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neakco · 4 years ago

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The Lost Temple ch. 2

Ao3 Ch.1 Ch.3 Masterlist

Marinette doesn't fully trust the American Heroes but knows that she probably needs their help.

Tim doesn’t trust these two teens that are definitely hiding something.

Yet they made camp together anyway.

Ch.2 Sleepless Night

It had taken longer then they would have like to figure out a watch schedule. While they had both agreed to an alliance, neither group trusted the other.

Finally a compromise was made. Each group set their own schedule. Marinette and Adrien agreed to each do half the night. While the Trio took one 2 hour shift each.

Adrien would take the first 3 hours and would be starting his shift with Superboy. Impulse had the 2nd watch which he would share with both of them before she would finish out the night with Red Robin.

Marinette was a little nervous, she knew Superboy had heard Plagg earlier. They weren’t used to others being able to hear as well as her Kitty. She was lucky that her bond with Tikki allowed communication via emotions.

She stared up at the stars, at least this wouldn’t be the first time she had gone without sleep for a mission. She glanced briefly at the tent the American heroes had set up. It looked cramped. She was quite happy with her blanket.

Her and Adrien had tried using tents before but he preferred to sleep up high and she enjoyed the connection to the plants she got on the ground. It always allowed her to feel more rested, even if, like tonight, she didn’t actually sleep.

Adrien came to let her know it was her turn so she rolled up her blanket and went to join Impulse.

The boy never seemed to stop, he constantly dashed back and forth as he talked non-stop about everything.

“Doesn’t that drain your energy?”

He stopped short as if he had forgotten she was there. “No, well yes, but II can quickly get back to civilization for snacks.”

She nodded as the hero began to move around and started talking about his favourite snacks. She had an idea to run past Red Robin once he joined her on watch. She would suggest it to Impulse but she had a gut feeling that would be a bad idea.

Tim woke a little early for his turn and crept towards the trees in order to observe Marinette and Bart.

He was a little surprised that she seemed interested in the one-sided food conversation. At least he had assumed it was one-sided until she chirped in with a question about Bart’s preferences on French pastries. He didn’t expect the girl to become so offended when Bart told her he didn’t like croissants.

Tim decided that it was close enough to his watch and stepped out of the shadows.

Impulse flew into the trees in his surprise while Marinette hadn’t moved. Had he lost his touch? No, she may not have jumped but he noticed she had a hand to her back where it hadn’t been before. He concluded that she had probably reached for a weapon.

“Seriously Rob? I love you but that’s just mean.”

Tim smirked, “Maybe next time you will pay attention.”

“You’re a bat, doesn’t matter how much I pay attention.” Bart grumbled as he waved goodnight to Marinette and headed off to find his sleeping bag.

Tim turned back to Marinette and was shocked by the level of malice being directed at him. “What did I…”

“Don’t you ever do that again.” Her voice, while harsh, was soft and filled with concern. “I could have killed you. If it was Adrien you had startled you wouldn’t be alive.”

Tim swallowed his retort. Normally he would think it hilarious that this tiny enigma thought that she or her delicate looking friend could hurt him, but there was something there. It was the way every sound stilled at her anger, the way his gut yelled at him to run. Putting all this together with their first conversation, he began to wonder if the two teens had been granted power by the gods.

Marinette was taking deep meditative breaths. “You are lucky I analyze before reacting.”

“Sorry. I had figured you had a sixth sense.”

She eyed him, “You were testing a theory?”

“Yes. I like to know what my allies are capable of and it’s not like you two have been very forthcoming.”

It surprised Tim to see her relax at this rather than get angrier.

“The decision to share isn’t really up to me or Adrien. I assume it is similar to your identity, unless what I've heard about Batman is wrong.”

Tim laughed quietly while keeping an eye to their surroundings. “We actually tell people our identities all the time, people just assume we are joking.”

Her eyes widened, “That works?”

“Well it works if the public's image of your two personas are vastly different. People will believe what they want no matter what you tell them.”

He was about to ask if she was thinking of becoming a hero when he noticed her darkening look. Unlike before where it had been anger mixed with concern, this time it was mixed with sadness and pain.

“You okay?”

“People really do believe what they want.” Her eyes turned wistful and she looked up into the trees. “Really shows you who your real friends are.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” How was he supposed to comfort her? Alfred would probably offer her hot chocolate and sweets.

“No, it all happened years ago. I am mostly over it.”

Tim let out a sigh of relief, at her look he tried to smile kindly. “No offense but I was raised by the most emotionally distant people and I really had no idea what to do if you started crying.”

The sudden laughter surprised him. That wasn’t a normal reaction. He frowned as he watched her try to stifle the sound.

“I'm sorry, it’s just, well, welcome to the club.” She started laughing a little bit harder and maybe a bit more broken. “Adrien can tell you some stories. Well I can two, but mine only start a few years back. I don’t have a life's worth like he does.”

“But why is that so funny?” He frowned harder trying to understand if he was the joke.

He jumped and threw a batarang that thankfully missed when Adrien suddenly dropped out of a tree and landed beside him.

“Where we come from it was always better to laugh instead of giving in to emotional distress.” He turned to Marinette, “You okay M'lady?”

“I just,” her giggles increased slightly, “strays, it’s always the strays.” She giggled a bit longer before stopping suddenly and glaring at Adrien, “Why aren’t you asleep?”

Tim could see the blonde visibly gulp as he lied poorly, “bathroom. Going back to sleep now. Bye.” He quickly left back into the trees and took off roughly in the direction of camp based off the rustling.

“You two are very strange.”

“Says the talented human commanding literal super humans.” She snorted. “Oh, I almost forgot. Do you think Impulse could quickly map out the jungle for us?”

“If he can keep himself from tripping over roots and snakes then maybe. Why didn’t you ask him?” Tim was curious. She had spent an hour with Impulse, there had been plenty of time.

“I figured you were the leader and I would have to ask no matter what. Mostly I was worried he wouldn’t be able to but pride would cause him to say yes anyways.”

Tim tried to study her expression but it gave nothing away. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Simple, Impulse acts like a younger Adrien.”

Marinette thought back, Chat had been so free. She missed those times. Unfortunately reality had hit them both fairly hard. She doubted if they could ever be that carefree again.

“I would deny your assessment if I could.” Red Robin leaned back against her tree and typed into his arm. She hadn’t realized there was technology integrated into the suit. She was almost jealous.

A holographic map of the jungle was displayed floating above his arm so she leaned forward to gain a better look.

Red Robin pointed to a small area causing a dot to appear “This is our camp.” He gestured to highlight a portion green. “This is the area we checked yesterday. My initial reports showed activity in these areas.” This time the highlighted red, or brown in the areas that overlapped with the searched area.

She hummed in thought, “Add another kilometer to the searched radius. Adrien split off a couple times yesterday.”

She could see his eyes shift to suspicion briefly but he complied anyway

“If you knew that then you never needed Impulse to make a map, you wanted him to find the enemy.”

She nodded but stayed silent and observant. It was kind of nice watching someone else think like she does.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea if Impulse was capable of stealth. “She watched him remove the searched area from the map in order to zoom in on the rest.

“You have a plan.” She was grinning, she could already tell what he was thinking.

The way he looked at her screamed that he knew that she had already figured it out. She was happily surprised when he decided to continue explaining to her.

“I propose that we split up. My team has trackers to keep track of our own whereabouts and comms to communicate. I think Superboy and Adrien take this route.” A Blue and red line appeared on the map. “While we take this path more to the right.” This time the line was red and black. She knew they were supposed to represent his colours but they worked just as well for her. She bet Adrien would have a laugh.

“I'll have Impulse cover this middle area in between our groups to cover any gaps and act as a runner in case we need anything. Anything to add?”

She bit her lip. These were heroes, she could probably trust them, at least a little. Plus Adrien wasn’t able to sense the temple’s magic. “How good is Superboy's x-ray vision?” Damn it, she thought she had fixed her word blurting problem.

Red Robin seemed surprised by her words, “What? Why?”

She chewed on her lip a bit more before she felt Tikki's reassurance. “What I am about to tell you is secret enough that it could very well get you killed. Are you sure you want to know?”

She watched his face carefully. There was hesitation, doubt, curiosity, and finally that thirst for knowledge that got her into trouble constantly.

He finally shrugged, “Just an average day for me.”

She smiled but dropped her voice into a serious tone. “There is a temple here that was lost underground years ago. No matter what else happens I can not let anyone get the knowledge and treasures it holds.” She remembered some of the things the monks had told her and Adrien without ever actually explaining what the temple was guarding. “If these people find the temple first then best case scenario has them taking over the world.”

Red Robin's voice was low, “And worst case?”

“They destroy the entire universe as we know it.”

Taglist @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #the lost temple #adventure #rin writes

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miss-choco-chips · 6 years ago

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Twisted soulmates

BIG Thank you to @iphoenixrising who let me babble on chat about this idea, and to @the-sky-is-a-lie who is an awesome sweetheart and read and edited this for me (THANK YOU!)

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

Tim has three names on one wrist. His soulmates. Tim has one name on the other wrist. His nemesis.

...or are they?

Tim gets his first mark the night the Graysons fell, ‘Richard John Grayson’ forever tattooed on him, the otherwise unblemished white skin of his left wrist almost shining in contrast to the new addition.

Young, he might be, but not stupid; never stupid. Neither of his parents would approve of a circus artist, perfect as he may be in Tim’s wide opened eyes, so he had to be smart about this. His mind hasn’t stopped whirling since the little touch that burned Dick’s name on him and vice versa, all kind of plans on how to broach the subject with the adults, how to make Dick like him beyond the promised love of a soulmate, every possibility dancing through his eyes, while his parents look for their seats at the stands none the wiser.

He's planning on asking his mom to stay after the show, so he might properly introduce himself to this marvelous trapezist, maybe proclaim an interest in the training - anything that could improve his overall abilities was a good thing in Janet’s eyes, and having her on board would be enough to force his father to accept. He’s excited at the prospect, and a part of him thinks Dick, up the trapeze getting ready for his act, feels the same. That he could feel, through the bond that snapped in place when the other kid first touched him, an echo of his own happiness, a joy at finding, so soon in life, something as beautiful as this.

He’s going to stay after the show. He’ll talk to Dick, introduce himself properly, be as mature as possible- Dick wouldn’t want a dumb kid as his soulmate. Maybe even make friends with this wonderful boy that can fly and is destined to love him.

(Love him, him, him. He can’t wrap his head around this strange concept of being on the receiving end of something strong and wonderful. He might cry.)

Then the tragedy occurs, and Tim's too traumatized to think about doing anything about it. He can't pester a grieving boy with this. They are kids after all, and it’s not like their bond is going anywhere.

(I don’t want to wait, please don’t forget about me, please love me.)

---.---

Dick has just been adopted, his entire worldview had changed, adding a soulmate to care about would be just too mean of him. Tim can take care of himself, even when sometimes, after his parents left for yet another trip, he yearns for someone to hold his hand after a nightmare. To brush his hair back and hug him.

But that’s just the child in him. He doesn’t need it to live, it’s just a silly comfort thing to wish for, like the baby blanket his mother had made the servants take away once Tim turned four. So he keeps quiet. He waits.

Dick’s name is on his left wrist, after all. He is his soulmate.

----.----

He gets his second mark years later, when the Batcave’s security is breached and some strange men attack Bruce. The giant penny is too tall, but he still get a good look at the man below it, and something in his gut twists. It all makes sense a few minutes later, when Bruce is fighting someone else and the man in green robes pushes Tim aside, holding him hostage to get the Batman’s cooperation.

The skin on his wrist, the one that doesn't have Dick's promised love tattooed on it, burns. He doesn’t dare look down, aware of how taking your eyes from the predator in the room could mean instant death. He doesn’t need to, anyway; he already knows.

Tim’s pretty sure this is his nemesis, because no way he'd be destined to hate Dick and love this criminal, and they are on opposite wrists. So… getting away is the first step on his ‘do not interact with this terrorist until I’m significantly better at defending myself’ plan. Easy peasy.

He catches the side glance the man shoots him, because of course he also felt the burn, and there’s curiosity there. Something akin to amusement, which, Tim can get behind, he’s also seeing the irony of this, the utterly ridiculousness of him being important enough in the grand scheme of things to warrant being tattooed on this man’s skin.

There’s also possessiveness there, which isn’t fun at all. Stranger danger, his mind screams at him.

His nemesis shouldn’t be possessive of him, unless he has a really fucked up view of his enemies, in a ‘their death is mine, and mine only’ way. Because this is his nemesis, there's no doubt in his mind of that.

Dick is on his other wrist, after all, and he is his soulmate.

----.----

Bruce goes mental when he finds out later, and almost blows a gasket. Ra’s, as Tim later finds out his nemesis is called, is suddenly one upping the Joker on Batman’s high priority enemies list, which means only a glimpse of him anywhere near the city borders would warrant a call to Superman, Bruce’s ultimate last resort. That’s how big this is.

Young Justice has split feelings on the matter. Cissie and Cassie, ever the bloodthirsty ones in Tim’s humble opinion, suggest tracking the man down before he can get to their leader, and taking him out of the game. Probably permanently. Kon seems torn, half with the girls, half with Bart, who finds the whole thing amusing and exciting. Ra’s Al Ghul, one of the most dangerous enemies the Justice League ever faced, and little old Robin is his fated enemy. Not Superman, not Wonder Woman, not Batman himself; just their Rob. That, according to the speedster, is so, so, so crash. The rest of the team, if they have opinions, keep them to themselves. It takes a while to calm the room down and focus on their mission of the day, but he eventually succeeds.

Dick, on his part, comes back from where he was brooding with the Titans after a fight with his mentor to fret over Tim, and everything is right in the world.

He isn't afraid of Ra's. He has his new family, new friends, and soulmate.

----.----

There’s something on his pillow when he gets back from the weekend with his friends.

A perfect rose, white as snow, thorns so sharp Tim knows they would pierce skin if touched. Not that he would be so stupid as to do it, not when foes like Ivy existed.

But… there’s a ribbon, and it sends ice through his veins. A red ribbon, tied at the stem’s exact center. A flower with a ribbon, the universal symbol of soulmates.

He’s pretty sure Dick’s back in San Francisco. Which leaves...

No.

He squares his shoulders and searches in his bag for his Robin gauntlets, protecting his hands with them as he disposes of the rose.

His right hand stings a little through the entire process.

----.----

When he gets his third mark, he's honestly surprised. As well as on the edge of unconsciousness from blood loss.

The blood flooding his airways is his, and the building that he believed was his safe place would never feel like that again. His knocked out friends litter the hallways, the bo staff he tried to use to defend himself long lost to the fight, as this man, his hero, his Robin, his apparent Soulmate, tries to kill him.

(Their eyes meet and they feel it at the same time, the twist in their stomachs, which is what stops Jason's blade. Tim’s hand raises up, weakly, and carefully brushes against the one holding the knife. It burns, and everything goes black for a minute.)

(Jason stops breathing. He has the Joker on one hand, and was markless on the other until now, so this runt has to be his soulmate. No way it's the deranged clown. Which means he almost....)

Jason runs away (this is Jason, his wrist claims, not the mysterious Red Hood any longer) and Tim patches himself up, does damage control with his friends, calls Batman. His heart is beating twice as fast as usual, but he tries to be logical; Jason is on the same wrist as Dick, who is his soulmate, and opposite to Ra's, who's most likely his nemesis. Ergo, Jason's gotta be his soulmate.

His confused, probably traumatized, totally not in his right mind soulmate.

He's gotta be patient and wait. Jason surely will get better, will come back to Tim, will fix this mistake he almost made, will... will love him.

Dick is his soulmate, and calls him ‘little brother’, which hurts, but he says it with such warmth that it soothes the ache. Dick loves him.

Jason will, too, someday.

----.----

A few weeks later, he wakes up in the middle of the night, conscious of the feeling of being watched from the shadows of his room.

There’s the teddy bear Steph won for him at the fair some months ago, sitting on the chair near his bed where he last put it, but… odd. There’s something about it that’s not quite normal, something that wasn’t there when he went to sleep half an hour ago.

It took him less than a minute to spot it, which would still be shameful if Bruce ever found out, but he sees the unusual shine in the bear’s eye and groans, more tired than rightfully angry, feeling like the moody teenager he never actually was.

A hidden camera. This was the fifth of the year, what the hell?

Pissed off, he gets up and takes the scissors he leaves by his bedside (can’t exactly go to sleep with a birdarang there, his dad might check on him at night and freak out, but sleeping without a weapon in easy reach just makes him uncomfortable) and makes quick work of the bear, getting the device out with as minimal damage to the plushie as possible. He’ll fix it later.

Beyond done, one hand opens the window with more strength than absolutely necessary, the other flying back to gather momentum and throw the thing right at the supposedly empty shadow on the roof of the building across the street. He’s not surprised when a dark gloved hand catches it, the rest of the body still perfectly concealed by the night. Fucking ninja.

No words needed, he slams the window shut again and grumbles his way to his desk, turning on his lamp. He’s not falling asleep again tonight, so might as well work on some cases.

----.----

His fourth mark is both exciting and like a bucket of cold water.

It's a fucking kid.

Is this how Dick felt when he first got Tim's mark? No wonder he avoided talking about the subject, this was uncomfortable as fuck. Granted, it didn't necessarily have to be a romantic soulmate, platonic soulmates were a thing too, but... still. Awkward.

Even worse because the kid didn't have another mark and, as Tim was his first, was convinced he had to be his fated nemesis. No matter how hard Tim tried to explain the opposite; after the heart stilling moment where he extended his hand for a shake and was slapped away, thus providing the skin to skin contact needed for the bond to form, the brat was sure it was nothing but a ruse to get him to lower his defenses or something. God this kid was fucked up.

So. In short. There were two of his soulmates trying to kill him. Great.

But... Dick was on the same wrist as them. Dick loved him. Dick was his soulmate. So Damian... Damian had to be, as well. Maybe he'd grow out if his hate, maybe it was just a phase.

Maybe.

----.----

His mother and father were dead. Steph was dead. His two best friends were dead.

Tim was numb, going through the motions but not really feeling anything. His only source of emotion, nowadays, was his constant rage at Damian, and the adrenaline while fighting a bad guy.

He barely slept. He couldn’t remember the last time he properly ate. The manor wasn’t comforting enough with the little assassin roaming around for him to get any shut eye, and how could Tim be sure he wasn’t going to poison his food?

Sleeping in safe houses seemed the smarter move, even when they weren’t really safe at all, judging by the ‘gifts’ that kept appearing every time he turned his back. Food - sealed and untempered with - files on whatever case he was working on, a brand of turkish coffee that he would gladly down even if it contained poison…

Flowers, hundreds of them, all white in color, tiny red ribbons tying their stems.

Tim shivered at the meaning, but no longer minded the feeling of eyes on him while he slept. Looking for hidden cameras was too much effort to be worth it, as long as there were none in the bathroom and his walk in closet. He couldn’t care less, these days.

----.----

Jason tried to kill him. Again. In the middle of a Pit Episode, even after all Tim had done to help him, to mend their relationship.

Damian was even worse, abusing Tim any way he could, any time he got the chance to get away with it. And it was a startlingly large amount of times, considering their family should be more attentive to attempted murder. None of Tim's effort to bond ever bore fruit.

But he's still convinced they are his soulmates, so he's gotta be patient. They have to be.

Because Dick is his soulmate, and they share a wrist.

Because Dick...

----.----

Dick betrayed him. In the worst possible way, in the most vulnerable moment of his life. When Tim needed him the most.

Jason tried to kill him.

Damian tried to kill him.

Dick betrayed him (which was, arguably, worse).

Dick was his soulmate. Jason was his soulmate. Damian was his soulmate.

They had to be.

----.----

His quest for Batman would’ve been a lonely affair, if not for the honeyed voice whispering in his ear. The silent eyes he felt on his skin wherever he went, more heavy than his three assassin escorts’ stares.

What a crazy world it was, where Tim’s nemesis believed in him, while his first soulmate, the one he loved almost his entire life, claimed delusion. Where his nemesis sent his people to keep him alive, to keep others out of his way, while his other two sought his death.

What a crazy world indeed.

----.----

-I think we need to talk, Timothy. About this bond we share.

-I’m listening.

Timothy, he said, but it didn’t sound like his name at all.

In his mind, it echoed something scary, something that made him shiver and tense.

It sounded like Mine.

----.----

Ra's al Ghul was probably his soulmate.

He's gotta be. Because there's no way Tim's fated to love three people that are just going to break his heart again and again and again.

When he goes to the League for help looking for Bruce, he steels himself in place when Ra's’ voice in his ear makes him want to flinch. He grits his teeth at the viper like words murmured in soft tones. Makes himself accept when Ra's offers to train him in the ninja arts after he successfully brought his mentor back. Clenches his fists when he's asked to dinner in a dimly lit French restaurant.

Ra's didn't retaliate when Tim blew up half his bases. He kept giving Tim pointers and praises. Seeking his company.

So he breathes in.

He forgave Damian for being a killer, Jason for being one, too. He surely can find it in himself to forgive his actual soulmate for being a criminal.

In time.

Right?

...Right?

----.----

Something dark and victorious twists in Ra’s chest when the Detective doesn’t flinch away from his touch, and silently accepts the white rose and red ribbon he presents before guiding him deep into the restaurant. There’s acceptance in Timothy’s eyes, reluctant but hopeful, even if he stirs away from any ‘dangerous’ topics of conversation and very firmly drops a drug test pill in his glass of water the second the waitress turns her back on them.

Ra’s doesn’t comment on it, merely mirrors the act on his own wine (one could never be too sure, not when an enemy as interesting as this is seated across from him) before raising it for a toast. Not that the Detective was aware of the reason.

He’s got a lot to celebrate.

Deceiving this one wasn’t easy, after all.

----.----

Later that night, alone in his room, Tim turns in the bed, his back to the cameras on the far end of the room. The movement is slow, lazy, following his usual sleeping patterns. A clumsy hand pats the mattress, blindly looking for a pillow and dragging it to his chest, face hidden by its softness. He goes lax again, peaceful and oblivious to the world around him to any lingering eye.

Once he’s sure there’s no way anyone could see him, Tim lets a slow, dangerous smile creep on his face, his heartbeat thundering in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins, feeling so alive it’s almost painful after all the numbness.

Ra’s was looking so smug, like the cat that got the canary. Oh, he tried to hide it, but Tim had made it his life's mission since he was twelve to understand the man to his truest essence, to be able to read him as one would a book, and practice had taught him how to play him like a cheap kazoo.

He probably shouldn’t smile, safe as he is in hiding his face in the pillow, but he can’t help it.

Deceiving Ra’s, soulmate or not, wasn’t easy.

#Tim Drake #dick grayson #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #bruce wayne #ra's al ghul #Ra's is creepy #but he's smart about it #OR IS HE #Young Justice #Timdick #Jaytim #damitim #ra'stim #soulmates au #nemesis au #which one is each though #my writting

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bluebellhairpin · 6 years ago

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Something’s Not Right

Bruce Wayne/Batman X Batmom!Reader

A/N: Oh dear, here comes the angst. (This is like 6+ pages on my google docs. Ha Ha ha oops) - Nemo

Warning(s): Blood, kidnapping, almost character death, mentions of miscarriage and infertility, not necessarily in that order. This could be distressing, so don’t read this if you think it could upset you.

Summary: Ever since Batman’s third Robin, you’ve been know as the Batmom to Batman’s mask. But events lead you to break with not knowing what to do, and the only comfort you find is Alfred, who then tells you of something you never knew. With your newfound information, you set to work saving your family.

Listening to: “Something's Not Right” by Lily Allen

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

You first met Batman when you were robbing a bank.

In your defense, you were a little inexperienced, and he only knew you were there because he saw a shadow pass inside through a window.

After that you kept running into each other, and ended up becoming each others first vigilante partners.

You know, before he had a million Robin’s.

You even came to know who was under the mask. Bruce Wayne the billionaire.

When he brought home the first soon-to-be Robin, Dick Grayson, you were raiding his fridge in the Manor’s kitchen, having made yourself at home over the last few years. You looked at Bruce like he was crazy, he told you he’d explain later and you sure as hell made sure he did.

You offered Dick some of the cereal you’d raided, and he accepted with a mumble and small smile. From speaking to Bruce later, that boy had been through a lot.

You only hoped that Bruce wouldn’t push him too hard.

We had forever We never got it together

Jason Todd joined a few years later, having been found by both you and Bruce trying to steal hubcaps. When Bruce brought him inside after the to had talked, you got the horrible feeling that Jason would become a Robin too.

Your worries were confirmed when you caught Bruce and Jason sparring in the cave. You caught Bruce’s eye, and he froze. You shook your head at him and he knew he had more explaining to do.

After that, you become monitor of the computer. With Jason as the new Robin, and Dick starting to spread his wings off as Nightwing, you didn’t desperately need to be out fighting anymore. Someone needed to stay home, and with your relationship with Bruce becoming something more than friends, he felt better when you weren’t in danger.

When he brought that up, you never once failed to play the card of “What about Dick and Jason?”

Despite Dick being Nightwing and not living permanently at home, or Jason not really wanting to be in the Cave when he could have the house all to himself aside from Alfred, they always managed to be in the staircase of the cave when your voices started to raise in the same heated discussion. They knew it wasn’t anything to worry about.

You were protective, viewing them as the sons you could never have, and Bruce was too careless for his own good.

But really what they stayed for was what happened after the yelling, the telling off, and the arguing. You always made up after, with softer words, a hug and a kiss. They’d never seen anyone else do that after a fight.

I waited for you For you I made it better

Jason's death hit you all hard, but Bruce didn’t get over it.

Then, a couple years after Jason died, Bruce came home with another boy donned in Jason’s old Robin suit. He introduced himself as Tim Drake. He said he knew who you were, and you told him ‘Who doesn’t know (y/n) Wayne?’. Then he said he knew who you really were.

'Valentine' was a name previously not spoken directly to you in over half a decade, and this thirteen-year-old seemed to know more about you than you thought possible.

The next few years went on with their own struggles. Bruce got used to having a Robin again. Tim dealt with troubles and struggles in the form of his real parents. You got over the fact Tim was wearing Jason’s costume once he got his own. And Tim became a permanent residence of the manor.

With Bruce and Dick protecting the city, Tim as Robin, and Alfred wanting to keep monitor duty with Tim, you gave up the vigilante life for good.

Nowadays you only ever went to the cave to deal with injuries, last-resort monitor duty, and scolding Bruce or Tim for staying up too late.

The one thing that didn’t seem to change was Alfred and Dick. They were always there, always a shoulder to cry on, and a listening ear. They knew how hard it got for both you and Bruce.

Dick wanted to be there to show he was grateful for what you’d done in the past.

Alfred was there because that’s where he belonged.

They kept telling me that it was unlikely All I had to do was keep you beside me

Once everything seemed to be falling back into a semi-blissful state, the world served another harsh blow. The first was to Bruce, in the form of a vengeful and now alive Jason Todd.

While Bruce had to serve every night going out to face the Red Hood, you went back to the monitor spending your days trying to track Jason down. Now that your boy was back you needed to have him home. Even though they didn’t know it, you knew that what both Bruce and Jason needed was to be together.

Naturally, once the initial tension disappeared, you were right.

Even now, now that Jason is back, you can still see the haunted look in Bruce’s eye that makes you think he’s almost believing he is seeing a ghost.

The second blow was to you, in the form of Bruce’s long-lost son Damian.

He came in silence, and for the first few days you barely noticed a change. It was mostly Bruce’s attitude and reluctance to let you in the cave that made you suspicious. Luckily for Bruce, he was around when you found Damian in the cave.

Needless to say it took a good couple hours of conversation before everything was cleared up.

Damian listened from the staircase, and eventually Tim wordlessly joined. The new duo unknowingly recreating what their predecessors did before them. Alfred felt a wave of nostalgia from just glancing at them.

What Damian couldn’t believe through the whole ‘discussion’ was how much you were blaming his father for him being in your home, not him. Even though you both were fighting over him being there, there wasn’t any hate in your words to him, only annoyance to Bruce.

He wondered exactly how many times you had to deal with the same thing before, aside from Tim.

Cause there aren’t many stars in the sky tonight

As far as you were concerned, having children of your own was never going to happen. One robbery gone wrong was enough to pull your chances of your own children from an already mere fifty to less than twenty.

It was one of the reasons you were so good at welcoming each boy into your home with such open arms. As soon as they stepped through the threshold with a tired introduction from your husband, small faces and bleary eyes, you saw them as yours. Every time, without fail.

Naturally it came as a shock to you when the doctor told you to take a pregnancy test after you’d been horrendously sick for the past week. It came as a bigger shock when the test came back positive.

Bruce’s excitement and yours was taken too soon. In reality, you knew it could’ve happened, but you didn’t think it’d happen so suddenly, or so easily.

Dick and Jason were among those waiting when you came home from the hospital, and everyone would've much preferred if the trip happened nine months later, and you’d have a bundle of blankets in your hands rather than just a bag of clothes.

Even Damian couldn’t help the horrible feeling in the bottom of his stomach. After all he still wouldn’t be a big brother.

It had been a couple weeks, but you were starting to worry. While you had grieved, and in your own way moved on, Bruce seemed to stay the same. He didn’t react. When the news came he went straight into autopilot.

In his life he’d lost a lot of people. His parents, Jason, many other residence of Gotham, and now your baby. You started to think that with every lost soul his lost part of his own too.

Cause I know that it’s day but it’s dark outside

Your worries were well served. Not even a couple nights after you voiced your concerns to Bruce himself did he and Damian get captured by the Joker.

Tim was monitoring the computers, instantly sending out and alert to Dick to go help, but he just got caught too. Tim then contacted Jason, telling him to meet him near Gotham Docks.

You wandered into the cave to see the monitor set to where Tim left it. A camera from in an old warehouse displayed all five of your boys beaten, bloodied, and tied up with the Joker pacing back and forth in front of them.

Near the monitor keyboard was a notebook, open to a page with words scribbled in Tim’s characteristically messy writing. He found writing down thoughts helped him get his mind straight. It cleared his head.

“Knows fighting styles - been monitoring us for weeks to memorize patterns - new moves needed - Jason good idea - Mom the last resort.” you read a loud, sinking to the chair at the monitor.

As you processed what was happening, you knew time was running short. You felt Alfred behind you, placing his hands reassuringly on your shoulders.

“What am I supposed to do?” you said, resting your head in your hands, “The GCPD won't be able to handle it well enough, and I can't just contact Clark or Diana. And I got rid of my suit years ago - it’s not like I can just slip on one of Bruce’s suits and go fight myself.”

“I think there’s something I should show you.” Alfred said, squeezing your shoulders.

And I feel a weight in my heart tonight

All the batsuits were displayed on one of the walls of the cave, it was like a trophy wall. And while your old Valentine suit wasn’t there, there was a display photo of you mid-flip as homage to what you’d done.

As you went passed the suits, both old and new, and the empty cases of the suits being worn by your boys, Alfred soon stopped near your photo. He pressed the logo of your photo-suit and the glass moved away, soon followed by the wall, to reveal another glass case.

“Mister Bruce has been working on it since you destroyed your old one.” Alfred explained, letting you walk forwards to inspect your pristine suit, “He figured you might need it, and if I’m being honest I did too.”

“Who else knows?” You asked, running your fingers over the fabric and the slightly darker logo on it’s chest. It was a lot like Bruce's suit.

“No one, but Tim found out, nothing’s a secret from him long.” you smiled. That’s Tim alright.

The fabric was new, a material you’d never seen before, but looked a lot like miniature chain-mail. Knife-proof.

The chest where your signature V logo was along with around your torso sounded a metallic tap. Bullet-proof.

You noted that although the mask only covered your eyes it was embedded with reflective glass. Photo-proof.

“He sure was prepared.” you said, turning back to Alfred with the mask in your hands. “Will you man the computers for me?”

“It would be an honor, Valentine.”

Something's not right

“Copy V? Guards ahead.” Alfred said. The mask was also fit with a com-link. Bruce seemed to put everything in your suit, from an oxygen mask, to a lock-pick.

“Copy.” you said, sulking along the side of the warehouse towards the guards. You knew this could get nasty fast, but over time you learnt from Bruce many ways to subdue without killing. The guards were out of it before they even knew you were there.

Inside, Bruce and the boys were getting antsy.

Once when Joker left Tim said to the others he’d left a note near the computer encase he and Jason were unsuccessful, in the hope either you or Alfred would find it and send help. It had been almost two hours, and they were starting to doubt. Especially now that Joker was back and pacing in front of them.

An explosion somewhere in another warehouse made their tired heads, and the heads of the others in the room, move towards the noise. The familiar sound of batarangs flying through the air made their head turn back right as two of the dozen guards fell to the floor, soon followed by two more.

Joker ordered to start shooting at where the batarangs were coming from, and the solid sound of shots firing rang out for a couple long moments. When a figure clad in black dropped to the floor from the beams, Bruce felt his stomach drop.

He knew that figure. He knew that suit.

“Search them. Make sure whoever it is, is dead.” Joker said, dismissive in his words but the boys could tell he was on edge. Joker had the Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood and the two Robins. There wasn’t anymore, right?

The guard moved to the figure, nudging its shoulder with his foot, and with the second nudge the figure shot up, pulling the guard into a headlock, and the guard dropped down unconscious in less than a few seconds. The other guards were trained on the figure, and Joker smiled.

“Well, well, does Batsy have a new birdy?” he sang, and the figure stepped forwards out of the shadow to reveal you, donned in your Valentine suit for all to see.

“Oh no, dear Joker,” you said, matching his tone yet lacing it with as much venom as humanly possible, “I promise you I’m far from new.”

Cause I know that it’s day but it’s dark outside

The fact Joker wasn’t expecting a sixth ‘Batman partner’ to show up helped with taking down the guards. And like Tim noted, he was tracking everyone’s fighting styles. Even if Bruce was in the right mind-frame he had little chance of coming out on top.

You hadn't fought in the public eye for many years, so there was no recent footage of your style, and even so most of it was back when you weren’t working with Batman at all.

You had tied up Joker when you set to work setting the boys free, and it came as no surprise that he’d somehow gotten away by the time you’d given everyone a once-over.

Back in the cave Damian was the first. Once back in the confides of safety Damian practically flung himself into you.

“Ummi, I thought-” he said, stopping himself with a sniff and burying his nose in your stomach.

“It was a close call.” Dick added, his voice strained. With a look you pulled him closer, and one by one you managed to deal out hugs and just the right words.

In the next few hours Dick and Jason were both sent off back home with food Alfred made, and the reassurance that you’d come visit. Tim was sent off to bed, being told everything from the past events would be waiting when he wakes up. Damian was also given bed rest, but only after he got one last hug from you.

All that was left was to deal with Bruce, who’d been in the cave since you all went upstairs.

Like the feeling of rain on a Summer light

“Bruce.” you said, reaching his place at the computer. He stopped rather abruptly, and turned to face you with an agonizingly slow pace. The look on his face made you pull him into you just like you did with Dick. And for the first time in so long, Bruce cried.

He could’ve lost everything on top of the baby. The other boys. You. Himself.

He knew what he did wrong, he knew he went in without a clear head, all because something wasn’t right.

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #bruce wayne one shot #batman one shot #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader

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thrakaboom · 6 years ago

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Sha-Sha-Shazam: Why Captain Marvel Sold So Well

@zitkaplushie helped me transcribe a presentation I did back three years ago about why the Captain Marvel (Shazam) comics of the 1940s were so successful. Thank you!! Thank you too to @lyricxlili who helped me with the project originally.

Sha-Sha-Shazam! Why Captain Marvel Sold So Well.

The year was 1940. Overseas war was raging, and on the home front it was brewing as well. But on the newsstand a brand new hero named Captain Marvel was flying into the hearts of young children.

Created for Fawcett comics by writer Bill Parker and artist C. C. Beck, boy Billy Batson said a magic word - Shazam! - and became the adult hero Captain Marvel.

As Captain Marvel he had the powers of the gods Solomon, Hercules, Achilles, Zeus, Atlas and Mercury. These whimsical stories appealed to children and brought them into a magical world where terrible villains, such as the evil Dr Sivana and the formidable Mister Atom, could be defeated in less than 60 pages.

He soon outsold even the biggest of the big; Superman!

Soon Captain Marvel’s family expanded with Billy’s twin sister Mary, family friend Freddy Freeman, the old con-man Uncle Marvel, and even Hoppy the Marvel Bunny.

The Marvels were a phenomenon.

The Captain Marvel fan club had over four hundred thousand members at its peak. There were Marvel family figurines, colouring books, jigsaw puzzles, ties, patches; a ton of stuff. There was even a Mary Marvel clothing line.

So the question is: why were they so popular?

There are three main reasons; a combination of interesting storytelling, patriotism, and inclusivity. These three reasons created a sense of camaraderie and family in the readers. They too felt like they were part of the Marvel family.

Camaraderie and Family.

Throughout the war years many children were robbed of fathers and older brothers, which is a devastating loss for young children. There were five million women who became widowed mothers and their children were left without fathers. Tens of thousands of children were alone during the day while mothers worked and fathers were overseas.

It’s a natural conclusion that being part of a family was important to these children; and what a magical family the Marvels were.

Interesting Storytelling.

Captain Marvel’s storytelling was different from what other comics were putting out at the time. They were more silly and whimsical, and had a touch of both science-fiction and magic.

The Captain’s main writer, Otto Binder, was able to follow the logic of childhood and his stories were childhood wish fulfillment. His stories even had a talking tiger; and no children’s story can go wrong with a tiger! Cap’s main artist, C. C. Beck, was able to bring the characters to life in ways that were best for the stories.

And you can’t talk about the storytelling in the Captain Marvel franchise without talking about the implorable Monster Society of Evil, the very first villain society. Such terrible foes fighting our good heroes who are sure to have any kid on the edge of their seat. Even today, while many of the stories are dated, they’re still fun to read, and full of magic!

Patriotism.

It also had a wartime patriotism. According to Christine Dargy, who was 12 when Pearl Harbour was bombed; “We had to be patriotic. It was a way to be stronger during the wartime. It staved off fear.” In school kids had pinboards where they tracked the fighting, and regular stamp drives to raise money for war bonds. There were paper drives, rubber drives, tin drives- it was no wonder that the war played into the comic books as well, with villains like Captain Nazi and Captain Nippon, and Adolf Hitler himself.

In the beginning of many of the books there would be an ad reminding kids to buy war bonds, and a good portion of these stories were of the heroes helping the war effort. They caused a sense of American strength. We were a superpower, and we had superheroes with powers to protect us.

Inclusivity.

But possibly the biggest reason why the Marvels sold so well was a wish-fulfillment sort of inclusivity. It was because anyone could be a superhero. Well, not anyone, but any white person. Orphans, poor children, girls, the disabled- they could all be superheroes- and the characters that most exemplified these ideas were Mary Batson and Freddy Freeman.

During the war the roles of women were changing, so the roles for girls in comics were changing too. While real women were leaving the home to be part of the WCA and WAVES, women in comic books were leaving their roles of girlfriends in damsels in distress to become heroes on their own.

Among these heroes was Mary Marvel, who as Mary Batson would say the magic word Shazam! and became Mary Marvel, who was invincible. However, unlike her brother, when Mary said the magic word she didn’t change into an adult; she stayed an adolescent girl who could beat up a fully grown man twice her size without breaking a sweat.

According to comic book historian Chip Kidd, it was unheard of at the time for a little girl to more or less beat the tar out of a grown man. In all her stories she’s shown as smart, capable and strong, as both Mary Batson and Mary Marvel. And she could quip as well as any boy, not to mention throw a punch.

In the era of Dick and Jane many little girls grew up taking care of baby dolls and wanting to be housewives, like the damsels who did what their husbands wanted in the movies. Then here comes Mary Marvel, the worlds mightiest girl. Not only did she have the same amazing powers as her male counterparts, but she had stories and adventures that were hers and hers alone, something almost unheard of at the time.

The number of members of the Mary Marvel fan club is lost to history but it was one of the largest clubs for girls at the time. She was the perfect power fantasy for young girls. She was pretty but never sexualized, and kind but tough as nails and could beat up any big name.

A WOW Comics ad says “Think girls can’t fight, eh? Then you don’t know Mary Marvel!”. Mary certainly was marvelous. She sold because she showed girls what they could be and she was marketed towards girls. Looking back on the century, especially in comics, Mary’s portrayal and role was very progressive.

And then there’s Freddy Freeman- or Captain Marvel Junior. Freddy Freeman was a poor newsboy with a paralyzed leg who lived in a draft old attic, but who was pure of heart and had a strong sense of right and wrong, especially when it came to the downtrodden.

He was a modern day Tiny Tim, except when he said the magic word he became a powerful superhero who not only had the powers of the gods, but also use of his paralyzed leg. So why wasn’t Freddy Captain Marvel Junior all the time?

Well for one, it wouldn’t make the stories as interesting, but the thing is Freddy is shown to be happy to just be Freddy Freeman. Even if he’s quieter and more observant than Mary and Billy, he still has relentless good cheer. Freddy Freeman is a capable young man with a life worth living, which not only was a strange concept at the time but today as well.

No one can know for sure, but this must have been a wonderful and empowering message for disabled youths whose futures were bleak: especially since the Americans with Disabilities Act wouldn’t be passed until sixty years later, which would guarantee equality in the workplace for the disabled.

He was a hit with the readers, and his own title sold extremely well. While many of Captain Marvel Junior’s stories were about helping poor orphans like himself, Captain Marvel Junior’s biggest villain was Captain Nazi. We don’t know if the choice was intentional, because Junior’s writers died without speaking about it, but it’s a very interesting choice with what was going on in Nazi Germany at the time.

In October of 1939, Hitler passed Aktion T-4 in order to kill those unfit to live; a pretty way to say the disabled. Aktion T-4 was a precursor to the Holocaust and killed around two hundred thousand people.

Whether intentional or not, it’s a very interesting choice to have one of the champions of America be a disabled child while fighting the champion of Hitler. Most of the impact of Captain Marvel Junior on the disabled community, especially young children with disabilities, is speculation but it’s not far-fetched to assume that seeing a happy kid with a disability who was not only competent and had friends but was a superhero was very important and encouraging to them.

The Marvels sold so well because they were the right superheroes for the right time. During what could be called the only just war during the 20th and 21st century, they were pure of heart and undeniably good and were exactly what kids needed. These characters provided that for all children- boys, girls, the poor, the rich, the disabled. The reason they sold so well was because they were what superheroes always should be- hopeful and kind with a progressive mentality, and most importantly what all children can strive to be.

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headcans-oneshots-and-stuff · 6 years ago

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The bat-boys in our universe... (HC)

Requested by @jornnagreyjoy

Alrighty than so i always see these fanfic where the reader is from the modern world and the batboys somehow get to the modern world but what annoys me is the reader is this super fan of them and is rather imo unlikable because of how awkward and fangirly she is so sense your request are open can i get the batboys x modern reader headcanons. (Like how would they react or think of the reader as well what would the reader think) protective tomboy reader loving her new friends. sfw or nsfw or both.

I hope it lives up to your expectations. I gave my best. *@* (<-a little duck in case you don‘t)

It all started on a pretty nice day

The sun was shining and the air was somehow fresher than usually

Even though, you had a feeling that this day wouldn‘t stay that nice, you grabbed your purse and headed to the subway

The city was busy, as always, but you liked the anonymity the city allowed you

With no destination in mind you just walked around, going into stores here and there.

Then, after an hour or something, you wanted to go to your favorite cafe to continue that book you wanted to write for ages now

But in order to do so you‘d either need to go right though one of the most busy streets o take a shortcut through some isolated alleys

Against your better will you took the alleys

And you regretted it, when ou encountered four figures who were dressed in strange costumes

But you lived in NewYork and the day you‘ll back away without a fight isn‘t written yet.

„Oi, you guys know Halloween isn‘t for another nine months or so?“

All of them looked at you confused

That‘s how it started

You‘re not sure how, but an hour later you sat with four crazy boys in your living room and listened to them telling you, that they were from another unierte, where they were known superheros

You came from a small village and only recently (well, two years ago) moved to NY so you never really knew things about all those comics

But, even though you didn‘t believe them, something baout those boys peaked your interest

So you decided to take care of them

You mostly wore masculine clothes (they were way more comfortable, practical and they had huge pockets!!!) and your clothes luckily fitted the boy in his teens (Tim)(even though you were around the age off the two oldest boys, Jason and Dick), but you still needed something for the three other boys

Luckily you were on good Terms with your neighbors and in exchange for the promise that you‘d water their plants the next time they‘d be on vacation, they lend your three ‘cousins‘ whose luggage got lost on the airport

They all fitted good (even though Damian was annoyed that there were cartoon cars on his shirt)

Somehow, after all this, you found yourself starting to believe their stories

Maybe it was the way they talked or just their general aura, but there was something abnormal about them

Something that didn’t belong in the normal world

But you loved it

It was like breathing fresh air after you‘d been stuck in a small place for a while

Those boys just seemed so....special

Dick was exactly how you imagined a grown up boy-scout and way too flirty at the same time

Jason was the embodiment of a hard shell and a soft core

He acted all bad-boy like, but, since you grew up with three older brothers, you were able to look directly threw his facade

Tim was best-friend-material

He was super clever and you were able to talk with him without having to say much

And then there was Damian

It wasn‘t that you didn’t like him, you did, but he was pretty hard to talk to

He kinda reminded you of yourself when you were younger, but you still weren’t able to get through to him

Originally the boys also had a pretty clear opinion of you

You were kind, funny and nice

But that changed a bit when you were in the store to get something to eat (the boys were with you)

Maybe it was the universe trying to get the boys back on track or it was just your luck, but the store got robbed

The boys were about to take the robber down, but before they could do anything you‘d already punched that guy so hard in the face that he fell backwards into a cabinet and unconscious

That changed the boys‘ opinion of you

Dick saw it in front of him

You in your own constume with the bat-symbol and everything

He already felt the brotherly love and protectiveness

Jason was just like: Wow...Was she this whole time that hot?

After that the flirting began

Much to Damians dismay

He wouldn‘t admit it in front of anybody, but the fact that you could defend yourself made him almost like you

And he saw potential in your punch

Tim‘s opinion didn’t really change

He had already liked you before

Even though it made him somehow sad, because that was another reason to miss you when he would be back home

All in all your decision to take the alley instead of the busy street was the start of a great friendship

#damian wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #batfam #headcanon #nightwing #robin #x reader #x reader headcanons #modern world au #red robin #red hood #NewYork #HC #headcanons x reader #dc comic headcanons #batfam headcanons #Dc comic

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queenzufufu · 7 years ago

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Soldier Boy (1/?)

Summary: Alfredo only had three main goals in life: earn money, keep his family safe, and to try and one up his parents and make it past the age of thirty.

The Fakes? He couldn't be any further from that world. No doubt he'd love to be part of it but he knows it's never going to happen. There's just no way.

Until one night, and one heist gone wrong, finds him in the middle of a gang war that he finds he has no choice but to get involved in.

Alfredo has never been much of a believer in fate. You got what you were given, that’s what he’s been raised to believe and so far in his short life, nothing has happened to go against or disprove that state of mind.

As far as Alfredo is concerned, there are three things in life that really matter. Family, loyalty, and money. His grandma would tell him nothing was more important than family. That everything he did in life had to be of some benefit for the family. She had taught him from a young age that one day he may be expected to take a fall for someone else, and that he should take that fall with honor and pride. That he should be selfless and be giving at all times, first and foremost - his life would be nothing without those of his family as well.

She said everything he had in life. The clothes on his back, the food in his belly, his bed and the roof he slept under, was all because of the family, and it was up to him to work hard every day of his life to pay them back and provide for the next generation. To do what his dead parents were now unable to.

His Uncle would tell him nothing was more important than loyalty. It kind of tied into the family side of things but loyalty could stretch boundaries. His Uncle would tell him stories of his father - his older brother - the most loyal and fearless man he ever knew. He said where they were now was largely down to him. The respect they still had from other crews was because they remembered his father. A straight up guy. Smart and loyal.

When he was only about five Alfredo once said it didn’t seem very smart to have been shot by a police. The swift backhand he earned was enough to make him shut up permanently on that front.

And his older brother, Denver, would tell him that money was what made the world go round. With money you could be anyone you wanted to be and no one could touch you or anyone you cared about. He’d tell Alfredo when they were really young - going out on the streets to see what cars were ripe for the taking - that money meant power, and the best way to survive in a place that could be as cruel as their city was to make as much of it as possible.

It depended on the day of the week, which one Alfredo felt more attached to at the time.

Either way, he has a place. And for this, he is grateful for. Every day he saw so much pain, so much suffering in the eyes of those who did not have what he has. Who had no family looking out for them, no one loyal enough to always stand by them. And those people definitely had no money.

Is he happy as a person? That is an entirely different question. Alfredo supposes it doesn’t matter. What he wanted… he wasn’t entitled to have a say - at least not yet. He’s a soldier, that’s the most important and defining quality about him. He would live and die for his family.

That morning is like any other. Alfredo awakes from his bed in his family’s basement by his grandma stomping her foot loudly on the kitchen floor above him. Groaning, he slips one leg out of bed, and then the other. It’s always cold in their basement, despite the generally hot climate outside, and getting up is never a pleasant affair.

He can’t afford to dally though, his grandma will have his head if he’s not out of the door by half eight. Time is money after all and money was still important even if it wasn’t always her number one priority. And seeing as Alfredo and his older brother were the men of the house, it was up to them to go out to work every day and bring home the earnings. His grandma had a job too, of course, she wasn’t one to just sit around. She worked as a hairdresser around twenty minutes away. A nice place, fancy, attracted high-end clients. Perfect for his grandma, Especially with their house being so close to the pawn shop. What could he say? It ran in the family, he supposed.

Clambering up the steep staircase on his hands and feet - like he had done ever since he was older enough to walk - Alfredo bounds into the kitchen, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms, walking over to where is grandma is washing up last nights dishes and kisses her on the cheek.

“You’re up late. Your brother was out ten minutes ago,” are the first words she said to him in her heavy Filipino accent, and though Alfredo knew there was no real anger or annoyance behind them, he can never help the little kick in the heart it would give him.

Denver. His older brother. And by far the more capable and adept at living this life of theirs. Alfredo is good, people always tell him that. But Alfredo had always been too soft, more keen on making friends out of their rivals than dealing with them. He hadn’t shot his first man until he was fourteen, a whole two years older than his brother had been. He’d cried as well, a lot, even though the man he’d had to shoot had been a rat for another crew. He’s shot at many rivals since then, hit a lot and killed a few, but it was never easy. No, taking a life, any life, had never sat easy with him.

As he sat at their small breakfast table, he glances up to watch the TV. It was the morning news and shaky camera footage was showing a bank robbery heist that had taken place a week or so earlier - Montgomery Legion, a place where only the wealthiest stored their riches - robbed a small sum of £1.2 million dollars. There was no special prize for guessing who was responsible but there was no need for guessing in the first place, as the perpetrators mocked the cops from the roof of the bank, clad in tactical armour and face masks, before they leapt into a chopper and vanished into the skies above, the authorities unable to keep up or track them down. Yep, that sort of behaviour was typical of The Fakes.

Pausing in her washing, his grandma turns and points a spoon at the TV, nodding in approval. “You see there, Alfredo? That’s what real men look like,” she lectures. Oh Alfredo knew that alright. He’s basically been raised to worship The Fakes - placed in front of the TV when he was a little boy, witnessing the havoc they caused for the rich and corrupt. Told that was what he was to aspire to be.

Alfredo doesn’t know, he’s probably more suited with what he knows. The Fakes… they just seemed too out there, too unreal, Robin Hood-esque characters come to life. Incredible and amazing to observe but not something he could, in reality, strive to be, no matter how much he'd like to.

Not much is known about them. Every so often a name or two is whispered in the winds throughout the city. Golden Boy, Mogar, The Vagabond; they come and go with the changing of the seasons. The most recent one Alfredo recalls, and quite frankly the most absurd, was Rimmy Tim. I mean come on! Rimmy Tim? What kind of dumbass name was that?

Honestly, as much fun as being part of a crew like that sounded, Alfredo knows he'll never get out of his neighborhood, and the few corners that were his. But when his main job is to stand around all day and watch as addicts and dealers exchanged cash in hand, occasionally running from the cops or fighting with rival crews, he often finds his mind wondering to more exciting, but imagined, lands.

So he’s left daydreaming, while The Fakes continue with their grand heists, in their flashy cars with their insane arsenal of weapons and technology. Different lives, he supposes, never meant to mix.

He smiles to himself in recollection of all the news stories that have been the talk of his house over the years.

But what a fucking life, he thinks in awe. What a fucking life.

He meets up with his right had man a few blocks away from a new corner, one they’d take the other day when of of his runners had noticed there was no one on it. As far as Alfredo see’s, it was for the taking. His Lieutenant, Angel Guanzon - sixteen years old and already fully enrolled into a life of crime. He likes the kid, but he sometimes clashes with Alfredo’s preferred method of conducting business. He’s brash and loud while Alfredo’s observant and more cautious, and he’s eager to fuck a dude up for a late payment while Alfredo is always more keen to give them longer and occasionally, for the really young ones, look the other way.

Alfredo doesn’t know if these differences makes Angel respect him any less but he couldn’t complain. The kid was loyal and for the most part listened to Alfredo and did as he was told.

That day was no different than the rest. By early afternoon, Alfredo feels pretty pleased with himself. Business was going well - not booming - especially since they recently lost another couple of their nearby corners in a shootout, but good enough to keep his grandma happy.

No police either so he thanks his lucky stars for that. He’s experienced enough to be able to handle a couple of street cops but damn if they weren’t annoying and put a dampener on his day.

“Just get her some flowers or something, classy like,” Alfredo offers to Angel, who’s telling him about this new girl he’s interested in.

Angel shakes his head, flipping his baseball cap around in his hands. “Nah, nah, dude. This girl ain’t like that. She’s into the hard shit, you see. She wantin’ her man to be a gangsta, not some pussy ass motherfucka with flowers.”

Alfredo shrugs, giving up. He doesn’t fucking know what to say. The most serious relationship he’s ever been in was back in high school and that was only for three months. The girl he’d dated was now married with four kids so… like he was always thinking, different lives.

Commotion down the street. Alfredo is instantly on guard.

“Yo, they’re coming! They’re coming!” Alfredo turns at the sound of one of his look outs voices and sees three members of Pascal’s crew stalking towards him. Pascal’s crew is fairly new on the scene. Ugly looking motherfuckers, the lot of them. But they’re eager and stupidly confident, and that can be a dangerous cocktail.

“Motherfuckers think they looking at?” Angel mutters.

Alfredo holds his ground as they get closer, standing tall as the leader comes right up to him, face merely a few inches from his own. He tries not to laugh at the bandana adorned around the man’s forehead - black with skull and cross bones - really, did this guy know anything?

“Pinoy boy, you done lost your fucking mind. You’re standing on my real estate.”

Ah so it was Pascal’s crew who were slacking. If there was one thing Alfredo can appreciate about his own crew, it was their professionalism. They clocked in their hours every day, no complaint - salt of the earth kind of guys.

“Mine now,” he says calmly. “Took it while you was resting.”

Beside him, Angel hoists up his shirt, revealing his 9mm. “Y’all too late,” he taunts. Alfredo holds up a hand, signalling for him to take it easy. This is a delicate situation, no matter how inexperienced these rivals might be. Alfredo doesn’t feel like having to deal with any needless bloodshed this day.

“Look,” bandana dude gets right up in his face, using his extra couple of inches to sneer down, pulling a dumb expression Alfredo supposes is meant to intimidate him. “I’m’a let you walk off right now. Or we could do it the other way.”

Alfredo peers speculatively past him - at the three other guys with their baseball bats. He shakes his head, laughing a little. “Who you got to do it the other way? Them?” He turns around to look at his own crew - more than double the number, most of them armed with something more deadly than a bat.

He turns back, glaring up into the dark eyes, daring him to take his chances. He can’t show weakness, not one slither. This was a test more than anything, a scouting group sent to see if he would easily roll over. Pascal’s crew had something else coming if they thought for a second Alfredo would dishonour his family. No solider would do that.

Bandana dude regards him and his crew, not saying a word. Alfredo sees his jaw working. Eventually he leans even closer, bumping foreheads with Alfredo. “You gonna see me in your sleep,” he threatens, shoving his shoulder hard as he turned and walked away.

“Yeah, I know. I know,” Alfredo calls after him, waving them off dismissively.

The dude turns back. “Yeah,” he shouts.

Alfredo just laughs, turning his back to him. He gives the nod to Angel, who immediately starts jumping up and down, shoving his gun away again. “That’s right, keep walking, bitch!”

Once he’s calmed down and Pascal’s crew have vanished from sight, he looks to Alfredo, who by now is sat outside the closest house, rolling and unrolling a twenty his in fingers. “They’re gonna come back,” Angel says, sitting down next to him.

“Yeah, way we just punk’d them?” Alfredo looks over, sticking the twenty in the corner of his mouth like it’s a smoke. He nods slowly, observing his once again calm corner. “They got to.”

He’s walking back from the club late at night when he’s cornered. He’s had his money counted for the day, earned his twelve percent cut, will be giving the youngin’s their four percent of that at the end of the week. It’s time to head home and hopefully get some time for himself before going to bed so he can wake up and do it all over the next day.

It’s just as he turns into an alleyway that he often uses as a short cut, that a strong pair of hands grab him by the shoulders and shove him roughly into the nearest wall. Two guys, one tall and bulky, the other shorter and muscular, both with short blond buzzcuts, are facing him down.

The taller guy as a hand around his throat while his accomplice presses the edge of his knife against Alfredo’s stomach. His breath hitches in his chest, muscles contracting and eyes widening. At this moment he wishes more than ever for his natural instincts to kick in, for his upbringing to come in use and help him kick these guys asses, or at least get him the hell out out here. But alas, nothing comes, he is simply a coward - which is almost as bad as a rat in his family - almost hyperventilating, quivering like a leaf.

The shorter guy, who still has his blade pressing against Alfredo, gives him the once over, smiling and shaking his head, as if he expected nothing more than a scared kid and was proven right.

“Denver’s baby brother, right?” are the words the guy eventually speaks, when he’s satisfied he has Alfredo shaken enough.

At the mention of his brother’s name, Alfredo stiffens up. “I dunno… who - who you’re talking about.”

The man leans in closer, tilting his head to the side, lowering his eyebrows and pulling a face like he’s a disappointed parent. “Now, don’t give me that. Do I look stupid to you?” He lifts the knife from Alfredo’s stomach, only to bring it up to his face, sliding the flat edge of the blade along Alfredo’s top lip.

Alfredo swallows, unable to look away from the razor sharp edge only inches away from his throat. “Nah, man,” he chokes out.

“Your brother,” he says again, running his finger along the metal, smiling as he does so. “He took a package of ours to sell, you see. This was, what was it, Georgy?” he turns to the huge man.

“Three weeks ago,” this so-called “Georgy” replies in an even thicker accent.

“Three weeks ago. You see? You see my dilemma here, Fredo?”

Alfredo glares. Only his family call him ‘Fredo’. He doesn’t say so though, he’s not an idiot. “He - he owes you money,” he answers instead. Motherfucker was gonna be in so much shit when Alfredo next saw him. And to think he was the one his grandma was always telling him he should look up to. At least Alfredo hadn’t fucked up like this yet.

The shorter man smiles his sickly grin once more, teeth glinting dangerously like a sharks. “Ah see, Georgy? I told you this was a smart boy.” He pats Alfredo patronizingly on the head. “So smart boy, I need to you to do something for me, yes? You go to that thieving brother of yours and you tell him that Dmitri is very upset with him but not unforgiving. I am very forgiving, am I not, Georgy?”

“You’ve got until Friday to get me that money,” he says before spinning and walking away, leaving Georgy and Alfredo alone. Alfredo stares up at the giant, throat working, eyes wide, just hoping and praying he would leave. He did, after a few lingering moments of pure intimidation, spitting in Alfredo’s face and then shoving him roughly to the ground.

Alfredo stays where he is, palms stinging from the scrape against the rough ground, muscles agonizingly tight with tension. Only once both men were safely around the far corner does he struggle haphazardly to his feet, checking first to make sure he truly was uninjured before letting out a pure noise of anger.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cries out, pacing between the tiny gap of the alley walls. He aims a well placed kick at a trash can, sending the contents spilling out into the sidewalk. I’m gonna kill Denver, if those Ruski bastards don’t first, I’m gonna fucking kill him.

A throat clears, sounding louder on the quiet street, and Alfredo glances up to see an elderly lady standing on her porch, looking very unimpressed with the mess the boy had just made outside her home. Her disapproving gaze doesn’t look too dissimilar to that of Alfredo’s grandma, and he instinctively puts on his best behaviour.

“Sorry ma'am,” he raises his hand apologetically, going to pick up the can and trash, making a big show of putting everything back where it should have been, and even adding a few extra beer cans he was pretty sure weren’t even in there in the first place.

She appraises his work, not saying a word. When he’s done she gives him a hard stare, but then nods her head, turning around and heading back into her home.

Alfredo waits until she’s shut the door, and then leans back against the wall, putting a hand against his warmed and reddened cheeks. Embarrassing though it may have been, the moment does do something to bring Alfredo back to reality, to allow him a moment to pause and think and collect his scattered thoughts.

Okay, he decided, this isn’t too bad. As far as disagreements went between the crews this was pretty small. Alfredo was just ashamed that he’d acted so meekly back there, not even attempting to fight back or stand up for himself.

After a few more minutes to calm himself, he slowly stands up straight, brushes himself down, and begins the walk home again, all the while plotting in his head exactly how he was going to kick his brothers ass.

He’s two blocks away from home when he sees it. Or rather, smells it, first. Smoke, rising from nearby, crackling. Fire. Without even thinking, he hurries towards it, like a moth of the night drawn to flame.

He knows the building. It’s a small hotel, usually catering for travelling workers. He skids to a halt just outside, where there are already a crowd of people watching in awe and fear. Snippets of their conversations drift by. Firefighters on their way… police too. How’d it start… Some staff still inside… Fire started on purpose… Someone saw people in masks… It was the Fakes… No the Fakes wouldn’t do this… No it was… Fakes… Fakes, Fakes, Fakes.

Alfredo blinks, and everybody around him takes a step back as there’s an explosion from somewhere inside and the extra heat blasts out onto the street.

He almost steps back too, but something stops him.

Shouts.

There are still people inside, possibly trapped.

He runs inside, not pausing to think.

It’s dark inside, surprisingly, the lights must have been cut out by the fire. The only light, of course, comes from the orange and red flames on the curtains and some of the furniture. In the main lobby, however, it mainly seems filled with smoke - the outbreak of the fire must be deeper inside.

Two young women run towards him, emerging from the deadly clouds, dressed in the hotel uniform.

“Is anyone else inside?” he calls to them.

One just runs straight past him, either uncaring or simply too blinded by fear to give him a second glance. The other, however, pauses and looks back. “Only Drew, I think. We tried to get him to come with us but… but, he won’t!” Her face falls. “Oh, God we shouldn’t have left him. We shouldn’t have left him!” She goes to run back but Alfredo grabs her by the arm.

“It’s okay, I’ll get him. Where is he?”

“Staff room, through those doors at the end on the left,” she quickly replies, taking his hand gratefully. “Thank you.”

“It’s alright. You get yourself out of here,” Alfredo instructs before heading quickly but cautiously further in.

“Hello?” he calls out as he nears the destination. There’s a rustle in the darkness. Alfredo steps towards it, and makes out a form huddled on the floor behind a chair. He rushes forward, dropping to crouch next to the man, tearing a strip off his shirt as he does.

“Hey there, are you Drew?”

The man nods, eyes glazed. Red hair plasters to his forehead. He’s young, Alfredo can see, even younger then Alfredo. “Who –” he begins but ends up choking.

“C’mon,” Alfredo tries pulling him. “We’ve gotta get outta here.”

“Can’t,” the man whispers, like a dead-weight under Alfredo’s arm. He can see now how the girls would have struggled with him, but right now Alfredo hasn’t the patience for any breakdowns or panic attacks.

With his greatest strength, he forces the man to his feet, allowing him to lean against his side. “C’mon, this way! Hold this over your mouth,” he instructs, placing his own hand with his torn up shirt across the man’s face.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, they make their way to the main doors. By the time they do get there, Alfredo’s own throat feels raw and his bare arms feel like they are beginning to cook. The emergency services are there now at least, he can get out of here, pleased with his good deed of the day.

As he gives Drew one last shove towards the doors and fresh air, he takes one last glance behind him. Nothing. No screams. Good.

But wait…

Somehow, even though it’s even smokier than earlier, he catches the glimpse of a figure disappearing around a corner, down the hall Alfredo had not explored.

“Hey buddy!” He yells. “That’s the wrong way!” he calls out frantically, but it’s no good, the figure has vanished.

Alfredo pauses, torn between taking the sensible option and making a run for the exit - where the firefighters are almost ready to make an exit and are calling for him to come out - or following this stranger for no other reason than he was still nursing his bruised pride from earlier and felt like earning some more praise by being the hero for once. Because he wasn’t naive to believe he would go after someone out of the goodness in his heart. Really, he was a fucking criminal at the end of the day. A low-life. No use pretending anything else.

But, for reasons unknown to him, his feet start moving in the direction the figure had gone, slowly at first, but then quickening rapidly until he’s sprinting full blast through the smoke covered room. When he turns the corner he’s met with yet another narrow hallway, tight and full of grey clouds of smoke. He coughs, which is a mistake, and finds himself unable to stop. Harsh, guttural sounds that shake his lungs and leave him stumbling forward.

Forward, still forward. Why was he still going forward? This is madness. Yet he keeps going, going the only possible way the stranger could have gone, down the hallway. He tries the handles but snatches them away with a hiss instantly. They’re blazing hot. No way they went in there.

Finally, painfully, he reaches the end of the hallway. His eyes are watering rivers and every breath feels like he’s on fire, but blessedly, the air seems to clear here, seems fresher somehow. He looks around, blinking back ash filled tears

A door, ordinary looking but open. Was his mysterious stranger holed up inside? They must be, there’s nowhere else they could have gone.

He launches himself in, already preparing to haul another confused stranger to safety, but instead he’s met with an empty room, or what he thinks is an empty room at first. His eyes quickly dart down at movement on the floor, and widen massively when he realises there is a head.

A head poking up through the floor, brown haired and curly, facing away from him and fiddling about with a large duffel bag, cursing as the zip keeps catching.

“You– ” Alfredo starts, utterly bewildered.

He’s cut off instantly by a gun to his face.

Honestly, his fucking luck this evening.

“Shit! Where’d he come from?” the man on the floor yelps, turning and staring up with dark eyes at Alfredo and the other.

“Must’ve followed you,” the voice answers, muffled slightly. Alfredo realizes the reason when he throws Alfredo to the ground and pushes him to face him. His face was covered in a mask. A monkey mask to be precise, that Alfredo would have laughed at, had it not been for the gun still pointed at his fucking head. “Who are you? You work here?” the monkey demands.

Alfredo shakes his head.

“What you doing in here then?” The muffled voice becomes harsher, the gun getting threateningly closer.

Alfredo swallows, wincing as it scratches his throat. “I- I wanted to help,” he manages to hoarsely say.

A pause. And then the man holding the gun is laughing, lowering his weapon. “So,” he starts, “we’ve got a little wannabe hero here.”

Well… he wasn’t entirely wrong.

The monkey man lowered his weapon and grabs his own duffel bag, giving Alfredo’s leg a kick. “What are you waiting for then? Get your ass down there before we’re all barbecue. I don't want the body of a dumb kid on my conscience.”

Alfredo scrambles down the hole, jumping as he’s met with another mask, some sort of carnival one, belonging to the man with curly hair. If the guy was hoping Alfredo hadn’t seen his face or was going to forget it any time soon, he was hopelessly wrong. Sooner or later, Alfredo was going to find there was no way in hell he would ever be forgetting that face.

Another kick and he’s automatically walking forward, through a tunnel that was quite obviously manmade, and that lead underneath the old hotel. Behind him the curly haired man begins whispering. “What happened in there? Did you see? Who would’a done this? Do you think –” However, he is hardly shushed by the monkey man and the rest of the way is quiet.

What feels like an age but is probably five minutes at the most, Alfredo finally sees the most beautiful sight. Greenery. And the smell… the wonderful smell of fresh air. He speeds forward, unable to help himself, and is justly rewarded by a foot sticking into his path and tripping him up.

He lays there, breathing heavily, before rolling over only to be met with yet another masked figure. This one honestly quite terrifying. The mask is almost all black, and what he finds more interesting, is the smidge of paint that pokes out from behind it. Piercing blue eyes watch him curiously. In the near distance he can hear all the commotion and sirens from the hotel, but right now they appear to be in a small park, possibly the one Alfredo smoked his first cigarette in when he was seven.

“Watch yourself,” the monkey man says with a chuckle as he exits too. “That’s a hero you just tripped up there.”

The mysterious figure doesn’t say anything but Alfredo can almost imagine him frowning deeply behind his mask. Eventually he gives a shrug and walks off. Alfredo tilts his head to try and watch him and see where he goes but a clammy hand on his face forces him to look back.

“What are we gonna do about this kid?” the curly haired man asks to who he assumes is the leader, moving his hand to place it on Alfredo’s shoulder, ready to restrain him if needed be.

Alfredo gulps as - now it’s clearer and lighter and he can see - cool blue eyes look down and judge him, taking time to scan every feature and emotion that crosses his face. He finds he can’t look away, can’t break eye contact, just holds his breath even though his stressed lungs are pleading for air. All the while his mind races at light-speed, a multitude of thoughts passing though and crashing into one another. Holy shit, is the main one. Is this really them? Is this really fucking them?

Eventually something glints in the cool gaze, and the man turns away. “Let him loose,” he instructs. “He’ll keep shut if he knows what’s good for him,” the man says smirking down at him and grabbing his shoulder to pull him to his feet. He gives Alfredo a shove to send him on his way, with a final word of warning. “And if he doesn’t I’ll personally cut his snitching tongue out myself.”

Alfredo doesn’t waste any time and runs as if his life depends on it, tearing through the park towards his home; and not once looking back.

Part 2

#my fic #ah fic #rt fic

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junker-town · 8 years ago

Text

Joe Moorhead’s rare adaptability could play quite well at Mississippi State

If you can win playoff games at Fordham and turn around the Penn State offense almost immediately, you can win in Starkville.

The SEC has always been a defense-first kind of league. Back in the 1950s, when a different league team was making a national title run each year, it was always based around dominant D: Auburn allowed 28 total points in an unbeaten 1957 run, Ole Miss allowed 21 points in 1959, Alabama allowed 25 points in 1961, etc.

Defense is in the DNA. But points aren’t a bad thing. Nor is adapting with the times.

The SEC technically still grades out as the nation’s best conference, on average, this season. But after enjoying a massive advantage as recently as two or three years ago, the advantage has shrunk quickly, if not disappeared altogether.

You can make the case that coaching hires have been the primary cause.

While the ACC has upgraded its coaching roster significantly, adding Mark Richt, Bobby Petrino, Justin Fuente, Dave Clawson, Bronco Mendenhall, and others within the last few years, the SEC has been a little bit more predictable.

From 2013-16, the league hired nine new head coaches. Six of them came from the defensive side; of the four hires made in 2015-16, three had Nick Saban ties.

To a degree, those hires worked out. Georgia’s Kirby Smart appears to be the one former Saban assistant who has flashed a Saban-level ceiling, Florida Jim McElwain managed to snag two division titles before flaming out, and while South Carolina’s Will Muschamp isn’t putting an aesthetically pleasing team on the field, he’s 8-4.

While football is a copycat’s game, copying the master doesn’t usually produce master-level results (Smart aside).

You might need to figure out a different path.

So far, so good. At least six league teams are replacing head coaches — Arkansas, Florida, Mississippi State, Ole Miss, Tennessee, and Texas A&M — and the first three to make their choices have all gone after offensive guys.

Florida’s Dan Mullen is a former Gator coordinator whose Mississippi State offense has ranked 31st or better in Off. S&P+ in five of the last eight seasons.

New full-time Ole Miss head coach Matt Luke was offensive co-coordinator at Duke and Ole Miss. He helped to raise Duke’s Off. S&P+ rankings from the 100s to the 50s, and Ole Miss’ offense has ranked 14th or better in each of the last three years (including 2017, in which the Rebels dealt with QB injuries).

Forced to replace Mullen, Mississippi State has evidently selected Penn State coordinator Joe Moorhead, who oversaw possibly the most fun offense in the country over the last two years.

For all we know, the other three league schools could still skew toward defense. Tennessee, after all, tried to sign Ohio State defensive coordinator Greg Schiano before unsuccessfully going after offense-friendly Oklahoma State head coach Mike Gundy on Tuesday. (The next options on the list appear to be offensive guys, at least.) And who the hell knows what Arkansas is going to do? Arkansas doesn’t, therefore we don’t.

The Moorhead hire is particularly intriguing.

First, he comes from outside the league. A few outside influences aren’t a bad thing. We don’t know anything about the staff he will put together or how he will establish ties in a new recruiting area, but the organic growth of his offensive system has been startling.

The first time Moorhead was officially in charge of an offense, he raised Georgetown’s scoring average from 17.4 points per game to 22.6 in 2003. He ended up on Rob Brookhart’s staff at Akron, and in three years, the Zips’ Off. S&P+ ranking rose from 100th to 55th. His first year as Randy Edsall’s coordinator at UConn (2009) produced a six-point improvement and No. 31 ranking in Off. S&P+.

He became Fordham head coach in 2012, and after a 6-5 debut, the Rams took off. They went 32-8 from 2013-15, and this Bruce Feldman piece does a great job of outlining all the tweaks and tricks that took shape. The Rams stole from exciting offenses all the time.

Fordham head coach Andrew Breiner (Fordham offensive coordinator/QB coach, 2011-14): I can still remember it was Eastern Illinois vs. Northern Illinois. They were on the right hash going into the end zone away from the scoreboard in NIU. We probably watched [EIU QB Jimmy Garoppolo] 15 times. Our staff got into an argument over whether they were actually reading a safety in the run game or not. Joe was saying, “I think they’re reading the safety.”

I said, “No, how can you ask the QB to read a safety [as a run defender] and make a throw?” We kept going back and forth on it, and the more we watched it, the more I realized Joe was right. The safety was making an immediate movement towards the line of scrimmage, reacting on the run, and then they’re bringing the post right behind him from the X-receiver into the boundary.

Davidson co-offensive coordinator Tim Zetts (Fordham running backs coach, 2011-14):: The thing that Joe did which was phenomenal was finding that next thing to be innovative. Before he did that, he was always saying, “If you can’t block him, read him. He’s too good to block.” He was finding ways to cancel [interior] players out.

An open mind led to Moorhead’s early adoption of the run-pass option, but his offense is still grounded in rushing potential and H-backs.

[Smart Football’s Chris] Brown thinks offenses will move more in the direction of Penn State, continuing to chug down the RPO tracks but trying to get the quarterback hit less.

“If you watch Penn State,” he says, “almost everything for them is based on having five interior linemen and an H-Back. Oklahoma State is still in 10 personnel [one back, four receivers] because of those great receivers, but now it’s much more 11 personnel [one back, one tight end or H-Back] — and they’re usually blocking the six interior linemen and linebackers.

“They’re not very often leaving the defensive end unblocked so he can crash down on the quarterback as he’s making one of those downfield RPOs. They’ll do a bunch of variations of that.”

Penn State head coach James Franklin’s trajectory in Happy Valley took a nearly 180-degree turn when he brought Moorhead to town. His first two Nittany Lion teams each went 7-6, and despite the presence of blue-chip quarterback Christian Hackenberg, they ranked 112th and 62nd, respectively, in Off. S&P+.

In need of an energy boost and a healthy dose of adaptability, Franklin looked to Moorhead. PSU improved immediately, to 18th last year and 12th this year, and they are 21-5 since he came to town. Brent Pry’s defense has been top-20 in Def. S&P+ both years, too — this hasn’t been a one-dimensional team — but the defense was good before Moorhead arrived. The offense, not so much.

Moorhead won’t inherit a Saquon Barkley in Starkville.

He will take over an offense scheduled to return quarterback Nick Fitzgerald, running back Aeris Williams and Kylin Hill, a foursome of freshman and sophomore receivers (Deddrick Thomas, Reggie Todd, Keith Mixon, Jamal Couch) that combined for 800 receiving yards and eight touchdowns, and an offensive line with only one 2017 senior.

His work with Fitzgerald could be fascinating. As important as Barkley (2,630 rushing yards, 996 receiving yards, 41 combined touchdowns in 2016-17) has been, Moorhead’s bond with quarterback Trace McSorley was as or more vital.

McSorley's completion rate was just 55 seven games into his first season with Moorhead, his passer rating just 133.4. Since then: 63 percent and 162.1. He caught fire, playing nearly perfect ball in the Big Ten title game against Wisconsin and throwing four TDs in the tight Rose Bowl loss to USC. This year, he's thrown for 3,228 yards and 26 touchdowns despite rarely playing in fourth quarters. (Not including sacks, he’s also rushed for 1,093 yards in the last two seasons.)

Moorhead will only get one year with Fitzgerald. The QB pipeline isn’t dry after him, mind you — four-star prospect Keytaon Thompson got thrown into the deep end when Fitzgerald went down early in the Egg Bowl — but how quickly Moorhead and Fitzgerald can reach the same page will set the bar for 2018.

(A defense with only two seniors among its top 16 tacklers can’t hurt.)

Moorhead is known for points, but his resourcefulness could pay off just as much.

From 1954 to 2010, Fordham didn't offer football scholarships. The Rams play in the Patriot League, a non-scholarship league. In 2009, they elected to offer scholarships, which disqualified them from the Patriot League title but allowed them to better position for at-large playoff bids.

Still, they were playing catch-up. Despite this, creaky facilities, and crowded offices, Moorhead’s Rams indeed made the FCS playoffs for three straight years. They beat Sacred Heart in the first round in both 2013 and 2014 and lost only to excellent teams each time: Towson in 2013 (the Tigers went on to make the finals), New Hampshire in 2014 (the Wildcats made the semis), and Chattanooga in 2015 (the Mocs barely lost to No. 1 Jacksonville State in the next round).

In Feldman’s oral history piece, Zetts said, “I don’t think there’s anybody who can do more with less than Joe. That’s him. His big thing was, ‘It doesn’t matter.’ That ended up being the mindset of our players. They were numb to it.” You could argue Moorhead’s culture and Tripper-from-Meatballs attitude might be even more important than his RPOs.

The MSU job is commonly regarded as the hardest in the SEC West — the facilities are good but no better than that of division peers, there’s less history to sell, and Starkville is small and isolated.

Before leaving for Florida, Mullen raised expectations to a nearly unforeseen level. He inherited a program that had won just 29 games in eight years and, in its history, had attended 13 bowls with three top-15 finishes. In nine seasons, he engineered eight bowl bids and two top-15 finishes.

This is a much better job than it once was, but you’re always going to be playing catch-up in Starkvegas. That won’t be anything new to Moorhead.

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neakco · 4 years ago

Text

The Lost Temple Ch.6

Ao3 First Previous Next Masterlist

They may be trapped underground and separated from their friends, but at least they found the temple. Right?

Ch.6 Treasure?

Tim took no time in grabbing a light from his utility belt. He was about to look around for Marinette, he knew he saw her land okay, when his radio cracked to life.

“Rob, are you and the lady okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine, but the ground seems to have collapsed. Think you can make an entrance with out touching the ground?”

“Probably, but from what I see, that cave in is all that’s keeping the roof above you from collapsing as well.”

Tim swore before finally looking to Marinette. She was looking around with a large spotted lantern, where the hell had she gotten that? Just something else to figure out later.

“Impulse, report. Where's the target?”

“They walked directly to you guys before the ground started shaking. I lost track of them after that. The magic telling me to go away is weaker but I think the ground swallowed them.”

Directly, that made no sense. How did they know? He was sure there weren’t any trackers on him or Marinette, well none he hadn’t placed. They only ones that had been alone at any point were Bart and Adrien. He trusted this Bart but the timing had been wrong for it to have been Adrien. The only thing he could think of was that someone must have been nearby and when the magic weakened they were spotted.

“Impulse, I need you to pack up camp and ready our escape. I have a feeling we're going to need it.”

“On it.”

He walked closer to Marinette after that to try and discern what she was yelling at the ceiling…or maybe why.

“We're fine for now. We can always try and find this treasure and look for another way out.”

“Hate to intervene, but Impulse Reports that the enemy was last seen heading straight for us before being swallowed by the ground.”

He watched her face very carefully for any sign of betrayal. He was quite happy to see surprise, confusion, and anger flash through her eyes in a blink of time.

“No more choice.” She muttered suddenly before turning back to the ceiling and exclaiming, “Change of plans Chaton. Destroy it.”

Tim was about to ask for an explanation when he heard Kon swear before a large part of the ceiling just disintegrated.

A boy dressed as a parody of Catwoman graceful spun through the air before his staff extended to catch him and lower him down. Tim started to get into a defensive stance when Marinette disappeared in a flash of pink light and was replaced by a girl in spotted spandex.

“Surprise.”

Just like that everything clicked into place. Every small piece he had filed away as celestial weirdness made sense. Marinette and Adrien were Ladybug and Chat Noir, heroes powered by small gods. He remembered Diana warning them years ago that these heroes were the cosmic balance of the universe. Shit. “This is a Miraculous temple.”

Kon, who hand finally landed next time him actually gasped in surprise, he probably still remembered Diana's threats.

Both Parisian's had flinched at his words. Finally Ladybug sigh as Chat tossed his hands in the air, “Of course you know that! I swear you know everything.”

“Explanations later Kitty. We need to find this treasure before those others. They are likely somewhere in this temple and we don’t know if they are still tracking us somehow.”

Tim nodded. “You’re the embodiment of good luck and this is your temple, where are we going?”

He watched as she looked around before she saw or felt something they couldn’t and took off at a sprint. Tim had thought her fast before but now she moved as if even gravity didn’t slow her. In this labyrinth of stone it took everything he had to keep up.

Then the walls opened to reveal a beautiful chamber untouched by the ravages of time. There was no dust, no moss, every surface shone as if freshly polished to perfection. At the end of the room there was a glowing pedestal with something floating above it.

Kon laughed, “You guys think this is it?”

Tim smiled, “That or a trap.”

Marinette glanced back to the American heroes, “It is both.” She stepped forward a bit to grab Adrien's tail. “There are spells here to set off traps if any kwami come to close.”

She could see Red Robin studying them as they detransformed. “Just what is a kwami?”

“We are not a what, we are a who.” Marinette turned to see the tiny horse-like Kwami scolding Red Robin.

“Kaalki, that's rude, we talked about this.” Tikki came flying over to pull the other Kwami out of Red's face.

She could hear Plagg pulling a tin of cheese out of Adrien’s small bag and inhaling it. She sighed. “I promise I will explain when we have time. Can I ask you two to stand guard while we try to disarm the traps?”

Superboy shrugged and looked to Red Robin who in turned took a slow breath before nodding.

“If you are sure you have it handled.”

“If it comes it I can just toss Adrien as hard as possible towards the scroll.”

Superboy turned quickly towards Adrien at that, “you’re okay with that?”

Her loyal kitty smirked, “If it keeps working why should I ask her to stop?”

“You know what, never mind, you both need therapy.” He turned back towards the door.

“Bold of you to assume we haven’t tried it.” She laughed as she and Adrien started to poke at the pedestal.

She saw him stiffen slightly out of the corner of her eyes as Plagg landed on the poor man's head. She didn’t think much of it until she Plagg spoke up lazily.

“If I were you Pigtails I would hurry it up a bit. You are going to have company soon.”

She tried, but it was like a tangle of threads and wires. She needed to free one specific cord but to do so she needed to untangle several others. It was a nightmare and only went as well as it did because she had practice every time Plagg had gotten into her yarn.

Adrien grabbed the item on her signal and revealed it to be a scroll. They exchanged a worried glance before quickly opening it . She started to tremble, and she saw her kitty pale.

The scroll contained a spell to control the minds and will of Miraculous users.

“Those old bastards,” Adrien hissed, “We do this job and it isn’t just worries we won’t have anymore.”

Just as she opened her mouth to try to reassure him a bullet flew past her. Looking up she saw a magical nexus confining Superboy and Red Robin nowhere to be seen, she felt him though, to her left. He had melded into the shadows.

“Drop the scroll and we let you go peacefully.”

Superboy seemed to growl, “Just why should we believe you?” She could see him straining against the magic. Just a few minutes longer and he could break free, it was meant to hold Kryptonians.

“We were hired by the Order of Miraculous. “ That had her attention, did those old men really… “Only a member of their order can use the power in that scroll, so no point in you keeping it.”

Adrien was muttering quiet curses as he roughly shoved the scroll into his bag.

“If what you say is true then we should be allies. The Order are the ones that hired us as well.”

The man laughed and she spotted a couple of his men with artifacts she recognized. They hadn’t been tracking them, they had been tracking magic, and her presence had amplified it enough for them to get a signal.

Tsk, “You really shouldn’t have said that girly.”

Oh good villain monologue, she liked those, gave her time to plan.

“Them monks warned us of some pretenders.”

She saw the magic on Superboy about to snap and smiled to Adrien.

“See, we’re to kill you on sight.”

“Spot's on!”

“Claws out!”

Just as they transformed the magic bindings snapped and the resulting light was enough to temporarily blind their opponents.

The men began to fire blindly but bullets were a poor weapon choice against the three powered heroes, one of which was completely invulnerable.

She stuck an arm out to stop Superboy from attacking as a small part of her prayed Red Robin was okay in this chaos.

Calmly through the storm of bullets she walked forward until she was close enough to grab Chat Noir's hand. They hadn’t done this often and never before had they used it on so many.

“I am Destruction, a true Guardian of the Miraculous. For your crimes against us your memories shall be destroyed.” He began to glow a powerful green.

Bullets were still being fired, magic artifacts were being triggered, but all dissolved in the green light.

“I am Creation, a true Guardian of the Miraculous. Since you were tasked to preform your crimes by others you shall be granted new memories to replace those destroyed.” She began glowing a fierce pink.

Then they spoke as one, “We are the chosen balance, our will is universal law.”

Their lights flared, combined , and took over the room. When it faded the men were gone and their transformations had faded.

Then their legs gave out and left them leaning on each other just to remain upright.

“Life with you is never boring M'lady.”

She chuckled before looking up to see Superboy and Red Robin staring.

She was glad that Red was okay but she couldn’t help but wonder where he had appeared from.

“What the ever loving fuck was that?” Red was pacing now. Is it bad she found it cute? “What did you do to them? What are you two?” He stopped and pointed at Adrien, “And what the hell is on that scroll?”

Adrien, her ever loyal yet sometimes useless kitty, just started laughing. She kind of wished he would share the joke, she could use the pick-me-up.

“If you stop yelling and sit so I don’t have to look up at you then I will gladly explain.” Was that a little harsh? Probably, but she was at the low end of energy now.

He took a deep breath before crouching like a gargoyle. It wasn’t quite sitting but she would take it. Superboy sat next to him, he looked a little lost. She would probably feel bad later.

“That was a ritual that can only be preformed by two guardian's that hold the black cat and ladybug miraculous. It works by temporarily combining the powers. This can in theory be done by one person wielding both miraculous , but that tends to throw the world into disarray, possibly even ending it.” She could remember that Wonder Women had warned the Justice League about the wish and its consequences so the concept shouldn’t be new.

“As for the men, they should be back at their camp. Any memory of finding us or the temple have been replaced by now. They will remember finding nothing but overgrown rubble.” She paused to take a breath and muster all the remaining energy she could into sounding confident. “As for who we are, we are Ladybug and Chat Noir, The true guardians of the miraculous and the gods inhabiting them.”

“And the scroll?”

“The scroll contains an ancient spell meant to be used if a miraculous user goes bad. It can take away the will and control the mind of anyone is possession of a miraculous.”

“Actually, it is dust.” She looked back with more energy than she thought she had to see Plagg with a beaming smile.

“You owe me so many Cheese pastries for this Pigtails. I have a list.”

“we can discuss it once our family is safe.”

Superboy cleared his throat to get their attention, “I don’t mean to be a downer,” he spoke softly, “but I think your light show sealed us in. I can’t see the hole he created anymore.”

Of course, to alter the memories they also had to alter reality, if someone was to come back there really would be nothing but overgrown rubble to find above ground. “Kaalki, may you please bring us to Impulse?”

“Is he famous?”

If she had more energy she might be angry, why couldn’t the tiny horse bend her weird rules just this once?

“Technically we all are.” Red Robin smiled at the kwami, “Impulse, Superboy and myself are member of Young Justice and known the world over.”

She was so thankful to the man for saving her an exhausting argument.

“Oh wonderful, It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Kaalki and I look forward to meeting this Impulse.” The kwami flew in an excited circle before addressing Red Robin again, “Would any if you happen to be unattached and looking for courtship?”

“Not now Kaalki!” Why? Why did all the kwami like to embarrass her?

“Very well my guardian. Please make note that I believe the red one to be most suitable for you.”

She felt her cheeks heat up and hoped it was dark enough that no one other than Tikki or Adrien could tell.

“The portal Kaalki.”

Portals opened up under all of them and dropped them from the ceiling of the escape vehicle. She wasn’t sure if it was an airplane or a weird space ship, but she did know that Kaalki was not getting any sugar for a long time. The kwami had purposely dropped her on top of Red Robin.

She knew she should get off the man but she was completely out of energy now. She thinks she managed to apologize but honestly the only thing she could think while drifting off to sleep was that all in all everything was working out okay.

Just the epilogue after this. I hope you have enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing.

Taglist @toodaloo-kangaroo

#maribat #timari #the lost temple #timinette #adventure #some humor #betrayal #rin writes

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ricardosousalemos · 8 years ago

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Green Day: Dookie

When he was 10 years old, long before he sang about masturbation losing its fun, Billie Joe Armstrong lost himself in music. His father had just died of cancer, and in Rodeo, Calif., a smallish East Bay suburb next to an oil refinery, Armstrong retreated into MTV, the Beatles, Van Halen, and a Stratocaster knock-off he nicknamed Blue. He grew close to schoolmate Michael Pritchard, who had his own family grief and who introduced Armstrong to British heavy metal giants like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden. Pritchard later earned the sobriquet Mike Dirnt, for his constant dirnting on bass guitar.

In high school, Armstrong and Dirnt smoked pot and played in a band called Sweet Children, finding their tribe in a tiny clique of DIY punks. By 1988, Sweet Children had their first gig at 924 Gilman Street, the Berkeley punk mecca opened the previous year by Maximumrocknroll zine founder Tim Yohannan, and Armstrong told his waitress mother he wouldn’t be graduating. Sweet Children signed to Lookout Records!, changed their name to Green Day, and put out a pair of rough but promising EPs. They brought in Frank “Tré Cool” Wright, a drummer known equally for his musicianship and his mischievousness, and with their sharply improved LP Kerplunk!, Green Day arrived.

As Kerplunk! landed on shelves in December 1991, Nirvana’s Nevermind zoomed to the top of the album charts. A band with Green Day’s momentum and punk pedigree was obvious bait for the major labels. Still, it was Armstrong’s voice, sneering and congested, that initially put one A&R exec off of Green Day’s demo. Luckily, he passed it to his producing partner, Rob Cavallo, whose father had been Prince’s manager circa Purple Rain and who, despite signing respected L.A. pop-punks the Muffs, was sorely in need of a hit.

He found one. Co-produced by Cavallo and the band themselves, Green Day’s Dookie was released on February 1, 1994. To date, the band’s Warner/Reprise debut has sold more than 16 million copies worldwide. Most of those album buyers probably know nothing about its makers’ humble origins. But that story helps to explain the unique series of balances, between showmanship and disaffection, dogmatic punk ideals and romantic stadium dreams, sweetness and scatology, partying and pain, that have turned Dookie into one of the greatest teenage wasteland albums of any generation. Armstrong’s Dookie guitar? His childhood’s trusty old Blue.

What set Dookie apart from the grunge rock bellowers of its day was Armstrong’s voice, foggy and vaguely unplaceable. “I’m an American guy faking an English accent faking an American accent,” he teased at the time. Though Armstrong’s tone was bratty, his phrasing had that lackadaisical quality that left room for listeners to fill in their own interpretations. On Dookie, Armstrong channeled a lifetime of songcraft obsession into buzzing, hook-crammed tracks that acted like they didn’t give a shit—fashionably then, but also appealingly for the 12-year-old spirit within us all. Maybe they worked so well because, on a compositional and emotional level, they were actually gravely serious. Sometimes singing about the serious stuff in your life—desire, anxiety, identity—feels a lot more weightless done against the backdrop of a dogshit-bombarded illustration of your hometown by East Bay punk fixture Richie Bucher.

“Longview,” Dookie’s outstanding first single, smacks of the most extreme disengagement: a title taken from Longview, Washington, where it happened to be played live for the first time; a loping bass line supposedly concocted while Dirnt was tripping on acid; and a theme of shrugging boredom that placed it in the ne’er-do-well pantheon next to “Slack Motherfucker” to “Loser.” Adolescent interest may always be piqued by lyrical references to drugs and jerking off, the way a 5-year-old mainly laughs at the Calvin and Hobbes panels where Calvin is naked or calling Hobbes an “idiot.” But as beer-raising alt-rock goes, this is also exceptionally bleak, with the narrator’s couch-locked wank session transforming into a self-imposed prison where Armstrong semi-decipherably sings, per the liner notes, “You’re fucking breaking.” No motivation? For a high-school dropout hoping to succeed in music, that mental hell sounds like plenty of motivation.

The other singles mix Armstrong’s burgeoning songwriting chops with deceptively lighthearted takes on deeper topics. The opening line, “Do you have the time/To listen to me whine?” is endlessly quotable, but the self-mocking stoner paranoia of the irresistible “Basket Case” was inspired by Armstrong’s anxiety attacks. As late as 1992, Armstrong still had no fixed address, and “Welcome to Paradise” reaches back to those nights crashing at dodgy West Oakland warehouse spaces. It also brashly embodies punk’s trash-is-treasure aesthetic at its most American. But the closest Armstrong came to a pop standard, one that any guitarist who knows four power chords can play at a home and a more established star could likely have made an even bigger hit, was the midtempo “When I Come Around”—a smoldering devotion to the then-estranged lover who would become the mother of Armstrong’s two children. They’re still married.

Elsewhere, the bouncy, brief “Coming Clean” is from the perspective of a confused 17-year-old, uncovering secrets about manhood that his parents can’t fathom; Armstrong has forthrightly related the song to his own youthful questions about bisexuality. “Seventeen and coming clean for the first time/I finally figured out myself for the time,” he declares, in one particularly sublime bit of wordcraft. Teenage angst pays off well: Now he was bored and almost 22. Likewise, the rest of the album tracks often further showed what an accomplished songwriter Armstrong had become. “I declare I don’t care no more,” from breakneck slacker anthem “Burnout,” would be a classic first opener on any album, even though by now we know it contains an element of false bravado. The contrasts that made up the band’s identity also helped elevate Dookie above its shitty name, couching anti-social childishness in whip-smart melodic and lyrical turns. When, on the last proper track, the nuke-invoking “F.O.D.” (short for “fuck off and die”), Armstrong vents, “It’s real and it’s been fun/But was it all real fun,” it’s his Dookie-era way of saying he hopes you had the time of your life.

Critics have been kind to Dookie, but not overwhelmingly so. It’s tempting to wonder how many of these lyrics could’ve been influenced by Robert Christgau’s two-word, two-star Village Voice review of Kerplunk!: “Beats masturbation.” Still, he gave Dookie an A-, and the album made it onto the Voice’s 1994 Pazz & Jop year-end critics’ poll at No. 12. But the backlash against Green Day in the pages of Maximumrocknroll was real and visceral. The June 1994 cover showed a man holding a gun in his mouth with the words, “Major labels: some of your friends are already this fucked,” with Yohannan sniffing inside, “I thought it was oh so touching that MTV decided to interrupt playing Green Day videos to overwhelm us with Nirvana videos on the day of Kobain’s [sic] death.” At Gilman, where major label acts were banned, graffiti on the wall proclaimed, “Billie Joe must die.” So it’s an album many people adore, but like loving the Beatles, proclaiming your adoration for it doesn’t necessarily win you any special recognition. Oh, you were in seventh grade and learned every word of a Green Day album? Duh.

Time has worked on Dookie in strange ways. Most blatantly, the post-grunge alt boom allowed an album like this to exist in the first place. Green Day were masters at pulling stoner humor out of malaise, and that is what the so-called alternative nation needed. One of Dookie’s great light-hearted touches, the image of Ernie from “Sesame Street” on the back cover, has been airbrushed away from later physical editions, ostensibly due to legal concerns. Among the many things streaming has ruined was the old ’90s trick of including hidden tracks on the album buried without notice at the end of the CD, so all digital releases treat Tré Cool’s novelty goof “All By Myself” as its own proper track. The unfortunate “Having a Blast,” about wanting to lash out with a suicide bombing, is understandably absent from most recent Green Day setlists.

Then again, so many of the fights that Dookie started have happily become moot. In 2015, Green Day played their first show at Gilman in 22 years. Whichever Maximumrocknroll readers were mad at Green Day for trying to make it out of their working-class suburban beginnings probably have more adult worries today (the zine, however, hasn’t forgotten). Though Green Day never quite embraced the term pop-punk and certainly didn’t invent it, they were pegged as its popularizers; you could hear their echoes several years ago in records like Wavves’ King of the Beach, but younger pop-punk torchbearers like Joyce Manor, Modern Baseball, or You Blew It! have been more likely to name-check the more tightly genre-fitting Blink-182. In interviews, Armstrong still claims the “punk” mantle, but over the years Green Day emerged as a classic arena-rock band, noted for their pyrotechnics.

These days, Armstrong knows how to fire up crowds by promising them they’ll have a good time. Fans are brought up on stage every night to take their instruments and play a song. A T-shirt cannon is somehow involved. Green Day have matured in all the ways the biggest bands usually mature, and that’s their right. Immature but crafty, punk but pop, American pretending to be English pretending to be, well, whatever, Dookie-era Green Day were, for a time, in a class alone. Call them pathetic, call them what you will. They were all by themselves, and everyone was looking.

#reviews-albums

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theworstbob · 8 years ago

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yellin’ at songs, 4.14.2007 + 4.15.2017

the songs that debuted on the billboard chart this week and ten years ago this week. today: buttrock confessions

4.14.2007

40) "Ticks," Brad Paisley

So I watched the whole entire CMAs instead of Game 7 of the World Series and don't regret a single choice I made (the game went into extras, you don’t really have to watch baseball until the ninth inning tbh), and it struck me how much of a dorky theatre kid Brad Paisley was. He's objectively a great guitarist, like hokey as this song is and as little I know about music I think that's a dope fucking guitar line, but gosh darn, he was trying so hard the whole time at those CMAS! And that puts a song like this in perspective, because, like I said, it's hokey as fuck, but if you can just understand that Brad Paisley's sense of humor is that of someone who understands that being funny is a way to be Liked and is trying his best to be Liked, it sort of comes together and you can brush it off.

75) "We Takin' Over," DJ Khaled ft./T.I., Akon, Rick Ross, Fat Joe, Lil' Wayne, Baby

FUCK DUDE LIL' WAYNE USED TO BE GOOD. Like OK I think we all know I wanted to come here and be like "look at the humble beginnings of the meme man! He wasn't such a meme in these days!" but then there was a Lil' Wayne verse where he wasn't fucking around with Auto-tune, he was just rapping, and he was such a good fucking rapper that I'm actually angrier at the two "verses" he had on those Nicki Minaj songs a couple weeks back. It's not even one of his more notable verses, I don't think, it was just a normal 10-year-old Wayne verse, but I'm still here like, what a treat, a Lil' Wanye feature I don't mind! How lucky we were in 2007!

78) "Little Wonders," Rob Thomas

it is good to remember things that are nice! the lyric video i watched for this song ended with this message from the editor: "Believe in yourself, follow your dreams, and never, EVER give up =)." i would have much rather someone had just repeated those words over and over for three and a half minutes than listened to this song. DANNY ELFMAN?! fuck are you doing here, danny elfman? are you lost?

79) "Hey There Delilah," Plain White T's

There is nothing I could say about this song that would be worth saying.

82) "I Tried," Bone Thugs-N-Harmony ft./Akon

a'ight, see, now i feel better about bumping pink and jordan pruitt from the top 20, because it won't be some buttrock heroes what bumps 'em, it'll be a legit impressive, heartfelt song. i'm kinda surprised i don't remember this! now i just gotta contend with the fact most of both top 20s are gonna be dudes. but like most of these songs are dudes. this week is all dudes. next week is a 7:2 dude-to-lady ratio. last week was 2:1. maybe less dudes? idk, recency bias is doin' work, but at least two weeks from now, we're gonna get some dope tunes.

87) "Get Buck," Young Buck

HOLY SHIT THIS FUCKING BEAT THE TUBA HAS NEVER HAD A BETTER DAY IN ITS LIFE. OK, this is the first 2007 track I think has been unjustifiably forgotten by time. “Say OK” hit me, but I think that was just a moment for me. This is objectively a classic, this fucking beat, man. Young Buck doesn't add a ton to the proceedings, but he doesn't ruin anything, his gruff, shouty flow is perfect for the beat, and I'll admit, I got a dark chuckle out of the "I can serve Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown" line. This was fuckin' rad, y'all, the best "new to me" song I've heard so far. Seriously this beat, how have we not found a better home for it, how did no one else latch onto it. A strong silver medalist in the "Southern rap songs with the word 'buck' in the title" category.

89) "A Woman's Love," Alan Jackson

Alan Jackson, last seen walking out on Beyonce's performance at the CMAs, is here singing a jaunty tune about how one time he fucked.

91) "Love Today," MIKA

i mean it's just a good song, man, i dunno. i'm allowed to just say when a song is solid and something i can jam to, right, when i don't think i have anything to justify? it's low-rent scissor sisters. I'LL TAKE THAT ANY DAY OF THE WEEK. solid week.

95) "Forever," Papa Roach

...oh goddamnit i love this song. No, you don't... Lemme explain. I need to explain, so lemme. So, I listened to a lot of the local buttrock station in my teens, because that's what the radio at the auto shop where I worked was always tuned to, was 93X. And, I dunno, there's a lot of bullshit I forgot and a lot of shit too horrible to purge from the mind, I've heard the acoustic version of Staind's "Outside" more times than any man ever should, but there were some songs where the Stockholm Syndrome hit, and you were like, "Well, maybe Chevelle isn't ALL bad." This was definitely the point where I was like, "Hey, this is the one decent Papa Roach song!" I was legit angry when I realized this was that song, I forgot I ever loved a Papa Roach song, I was 10000% sure this was a cover because there was no way I was going to go anywhere but IN on this song, but no, this is a song I shouted in the shower at least five times. I'm so disappointed in myself right now, but... But, yeah, this is, I can’t quite place where they cribbed the verses from but they cribbed well, the chorus is shouty and fake-deep like all the great buttrock songs, and I love that ending, the “one last kiss” thing over that bass line, without reservation. We have to be true to who we were, and who we are is never fully removed from who we were. I hate this. I hate having to admit this. THE ONE PAPA ROACH SONG I FUCK WITH, AND IT HAS TO BE PART OF THIS PROJECT. I HAVE TO TALK ABOUT A KENDRICK LAMAR SONG SOON, AND HERE I AM, FUCKING WITH A PAPA ROACH SONG, THROWING MY CRITICAL AUTHORITY OUT WITH THE BATHWATER.

97) "Breath," Breaking Benjamin

I have less reservations about loving a Breaking Benjamin song, though, because Breaking Benjamin wasn't fake-deep like Papa Roach. ("My feelings for you are forever." God, that's stupid. I love a very stupid thing.) No, Breaking Benjamin was legit dark, they were a buttrock band I knew was OK because my friend who ended up going to a semi-prestigious art high school of some renown was into them. Is it the same song as "The Diary of Jane?" Yeah, kinda, there's more than a little resemblance, "THE DIARY OF JANE" IS A LEGIT GREAT SONG AND BITING THAT SONG IS A SMART MOVE.

At least Papa Roach couldn’t crack the Top 20. 2007: gaining strength! 20) "Get it Shawty," by Lloyd (3.31.2007) 19) "Break 'Em Off," by Paul Wall ft./Lil' KeKe (3.10.2007) 18) "My Oh My," by The Wreckers (1.27.2007) 17) "Mr. Jones," by Mike Jones (1.27.2007) 16) "Settlin'," by Sugarland (2.17.2007) 15) "I Tried," by Bone Thugs 'n Harmony (4.21.2007) 14) "Movin' On," by Elliott Yamin (3.17.2007) 13) "U + Ur Hand," by P!nk (1.13.2007) 12) "Doe Boy Fresh," by Three 6 Mafia ft./Chamillionaire (1.20.2007) 11) "Breath," by Breaking Benjamin (4.21.2007) 10) "Beautiful Liar," by Beyonce & Shakira (3.31.2007) 9) "Cupid's Chokehold," by Gym Class Heroes ft./Patrick Stump (1.13.2007) 8) "The River," by Good Charlotte ft./M. Shadows & Synyster Gates (2.10.2007) 7) "Say OK," by Vanessa Hudgens (2.17.2007) 6) "Alyssa Lies," by Jason Michael Carroll (1.13.2007) 5) "Get Buck," by Young Buck (4.21.2007) 4) "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going," by Jennifer Hudson (1.13.2007) 3) "Candyman," by Christina Aguilera (1.13.2007) 2) "Because of You," by Ne-Yo (3.17.2007) 1) "Dashboard," by Modest Mouse (2.17.2007)

4.15.2017

22) "The Heart Part 4," by Kendrick Lamar

I mean, with the way I do this thing, everything that's been said about this song has been said, and I'm hella late to the party, trying to get another round of Pin the Tail on the Donkey started. "You didn't have fun without me, I'm about to have fun WITH you!" No Bob! we already played that game Bob!. "BLINDFOLD ME!" I think it's vitally important that Kendrick Lamar remind everyone that he's the best MC alive right now, because he is, and gosh, he just fucking raps for four minutes. Barely a hook, just Kendrick Lamar verses and flows for a solid four minutes, and I'm really curious how many rappers could sustain a song for four (mostly) uninterrupted minutes just on their own. Minimalist production, it's just your voice and your words. I'd put Danny Brown in that category, but it'd be a bleak-ass four minutes. I want to put Killer Mike in that category, but I have to think there's a reason he works best in a duo. I'd want to listen to what four minutes of undiulted Young Thug would sound like?, but more out of curiosity than belief in his ability. And I mean Kendrick's the only one in the popular consciousness who could do it, no fuckin’ question, there's no one in the mainstream rap world anywhere NEAR his level. (Kendrick Lamar is barely mainstream, of course, and that fact is a source of much consternation on this song, like there's no way the entire Kendrick album breaks the Hot 100 like the entire Drake album did, but he was in a Tay Tay song the one time and that's enough.) Just listening to Kendrick Lamar rap is one of the most thrilling songs I've heard for YAS 2017. Honestly, I'm ranking it too low in the Top 20, but only because I have to think better things are on their way and am wary of that recency bias wave.

49) "XO Tour Lif3," by Lil Uzi Vert

Congratulations on being the modern rap song which followed "The Heart Part 4!" You were always going to suffer in comparison, and while I regret that it happened to you, I hope you understand it had to happen to someone. I mean, this is a three-minute song, and at some point I got bored enough that I forgot I was supposed to be paying attention to come up with an observation and/or a joke and did other things. Not even shit I needed to take care of, I checked Facebook and thought about getting a glass of milk until he started saying all his friends are dead, like what?, oh okay I guess that's how this song ends then, OH FUCK well prolly not worth dipping back in if I got that distracted.

61) "Speak to a Girl," by Tim McGraw & Faith Hill

So over the last four weeks, only three women have had tracks debut on the Hot 100. That's pretty cool. One of the three dudes who wrote this song, about what a girl REALLY wants from a man, was also a co-writer on Jason Derulo's "Wiggle," which is, I mean, I'm going off Wikipedia, I'm hopeful this is too awful to be true, but if it isn't, how does that dude sleep at night? What does that dude believe in? Who is his god, just, to what moral authority is our man Joe London holding himself accountable? Do Not Trust Joe London. Another of the songwriters worked with a band called Confederate Railroad. Country music is the coolest. I'm so proud to like this genre.

66) "Still Got Time," by ZAYN ft./PARTYNEXTDOOR

First of all, we need to take a minute to discuss the sheer disrespect for the concept of caps lock expressed by ZAYN and PARTYNEXTDOOR. This is a mumblecore pop song, and I must insist these dudes cease using all capital letters until they prove they're capable of expressing excitement. Other than that gripe, though, I dunno, I didn't have a bad time! I enjoyed it about as much as I did "Running Back" a few weeks ago, it didn't light this Tuesday evening on fire, but it was a chill groove, and I appreciated the B+ to which all involved contributed. Also, new favorite Wikipedia line: "Shane Lindstrom, professionally known as Murda Beatz." One, professionally known. Two, imagine ever asking someone to call you Murda. Gosh, what a stupid fucking stage name. (Stage name? Backstage name? Why do you need an alias bro you're a fucking producer, you don't get to have a fake name, the fuck makes you think you can have a fake name. Even Swizz Beatz rapped sometimes, what is your goddamned problem Murda Beatz.)

2017′s Top 20! I lowered “Run Up” again. I miss it dearly but I can’t pretend I liked it more than “Green Light.” 20) "Swalla," by Jason Derulo ft./Nicki Minaj & Ty Dolla $ign (4.8) 19) "Light," by Big Sean ft./Jeremih (2.25) 18) "Everyday," by Ariana Grande ft./Future (3.4) 17) "Draco," by Future (3.11) 16) "Guys My Age," by Hey Violet (2.11) 15) "Good Drank," by 2 Chainz ft./Gucci Mane & Quavo (2.11) 14) "Yeah Boy," Kelsea Ballerini (3.4) 13) "Selfish," by Future ft./Rihanna (3.18) 12) "Slide," by Calvin Harris ft./Frank Ocean & Migos (3.18) 11) "It Ain't Me," by Kygo x Selena Gomez (3.4) 10) "Now & Later," by Sage the Gemini (2.25) 9) "Shape of You," by Ed Sheeran (1.28) 8) "That's What I Like," by Bruno Mars (3.4) 7) "The Heart Part 4," by Kendrick Lamar (4.15) 6) "Chanel," by Frank Ocean ft./A$AP Rocky (4.1) 5) "Run Up," by Major Lazer ft./PARTYNEXTDOOR & Nicki Minaj (2.18) 4) "Green Light," by Lorde (3.18) 3) "Despacito," by Luis Fonsi ft./Daddy Yankee (2.4) 2) "Issues," by Julia Michaels (2.11) 1) "iSpy," by KYLE ft./Lil Yachty (1.14) how the fuck did “swalla” make it two weeks Also, I know there was a new Iggy Azalea song, and I’m just gonna say, if having to listen to 21 Drake songs was the price I paid to not have to hear 1 Iggy Azalea song, I will have been glad to have paid the toll. That is a reasonable trade, one I would never say no to. Boy I hope it doesn’t debut next week! Also: “iSpy” in the for-real top five! That’s so dope! I’m happy for that song!

Who won the week?

2007 had the stronger showing this week, and let’s be real, I think it’s out-paced 2017 at this point. 2007′s at the point where “Get It Shawty” is hanging on by a thread while “Grace Kelly” and “Outside Looking In” are outside looking in. 2017 needs to step its game up. We’re two weeks from “Umbrella.” Is that so much to ask, is for just one instant classic era-defining monster jam that shatters the world? Come on, 2017! 2007: 2 2017: 1

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