#i know someone wrote an excellent post about CPs in OF

[1stthingsfirst]

2am musings:

how established/couple pairings (CPs) in bl function similarly to ships in fanfiction

both work by allowing the creators to capitalize on an ingrained love for the actors/characters and an understanding of their personalities and interactions. AUs ask us to examine (or play with) how these characters we know would work in a new setting, under new circumstances, relying on a shared understanding of certain fundamental character traits.

both work as shortcuts. you don't have to spell out all the details and you don't have to spend as much time fleshing out the characters because there is an implicit understanding that if you're engaging with the show/fic, you're there because you're already somewhat into the pairing and you like (at least something about) them.

basically, CPs = OTPs

tl;dr: we make assumptions about how the characters will be and act, both in relationship to each other and the core aspects of their personalities. as a creator, you can choose to use these preconceived notions to lean into or to subvert expectations.

[carpehistoryandthepens]

Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 17

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three, four, Five, six seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on the 22-23 season, that said last season when i wrote these tags originally, but hey, it takes me a LONG time to write, so now its no longer last season, OCs?, the realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

-

Sid and Geno chose to order dinner rather than try to make anything from the kitchen the way they sometimes communicated on the ice during a powerplay: simultaneously and with good practice. Of course, it tended to be about power plays, and now Sid should really get to the net so Geno could get the puck to him, but sometimes it's pizza.

One of the Italian places near them made good in-season meals and excellent pizza for the kids. Geno mocked him for not having an app for the place or a food delivery service, but Sid would call in and talk to a person instead of ordering from a faceless app. All Sid had to do was call in the order, but he had no idea what the kids wanted.

How was he supposed to be a good father?

Some of that had to have played across his face as Geno laughed and told him to go ask.

Sid knocked on Mike and Marisol's door, looking over the crumpled computer paper that had now decorated the entrance. He hadn't noticed when Marisol was drawing, but The brightly colored crayon drawing appeared a few days ago.  

Marisol had drawn a landscape with a sun smiling down on three people on what Sid thought was ice. The ground was blue, at least; it could be water, but the two taller figures had black skates on. The most petite person, whom Sid assumed was Marisol, wore white skates. They were all holding hands, with Marisol in the middle. Sid's person was black and yellow, with what looked like an attempt at an "87" in a childish hand-scrawled on the chest. Mike's number was in purple and gold – much like the Kings' old jersey – but Sid wasn't sure of the number. Sid assumed it was his former team's colors.

Marisol opened the door and looked up to meet Sid's eyes. Sid wasn't sure he would ever get over the height difference between him and her—she was so small. Despite her yawning, she was awake.

"Hello Mari, is your brother up?"

She blinked at him and nodded rather than responding verbally. Marisol opened the door fully to show that Mike and Nikita had crashed out on Mike's bed. Both of them were curled around each other, and it was adorable. Sid nearly died of adorableness just looking at the two boys. He needed a picture to show Geno and the rest of the team. Anna would be so pleased.

He reached into his pocket for his phone before Helena warned him a few days before Came floating back.

"No photos! I don't know you well, Mr. Crosby, but I don't think it will be an issue. However! California and Pennsylvania don't allow minors with contested guardianship to have their images used online. It wouldn't be safe for them."

Sid took his hand out of his pocket, leaving the phone where it was. He would do anything to keep his kids safe, even if it meant he couldn't share all the cute things that his kids did. While unfortunate—he wanted to be like the dads on the team, always with new photos—Sid could do without.

Marisol returned to playing with a set of dolls on the floor, clearly in the middle of some story. Jeff had shown up a few days ago with the dolls, saying his girls didn't want or need them anymore and insisted they go to someone who would love them. Marisol's eyes lit up when she saw the dolls for the first time, so Sid was pretty sure Jeff's girls would be pleased with where they ended up.

Sid had been grateful because he didn't know what Marisol would like. They hadn't had much chance to get her toys yet. Sid mentally set the next off day to ensure they got stuff for her soon. Nikita's toys were enough for now, but she needed more of her own stuff.

"Can I play?" Sid let the boys sleep momentarily and followed Marisol to the dolls. "How are you feeling?" he asked, settling beside her at her nod.

"Muy cansada." She said, lacking most of the energy he had come to expect of her post-nap self, "You be Dad. I'm Bluey." She ordered – neither of the dolls in her hands were of the dogs from the cartoon he had heard a lot about from the dads on the team.

Sid agreed and tried desperately to remember what cansada was in Spanish while ignoring the simple 'you be dad' felt like. He had just heard it on the TV program they had been watching yesterday morning. Something about sleep? But it was before the character had gone to bed…

Tired. It meant tired.

As they played for a bit, Sid gently talked to Marisol, trying to learn more about her feelings and whether she was doing better. It was hard because she kept on answering in Spanish, and Sid was sure it was just as disjointed as her English. With Sid's Spanish being… not good, to say the least, it was a bit of a struggle following along. It was better than it was a month ago, but not good. But he kept on trying.

Besides feeling tired, he had to find out what she was experiencing. Once he was reassured that she wasn't upset anymore or had too many immediate emotional reactions to the day, he gently asked, "Do you want pizza for dinner?"

She nodded quickly, dropping her dolls, "Pizza! I want pizza. With pepperoni and cheese!" She was loud enough to wake the boys.

Nikita was the first to move, still filled with the energy of children. He woke up and nearly vaulted off the bed like Sid had expected Marisol to do.

Mike was a much slower-to-wake-up teenager. "Pizza?" Mike asked, voice thick with sleep but somehow still processing. Food did that to hungry hockey players, especially when they were in their teens. Mike could and probably would, especially after today - both being on the ice for the first time in a while and Marisol's panic attack – finish the entire pie by himself.

Sid nodded, hiding a laugh at the hungry teenager presented before him. "Yeah, Pizza. What do you want?" He should know his kid's pizza order. That's a thing parents know, right?

Mike raddled off an order of toppings that Sid felt needed to write down; he still sounded half asleep. Marisol's order was much easier to remember.

"Hold on," Sid said, reaching for his phone to write it all down. Nikita was already giving him a basic order, saying that Sid had seen Geno eat a time or two in their youth—lots of tomatoes and mushrooms.

Once Nikita was done talking, Mike's brain seemed to come fully online, and he immediately backpedaled. "Cheese would be fine," he said, looking away toward Marisol.

Marisol didn't even seem to notice; she and Nikita were playing with the dolls and talking about pizza.

Sid sighed internally; someday, Mike would allow himself to take up room. "One meat lover with green pepper and jalapenos." He said firmly, using a little of the captain's voice he had for rookies who were nervous for their first games. He tapped the order into his notes app.

Mike looked up, and despite some of the worry and stress still on his face, even after the nap, he smiled. For once, he looked like the teenager he was rather than a lost child.

-

Zhenya stepped back into the hallway. He tapped away at his phone, making the order for delivery before Sid could even get it into his head to a call.

He had to do something rather than think about the realization that he just had. He would have to revisit what he realized later.

There was no way he could deal with it now.

Zhenya blindly typed into his phone and put the order in. Zhenya hadn't even seen Sid. But he knew. With the soft tones, the careful words, the firm reassurances, Sid sounded like he had the first year that Zhenya was in Pittsburgh. Sid sounded like he did when Zhenya was a teenager. He had a crush that he thought was just a passing fancy and was excited about the future.

He nearly clipped his shoulder on one of the corners of the hallways leading back to the kitchen. The app buzzed and declared his order in. Pizza for dinner. Or, well, pizza for the kids and salad and pasta for him and Sid. He had to be more careful. The team would never let him live it down if he injured himself on a wall before the season really started.

It wasn't long before Sid came out of the bedroom looking distracted.

"I'm made order," Zhenya told him as Sid entered the kitchen. He was a little proud of how even his voice was; Sid would never be able to tell he had figured something out listening to him talk to Marisol.

Sid gave him an odd look, "You heard the orders?"

Zhenya did his best not to look like he was reeling from something. Which he was, of course, but he didn't want Sid to know that. "Yes. The kids were loud."

Sid snorted, "Yeah, they're kids, eh?" he breezed past his confusion. "How long is the wait?"

"Forty minutes," Zhenya said.

The kids ran in at that moment, Nikita and Marisol's exhaustion gone. Mike was more sedate behind them but looking much better than the last time Zhenya had seen him.

"Food?" he asked, hope in his voice.

"Soon," Zhenya said before Sid could tell them an exact time. Zhenya was vague, not for Mike's sake and more for Nikita's. Nikita could and would watch the clock; if the driver was just slightly late, he would be so upset. Save them the headache. "Pizzas on way."

Mike accepted that before he followed the kids to the living room. Nikita was pushing mini sticks.

Zhenya shot a text to Anna before he could forget. He had to talk to her. Are you busy later tonight?

Because he loved Sid.

When he realized he loved Anna, Zhenya told her immediately because it was on a quiet date before she chose to stay in Pittsburgh, before Nikita, with just them (he may or may not have booked an extravagant dinner)

This was different. Well, the feelings weren't too different, but it was Sid. Not someone Zhenya had just met or a guy who was out of the spotlight and happy to stay there. Sid wasn't interested in guys anyway.

Anna's message came back quickly. Free now if it's for Nikita, around nine if not.

Not about Nikita, and he's fine. I'll call around nine, then. Good night call for Nikita, and then we just need to talk, he sent back. Actually, goodnight calls from both of them might be a good idea. He made a mental note to bring that up. Calling before Nikita's bedtime was already his routine unless he was on the ice. (A few times, he's called in the second intermission.) Anna might want to set up something like that, too.

She sent him a thumbs up. "Will call Anna tonight." He said to Sid, who was setting up the dining table, muttering to himself about learning how to prepare vegetables in a way the kids would like.

Sid looked up from setting the plates down, "Everything alright?"

Zhenya hummed, "Yeah, for Nikita's bedtime. And have to talk about a few things."

"Oh, okay," Sid said, bemused. I'll make sure to stay out of your way. You guys are really taking the trying-to-be-friends things seriously, eh?"

"Sid saw when Anna was here," Zhenya said with a slight glare. "If me and Anna say friends, then we friends."

Sid smiled, shrugging, "It's easier in person, I would imagine."

"Anna is hurricane. When she says friends, then we friend." Zhenya said, conveniently leaving out that he was also a hurricane, and together, they might have been category five on the days they fought. "And you know distance after a breakup! How's Kathy?"

Sid laughed, "We barely talk, but she's good; she gives me the occasional update on Maverick."

Zhenya watched, relieved that Sid was laughing because he would have hit himself if he had brought it up, and Sid would have gotten sad. When he said they were finally done, Zhenya believed Sid, the long-term power couple of the Pens. But for a while last season, it was a touchy subject that he and Tanger did their best to approach carefully.

"Anyway," Sid continued, "I think Mike is going to for a tutor rather than school. Do you want one that might be able to help with Nikita?"

As they lost themselves in the minute of parenting, Sid mostly offered ideas, and Zhenya approved or dissuaded him from even bringing them up to Mike and Marisol.

Getting Mike a trainer might be a good idea. They probably wouldn't find a tutor who could handle three kids of wildly different experiences, even part-time, and who could also be a nanny—it's best to have two different people. It did seem that Marisol was interested in skates but maybe talk to her to see if she wants hockey or figure skates. Two coaches on the ice at the same time might be best.

This was one of the reasons he loved Sid: he was the captain and would do his best to ensure everyone had what they needed. He would lean on his people to get him the best information, but Sid was the leader.

The occasional noises and yelling from the kids in the living room nearly prevented them from hearing the buzz of Sid's gate intercom, but the cheering they heard when the pizza was brought in was gratifying.

-

Telegram

(2215) Anna: now that you realize what are you going to do?

(2216) Zhenya: idk yet. Get over it? It's not like it's reciprocated.

(2216) Anna: it's taken you 15 years to figure this out, and you /think/you're going to 'get over it?!'

(2216) Zhenya: what do you mean 15 years?

(2217) Anna: at least.

(2217) Anna: You know exactly what I mean. I didn't think you knew, but I've known from your stories for /years/ that this was a possibility.

(2217) Anna: And plus, you didn't hide that rookie crush as well as you thought you did. If I could see it in film.

(2218) Zhenya: what.

(2218) Zhenya: I mean. Yes. as a rookie. But not since. I think. It was a /passing/ crush! Every rookie gets one! Especially LIKE MINE.

(2220) Zhenya: years?

(2220) Anna: I'm not blind.

(2220) Anna: 😂 

[yellowocaballero]

hi i know it's been the hottest of seconds but director's cut for the prophetic spring if you're still doing these? 👀

Sure! I’ve spoken a lot about the prophetic spring, but I’m fairly certain I could give some meta information about my intense life-long obsession with Tim Drake. Dude has been showing up in my fics since I was 14.

But actually, the ficlet I wrote ages ago might be more interesting? So here it is. Exploring a dynamic that was WAY underserved for how important it is: the Steph, Cass, Tim dynamic!

No CW that haven’t appeared in the prophetic spring, but specific mention for drug addiction and drug depiction, as well as references to molestation, abortion, torture, and suicide. Story under the cut. 

Tim stared down into the toilet bowl. It was a little yellowed. He needed to clean it. 

He stared at the small baggie of pills in his hand. 

He visualized dropping it into the bowl, flushing it. Possibly mutating an alligator, or giving the race of mole people that lived in the Gotham sewers a nice surprise. 

Tim sighed, and pocketed the drugs. Maybe tomorrow. 

**

A month after the incident with a runaway foster kid and a, in retrospect, kind of embarrassing fake fight with his older brother, Tim got a text from an unknown number. To make matters worse, it was at an insane hour of the day - noon. 

Texts from strangers were hardly uncommon. Tim had an extensive contact network, growing larger by the day, but he had set up a Google Voice on his computer so they were all routed through a program there. Being bothered at all hours of the day on his phone was hardly his idea of a good time. The only people who really had his real number were his bullshit ‘friends’ and his asshole ‘family’. He hadn’t even given his number to his ‘friends’ - he had given it to Kon under strict confidentiality, and then Kon had given it to all of Young Justice. Asshole. 

405-555-1998: dropping by in three hours so make sure ur presentable :)

As Tim had just woken up, most of his brain was occupied by a single whuh? 

Just as his mind swirled in sleepy confusion, his phone buzzed again.

405-555-1998: B1706XQE45

The code checked out. It was an ally, not an unknown or an enemy. 

Tim groaned, covering his eyes with an elbow. He needed coffee.

****

The coffee was a new thing - rather, it was something he had drunk plenty of growing up, because there had been nobody around to inform him that coffee was bad for developing brains. Growing up completely unsupervised was probably why Tim was a drug addict now. He could totally blame this on his parents never loving him. 

Not a drug addict, Tim thought to himself anxiously as the coffee sputtered into the extra large gallon pot. Just someone who...uses drugs...in an unhealthy way. Substance abu - substance user, who just used it maybe as a bad coping mechanism. Not that Tim had good coping mechanisms, but it was better than sawing off heads or becoming a drug lord. When you thought about it, it was either being a serial killer or doing drugs, so logically it means that he should do more drugs to decrease the amount of fun little murders he does -

Tim made toast.

The coffee was a new thing, because he was trying to use it to replace the drugs. He had cut back. The stupid little sorority that called themselves the Birds of Prey had been talking to him about it. He had agreed to try. It was best to set expectations low, so he couldn’t disappoint. Actually, Tim loved disappointing, maybe he should set them higher. Maybe he could make inspirational speeches about how he was a good guy now? Ha ha. 

The three hours had been a deft move. The texter knew noon was his average wake-up time at best, and the three hours gave him enough time to sober up if he had been high or drunk at the time. Tim didn’t like to start popping the minute he woke up, but - well, sometimes he did. Or sometimes he was awake at noon because he had been on an all-nighter drug binge. They hadn’t given their name, either, which meant that it was somebody who he wouldn’t want to see. 

He could bounce, escape to some corner of Gotham until they gave up. Except he had the sense that whoever had gone through the effort to get his number wasn’t the type to give up. Almost nobody Tim knew was the type to give up. His ‘friends’ and his ‘family’ never gave up. On anybody but him. 

A voice in his head, not quite yet suffocated, sounding altogether too much like the Replacement, echoed in endless attempts to get him to come back. Oh, whatever. Kid was a try-hard. He needed better taste in made up families. 

Over the next three hours, he debated his tactics. If he wasn’t escaping and the texter was playing the buddy card, then the situation probably wasn’t dangerous. He strapped in his armor under the baggy pyjamas that he never took off anyway, and spitefully made no effort to control his hair. He did put on make-up, an old hand from keeping CPS off Bruce’s trail - man, he should have pretended Bruce was molesting him, that would have been funny as fuck - to hide the bags under his eyes. No use looking pathetic. 

He hid a few more weapons around his apartment. He anxiously checked his phone, staring not at the new texts but at Harley’s offer sent a week ago. He still hadn’t replied. He didn’t know what to do with it. 

As if he could ever feel safe sleeping under the same roof as her?

As if he ever felt safe anywhere?

Maybe he had nothing to lose. That was the greatest part about this, the most wonderful aspect of what he had done to everybody in his life. When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. That’s freedom, or so Janis had always told him. She knew what she was about. Overdosing on heroin at 27 - that was understanding what it meant, to have nothing. To be free.  He was almost jealous. 

At two on the dot, a polite knock echoed through the apartment. Tim looked up from where he was relaxing on the couch, with all of the possible entry points in his line of sight. That wasn’t a knock he had memorized, and he had memorized everyone’s knocks. 

Nothing for it. He’d have to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Maybe he can pull the insane sociopath schtick again; that had always been effective in ditching his parents. Tim sighed, walked over to the door, swiped his thumb against the keypad, undid the three deadbolts, and opened door only to see - 

Stephanie Brown, hands propped on her hips and smiling widely. Cassandra Wayne, standing right behind her, serene as ever. 

Tim closed the door - or he tried. Steph had expected the move, and the minute he had opened the door her foot had jutted out and blocked him from closing the door. Effortlessly, she wrenched it back open and stepped into his apartment, forcing him to press against the wall and scowl as insane women infiltrated his space. 

“Wow,” Steph said loudly, “this place looks like a wreck!”

Tim groaned. 

***

The thing with Steph and Cass was this:

How to describe it?

The sister he had never expected, the best friend he had never thought he would have. Cass was his twin, Robin’s shadow, the other side of his mountain. Bruce had adopted Cass barely five months after he became Robin, and Tim had unabashedly resented her for stealing Bruce’s attention so quickly. He had always liked her more, but Bruce had liked everyone more than Tim, so maybe it was no surprise. She was sweet, kind, gentle, and no trouble. Tim wasn’t any trouble either, but he couldn’t be the rest of it if it bit him in his ass. 

Robin was the brain. Cass was the muscle. They were a team so closely linked, conjoined at the hip, that Tim couldn’t remember a patrol ever done without her. Bruce had let them start patrolling alone at fourteen (“You didn’t let me work alone until I was fifteen, and I was an assassin,” Damian had spat), and they had been an unbeatable team. Robin’s hand-to-hand was weak, but nobody ever got through Batgirl. Batgirl struggled with technical knowledge, reading and writing and investigating and chasing down leads, the only area where Tim had ever excelled. Together, they had almost been as good as Batman. Sometimes, Tim had let himself think that they might be better.

They had been so similar. Everyone had always said so. They’re both so quiet, the Justice League had said. Emotionless little freaks, the Rogues had said. Neither of them blink, their schoolmates had said. But there had been nothing to say, not between them: they could have a conversation without words, without even Sign. Cass had known every twitch of Tim’s body, had understood him down to his core. Nobody else ever had. Everybody had always called Tim inscrutable and impossible to understand - but to Cass, Tim had been an open book. She knew every inch of him. And she had loved him anyway. 

And Steph! When Steph had found them when they were fourteen veering on fifteen, and from then on it was as if she had always been there. She was so big, so smiling, so much, and she had never apologized for any of it. Nothing scared her. To Tim, that was the perfect vigilante - somebody who was scared of nothing, who never hesitated, who was good. 

Not even Bruce could intimidate her. When Tim was fourteen, he had thought that was the most amazing thing in the world. Bruce intimidated everyone, but Steph had just stuck out her tongue and kept badly backflipping off roofs anyway. Through twin convincing, Tim and Cass had convinced Bruce to give her a chance, and Spoiler had slot into their dynamic perfectly. She was their best friend, always. 

She wasn’t good at hand-to-hand at first, but Tim had improved by then, and they could cover her. She improved faster than he had, and judging from the reconnaissance footage Tim had frantically consumed after he came back to life, she was amazing now. She was wickedly smart, practical and down to Earth. If Tim was better at hacking into a computer, Steph was the one who found the post-it note with the password stuck under the desk. 

But more than any of that, she had brought the social skills. She had brought the calming presence, the sweet hand to victims and civilians, and her good humor was infectious. Steph was good with people. She was a born leader. Resilient. Brave. Everybody liked her. Everybody loved her. Tim had. She had loved him too. She could have done so much better than Tim and Cass, weird little societal rejects, but she had chosen them as her family. 

It had been the three of them. For as long as Tim’s life had meaning, for as long as he had been loved, they had loved him. Tim had grown up alone, in a world of one, and they had infiltrated it. They had expanded it, and they dragged his life into more than just Tim. Into Tim-and-Cass-and-Steph. Into Robin-Batgirl-Spoiler. Into meaning, and love. 

Tim hated them. And he wanted them to suffer. 

“That’s the Stephanie Brown I remember,” Tim sneered, closing the door behind him. Steph had quickly thrown herself onto Tim’s couch, clearly somewhat surprised at how comfortable it was, and Cass had  perched daintily on the arm. Cass had always refused to sit like a normal person - she would rather sit on the backs of sofas, or on the arm, or perched on chairs like a bird - “If I had known you were coming I would have jumped cities.”

“We would have chased you down and you know that,” Steph said cheerfully, like she said fucking everything. “Besides, if you had known we were coming you would have gone into witness protection. You’ve been avoiding the fuck outta us.”

“Wonder why,” Tim said, injecting as much mean-spirited sarcasm into his voice as possible. “I need more coffee, don’t go through my shit.”

The apartment was small, and the kitchen had a cut-away wall where he could see through into the living room. Stephanie hated nothing more than being ignored or looked down upon, and if he dismissed her and didn’t react then she’d grow infuriated with him and leave. He couldn’t fight with her, because if it came down to a battle of rhetoric or emotions she’d win single-handedly. She was so good with words. Cass...had no weaknesses. 

Which was inconvenient, because it was Cass he absolutely had to get rid of as soon as possible. She was very emotional, and more than a little sensitive. Especially to rejection. If he was cruel enough to her, she’d start crying and leave. There was only one problem with that. 

As he jammed more grounds into the machine he watched the girls out of the corner of his eye. They weren’t talking or whispering to each other, both fully aware of how well Tim could read lips. They weren’t even having one of those body language conversations they could only have with each other, aware that Tim could crack that too. Instead Stephanie was casually sprawled on his couch, looking for all the world like a middle aged dad watching the football game, looking around the room. Cass, as usual, was zoning out. Or, of course, looked like she was zoning out - Tim could tell that she was waiting for something to happen, and was preparing herself for it. 

Shit. Tim fought the urge to gnaw on his fingernail. Cass was going to be a problem. 

He risked another glance backwards. She could see him, so she knew. Fuck. He had never been on the other side of her mind reading. It was fucking inconvenient. Psychics should be shot on sight. 

The coffee sloshed into the biggest cup he could find in his kitchen, and Tim began draining it immediately as he leaned over the cutaway. He kept the cup held up to his face, obscuring it. Face covered, everything under the elbows covered - best he could do without preparation. 

“This little field trip sanctified by Sgt. Brother?” Tim asked, sipping the scalding hot coffee. Not hot enough. He needed - he needed - they’d see -

“We’re nineteen, we don’t need his permission for everything we do,” Steph said, amused. So she was going to speak for Cass - hardly unusual, as whenever they were all together Steph tended to be the only one who spoke - but seeing as Tim was Tim then it was definitely a strategy. 

“He lets his precious baby sisters knock on the door of drug lords for fun?” Tim sneered. 

“If they’re incompetent and retired, sure!”

Tim gritted his teeth. Don’t rise to her bait. Don’t. She was the best person in the family at getting a rise out of their enemies. He didn’t stand a chance. 

“What do you want?”

“We thought we’d take you roller skating at the rink,” Steph chirped. 

Tim stared at her. 

“Or the pool,” Steph said, faux-thoughtfully. “Or just the mall?”

Fuck this. Tim headed for the door, ready to walk out of the building barefoot in his pyjamas. He tugged at the doorknob, only to find that it wouldn’t open. 

Tim breathed in through his nose, then out through his mouth. There were other exits. He was not trapped. Had his apartment always been so small? He could have sworn that it was bigger. 

He turned around slowly. Stephanie was grinning at him, twirling what looked like a small plastic cylinder. Tim recognized it instantly - fancy League tech. Overrides all electronic locks and controls them. They all used it to trap perps and heighten their fear tactics. Tim jammed his thumb on the keypad. Nothing happened. 

Cass glanced at Steph, and made a small motion. Tim couldn’t interpret it. Why couldn’t he interpret it? Did they have a new code? It was Cass. When nobody else had understood her, Tim always had. Now they had their own language, one that Tim couldn’t interpret anymore. Tim was lost in translation, always drifting. 

“We aren’t bringing you in,” Steph said, just as light as ever. No trace of pity or caution or gentleness in her voice: just relentless cheer. “Literally all we want to do is talk. Play a board game, maybe?”

 Tim’s eyes flickered to the hidden panel in the wall next to him where he had stashed a gun and a sword. 

“Bro,” Steph said, “you really don’t want to escalate this.”

“Do you think you can take me?” Tim asked curiously, letting his hand drift to his arm. He shook his long pyjama sleeve down to cover his wrist. “That’s pretty cute. Last time I checked, you’re the shittiest at hand-to-hand in your team.”

But Steph just rolled her eyes. Shit, wasn’t he supposed to be ignoring her? He couldn’t, not so long as she kept pushing and pushing. Not so long as she was in his house. “Leave off. Just because Jay and I are the last people in the fam who weren’t trained in Mystical Ninja Arts doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. Hands in the air, by the way.”

Stephanie was overly sentimental. New tactic. He raised his hands slightly in the air, caught reaching for the weapon hidden in his armor. “Incompetent enough to let me die.”

There. Finally. Thank god, Tim thought he was losing his touch. The muscles clenched in Stephanie’s jaw, and just a twitch of her eye - banishing a bad memory. “Everybody’s been saying you’ve turned rude. I guess you’ve just been avoiding us because you don’t want to hurt our feelings, right?”

“I didn’t remember a lot when I was first resurrected,” Tim said casually, despite the fact that he had never told anybody about the first awful six months. Something about Steph and Cass just pried it out of him, like invasive surgery. Or an autopsy. “I remember everything about those six months, though. Homeless. Practically retarded. Brain damage does that to you, you know. I lived on the streets, did you know that? It was a miracle I lived through it.” He gasped, as if he was remembering something. “I slept on 34th street! You lived near there, didn’t you? Maybe you even walked by me.”

Steph went white. Cass’ expression froze. He was pushing hard, but these two wouldn’t react to anything less. Steph could trade barbs better than he could, even now. 

“It’s a good thing Talia found me,” Tim continued. “She was the only one who cared.”

That did it. Steph tensed, leaning forward, and even Cass stiffened. “Is that what she told you? How can you believe her?”

Tim just shrugged, walking back to the kitchen and hiding his body language again. He took an extra loud slurp of the coffee, just to be annoying. “Talia never lied to me. She said that nobody cared enough to save me. And guess what!”

Steph’s jaw clenched again. She was a hot head. A fierce temper, an impulsive girl who jumped in feet first and sanity second. Woman, now. When had that happened? “Cut that shit out. We all know what you’re doing. You’ve been doing it to everyone. Did you think Connor didn’t warn us?”

Snitch. Tim slurped his coffee again. “Connor’s been telling everyone to give me space.”

“Yeah, everyone but us.” She stood up now, ignoring the flicker of a frown on Cass’ face, and folded her arms. A challenge against the world. Against Tim. It didn’t matter. “You don’t believe half the shit you’re spewing. You’ve never believed your own bullshit, Tim. You’re just saying it to drive everybody away. It’s not going to work on us.”

“Why?” Tim asked innocently. “You’re too thick?”

“Because we love you!” Steph cried. Tim rolled his eyes. As if he hadn’t heard that one before. “Saving Richie proved it, you aren’t as insane as you keep pretending you are. You know what you’re doing is wrong, you just don’t care.”

“Wow, you caught me.” Tim took another long swig of his coffee. It was making his hands jittery. Good. “Local genius aware of his actions. Call the press. Call Uncle Clark, he needs a scoop.” He arched an eyebrow at Steph. She hated that expression of his - she had always found it so aristocratic and pretentious. Joke’s on her, he was pretentious. “Do you mind if I go do a line? I’m not high enough for this conversation.”

If she had told him who she was, he would have done a line anyway just to spite her, and she knew it. “You don’t want to try,” Steph said stubbornly, “but you’re trying. You don’t want to care, but you care. You don’t want to feel it, but it hurts so much you can’t bear it. You can’t get anything past us, Tim. It’s always just been us. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Doesn’t that mean -

“What that means,” Tim said, and he found the words scraping his throat. He found himself talking a little louder than he meant to. The coffee, you know. Made you jittery. “is that you should have saved me. If you loved me so fucking much, you would have been anything other than useless. You’ve always been the most useless girl in the world, Steph. You couldn’t save your crook of a dad or your junkie of a mom. You couldn’t save your baby and you couldn’t save me. You’re ghetto trash putting on airs, and everyone can smell it on you.”

As soon as he said it, he tensed. He shifted his stance, ready to throw the coffee and spill the scalding liquid on her. Obscure her vision. It would take a second for her to vault the cover, so he could duck down. From there he could get the gun, shoot the window, jump out the window. She couldn’t win. Tim had the most powerful weapon in the world in his disposal and that was his infinite, burning hate. His hate for Steph and Cass burned him to the ground, and his world with it, and he was going to burn them to cinders because he couldn’t do anything else. 

But Steph didn’t move. Cass got off the sofa. She walked up to Steph, and gently pressed a hand on her shoulder. She squeezed. Steph exhaled, long and shaking, and nodded at Cass. She walked into Tim’s bedroom - hey! - and shut the door. 

Then Cass stared at Tim, and there was no more need for words. Not between them. 

Tim vaulted the cut away wall, aiming for her feet first. Cass didn’t dodge - that would imply that she moved like an object moved. She moved like water moved - swift and supple, with such infinite grace and precision that it was like she wasn’t human at all. 

But he had gotten better. He didn’t spend two and half years trained by the League of Assassins in crochet. Tim lashed out with a foot, she dodged again. He threw a punch, she moved. He feinted, clearly leaving her an opening, and she didn’t take it. 

Bitch. 

Cass shoved away his coffee table, sending it skidding across the floor and opening the floor space. The rug became their arena, tight and intimate, no room for maneuverability. Tim acted and she reacted, Tim lashed out a sweep kick and she jumped over it, Tim tried to grapple and she broke his hold. She never threw him to the ground, never pinned him. She just moved. 

She was good, but not good enough to toy with him and win completely. The way to win against Cass was to leverage your height - Tim was taller than he once was, although that wasn’t saying much - weight, and strength against her. A couple good hits and she was down. 

The issue, of course, was hitting her. 

He got a hit in. It was much easier when she wasn’t even fighting back. She rolled with it effortlessly, taking the impact to gain a little space between them. She breathed deeply, sweat rolling down her neck. Tim used to take a cold compress and press it to that neck. She used to smile at him. Thank you. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said. 

“Too bad,” Tim said. 

Fights weren’t like in television, long and choreographed extended scenes to entertain and thrill. When Ro - Tim was in a fight, a real fight, it was typically finished in less than a minute. The only way that a match can get long is if the other person was deliberately tiring you out - a risky strategy - or if you were of completely equal strengths with similar fighting styles. Or if it was a spar. 

As Tim tried to hit her again and again, he realized that it was a spar. 

No, not even that. It was a conversation. 

Tim grabbed her wrist, and said: I want you to hurt. Cass broke the hold, telling him that he can’t. Tim leveraged the motion and kneed her in the back, telling her that the only goal of this fight was pain. Cass let the impact take her down to the mat, an incredibly disadvantageous position, but rolled out of the way just as Tim tried to exploit the opportunity. I’m not scared of you. Tim hit again, and again, and again, failing every time. I want you gone, Tim said, and this is the only way I know how to do it. 

This is what Tim said: as much as I once loved you, I now hate you. The infinite depths of my love, my twin sister, how we moved in perfect sync. I hate it all. As much as I cared, I now hate. Feel this hate. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said. 

They moved in perfect sync, even now. Cass couldn’t predict his movements before he made them, like she used to - his training was different now, developed and refined. But Cass knew the League of Assassins too, had been trained by them just as he had, and they were written into her bones when they were only carved into Tim’s. After his third patented Talia move, she adjusted to fit his style, and their fight metamorphosed into more of a dance. Like they used to. 

“Why not!” Tim screamed, the stupidest possible thing to do in a fight, but Cass didn’t take advantage of his exhale. He lashed out a fist to cover the opening, but it was lazy and over-extended, and she dodged easily. “I’m going to kill you!”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Tim desperately tried to call the green to his vision. It was so easy. All he had to do was tap into that rage. Talia had called it blood lust. Said it was normal, even good. But it wouldn’t come. Where was it? It was his only friend. 

Desperately, Tim went in for another punch to the face - Cass’ jaw was the weakest part of her body, an old injury - but he over-extended again, and this time Cass took the opportunity. She grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, dropping him to the mat. She didn’t try to twist him around, instead landing him on his back. Bad move for her. 

She kneed him in the chest, putting her full hundred and thirty pounds on him. She twisted his hands behind his back, pinning him, and Tim could do barely more than wheeze. 

He looked at her in the eyes for the first time. They were infuriatingly calm. Her hair was tangled and clumped with sweat, but she wasn’t breathing hard. Her expression was placid and serene, as if she was watching one of her stupid fucking nature documentaries instead of pinning her brother to a hard and scratchy rug in a shithole apartment, three years after he was tortured to insanity and shot himself in the head. 

So much time had passed. So much had happened, nasty and festering and putrid, and Tim had let it happen. He had made it happen. There was a rot in Tim, and it had eaten him up until there was nothing inside. If you cut him open, would it spill out? Would it infect her, infect Steph? Could he make them suffer?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass repeated. “So don’t be scared.”

“Scared?! I’m not fucking -” Tim wheezed, cut off by the lack of air as Cass pressed down. 

“I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t mean to leave you alone. But I did. I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to kill -”

Cass pressed down on his chest again, cutting him off. She had finally done the one thing nobody in Tim’s life had ever figured out: how to make him shut up. “You can be as mean to me as you want. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll stay.”

Tim wheezed. In that, maybe, Cass heard something, because she continued as if he had spoken. Or maybe she just wanted the chance to talk. It had been stolen from her for thirteen years, and it was valuable to her. 

“You do not have to be kind. You do not have to hug me, even if I want you to. You do not have to be my brother. I know it hurts too much. But you are me. I am you. You do not even have to try for that. I do not have to give it to you. You have it.”

Tim couldn’t help it. He cried a little, and then he couldn’t stop. 

Cass got off him, but she kept her promise. She didn’t hug him. She just propped him up against the sofa, holding his hand, and didn’t speak. At some point the door creaked, and he felt Stephanie next to him. 

This is why, Tim thought hysterically, he had been avoiding them.

He knew this would happen. There was no hiding from Cass. There was no posturing, no pretending. She didn’t want anything from him. She never had. There was nothing he could say that would drive her away, because Cass did not listen to the words people spoke. She spoke only for clarity, when she could not afford for her words to be misconstrued, and for the comfort of others. 

Cass knew that he had been lying out of his ass. Cass knew that he wasn’t as insane as he pretended, as cruel as he wanted to be. 

He couldn’t make Cass hate him. Shit. 

None of them said anything. Nothing needed to be said, not between the three of them. Cass might be having a silent conversation in Sign with Steph, but he didn’t care enough to open his eyes and look. When they had first met, it used to make Steph so mad that Tim and Cass were having ‘secret conversations’. She had poured over her dictionaries, learning as quickly as physically possible so she could keep up. Everything Steph had, she had worked hard for. 

Steph was in college now. Premed. She wanted to be an ER doctor. Steph wasn’t a genius, she had to study hard. She wouldn’t be able to superhero in med school, so she was ready to hang up her cape for a few years until she achieved her dream. Steph said that she could do just as much good as a doctor as a superhero. She hadn’t always wanted it. When they were kids and Bruce used to ask her what she wanted to do when she grew up, in his awkward faux-dad way, she had always shrugged and said that she might be a nurse. 

“Why not med school?” Bruce had suggested, between sleepy spoonfuls of oatmeal. She used to spend more nights at their place than at her own. Her mom hadn’t noticed. 

Steph had just shrugged awkwardly, nibbling her whole-wheat organic toast that she would stare at suspiciously. Rich people, she would say, sighing. “I would never be able to afford it. And no way I’m smart enough.”

“You’re good enough,” Bruce said, which was the closest he ever came to praising somebody. “I’ll pay for it.”

Steph had gaped. Cass had eaten her Lucky Charms smugly. Tim had rolled his eyes. “An in-the-know doctor for the vigilante community would be invaluable,” he had informed her, pretentious and callous. “We could use you.”

“You deserve it,” Cass had signed. 

“You have a bright future, Stephanie,” Bruce said, buckling under the panic of being a responsible adult. “I would hate to see you waste it.”

He would hate to see any of them waste their future. He had hated to see what Tim had become. He knew that. The last time he had ever seen Bruce, it was just to disappoint him. Bruce was the only parent he had ever had, and his standards were so sky high it was impossible to do anything other than disappoint. 

The fact of the matter was this: he loved Cass and Steph more than he loved Bruce. He could hate Bruce. He could hate himself. But Cass and Steph…

Bruce had ear-marked a lot of money for Steph, both for whatever continuing education she chose and for her future. It had raised a lot of questions among the lawyer team, but ultimately she had been written off as another of his strays. Tim had left her a lot of money too. There probably wasn’t any point: when she married Cass she’d have equal access to the fortune. Rich people, Stephanie used to whisper in awe, looking at organic toast. 

Cass was majoring in dance. She wanted to be a ballerina. 

Tim’s future...Tim’s future…

“Or we can watch a nature documentary,” Steph said out loud. “If we all promise not to say a fucking word.”

Incredibly, unmistakably, irrevocably, Tim groaned. “Not the fucking bee one again.”

“I like the bees,” Cass said serenely. 

“If you aren’t going to get out of my house can I at least smoke up?” Tim asked miserably. 

“I brought gummy bears,” Steph said, chipper as ever, “which are way better.”

“I’m going to the fucking bathroom,” Tim grumbled, which everybody knew was as good as a yes. 

“If you take anything I’ll know,” Cass said serenely, and also threatened. 

“Fuck you, bitch.”

Steph and Cass high-fived, and Tim sulked angrily to the bathroom. He took a second to look at himself in the mirror - looking for Tim Drake, failing, as always - before opening it and grabbing his baggie of pills. 

He looked at it. He looked at the toilet. He looked at the baggie. 

He didn’t flush them. He put them back in the medicine cabinet. Tomorrow. He’ll do them tomorrow. Not today. He can hold out for 24 hours. It’ll be fine. 

For a wild, stupid, insane second, Tim wondered if he could say that tomorrow too. If tomorrow he would look at them and say: maybe tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that…

If there was a future, for a fuck-up like him. 

The faint strains of Cass’ stupid fucking bee documentary began playing through the thin walls of his shitty little apartment, and Tim turned out the lights of his bathroom and closed the door, locking it securely behind him. 

[bucktitties]

pre-Eddie Begins thoughts

NOTE: I wrote most of this up last year at the beginning of the hiatus, so keep that in mind please, I just never finished it. But I want to have it posted before it all gets jossed by tonight’s episode, so here you go

So I had some thoughts about the upcoming Eddie Begins episode and how it can theoretically lead to buddie but are abso-fucking-lutely not going to happen let me live. I just want them out there in case they inspire someone else to write fic (y/y?)

Some background facts I/we know:

•Christopher is at least 8, possibly 9 y/o, by the end of 2019 •CP is usually diagnosed by the time a kid is 2 y/o*  •Eddie said he found out about Christopher’s CP diagnosis near the end of his first tour overseas and that’s when he signed up for a second one •Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was repealed in 2010 •I don’t know shit about the military

Therefore, it’s very possible that Eddie grew up pretty closeted considering his background, and when he decided to join the military/entered the Academy, DADT was probably still in effect. So this could be an excellent way for the show to introduce us to the idea that Eddie’s not as straight as we thought. Eddie’s very big on duty and that sort of thing, so I doubt he’d actually cheat on Shannon while overseas. Though I could see him maybe almost kissing a guy (and then of course they agree never to speak of it again because DADT) or some kind of parallel to that really intense kitchen scene he had with Buck (“I’d take you” jfc nobody fucking talk to me) and then feeling SUPER guilty about it. 

OMG WAIT what if he has some serious UST with a guy in his unit that ends up dying in that same mission Eddie ends up getting a silver star for?? and this guy is like the one that got away or something** and Buck reminds Eddie of him??? no I need a moment.

tl;dr- Eddie could very well be closeted based on his upbringing and being a part of the military during the DADT era 

*based on the preview clip just released, Christopher was probably much younger when he was diagnosed, but the point still stands  **I DID NOT KNOW 3x16 was going to be called that when I wrote this, so mark that one as jossed 

sidenote: we better get some Shannon scenes. I liked the actress edit: yay we are!

[gelo-p]

What trying for T10 ~kinda~ looks like

My friend said that the last thing I wrote was all over the place so I decided to rewrite all of it. >_>

So what’s this about?

This is just my own experience (and in a way, method) about tiering in Bandori; most of these, you’ve probably already read somewhere else. To be frank, tiering in Bandori can be summarized as “get the best team you can, prepare lots of flames, pick meta songs, and go like hell”. However, I think it’s important to visualize and plan out what “going like hell” really means.

Most of these will be written as if you’re trying to get into T10 as a solo player.

First things first - Bestdori is your friend.

Bestdori is a website that lets you determine exactly how strong your team really is. If you haven’t checked it out yet, please do so; it’s invaluable in making estimates. Set up an account (you don’t have to, but it’s convenient later on), enter your cards and area items, and then use Bestdori’s team builder feature to determine what the best team to use is for a specific event. This post assumes you won’t need help in using Bestdori; I might write a separate post for that later.

(huge thanks to u/NonSpicyBurrito over at reddit and the rest of the Bestdori team for making an excellent tool ^^)

Table of Contents

“Estimate how much EP you’ll need”: A Fallacy

There are no guarantees, so prepare to lose efficiently

Automating the Guesswork: The T10 Calc

Input: Active Hours Per Day

Input: Multi-Live Score (includes VS Live)

Input: Multi-Live Duration

Input: Challenge Live Score

Input: Challenge Live Duration

Input: Final Hours Sprint

Planning your daily Multi-Live Progress

Planning your daily Challenge Live Progress

Hold on - what’s a “set” ???

Tracking your Flames (and CL’s) per day

Miscellaneous Tips

Final words

I. “Estimate how much EP you’ll need”: A Fallacy

Getting into your desired tier (T1, T2, T3, T10, T100, T1000...) is all about getting enough event points (EP) before the event ends, and nothing else. If only 99 people have higher EP than you, then congrats, you make it to the top 100! And if your EP is so high that only 9 people have it higher, then you make it to the Top 10.

However, there is no good way to estimate how much EP you’ll need to ensure getting into the desired tier. The moment you think you’ve figured it out, the other players start upping the ante and all of a sudden you’re left in the dust.

For example: when I first started estimating the EP I’ll need for Cycling Seasons, I figured 16M would be enough for T10, based on some foolish assumption using data from the last Challenge Live (which was My Ideal). Having read other posts by the other T10′s (post-event), they wondered if 18M would be enough. Surprise, the cutoff turned out to be 18.5M - and I personally did 19.2M.

Where did 18.5M come from? Nowhere. Nobody decided before the event to just “stop” at 18.5M and call it a day. And that’s why you can never actually estimate how much EP you’ll need. As long as there’s someone crazier than you out there, that cutoff is going to be pushed higher and higher.

II. There are no guarantees, so prepare to lose efficiently

Read that header again and again until it sinks in. There are no guarantees. I can tell from personal experience: during the Cycling Seasons event, the player who finished at T11 had a better team than I did (I know from periodically tracking their score), but I was able to put in more effort.

All you can do is put in as much effort as you can, using the best team you can get your hands on; however, should this not work out, you should also learn how to lose efficiently.

There will come a point where the amount of effort you’ve done will almost always** guarantee you a spot in T100. You have to decide at that point - usually after 2 days of playing at T10 pace - if keeping up with T10 is worth it or not. If you decide not to, then congratulations on an early T100.

** In the absolutely rare-as-hell event (never happened before AFAIK because seriously this is crazy AF) that 100 people fight for T10, then you’re going to have to put more effort to stay in T100. Otherwise, just play defensively, and keep yourself above T50. It’ll be easy at that point.

III. Automating the Guesswork: The T10 Calc

If you’re still willing to take the risk, then let’s start talking numbers. This was the first step in planning for me: making sure I know the numbers behind what I’m about to do.

First, grab a copy of the T10 Calc spreadsheet, since this pretty much streamlines the entire estimation process.

T10 Calc over at Google Sheets

Note: I know it’s ironic how it’s called the T10 Calc when I said there are no guarantees, but that’s what I call it, so... ^^;

Go to the EP Estimator Sheet and fill up the inputs.

Num Full Days - An event is always N Days + 6 hours long, so enter the number of full days here. It’s officially announced a day before the actual event, but sometimes Bestdori already has that info as early as a week before. Some events are just 6 days long (lucky~) while others can reach up to 12 (fuck me ugh). Typically it’s 8 or 9.

Num Hours Last Day - An even is always N Days + 6 hours long, so usually keep this at 6. There is a special case where you might want to change this though, discussed later.

Active Hours per Day - The number of hours per day you’ll be playing. This doesn’t include breaks, i.e. Active Hours + Sleep + Breaks = 24

ML Score - Compute using Bestdori. This is your score when playing in Multi-Live / VS Live using 3 flames.

ML Duration  - The average duration of a Multi-Live. This is different from the average duration of a song.

CP required per CL: This pretty much stays at 800, since this is the most efficient, time-wise. (There are 200/400-CP CL’s, we won’t use those)

CL score - Compute using Bestdori. This is your score when playing a Challenge Live. If the event isn’t a Challenge Live, please set this to 0 or leave blank.

CL duration - The average duration of a Challenge Live. This is different from the average duration of the challenge song.

Final hours sprint - Specific to Challenge Live events, it’s possible to hold back your CP’s, and instead use them during the final 6 hours of the event.

IV. Input: Active Hours Per Day

The average person can do 14 active hours per day. Which means 14 hours of staring at your phone, and 10 hours left for eating / having a life / sleeping. I found this the hard way; you’re free to make your own estimate. You can bump this up to something higher (I did 14.3), but make sure you don’t lose too much sleep / time for other activities. The higher you can push this, the better.

Have you ever wondered how T1 / T2 / T3′s always get crazy-high scores? Well, they can set this to 24 by sharing their account with teammates using the Data Transfer feature. By having teammates who can take over your account while you rest, your account can do 24 hours a day of gaming. I personally don’t do it (I’m a soloist all the way~), but it doesn’t seem to be a banned practice, so get your own team if you want those titles.

Thankfully, there are only 1-to-3 of these accounts per event, leaving some space for solo players to actually get to T10. WARNING THOUGH! If after a couple of days, you can’t get into T10 because they all have crazy high scores, give up and settle for T100. You can’t fight a 24/7 account.

V. Input: Multi-Live Score (includes VS Lives)

Note: For VS Live Events, you’re obviously expected to play VS Lives instead of Multi-Lives, but for the purpose of naming variables I stuck to the “ML” naming scheme.

No matter the event type, you’re going to have to compute an ML score using Bestdori.

Always use 3 flames for your computation, and because Bestdori gives you the maximum points achievable, dial it down for safety. In my case, I used 4275 instead of 4380. Initially it was 4200; however, after 2 days, I realized that it’s too safe (my actual score was waaaay above my calc sheet’s estimate) so I bumped it up to 4275.

Please note that different event types will give you different scores for the same team; Multi-Lives during Challenge Live events give you a lower EP compared to, say, a VS Live event, because during a Challenge Live, you’re expected to get some of your scores from the Challenge Lives. VS Lives give just a bit more EP than Challenge Lives; however, there won’t actually be any Challenge Lives, so the final EP is smaller. Normal events (where you’re expected to farm using ML’s alone) give the highest EP per ML.

ML Score is directly tied to the room score, and there are four ways to bump it up:

Increase your band’s power. Max out all your area items, and follow Bestdori’s recommended band. If you can afford it, buy your way into better members. Prioritize maxing out items that match the Characters / Attribute of the event.

Choose a Leader with a 90/100/110/115% score boost, and max out their level. Bestdori would have already done this for you. For VS Live, increase everyone’s skill levels.

Join private rooms (where the members are high-level). Joining the Grand Room is okay (that’s what I did), but if you have high-level friends who can help you out with their high-level bands, then it’s better. Conversely, during VS Lives, you want to join a private room where everyone is weaker than you are.

Pick meta songs. Meta songs score higher in general compared to non-meta songs, so try to pick them as much as you can. These include Jumpin’, Unite from A to Z, Home Street, KIZUNA MUSIC, etc... You probably recognize this list.

VI. Input: Multi-Live Duration (includes VS Lives)

This is the amount it takes to complete an entire Multi-Live / VS Live, from the moment you press the “Live” button to the next time you’re able to press it again.

There are two ways to dial down ML duration:

Join private rooms. On average, ML duration is 3.5 minutes in the Grand Room; if someone disconnects, or takes a reeeeally long time to pick, it can take up to 4, even 5 minutes. A good game in a public room is 2 mins and 45 secs long, but those are far and few in between. By joining a private room and agreeing beforehand which songs and difficulties to pick, you can keep the average ML duration down.

Pick meta songs, again. Meta songs are shorter in general compared to non-meta songs, that’s why they’re really good for farming event points. You will keep running into these songs once you start tiering.

SPECIAL NOTE FOR VS LIVES: During VS Lives, there’s an Event Song room, which might prove to be faster than the Free Song room, since there’s no need to select the song. This is especially the case if the event song is a meta song; case in point, the Roselia vs Afterglow event, where the event song was Passionate Anthem. I suggest checking out the Event Room (and song) during the first day, and see if the ML Score and ML Duration will give you a better final EP compared to taking your chances over at the Free Song room.

VII. Input: Challenge Live Score

Note: If you’re not playing a Challenge Live event, set this to 0!

Specific to Challenge Live Events, you also have to compute your CL score. A Challenge Live event will have a list of featured songs (you can look this up in advance using Bestdori). Take for example the Cycling Seasons event:

Songs higher up in the list are better for your score, but I find that the first Hard song in the list is less tiring to play, giving me more consistent scores (in this case, Brand New Days level 18).

If you can genuinely manage playing the EX / SP songs multiple times consistently, then please do so.

Once you’ve settled into a song, calculate your CL score. Always use 800 CP.

Again, better to have a safety net, so instead of using 26,380 I used 25000. You’ll get a good feel for this value once you’ve actually started playing the CL songs. Just update the estimate later on.

You can bump this up by getting all members of your team as strong as you can. Area items, max skill levels.

VIII. Input: Challenge Live Duration

Like ML Duration, this is the amount it takes to complete an entire Challenge Live, from the moment you press the “Live” button to the next time you’re able to press it again. There’s no way to bring this down, since you’ll be playing the same song over and over again (to get a consistent CL score, see above).

Use an external timer to get the exact time this takes. Add a few seconds for safety, because the phone slows down after some time. For example, Brand New Days takes 2 mins 12 seconds long, but it can slow down up to 2 mins 22 secs long (according to my timing) once you’ve played enough.

IX. Input: Final Hours Sprint

This is unique to Challenge Lives, because it’s possible to stock up on CP’s and use them all up during the last hours of the event.

When this is set to > 0 (but capped at 6, for the number of hours in the last day), the estimator will calculate how much CP you should save up to perform the sprint during the last day.

A sprint is simply a period where you start using your CP’s. If you save up your CP’s until the very last hours, it’s possible to catch a few people off guard who thought you’ve ran out of CP already. Sprints let you earn a really high amount of EP in a short time, letting you overtake other people. There are still daily sprints, but not as much as the final day sprint. (You will still play Challenge Lives every day, you’re just not going to use them all up)

This will not affect your final score; this is just so your opponents could be tricked into not giving too much effort, thinking you use up your CP everyday. Please note however that most T10′s will also hold back their daily CP usage, but from what I gathered, most of them will sprint during the last full day, and not during the final 6 hours.

This won’t have any advantage if everyone else decides to hold back their sprints until the final 6 hours.

X. Planning your daily Multi-Live Progress

Now that you know how much effort you’ll be putting into tiering, you can now determine your Final EP and the number of Flames you’ll need to get there.

If you’re lacking in Flames, better start buying stars early. The premium boxes are the most economic; however, you have to buy them months in advance, because it takes 25 days to reap the full benefits.

If you’re not satisfied with your estimated Final EP, then you have to start finding ways to bring up your live scores, bring down your live durations, or increase how much time you can play for in a day.

Use Bestdori to simulate past events and see how you’ll fare. ^_^

Now, assuming you’re already satisfied with your target EP (again, no guarantees...), the next step is to ensure you’re on track getting there. This is where Flames used per full day comes in. If you want to evenly distribute the load over the duration of the entire event, then you must use at least this much flames per day. It’s easy to think you’ll just catch up, but might prove difficult (remember, you barely have enough time for sleep and other activities). On the other hand, if after reaching your quota you have enough strength to keep going, then please do so.

Of course, the final 6 hours isn’t a full day, so for that, please refer to Flames used during final hours.

XI. Planning your daily Challenge Live Progress

Note: The Challenge Live section should become empty if CL score is set to 0; conversely, the Normal / VS / Live Goals / Mission section should be empty if CL score is set to > 0. Also, a lot of these are just stats used in computing more important stats.

For Challenge Lives, the idea is the same: you have a quota of Flames to use per day, but now you also have a quota of Challenge Lives played per day. Both of these already take your Final Hours Sprint into account. The longer you plan to sprint, the more flames you have to consume per day, and the less CL’s you have to play per day (because you’re concentrating a lot of the CL’s in the final 6 hours). You’re still going to play the exact number of ML’s and CL’s, you’re just rearranging them.

If you don’t plan on sprinting (Final Hours Sprint = 0), then the final hours is just like any other day: the same amount of Flames and CL’s per hour, except for just 6 hours.

Should you decide to split the final 6 hours (Final Hours Sprint > 0, < 6), then you’ll have a few hours where you’re playing normally (mixed ML’s and CL’s), and then the final hours will be for CL’s only.

If you plan on using the full 6 hours for a final sprint (Final Hours Sprint = 6), then that’s all you need to do: play CL’s one after another for 6 hours straight. Please start at least half an hour earlier to account for possible interruptions. You need to consume all your Challenge Points before the event ends.

If you want to dedicate the final 6 hours to a sprint, but only want to do it for 4 hours (as an example), then please do the following:

Note your current total active hours.

Set num hours last day to 4.

Set final hours sprint to 4.

At this point, your total active hours should drop.

Slowly increase your active hours per day until you’re back to your original total active hours.

Since you’re “forfeiting” 2 hours of the final 6 hours, you have to make up for this by playing a bit more per day.

XII. Hold on - what’s a “set” ???

You need 800 CP to perform a Challenge Live, and in order to get 800 CP you need to play (in my example) 3.74 games on average. A “set” is the set of these 3.74 ML games + the CL it activates. That’s how you get set duration: 3.74 ML x 3.5 mins / ML + 2.37 mins of the CL = ~15.45 mins (it’s 15.46 when computed manually; Excel just rounded off 3.74 differently).

I just refer to it as a “set” for the purposes of calculation. Since you won’t actually be playing ML’s and CL’s one after the other (it’s more time-efficient to play a bunch of ML’s and then a bunch of ML’s, especially if you need to switch teams), you can just ignore the idea that you have to play in terms of “sets”.

XIII. Tracking your Flames (and CL’s) per day

Now that you know your daily quotas, it’s time to visualize them. Using the Excel file, head over to the Tracker Meta sheet:

Enter the current full day of the event, and it will automatically compute how many Flames and CL’s you should have used by the end of the current day.

Please keep playing until both “Remaining” fields are 0. ^_^ (they will of course increase once you move to the next day)

There is an Estimated Current Score based on the number of games you’ve played. If your actual score is below this estimated score after a day, then you overestimated your scores, and should immediately bring them down. Conversely, if your actual score is above the estimated score, then you made too safe estimates. You can probably increase your average ML score / CL score when that happens (I personally did this, from 4200 ML score to 4275).

To actually enter how many flames and CL’s you’ve consumed, head to the Tracker sheet.

Every time you finish a song (while the fireworks are exploding, to make better use of that time), enter a “3″ under the Flames column, or a “1″ under the Challenge column (if playing a CL). The timestamp should automatically be filled up (instructions inside the Excel file); if it doesn’t work, just delete the timestamp column, it’s not important anyway.

Note: The timestamp column has since been deleted, after migrating the document to Google Sheets. It’s not relevant anymore, but other functions should still work as intended.

Based on your current iteration (which day you’re in) and the number of games you’ve already played, you’ll know conveniently what time your misery would actually end for the day ^o^

(If you rest for one hour, you’ll find that the hours left won’t change, and that the estimated end time would also be pushed back one hour.)

It’s also possible to enter 0.25 / 0.5 under the Challenge column, if you somehow decide to play 200 / 400-CP CL’s. I don’t recommend it, but at least when starting out and just trying out the songs, you can still plot accurately.

One thing I personally do is enter a “2″ under the Flames section when I finish an ML with a score that’s significantly lower than my estimate. This lets me ensure that my estimated score won’t be higher than my actual score. However, I have to use one extra flame to catch up - and that means in the end, I’ll end up using more flames than what was actually planned.

Note: The tracker is only meant to be used until the last full day. I don’t think tracking the final 6 hours is necessarily useful; better to focus on just playing at that point, and give your best! ^o^

XIV. Miscellaneous Tips

During the first day, obviously, you’ll be playing CL’s after the ML’s (since you don’t have CP’s yet).

Starting the 3rd day, however, I found it easier to play all the CL’s before the all ML’s. This also lets me avoid a long-ass sprint (imagine finishing the last full day with a sprint... only to follow it up with a 5-hour sprint). This is only applicable if you plan to do a final sprint, since you’ll have reserved CP’s by this time. Your mileage may vary, just something you might want to consider.

Now, I didn’t discover this by accident - I actually woke up one morning and found there was no internet. Yes, that did happen. Thankfully, because I had enough CP to spare, I was able to stay productive and “passed” the time burning through my CP’s instead (mobile data proved to be stable enough for CL’s). That’s one advantage of not immediately consuming all your CP’s - it lets you stay productive (assuming you have mobile data) when the internet fails.

If you do lose internet and the only way to earn event points is via playing ML’s, then you’re fucked. Go to sleep, and make up for it once the internet is back. You have to hit your quotas, and if you aren’t playing, then you should be resting. Same thing when there’s an emergency maintenance.

When playing in a public room, if another player is taking too long to load, you might want to disconnect - especially when their progress bar resets. This is admittedly a dick move, but in my experience, 50% of the time, that player is going to lose connection in the middle of the game, and your room score is going to suffer. It’s still up to you. That said, don’t disconnect while loading a VS Live.

When you’re already tired, and you think there’s a chance you’ll fail the chosen song in Expert, just pick Hard. The billion times Jumpin’ was chosen, I played it in Hard. No shame in that.

You might want to start tracking the scores of other T10 contenders at some point. For non-Challenge Lives, this lets you know how many hours a day they’re actually playing (since EP gain is proportional to time played); for Challenge Lives, this can give you some idea if they’ve already sprinted or not (if they gained waaay more points than usual, you know they’ve expended some, maybe all, of their CP). Now, this info might not matter, since you already have a planned amount of effort anyway, but if you see that you’re severely lagging behind, start considering stepping up, or backing down.

If you do make it into the T10 at some point, make sure to set stupid profile comments. It’s your time under the spotlight, have fun with it XD (don’t put offensive comments please) ... just don’t take 30 minutes to decide.

Prime examples. 😎

XV. Final words

Whew! I don’t know how much of these is new information to any of you, but I hope at the very least that the Spreadsheet helps. >///< If you have questions please don’t hesitate to ask me!

Most people who try for T10 will have friends to help them. I cannot, in good faith, recommend doing this alone like I did, especially during a major event.

However, that being said, I can understand the feeling of wanting to do it anyway.

SO! Good luck, have fun, 7000+ go like hell, and hey-hey-hoh~! ^o^

[princezukohere]

Still friends *revisited* Part 1

(This is just to set the mood for what's in store, this chapter/part doesn't have much besides back stories and a bit of the reader/(character I've made) but do know that part two is where everything starts)

1623 words.

You always lived off the motto that things happened for a reason and when it happens, you grab on and go along or you leave it behind. You started off with a youtube channel which you posted on weekly doing challenges and tags with friends that you were close with. The subscriber number wasn't something you paid attention to, you could live without being the most watched person on your channel but the number did grow and it encouraged you to continue on with your channel. Singing was a passion of yours and as you had people who liked watching you do crazy things, maybe they'd like watching you do covers or perform songs that you wrote yourself.

Guitar and Piano were your two specialties and that's how you started, your first cover was Blank Space by Taylor and that's what got you noticed. Rosa thought you were unique and you'd be an excellent client, she got in contact with your parents and now she's your manager. The first step was getting a record label for you, of course, you had your fair share of being told no or that you were too young but Island Records saw something that other companies didn't see in you. To be fifteen and signed to a record label meant a lot to you and with that being said you would go through hoops that were on fire to impress them all.

Shawn was the first to make you feel really welcomed, he had been working on handwritten when you showed up and sometimes you ran into him in the middle of writing songs, he was actually someone you went to when you had an idea, you just weren't sure how to put it on paper. The collab was an accident actually, you two had been in the studio throwing lyrics back and forth, both with your guitars out. Imagination was a beautiful song and Shawn performing it by himself was amazing, but whenever you two were together and able to sing it like you did when recording it, it was electrical. 

--------------------------------

"When you and Shawn first met, you two hit it off correct?" Jasmine asked you, you nodded crossing your legs as she looked back down at her cards. "Imagination, though it came out when he wrote Handwritten and now he's released Illuminate, was it hard to find the perfect words?" 

"I don't think so. Shawn takes pride in whatever he releases so though we joked around a lot we were serious about the song. When you write music, you don't want the process to be hard, in my opinion, if it's hard then you aren't putting your heart into it or you may be overthinking. The lyrics may be crap when you first see them on paper but that's when you revise it."

"Opportunity was your first album, how would you say that it set the tone for the rest of your career up until today?"

"Opportunity, I have a love-hate relationship with this album because I was fifteen when I released it and people saw this young fifteen year old with a soft voice. Then I released new songs and people didn't like the sound because it wasn't that fifteen year old anymore. I went downhill so fast in my head at that time because I released something that I thought I loved and to this day, I love the meaning behind betrayal and careless but I love the songs more because I tried so hard to get my feelings on paper. Shawn released his album in April, I got to sing imagination with him so it brought a little attention to me and my youtube channel and then I felt like I needed to get an album out because I had a bigger audience after that." 

"How did you overcome that? You're seventeen now and you've released regenerated a few months ago so something must have snapped."

"Once again it was Shawn, I wrote regenerated for a year, and it only has twelve songs and four bonus tracks. I would miss school because girls were mean and guys were creeps. Some liked my music and now they wanted to be my friend and some didn't like my music and thought I was a wannabe, going back to school was not the best idea in my parents or managers eyes but I wanted to prove I could do it and I got so stressed. I went to the studio one day and I was writing lyrics like crazy and letting my anger out. The lyrics were shit but I hated feeling useless when it came to something I was passionate about. Shawn looked me in the eye and said, 'Don't release what they want you to, release what you think they'll want to hear, what you want to hear.' After that I wanted to partner with people, Hailee Steinfeld is an amazing friend of mine and we did a love yourself remix together. Bea Miller and I wrote Yes Girl and performed it together, people then started realizing my voice wasn't always innocent and then I started on regenerated." You explained.

"Can you give us a rundown of your favorite songs off of regenerated?"

"Regenerated was named that because I wanted it to mean that it was a new me, a new album, a new beginning, and the first track starts off really strong, I decided to go back in my life and work on this album"

-----------------------------

Liar

Liar was a song about my dad, my dad was in and out of the house so it was just me and my mom and our dog. My mom was my best friend at such a young age and it was emotional to write because I always wished I had that father figure in my life and I didn't until I was thirteen.

Alone

Alone was the song I wrote for my mom, she died when I was eleven and my dad had been taken to jail months before. To be eleven and walk into a room and see your mom not there is unexplainable. I was picked up from school that day by CPS because my mom checked into the hospital and she didn't want me there when she passed away.

Lost girl

Lost Girl was the song meant for my third foster home, being switched like that was stressful, thankfully I went to the same school each time and that rarely ever happens. I felt alone and misunderstood and like I had no place, I felt lost and I didn't think I could express my feelings anywhere.

Runner

Now I never snuck out but I vividly remember dreams of always sneaking out when I was in my second foster home, Of course, I was only twelve so where was I going to go?

Taken Care of

This song is when I finally got to my fourth foster home and I was adopted, they adopted me before I turned thirteen but when I did turn thirteen I remember that was the first day I called him dad, Aaron is a great guy and I love him.

Thank you

Thank you is a song to my manager, my record label, my mom, and dad, to Shawn and to the fans most importantly. I made one cover and they loved it and it encouraged me to make more and now here I am talking about my second album. I feel like saying thank you isn't always enough so I put it in song lyrics.

See you soon

Shawn actually helped me write this, it's on my bonus track and we were going to sing it together but then last minute he had to leave, it's a song between two people. Shawn and I are both busy and we get that we don't get to see each other that often when he's in Europe and I'm in America or vice versa so see you soon is goodbye but not goodbye because we'll see each other soon.

----------------------------------

"So you and Shawn have officially broken up, you seem to talk about him a lot, good things of course. Do you still have feelings for him?"

"Yeah, it wasn't a bad breakup and feelings can be hard to get rid of." You started, "But I speak of him because he's still my friend and we still talk and I still trust him. The breakup was mutual and sometimes when you're young it's hard to keep these commitments. I'm seventeen and he's eighteen, we're both traveling and it can get stressful and complicated." You finished explaining.

"It's great that you two can still be friends, it sucks seeing two celebrities go down hill with one another." The interviewer started.

"I don't really like the term celebrity, it makes me feel as if I'm being put in a box...but yeah when it happened Shawn and I agreed to stay friends and that if the other ever needed something we would be there and so far we've kept that promise."

"Amazing, well thank you for joining us but that's all the time we have. It was a pleasure having you on the show N/Y." 

"It was a pleasure to be here." You spoke before getting up, you two shook hands before you walked off stage.  Shawn was in your head again, though he always was. It made you regret not being able to work it out or work through it somehow.

[carpehistoryandthepens]

Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 12

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three, four, Five, six seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on last season, OCs?, realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

-

Kris was swearing as he leaned on the boards near the benches of the practice rink. Not even under his breath. That was a thing. The swearing. That was. Definitely happing. 

It was something Zhenya should have been preventing because Marisol was on the bench, watching her brother intently, but Zhenya couldn't stop Tanger. Mostly because Zhenya happened to agree with the swears. The curses might be all in French, but Zhenya had been in the league long enough to know Quebecois profanity when he heard them, and Kris was swearing. It was not as if Zhenya could blame him. If it weren't for the stick Zhenya was leading on, he may have fallen over at the revelation before him. 

Mike could fucking skate. 

There was no fucking way this kid wasn't on a prep team. He was too good. His edge work was something that Zhenya had seen with defencemen two or three years older than Mike was.

Sid had asked if Tanger and Zhenya could stay to skate with Mike and him after practice. It was well after the press left to write their end-of-camp articles, so the rink was nearly empty. It was the first time since Mike and Marisol arrived that there was a free moment just to skate. 

The skates Mike had brought with him still fit, Sid had told them, and the equipment guys had found a few pieces of gear that could be adapted for Mike's size. The skates were not the top of the line, but they were well cared for. 

One thing was for sure, though, Zhenya thought as he watched Mike and Sid chase after a puck; Mike did not skate like a mini-Sidney Crosby. 

The boy was a defenseman through and through, but his edges and speed were very impressive for barely being a teenager. Mike had an excellent sense of his place on the ice and was trying to steal the puck from Sid with a vigor that said he had nearly forgotten that he hadn't skated in over six months. 

A few rusty spots in Mike's game made the gap in time he spent off the ice clear, but there was also something natural in his movement. Zhenya would put money on Mike being just like him rather than just like Sid. Talented but determined enough to ensure dedication and hard work would develop skills. 

Mike stole the puck from Sid and took off toward the other goal. Sid outpaced him and got the puck back. 

"Of course, he won't go easy on the kid," Kris muttered as he watched the puck battle. 

"Our Sid?" Zhenya said, arching an eyebrow the best he could in his helmet. Sid was one of the most completive men Zhenya had ever met, which was saying something considering their world. 

They settled down to watch the game of keep-away going on. 

"He's good," Kris said, leaning on his stick. "Like. He's as good as some of the kids in juniors right now. How wasn't he scouted?" 

Zhenya shrugged. Tanger knew the answer. Mike's family wasn't too well off. He might not have had the chance to develop the same way some of his age group would have. Hockey was expensive. That was a universal truth they all knew too well. 

"Has Sid figured out who his coach was?" Tanger asked. 

Zhenya nodded. "Brisson's office reaching out. Get more details sometime soon."

Mike stole the puck and streaked up ice in a breakaway, Sid a second behind him. The brutal practice that marked the end of the camp was catching up to Sid. Mike flung the puck to the empty net, making the shot just below the top bar. 

Mike's celly transformed his whole attitude. He pumped his arm twice as he skated around the goal. Some of the embedded sadness that Mike carried from in his frame was gone. He looked like the thirteen-year-old he was rather than a world-weary man. 

Marisol cheered and jumped up and down on the bench, nearly knocking over Mike's always-present shaker bottle. Zhenya reached over and ensured she didn't fall over as she overbalanced slightly. 

Zhenya was glad to see the boy in him rather than just the man he could become. Mike deserved to have some of his childhood protected. 

Sid had slowed down to watch as Mike called, a faint smile on his face. He looked proud, so proud. Mike grinned up at Sid. To be honest, there wasn't much of a height difference. Based on the few photos Zhenya had seen, Mike's mother was just a little shorter than Sid.  

Tanger sighed. "He's just as obsessed as Sid is, isn't he?" 

"Isn't yours?" Zhenya snorted. "I've seen Alex's workouts. He try to copy you." 

Alex wasn't doing Tanger's workouts – mainly because Tanger put his foot down, explaining that Alex's frame wasn't big enough for it to be safe. Still, the kid insisted they work out together sometimes, so Tanger had gotten a trainer to put together a workout that would be best for Alex. 

"And I've seen Nikita on the ice." Tanger shot back with a smirk, "He's got the one-legged goal celly down pat." 

Zhenya shrugged, his voice deliberately light. "He's into football more right now." Nikita was on both a hockey team and a football team, although the school where he was on the team insisted on calling it "soccer." Nikita's interest was definitely in football more than hockey at the moment. 

Maybe that would be a good thing in the long run, Zhenya thought. It's hard to live up to a parent's legacy. He had seen many teammates and other players struggle under that burden. Kappy was one of them. If Nikita chose not to deal with Zhenya's legacy, how could he blame him? And Nikita was happy playing "soccer." It was cute. If that was his future then that's what Zhenay would support him in. No matter how much he would have to learn. 

Once Mike had recovered the puck and sent it past where he and Zhenya had been standing, Tanger took off like a shot, easily controlling the puck. Mike was fast, but Tanger, as a far more experienced defenseman, was faster. 

Zhenya raced into the play. Mike was grinning hard. So was Sid. 

They played back and forth for a while, all the adults keeping an eye on the time. The opening game was soon; they couldn't be too exhausted. But Mike was having such a grand time, and Geno was incredibly reluctant to bring the session to an end. 

Eventually, one of the trainers stepped out of the office and next to Marisol on the bench, signaling that it was time for them to get off the ice. 

Mike's smile didn't dim as they got off the ice, with Marisol trailing behind. Mike carried the bucket of pucks; Tanger had called him a rookie and said it was his turn. Mike had laughed. 

Geno hoped it was because he knew he would be skating again soon. Once they figured out his former team, Sid could get him into a team. Nikita's hockey practice doesn't start for another three weeks. Maybe they would be able to skate out of the same rink. 

Well maybe. Nikita wasn't as excited to skate as he was to go to soccer practice, which started at the end of February. Anna assured him that Nikita really did like hockey. He just liked soccer more for now. 

As they got changed and ready for the showers, Tanger showed Mike where to dump his gear so it could be cleaned; Zhenya turned to Sid. "He is your kid." 

"There is no way he isn't," Sid said, satisfied with the workout and seeing Mike on the ice. Mike and Tanger had changed out of their gear quickly. Tanger had a photo shoot and interview he had to be ready for, and Mike had made faces about staying in the sweat-soaked pads and under armor. Apparently, he and Sid did not share the same superstitions. 

"Have you figured out if he wants to skate with a team?" Zhenya asked, and he watched Tanger show Mike into the changing room and where the showers were. 

"He really wants to," Sid said. "I'm just waiting for Pat to tell me the info for his old coach." 

"Is he having trouble finding the guy?" Zhenya asked, turning to face Sid in surprise. It was unusual for Brisson to have that type of trouble. Most coaches who worked in U16 teams would fall over themselves if an agency like Brisson's called. 

"The guy apparently retired and moved just after Mike stopped skating," Sid said in English, shrugging. Zhenya read between the lines; the coach didn't see the bruises that weren't from hockey. "Mike's team was just slightly more than a rec team. To be honest, we have to figure some stuff out. Even if we don't talk to the coach, Mike is good enough to be in most of the U13 and U16 teams around here would take him." 

"Pat will find him," Geno said before being interrupted by a stifled wet gasp, directing their attention to the corner of the locker room. The sound was of a panicked child, and Zhneya hated that noise.

Marisol had been there in the corner of the locker room, messing with the bucket of pucks they had just taken off the ice. She had been occupied by taking the pucks out of the bucket, stacking them, and creating a pyramid with the pucks. Zhenya thought she wasn't paying attention to anyone in the room. 

She had been excited when Mike stepped on the ice, a delight that made Sid smile so wide it would split his face. Zhenya was positive that Sid would buy her a pair of skates when he could, just by the way he smiled. 

Marisol wasn't smiling anymore. She was now looking around the room, back and forth, searching for something, or Zhenya realized as she hyperventilated, someone. The panic that crossed her face wasn't faked, and Geno was up and moving toward her the moment he processed the expression. Sid wasn't far behind. 

In Zhenay's experience, this wasn't a moment to let a kid calm themselves; instead, she needed help. Marisol was trying to say something, but it was such a garbled mix of Spanish and English that Zhenya had no hope of translating. 

She looked around, panicked. 

Zhenya couldn't figure out why she was so frantic. Maybe it was a tantrum? Was that different in girls? Nikita didn't have meltdowns like this. But Zhenya didn't know if there was a different temperament for girls.

Sid looked as panicked as Zhenya had ever seen him. However, he didn't hesitate when Marisol looked at him, eyes wide in panic and red with tears. 

"Marisol. Marisol." Sid said consolingly, his voice tight with emotion and worry. Marisol struggled to breathe correctly, still looking around. "Can you tell me what's going on?" he asked, kneeling down. He reached out to her, and Marisol went with a bit of hesitation. She ended up sitting on his lap while Sid sat on the floor.

Zhenya didn't know if Marisol would be able to respond. She was breathing hard, and most of what she said was Spanish –as Geno could tell. 

Thankfully, the proof that Sid would be a good father was already present; he waited her out and didn't rush her or panic outwardly. Zhenya saw in his eyes that Sid was afraid, but none of that showed on his face. 

She stuttered out, in between gasps of breath, "¿Dónde está Mike? Quiero Mike. Dónde está. Prometió no dejarme!!" Tears started to fall down her face, and Sid took one of the corners of his jersey because they hadn't even started pulling off their layers of pads and gear yet, and wiped her cheeks. Marisol leaned into the touch. "Mike?" She said louder. 

Mike's name was the only thing Zhenya understood from her words. At Sid's panicked glance at him, Geno was up and moving towards the showers. 

Mike beat him, racing out of the shower area and appearing at the doorway, half-undressed. His face, pale and upset, entirely changed from the happy look before. Tanger was half a pace behind him. Mike scooped Marisol into his arms and cradled her close to his chest. 

Mike stayed close to Sid, and Zhenya watched as Sid put a tentative hand on Marisol's back. Marisol hiccupped and sobbed, but the sheer panic in her movements and voice faded. She didn't flinch away from Sid's touch. 

Mike was muttering softly in Spanish as Marisol calmed down and eventually fell into an exhausted sleep. They stayed like that for a long while. 

Zhenya usually hated missing the post-practice shower, but now he didn't want to leave the three of them alone. Tanger dipped off to take a quick shower. When Tanger returns, he and Tanger eventually change into their street clothes. 

Tanger pulled Zhenya aside when he was done getting changed, keeping an eye on the little family sitting on the floor of the practice rink's locker room. "G, I got an interview. Are you busy this afternoon? I don't want them to be alone completely." His worried eyes met with Zhenya's. He didn't want to leave Sid and the kids, but they both knew they didn't have a choice. 

Zhenya nodded, going over his schedule in his head. Just Nikita. Anna is out. There were no interviews or meetings today. "I'm free all afternoon. Just pick up Nikita from school. I'm be with them after all day, if they want." 

Tanger nodded again, saying that would work, and gave Zhenya a bro hug before leaving. Sid and the kids hadn't even noticed either of them moving. 

"You change, Sid," Zhenya muttered quietly when it was clear that Marisol had gone down for the count. "She'll sleep for a while." 

Sid glanced down at the siblings, concern written all over his face. He gave Marisol one last gentle head pat before standing, and she snuggled further into Mike's chest. 

Sid got changed rather quickly and didn't even seem to take his eyes off the kids. When he was done, he handed Mike some clean clothes. 

Mike stared blankly at the pants for so long that Zhenya thought he wouldn't take them before transferring Marisol to Sid's grasp. Sid took half a step back to give him space, Mike's face tightened, but he didn't stop Sid. He just changed faster. 

When Mike had stripped out of the sweat-covered gear and was dressed in clean clothing, he held out his arms to take Marisol back. Zhenya was only a little surprised to see Sid hand Marisol back to Mike. 

Apparently, they can't be separated, and Sid wouldn't try.