the appearance of stats from alternate activities. Please note the following:

Third party applications that rely on Bungie.net API for stat collection will be impacted until this issue is resolved.

Some previously-completed activity statistics have begun to appear on Bungie.net, but we are continuing to investigate the issue as it may still impact alternate stats.

Once the issue has been resolved, it may take up to 48 hours for all statistics to be processed.

Additional information and updates on this investigation will be provided through @BungieHelp when available.

#Destiny #Destiny the game #Destiny 2 #bungie weekly update

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thesnhuup · 7 years ago

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Pop Picks – July 23, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Spotify’s Summer Acoustic playlist has been on repeat quite a lot. What a fun way to listen to artists new to me, including The Paper Kites, Hollow Coves, and Fleet Foxes, as well as old favorites like Leon Bridges and Jose Gonzalez. Pretty chill when dialing back to a summer pace, dining on the screen porch or reading a book.

What I’m reading:

Bryan Stevenson’s Just Mercy. Founder of the Equal Justice Initiative, Stevenson tells of the racial injustice (and the war on the poor our judicial system perpetuates as well) that he discovered as a young graduate from Harvard Law School and his fight to address it. It is in turn heartbreaking, enraging, and inspiring. It is also about mercy and empathy and justice that reads like a novel. Brilliant.

What I’m watching:

Fauda. We watched season one of this Israeli thriller. It was much discussed in Israel because while it focuses on an ex-special agent who comes out of retirement to track down a Palestinian terrorist, it was willing to reveal the complexity, richness, and emotions of Palestinian lives. And the occasional brutality of the Israelis. Pretty controversial stuff in Israel. Lior Raz plays Doron, the main character, and is compelling and tough and often hard to like. He’s a mess. As is the world in which he has to operate. We really liked it, and also felt guilty because while it may have been brave in its treatment of Palestinians within the Israeli context, it falls back into some tired tropes and ultimately falls short on this front.

Archive

June 11, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Like everyone else, I’m listening to Pusha T drop the mic on Drake. Okay, not really, but do I get some points for even knowing that? We all walk around with songs that immediately bring us back to a time or a place. Songs are time machines. We are coming up on Father’s Day. My own dad passed away on Father’s Day back in 1994 and I remembering dutifully getting through the wake and funeral and being strong throughout. Then, sitting alone in our kitchen, Don Henley’s The End of the Innocence came on and I lost it. When you lose a parent for the first time (most of us have two after all) we lose our innocence and in that passage, we suddenly feel adult in a new way (no matter how old we are), a longing for our own childhood, and a need to forgive and be forgiven. Listen to the lyrics and you’ll understand. As Wordsworth reminds us in In Memoriam, there are seasons to our grief and, all these years later, this song no longer hits me in the gut, but does transport me back with loving memories of my father. I’ll play it Father’s Day.

What I’m reading:

The Fifth Season, by N. K. Jemisin. I am not a reader of fantasy or sci-fi, though I understand they can be powerful vehicles for addressing the very real challenges of the world in which we actually live. I’m not sure I know of a more vivid and gripping illustration of that fact than N. K. Jemisin’s Hugo Award winning novel The Fifth Season, first in her Broken Earth trilogy. It is astounding. It is the fantasy parallel to The Underground Railroad, my favorite recent read, a depiction of subjugation, power, casual violence, and a broken world in which our hero(s) struggle, suffer mightily, and still, somehow, give us hope. It is a tour de force book. How can someone be this good a writer? The first 30 pages pained me (always with this genre, one must learn a new, constructed world, and all of its operating physics and systems of order), and then I could not put it down. I panicked as I neared the end, not wanting to finish the book, and quickly ordered the Obelisk Gate, the second novel in the trilogy, and I can tell you now that I’ll be spending some goodly portion of my weekend in Jemisin’s other world.

What I’m watching:

The NBA Finals and perhaps the best basketball player of this generation. I’ve come to deeply respect LeBron James as a person, a force for social good, and now as an extraordinary player at the peak of his powers. His superhuman play during the NBA playoffs now ranks with the all-time greats, Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, MJ, Kobe, and the demi-god that was Bill Russell. That his Cavs lost in a 4-game sweep is no surprise. It was a mediocre team being carried on the wide shoulders of James (and matched against one of the greatest teams ever, the Warriors, and the Harry Potter of basketball, Steph Curry) and, in some strange way, his greatness is amplified by the contrast with the rest of his team. It was a great run.

May 24, 2018

What I’m listening to:

I’ve always liked Alicia Keys and admired her social activism, but I am hooked on her last album Here. This feels like an album finally commensurate with her anger, activism, hope, and grit. More R&B and Hip Hop than is typical for her, I think this album moves into an echelon inhabited by a Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On or Beyonce’s Formation. Social activism and outrage rarely make great novels, but they often fuel great popular music. Here is a terrific example.

What I’m reading:

Colson Whitehead’s Underground Railroad may be close to a flawless novel. Winner of the 2017 Pulitzer, it chronicles the lives of two runaway slaves, Cora and Caeser, as they try to escape the hell of plantation life in Georgia. It is an often searing novel and Cora is one of the great heroes of American literature. I would make this mandatory reading in every high school in America, especially in light of the absurd revisionist narratives of “happy and well cared for” slaves. This is a genuinely great novel, one of the best I’ve read, the magical realism and conflating of time periods lifts it to another realm of social commentary, relevance, and a blazing indictment of America’s Original Sin, for which we remain unabsolved.

What I’m watching:

I thought I knew about The Pentagon Papers, but The Post, a real-life political thriller from Steven Spielberg taught me a lot, features some of our greatest actors, and is so timely given the assault on our democratic institutions and with a presidency out of control. It is a reminder that a free and fearless press is a powerful part of our democracy, always among the first targets of despots everywhere. The story revolves around the legendary Post owner and D.C. doyenne, Katharine Graham. I had the opportunity to see her son, Don Graham, right after he saw the film, and he raved about Meryl Streep’s portrayal of his mother. Liked it a lot more than I expected.

April 27, 2018

What I’m listening to:

I mentioned John Prine in a recent post and then on the heels of that mention, he has released a new album, The Tree of Forgiveness, his first new album in ten years. Prine is beloved by other singer songwriters and often praised by the inscrutable God that is Bob Dylan. Indeed, Prine was frequently said to be the “next Bob Dylan” in the early part of his career, though he instead carved out his own respectable career and voice, if never with the dizzying success of Dylan. The new album reflects a man in his 70s, a cancer survivor, who reflects on life and its end, but with the good humor and empathy that are hallmarks of Prine’s music. “When I Get To Heaven” is a rollicking, fun vision of what comes next and a pure delight. A charming, warm, and often terrific album.

What I’m reading:

I recently read Min Jin Lee’s Pachinko, on many people’s Top Ten lists for last year and for good reason. It is sprawling, multi-generational, and based in the world of Japanese occupied Korea and then in the Korean immigrant’s world of Oaska, so our key characters become “tweeners,” accepted in neither world. It’s often unspeakably sad, and yet there is resiliency and love. There is also intimacy, despite the time and geographic span of the novel. It’s breathtakingly good and like all good novels, transporting.

What I’m watching:

I adore Guillermo del Toro’s 2006 film, Pan’s Labyrinth, and while I’m not sure his Shape of Water is better, it is a worthy follow up to the earlier masterpiece (and more of a commercial success). Lots of critics dislike the film, but I’m okay with a simple retelling of a Beauty and the Beast love story, as predictable as it might be. The acting is terrific, it is visually stunning, and there are layers of pain as well as social and political commentary (the setting is the US during the Cold War) and, no real spoiler here, the real monsters are humans, the military officer who sees over the captured aquatic creature. It is hauntingly beautiful and its depiction of hatred to those who are different or “other” is painfully resonant with the time in which we live. Put this on your “must see” list.

March 18, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Sitting on a plane for hours (and many more to go; geez, Australia is far away) is a great opportunity to listen to new music and to revisit old favorites. This time, it is Lucy Dacus and her album Historians, the new sophomore release from a 22-year old indie artist that writes with relatable, real-life lyrics. Just on a second listen and while she insists this isn’t a break up record (as we know, 50% of all great songs are break up songs), it is full of loss and pain. Worth the listen so far. For the way back machine, it’s John Prine and In Spite of Ourselves (that title track is one of the great love songs of all time), a collection of duets with some of his “favorite girl singers” as he once described them. I have a crush on Iris Dement (for a really righteously angry song try her Wasteland of the Free), but there is also EmmyLou Harris, the incomparable Dolores Keane, and Lucinda Williams. Very different albums, both wonderful.

What I’m reading:

Jane Mayer’s New Yorker piece on Christopher Steele presents little that is new, but she pulls it together in a terrific and coherent whole that is illuminating and troubling at the same time. Not only for what is happening, but for the complicity of the far right in trying to discredit that which should be setting off alarm bells everywhere. Bob Mueller may be the most important defender of the democracy at this time. A must read.

What I’m watching:

Homeland is killing it this season and is prescient, hauntingly so. Russian election interference, a Bannon-style hate radio demagogue, alienated and gun toting militia types, and a president out of control. It’s fabulous, even if it feels awfully close to the evening news.

March 8, 2018

What I’m listening to:

We have a family challenge to compile our Top 100 songs. It is painful. Only 100? No more than three songs by one artist? Wait, why is M.I.A.’s “Paper Planes” on my list? Should it just be The Clash from whom she samples? Can I admit to guilty pleasure songs? Hey, it’s my list and I can put anything I want on it. So I’m listening to the list while I work and the song playing right now is Tom Petty’s “The Wild One, Forever,” a B-side single that was never a hit and that remains my favorite Petty song. Also, “Evangeline” by Los Lobos. It evokes a night many years ago, with friends at Pearl Street in Northampton, MA, when everyone danced well past 1AM in a hot, sweaty, packed club and the band was a revelation. Maybe the best music night of our lives and a reminder that one’s 100 Favorite Songs list is as much about what you were doing and where you were in your life when those songs were playing as it is about the music. It’s not a list. It’s a soundtrack for this journey.

What I’m reading:

Patricia Lockwood’s Priestdaddy was in the NY Times top ten books of 2017 list and it is easy to see why. Lockwood brings remarkable and often surprising imagery, metaphor, and language to her prose memoir and it actually threw me off at first. It then all became clear when someone told me she is a poet. The book is laugh aloud funny, which masks (or makes safer anyway) some pretty dark territory. Anyone who grew up Catholic, whether lapsed or not, will resonate with her story. She can’t resist a bawdy anecdote and her family provides some of the most memorable characters possible, especially her father, her sister, and her mother, who I came to adore. Best thing I’ve read in ages.

What I’m watching:

The Florida Project, a profoundly good movie on so many levels. Start with the central character, six-year old (at the time of the filming) Brooklynn Prince, who owns – I mean really owns – the screen. This is pure acting genius and at that age? Astounding. Almost as astounding is Bria Vinaite, who plays her mother. She was discovered on Instagram and had never acted before this role, which she did with just three weeks of acting lessons. She is utterly convincing and the tension between the child’s absolute wonder and joy in the world with her mother’s struggle to provide, to be a mother, is heartwarming and heartbreaking all at once. Willem Dafoe rightly received an Oscar nomination for his supporting role. This is a terrific movie.

February 12, 2018

What I’m listening to:

So, I have a lot of friends of age (I know you’re thinking 40s, but I just turned 60) who are frozen in whatever era of music they enjoyed in college or maybe even in their thirties. There are lots of times when I reach back into the catalog, since music is one of those really powerful and transporting senses that can take you through time (smell is the other one, though often underappreciated for that power). Hell, I just bought a turntable and now spending time in vintage vinyl shops. But I’m trying to take a lesson from Pat, who revels in new music and can as easily talk about North African rap music and the latest National album as Meet the Beatles, her first ever album. So, I’ve been listening to Kendrick Lamar’s Grammy winning Damn. While it may not be the first thing I’ll reach for on a winter night in Maine, by the fire, I was taken with it. It’s layered, political, and weirdly sensitive and misogynist at the same time, and it feels fresh and authentic and smart at the same time, with music that often pulled me from what I was doing. In short, everything music should do. I’m not a bit cooler for listening to Damn, but when I followed it with Steely Dan, I felt like I was listening to Lawrence Welk. A good sign, I think.

What I’m reading:

I am reading Walter Isaacson’s new biography of Leonardo da Vinci. I’m not usually a reader of biographies, but I’ve always been taken with Leonardo. Isaacson does not disappoint (does he ever?), and his subject is at once more human and accessible and more awe-inspiring in Isaacson’s capable hands. Gay, left-handed, vegetarian, incapable of finishing things, a wonderful conversationalist, kind, and perhaps the most relentlessly curious human being who has ever lived. Like his biographies of Steve Jobs and Albert Einstein, Isaacson’s project here is to show that genius lives at the intersection of science and art, of rationality and creativity. Highly recommend it.

What I’m watching:

We watched the This Is Us post-Super Bowl episode, the one where Jack finally buys the farm. I really want to hate this show. It is melodramatic and manipulative, with characters that mostly never change or grow, and it hooks me every damn time we watch it. The episode last Sunday was a tear jerker, a double whammy intended to render into a blubbering, tissue-crumbling pathetic mess anyone who has lost a parent or who is a parent. Sterling K. Brown, Ron Cephas Jones, the surprising Mandy Moore, and Milo Ventimiglia are hard not to love and last season’s episode that had only Brown and Cephas going to Memphis was the show at its best (they are by far the two best actors). Last week was the show at its best worst. In other words, I want to hate it, but I love it. If you haven’t seen it, don’t binge watch it. You’ll need therapy and insulin.

January 15, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Drive-By Truckers. Chris Stapleton has me on an unusual (for me) country theme and I discovered these guys to my great delight. They’ve been around, with some 11 albums, but the newest one is fascinating. It’s a deep dive into Southern alienation and the white working-class world often associated with our current president. I admire the willingness to lay bare, in kick ass rock songs, the complexities and pain at work among people we too quickly place into overly simple categories. These guys are brave, bold, and thoughtful as hell, while producing songs I didn’t expect to like, but that I keep playing. And they are coming to NH.

What I’m reading:

A textual analog to Drive-By Truckers by Chris Stapleton in many ways is Tony Horowitz’s 1998 Pulitzer Prize winning Confederates in the Attic. Ostensibly about the Civil War and the South’s ongoing attachment to it, it is prescient and speaks eloquently to the times in which we live (where every southern state but Virginia voted for President Trump). Often hilarious, it too surfaces complexities and nuance that escape a more recent, and widely acclaimed, book like Hillbilly Elegy. As a Civil War fan, it was also astonishing in many instances, especially when it blows apart long-held “truths” about the war, such as the degree to which Sherman burned down the south (he did not). Like D-B Truckers, Horowitz loves the South and the people he encounters, even as he grapples with its myths of victimhood and exceptionalism (and racism, which may be no more than the racism in the north, but of a different kind). Everyone should read this book and I’m embarrassed I’m so late to it.

What I’m watching:

David Letterman has a new Netflix show called “My Next Guest Needs No Introduction” and we watched the first episode, in which Letterman interviewed Barack Obama. It was extraordinary (if you don’t have Netflix, get it just to watch this show); not only because we were reminded of Obama’s smarts, grace, and humanity (and humor), but because we saw a side of Letterman we didn’t know existed. His personal reflections on Selma were raw and powerful, almost painful. He will do five more episodes with “extraordinary individuals” and if they are anything like the first, this might be the very best work of his career and one of the best things on television.

December 22, 2017

What I’m reading:

Just finished Sunjeev Sahota’s Year of the Runaways, a painful inside look at the plight of illegal Indian immigrant workers in Britain. It was shortlisted for 2015 Man Booker Prize and its transporting, often to a dark and painful universe, and it is impossible not to think about the American version of this story and the terrible way we treat the undocumented in our own country, especially now.

What I’m watching:

Season II of The Crown is even better than Season I. Elizabeth’s character is becoming more three-dimensional, the modern world is catching up with tradition-bound Britain, and Cold War politics offer more context and tension than we saw in Season I. Claire Foy, in her last season, is just terrific – one arched eye brow can send a message.

What I’m listening to:

A lot of Christmas music, but needing a break from the schmaltz, I’ve discovered Over the Rhine and their Christmas album, Snow Angels. God, these guys are good.

November 14, 2017

What I’m watching:

Guiltily, I watch the Patriots play every weekend, often building my schedule and plans around seeing the game. Why the guilt? I don’t know how morally defensible is football anymore, as we now know the severe damage it does to the players. We can’t pretend it’s all okay anymore. Is this our version of late decadent Rome, watching mostly young Black men take a terrible toll on each other for our mere entertainment?

What I’m reading:

Recently finished J.G. Ballard’s 2000 novel Super-Cannes, a powerful depiction of a corporate-tech ex-pat community taken over by a kind of psychopathology, in which all social norms and responsibilities are surrendered to residents of the new world community. Kept thinking about Silicon Valley when reading it. Pretty dark, dystopian view of the modern world and centered around a mass killing, troublingly prescient.

What I’m listening to:

Was never really a Lorde fan, only knowing her catchy (and smarter than you might first guess) pop hit “Royals” from her debut album. But her new album, Melodrama, is terrific and it doesn’t feel quite right to call this “pop.” There is something way more substantial going on with Lorde and I can see why many critics put this album at the top of their Best in 2017 list. Count me in as a huge fan.

November 3, 2017

What I’m reading: Just finished Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere, her breathtakingly good second novel. How is someone so young so wise? Her writing is near perfection and I read the book in two days, setting my alarm for 4:30AM so I could finish it before work.

What I’m watching: We just binge watched season two of Stranger Things and it was worth it just to watch Millie Bobbie Brown, the transcendent young actor who plays Eleven. The series is a delightful mash up of every great eighties horror genre you can imagine and while pretty dark, an absolute joy to watch.

What I’m listening to: I’m not a lover of country music (to say the least), but I love Chris Stapleton. His “The Last Thing I Needed, First Thing This Morning” is heartbreakingly good and reminds me of the old school country that played in my house as a kid. He has a new album and I can’t wait, but his From A Room: Volume 1 is on repeat for now.

September 26, 2017

What I’m reading:

Just finished George Saunder’s Lincoln in the Bardo. It took me a while to accept its cadence and sheer weirdness, but loved it in the end. A painful meditation on loss and grief, and a genuinely beautiful exploration of the intersection of life and death, the difficulty of letting go of what was, good and bad, and what never came to be.

What I’m watching:

HBO’s The Deuce. Times Square and the beginning of the porn industry in the 1970s, the setting made me wonder if this was really something I’d want to see. But David Simon is the writer and I’d read a menu if he wrote it. It does not disappoint so far and there is nothing prurient about it.

What I’m listening to:

The National’s new album Sleep Well Beast. I love this band. The opening piano notes of the first song, “Nobody Else Will Be There,” seize me & I’m reminded that no one else in music today matches their arrangement & musicianship. I’m adding “Born to Beg,” “Slow Show,” “I Need My Girl,” and “Runaway” to my list of favorite love songs.

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wavenetinfo · 8 years ago

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Posted June 05, 2017 07:29:34

Photo: Caitlin Bassett proved vital to the Lightning in their semi-final win over Vixens. (AAP: Mal Fairclough)

An athlete was asked who he would like to have playing for him if his life depended on it.

The answer?

”My mother, at least she would care,” the athlete responded.

But had he seen the Sunshine Coast Lightning win a tense battle with the Melbourne Vixens in their Super Netball semi-final on Saturday, he might have chosen differently: ”Keep the tracksuit on Mum, I’ll take Caitlin Bassett!”

Bassett’s reputation as an ice-cold, big game shooter is long established – yet still wildly underappreciated in the Australian sporting landscape.

This is the Deadeye Dora who calmly scored the winning goal in the 2011 World Cup final; who shot 49 out of 53 in the 2014 Commonwealth Games gold medal match and 47 from 50 in the 2015 World Cup decider.

Steph Curry, Jonny Wilkinson, Hazem El Masri, Tony Lockett… name your game and Bassett’s incredible accuracy puts her in the conversation about supreme sporting marksmanship.

So it was hardly surprising when, with the Melbourne crowd screaming and the game in her hands, Bassett sunk her 44th goal from 47 attempts to give the Lightning a 56-55 semi-final victory that turned the title race on its head.

Instead of a preliminary final against Giants Netball, the Lightning have the week off to prepare for the grand final in Brisbane where, as ever, Bassett’s incredible conversion will be crucial.

Australia coach Lisa Alexander says despite Bassett’s heroics, there remains a misconception her success is mainly due to her 197-centimetre physique being ”parked under the post”.

”That sells short the hard work she does and also the physical aspect of the game,” Alexander said.

”The punishment she takes in the circle is quite legendary and I know the Lightning have modified her training this season to cater for that.”

The key to Bassett’s clutch shooting?

”Practice,” Alexander said.

”I know it sounds boring. But she’s just religious about her training schedule. She also wants the ball in her hands at those moments, so I would say [she has] a combination of the skill and the personality traits you need.”

Slater proves a point to Maroons Origin selectors

Photo: Billy Slater scored two tries for the Storm to give a reminder about his State of Origin claims. (AAP: David Crosling)

The most astonishing aspect of New South Wales’ demolition of Queensland in Origin I? It was the Blues, not the Maroons, who found a spark when the game was on the line – the crucial line break, the clever offload, the big hit.

The Maroons’ unusual lack of creativity and imagination became embarrassingly evident on Friday night, as Billy Slater tore apart Newcastle with a slashing performance for the Melbourne Storm.

Slater is not a man to hold grudges, but in scoring two tries and setting up two more, he played like he had a point to prove – most pertinently, to the Queensland selectors who apparently over-ruled coach Kevin Walters and did not include the 33-year-old in their squad.

Some believe Darius Boyd did well enough as Queensland custodian and, accordingly, Slater’s exclusion had little influence on its 28-4 thrashing in Origin I on Wednesday.

This blithely ignores the unique characteristics that Slater brings to the number one jersey – the ability to inject himself into the play and create scoring chances with his amazing step and sleight of hand. Never mind his almost telepathic partnership with Storm team-mates Cooper Cronk and Cameron Smith.

Not even Slater could have stopped the Blues’ second-half tidal wave. But he and Johnathan Thurston were the X-factors missing in the early stages when Queensland played tough, safe but anodyne football.

The top-placed Storm face Paul Gallen and Andrew Fifita’s Cronulla Sharks at Shark Park on Thursday night in the most engrossing match of the NRL season so far.

What better test of whether the champion full-back is again ready for Origin duty?

Hawkins incident set to test MRP’s consistency

Photo: Tom Hawkins will face close scrutiny from the AFL’s match review panel. (AAP: Julian Smith)

So predictably benign have the AFL’s match review panel (MRP) assessments been in recent times the tribunal now sits about as often as the Papal Conclave.

Incidents are quickly assessed, sanctions reduced for an early plea and snapped up by grateful offenders faster than you can say: ”Where do I send the cheque?”

Geelong’s Tom Hawkins deserves a week on the sidelines for a jumper punch during the Cats’ excellent victory over Adelaide. Yet the power forward would be incredibly unlucky to be suspended given the leniency afforded others.

So does the MRP follow precedent, or defer to those AFL officials who have publicly stated they want jumper punches eradicated from the game by making an example of Hawkins?

Either way, the conundrum is the inevitable consequence of a system that, by favouring expediency over justice, allowed some serious offences to go virtually unpunished.

Aussie quicks to be challenged by Bangladesh

Photo: Patrick Cummins produced an underwhelming display against New Zealand. (Reuters: Andrew Boyers)

With the return to form and fitness of young tearaways Patrick Cummins and James Pattinson, Australia entered the ICC Champions Trophy with an embarrassment of fast-bowling riches.

But unless the Australian attack can improve dramatically, the embarrassment they face on Monday is defeat to Bangladesh and the prospect of a tricky sudden-death final group game against home team England.

Only rain saved Australia from defeat to New Zealand in its opening match after Cummins, Mitchell Starc, John Hastings and Josh Hazlewood all paid a hefty price for their wayward bowling.

Australia’s bowlers looked more like striking bowlers than strike bowlers against New Zealand as as the Kiwis accumulated 291 in 45 overs, you could not help wonder if the distraction caused by the game’s industrial chaos, as much as a the post-season lay-off, had contributed to a lacklustre performance.

The number six-ranked Bangladesh is no easy beat and boasts a batting line-up that forced England to chase 305 in its first match.

So this match shapes as an early test of whether the Australian attack is truly world-class, as it appears, or merely a paper tiger.

Topics:

sport,

netball,

nrl,

cricket,

australian-football-league,

australia

4 June 2017 | 9:29 pm

Richard Hinds

Source : ABC News

>>>Click Here To View Original Press Release>>>

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); June 05, 2017 at 03:59AM

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currentfandomkick · 5 years ago

Text

Marinette did not sign up for this part 6

this part was broken in two for my sanity.

first part here previous part here ao3 here

Bruce is many things, including Batman. He is currently trying to figure out how to launch a search party for his daughter’s missing magic jewelry and to find the thieves. (god, he hasn’t even met her yet and she has so many problems. She needs him there already and he isn’t). He is a father to many children who are currently searching for her, and who only just thought to inform him of this fact. On top of that, he is Batman—Justice League, cases, and keeping up his aliases on top of managing his possibly injured son.

What he is not expecting is a call from Hal when he is mid-way through a case while keeping Red Hood down. He is not expecting for Oracle to patch him through, nor is he expecting it to include Diana and Arthur—granted they all know each other’s identities at this point, but still. He would like to be uniform when his allies call him for work. Instead, he’s in civvies, in Jason’s room on his laptop keeping his son in place by sitting at the foot of his bed and shooting him looks on occasion. The only mercy was it being audio only.

“Batman we need to have a talk,” Hal stated.

Jason decided to make a break for it while Bruce was distracted. Bruce tackled his son and dragged him back to bed. “Little busy. Someone with Pegasus’ abilities dropped Hood into the harbor and he’s on bedrest.”

“I object to this treatment! I’m fine!”

“Not until Agent A clears you.”

“Fuck you B.”

“Hood.”

Jason stuck out his tongue and relented for the moment.

“So you’re aware he pulled a gun on a kid?”

Bruce choked at that.

Jason sat up. “First of all, dart gun with knock outs thank you very much, second of all, kid clearly stole Ladybug’s whatever that lets her transform, same with the girl using the cat that clearly has a lot of anxiety and definitely should not be in the field if she’s hyperventilating!”

Bruce could feel Diana being held back by someone. Possibly Hal’s ring, or Arthur.

“That was a teammate certified by the Ladybug and Chat Noir as allowed to use their miraculous given that Ladybug was needed on another mission at the time. Mr. Bug has appeared once before when Ladybug was unable to appear, and Chatte Noire is usually for solo stealth missions but was called to handle this particular akuma.” Arthur explained. “Your son attacked Ladybug’s team and has only made them all more unwilling to allow any contact after Sandboy.”

Bruce froze. His daughter needs help, and is denying the league the right to after Jason’s (well-intentioned) actions.

“Are they—”

“Ladybug has stated that the League may not approach her team during patrol, which was our main contact point. Miss Sting has become their representative for any and all contact, save one Amazonian historian,” Diana hissed. “She is convinced your whole family is trying to kill her now. You are to keep your house out of Paris until this is handled—if it wasn’t for the team being convinced that Red Hood was one of Sandboy’s creations, we would not be allowed to contact her at all!”

Bruce froze. His daughter is terrified of his family—of her family. She thinks they are out to kill her. He need to have a family meeting, now.

“I’ll check their locations and bring them back.”

“You better!”

“It is not wise to anger the Savior and Destroyer, so do so as quickly as possible,” Arthur stressed.

“Seriously Bats, get your house in order.”

“Hey, he’s not in charge of us anymore,” Jason tried to defend, only his voice wasn’t all there. “We’re our own people here. He just makes sure we don’t bleed out at this point.”

“Might want to work on that too.” Bruce wasn’t focusing enough to tell which of them said that.

Jason was shockingly quiet after that, typing absently on his phone.

Bruce needed to fix this. He turned on his kids trackers, only to find they were already in Paris, or… moving toward it. And comms were down.

“Oracle, report.”

“Sorry B, but I think they found her and we may have pinned down Hawkmoth.”

Bruce wanted to scream. He didn’t. “Report the identity to the League and leave Paris, now.”

“… Tim isn’t responding, Cass has plans with a family, and Steph is part of those, so you’re going to have to wait a day or so.”

Jason typed harder, but said nothing. Bruce could feel the self-recrimination and knew better than to intervene just yet. When he put down the phone (and when Bruce finished his own investigation on this matter) they would talk. For now, he had to wait.

---

Nino is a lot of things. Amazing director (albeit a tyrant as one), a top notch dj, and a superhero. He is also smart, charming, and very good at reading people and knowing when something is up. Perks of being Carapace and having Wayzz all the time—people’s weaknesses are a lot easier to spot now, and any fronts they try to put up, he already sees right through them. Especially when its someone he’s known forever.

Marinette has been on edge, around the same time as Ladybug started acting up. Granted, finding out she has a pen knife last year by her accidently using it to draw in class that one time did give him a wakeup call on Marinette having a paranoia streak on top of her anxiety, but usually the girl calmed down during school or when she was designing during breaks.

This time, that wasn’t happening. He’s… not sure how to get her to open up on this one. Looking over her shoulder and the constant twitching meant she was probably hit hard by Sandboy last night, and hadn’t recovered yet. He really wished he got a few hits in himself on the akuma—it always messed up everyone afterwards. And Marinette didn’t need the extra stress with her new designs for the Worst Father Ever’s company and tests that week.

And yet here they are, with her on edge. Most of the class was hit, and no one was at a hundred percent and all, he got that but…

“Sandboy?” Nino started, hoping it was casual enough that Marinette didn’t catch how frustrated he was with all of this. Ladybug was missing last night so Mr. Bug was there, Chatte was filling in for Chat and had an anxiety attack, the battle took way too long and it was so painfully clear that Chatte isn’t a hitter and that Mr. Bug is no strategist. Viperion stepped into that role with ease when he managed to get there, but still. The whole situation was messed up and he couldn’t fix it. Even when its hurting his friends.

Marinette let out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it or…”

“NO! I—I never wanted to, I…” Marinette was at a loss for words again, tugging at her hair.

“Its okay dudette.” He made sure to take her hands out of her hair before she knotted it like she did when they were kids. She hated getting them out after, always cried a bit from how much it hurt with how big her knots would get and how uncooperative they were. “That bad?”

Marinette nodded, curled in a bit. “I never want it to happen for real.”

Nino wasn’t sure what ‘it’ was, but it couldn’t be good. He know how bad some of Sandboy’s nightmares were—getting chased by his own fear of absolute failure being voiced by his idols still stung to this day.

“Hey, if it tries to, you got us—me, my bro, your bestie and let’s not forget Miss “I am the storm” will be there.”

“And Kagami!” Alya added with a grin as she came over with his bro. “She’s already claimed the right to destroy anyone that hurts you.”

Adrien’s grin may as well have split his face. “She has, hasn’t she.”

Marinette turned to fight with Adrien, as something was going on between those two, Adrien clearly had an idea what it was, but given the whole thing with Luka’s fans getting on her back about using him to get famous and the fall out…

Nino shook his head to banish that particular akuma—fans are the worst kind of akuma. Love akuma are really annoying in their abilities, but he can defend against all of their power-sets so far. Fan akumas are always wildcards and he’s usually not the most helpful against them.

He hopes he can keep Ladybug and Marinette safe. His job is to defend and shelter—in and out of the mask. That’s what he’s decided to do, at least.

“Aw, look at them. Now if only they were like this back when operations secret garden was a go.”

Nino raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing you need to worry about, before we got together.”

“Uh huh.” Nino could and would worry about it. Was that a ‘get them together’ operation or a ‘teach Adrien and Marinette how to be people and no run from the sight of each other’ operation? First year ops outside of the mask were weird and he wasn’t in on them until a few months after he and Alya finally got together (at his best bro and favorite dudette’s brand of meddling).

Adrien is glad for many things since getting the ring. One of them is his partner and after finding out who she was (post-‘oh my god she hates me as a civilian’ episode), her brand of scheming. Which included (after he got her to conceded that his father may be bad but he is not Hawkmoth level bad) her managing to end up as his Father’s current ‘mentee’ of choice after she won the hat competition, and he showed off the scarf she made him last year. Gabriel had a rule of not working with designers that hadn’t made a name for themselves already—Marinette had by the time she was fourteen as MDC—Jagged Stone and Clara Nightengale’s joint-custody personal designers.

Father only found out MDC was Marinette from the scarf. He’d met Clara again at an event and she had the same style of embroidery and threading. Only it was after Adrien got his scarf.

Marinette plotted this--down to the fashion week event and Clara going to talk to Gabriel about his opinion on the work done to her scarf and how long he thought it would take MDC to make the same thing on a dress, roughly, since the designer does the embroidery by hand instead of letting Clara’s seamstress handle it given the intricate lace-like pattern.

Gabriel had called Marinette on the landline—the landline—that night and offered to mentor her on how to broaden her work for the masses, without taking away from her school and downtime, or interfering with MDC’s work.

So far, Marinette has gathered them a pool of seventy two people, name and contact information, that Markov, Max and Alya are co-investigating as Hawkmoth.

The trade off to all of that is “Marinette” brand consultation under the Gabriel brand, a studio with walk-in and appointed consultations, and being there on time.

Adrien managed to get them there a half hour early, and she still wasn’t relaxed. The unofficial appointment is in twenty minutes, and Marinette is shaken from Sandboy, but doesn’t want to talk about anything Miraculous, and he hasn’t had time for videogames lately, so. Distraction time.

“How did you get into fashion again?” Adrien toyed with his phone, knowing damn well how she ended up this far into fashion, but he did love watching her get worked up and go off.

“First of all, this industry doesn’t make anything for you if you’re short that isn’t petite, and that’s a nightmare to look for as a kid. Then there was Maman having trouble finding things that fit her nicely and from there looking for women’s or girls clothes is just disappointment after disappointment.”

“How so?” Adrien hid his grin behind his phone.

“How—how so! Your father keeps wanting me to keep pockets out of designs because real pockets aren’t ‘in’ for women’s fashion. Lies! They are always in, women always want pockets and real pockets! Pockets are wonderful and the deeper the better.”

“Mh hm.” Adrien knew that from previous rant sessions.

“Then there’s the whole lack of body types and fits and don’t get me started on every white shirt being seem through, or a button up that doesn’t button right, or both. There is a reason why I make clothes for Mylene and her mom since I started doing commissions in the first place, and that is only one of them!”

Adrien leaned forward then. “So anything else?”

“Fix the sizing system already—using measurements that we already use when getting clothes online for conversion charts, only no ‘small, medium, large’ just the amount of fabric at each measurement and a rough of how it fits on different sizes where from there!”

Adrien checked the time. Ten minutes to, and this guy sounded like the early type.

“Alright, better now?”

Marinette blinked a few times, rage vanishing as she processed what happened. “… yes.”

“Good, feel ready to work out a rough?”

Marinette smirked. “They won’t know what hit them!”

Tim walked in and decided this candidate was high on his personal choice of who he’s like to be baby bat. The girl had cookies at the ready with coffee (real coffee, making her much better than Marie Ann) and didn’t bat an eyelash at the Wayne name. So either cool under pressure, or doesn’t care for celebrity status, either way a bonus in his books.

Then came how she just… had that same look Bruce gets when working out one of Riddler’s puzzles, only while she was working out a suit for him. She was just in charge of the design portion—Gabriel assured him he’d check over the whole thing and handle production and all. But this suit she worked out in minutes—even grumbling about making sure his pockets were at easy access level for him to grab his phone in case of emergencies and checking over his phone to shape the pocket and cut with that in mind—he likes it.

Given her features, she wouldn’t be out of place in the family—blue eyes and black hair for the win once again. And she clearly understood professionalism, even if she was being monitored by Gabriel’s son who seemed content to let her operate without asking any questions beyond asking him if he had any fabrics he didn’t want or any skin sensitivities.

Her measurement taking was faster than he was used to with tailors, and she admitted it was a double check and checking the fits he already uses to further incorporate it into the design.

No matter how this pans out, he’s decided he’s keeping her on as a designer at the very least. And that Janet’s DNA test comes back negative. This Marinette is his new favorite pick, and she wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Plus, she already wears her hair like Ladybug and turned that into a casual nickname, so extra bonus on secret identity keeping cred if she is.

Now he just needs to find out if she really is and then drop the bomb on her while working out if she’s undercover working Gabriel/Hawkmoth, or not. If she is, damn. If not, he’s giving her ‘spot the bad guy’ lessons, price—one cup of coffee.

next part is in the works, its just a lot lore-wise and detective-wise with bats talking to Baby Bat with No Idea its Baby Bat until whoops, too late. Oops

anyone knows how to add the readmore, feel free to comment or message me

@heldtogetherbysafetypins @laurcad123 @raisuke06 @chaosace @jeminiikrystal @toodaloo-kangaroo @kris-pines04

#maribat #bio!dad bruce #bio!dad bruce wayne #ml au #marinette did not sign up for this #part 6 #long post

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