#Mobile Tags Season Five | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

billhader · 1 month

Text

Here You Come Again

Chapter Four: Monday, Monday

A Cobra Kai fanfiction [COMPLETE!!]

Read Chapter Four on AO3 | Three | Two | One

[NEW] Listen to the fic playlist on Spotify!

Chapter Four Summary:

Finally, it's Anoush's first day back at LaRusso. Louie buys breakfast.

Rating: Teen (canon-typical profanity)

Chapter word count: 3.9k Completed work word count: 14.3k

Relationships: Louie LaRusso/Anoush Norouzi

Characters: Louie LaRusso, Anoush Norouzi, Amanda LaRusso, Daniel LaRusso, Samantha LaRusso, Anthony LaRusso, Tom Cole

Tags: Canon Compliant, Star-crossed, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, more like co-workers to friends to strangers to coworkers again to lovers, Lovable Himbo Louie LaRusso, Angst with a Happy Ending, poor communication skills, Family Bonding, Missing Scene, Slow burn

I did it, folks. I finished something. Pls clap.

I really really hope you enjoy the conclusion! I've had the whole plot of this fic sitting in my head for a couple of years now and I'm ecstatic that it's finally out in the world. Comments are always welcomed and loved, even critiques. And if I've made an Anouie convert out of you (yes, I'm sticking to that name), PLEASE let me know :))))

Chapter title and lyrics used are from "Monday Monday" by The Mamas & The Papas.

(Full chapter text below the break)

Louie didn’t rush into work on Anoush’s first day back. He never did rush to work in the first place, and there was nothing that made that morning unique. It took a while to pick out the right color tie (the blue-and-orange paisley won) and to steam out a few tiny wrinkles in the linen suit jacket he’d already ironed last night. And he couldn’t leave for the day without inspecting every bottle of cologne in his trunk to pick out the exact right scent. Summer was bowing out in a final burst of oven-hot Santa Ana winds, and Louie prided himself on smelling appropriate for every season and occasion. After deciding to sacrifice the final spritzes in his cherished Acqua di Parma bottle, he checked traffic and was delighted to see that the 101 northbound was down to one lane and rapidly turning into a parking lot. Cruising the surface streets would take twice as long as usual. He hung up his jacket in the back seat and put in a mobile order for Coral Tree Cafe - a bacon and egg panini for himself, and strawberry banana pancakes for Anoush. Buying Monday breakfast had been their routine going back several years, and Louie didn’t want to assume Anoush would remember to pick something up, so he was being a gentleman about it. He cranked up his oldies playlist to a volume Anoush would scold him over. Maybe soon he’d take Anoush out to lunch just to argue with him about decibels.

Monday, Monday, so good to me

Monday mornin', it was all I hoped it would be

Oh Monday mornin', Monday mornin' couldn't guarantee

That Monday evenin' you would still be here with me

With their food secure in the back seat, Louie drove no faster than ten or fifteen miles over the speed limit when he wasn’t sitting at a light. Despite his best efforts and a couple missed turns (“ Cut me off again and see what fucking happens! Fucking Tesla bitch-ass!!”) he somehow ended up at the dealership only five minutes after nine. He ducked inside through a service entrance and held his breath as he skirted by Amanda’s office, but he didn’t spot her inside. After waving to Sheila (and ignoring Marcus the new guy) he got to his office door - which was hanging ajar.

“The hell?” Louie pushed it open and saw Anoush standing by his desk. “Dude. You just got back and you’re booby-trapping my shit?”

“Uh, no.” Anoush held up his hands like Louie was going to charge at him. “I’m not a Scooby-Doo villain.” Louie immediately clocked that he wasn’t wearing a tie, and it startled him. He wasn’t used to seeing Anoush with his top button undone at work. The charcoal gray suit was new too, slimmer fitting than his usual preferred cut; all Louie recognized on him was a pocket square in deep purple that he’d worn over and over again. Once Louie was able to tear his eyes away, he spotted two donuts on the desk, waiting on a napkin in front of his keyboard - one with chocolate on top, one glazed.

“Okay, well, you’re shifting around like a…fuckin’ shifty character,” he said. Anoush rolled his eyes.

“Takes one to know one. I guess I’ll just take these back.” He sighed dramatically and pretended to reach for the donuts. “Since I’m so shifty.”

“Fine.” Louie walked over and dropped the bag with their breakfast onto his desk. “Guess I’ll just eat your food.”

Anoush’s face lit up, and Louie felt like a king. “Wait. What did you get? I can’t believe you.”

“What d’you mean, you can’t believe me? It’s Monday, we always do breakfast on Mondays.” He tore open the stapled-shut paper bag and laid out all of the containers, ignoring the syrup that dribbled out of its leaky cup and onto a pile of inventory sheets. “Got the hashbrowns to share if you want. Made sure they put the strawberries and bananas in separate thingies like you like, but they were real snippy about it when I went in there.”

“Oh, Coral Tree? Louie…” Anoush found the foam clamshell that held his stack of pancakes. He trailed off, clearing his throat. If Louie didn’t know better, he’d think the guy was upset about something. What was there to be all emotional about when his pancakes were getting cold? “I just wasn’t expecting this.”

“You think I’d forget?”

Anoush was flushed like he’d just finished running laps around the show floor - but he smiled like he couldn’t stop. “I didn’t say that. Just…you’re being thoughtful. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it. Next time I won’t think about you. Excuse me.” Louie tried and failed not to laugh. He took a bite of the chocolate-covered donut and groaned. “Fuck, where’d you get this?”

“Kettle Glazed. I found it with my friend Sebastian when we were super drunk.” Anoush pulled up a chair to the side of Louie’s desk and made himself comfortable, pulling all of his goodies towards him. “And good luck with that. You’re always thinking about me.”

Louie had to fight not to choke on his mouthful of donut, and he sat heavily in his desk chair. Suffocating on Boston cream had to be one of the top three worst ways to go out, and apparently Anoush wanted him dead because what the fuck possessed him to say that ? He didn’t appreciate the smirk that Anoush was trying to hide as he arranged banana and strawberry slices in an alternating spiral pattern on top of his pancakes. Sure, the two of them fucked around with each other, like bros did - but there was an ill-defined line between fucking around and flirting. Louie was a master at operating in the fuzzy gray region, so when Anoush looked him dead in the eye and leapt over the line, he was stumped. “Yeah. Whatever, man,” was all he could think to say. And if it sounded like an admission of guilt, well…at least Anoush was pleased with himself. But he was merciful enough to change the subject.

“I met the new guy. Not the guy that started when you left. Marcus, the new-new guy.”

“He’th a fuh’in dork,” Louie said through another mouthful of donut.

“Gross. Close your mouth. Well, he seemed fine to me.” Anoush was sawing at his pancakes, creating a grid between each fruit slice. It looked like a real pain-in-the-ass process, and he hadn’t even taken a bite yet. “A little shy, I guess. How are his numbers?”

“Shitty. But everybody’s are right now. ‘Cept for yours truly.” Louie leaned back in his chair and shrugged at his own success. “I dunno, guess I got the, what the fuck do you always say…’gender say kwan’. “

“Are you trying to say je ne sais quoi ?”

“Fuck you and your fake accent.”

“It's not fake, that’s just how you say it.”

Louie unwrapped his panini and considered how much further he wanted to push Anoush on the first day back. He had to make up for lost time somehow. “So you come back here, you’re using a fake French accent, you're dressed like you’re French--”

“How the fuck is my outfit French ?” Anoush dropped his utensils, squinting at Louie with utter disdain. “It's just a suit.”

“Is this what they dress like at Cole’s? Looks like you're headed to the club and didn’t invite me.”

Anoush scoffed. “No, those assholes wish they looked this good. Most of them wore khakis and Patagonias.”

“I bet they all drive fucking Teslas.”

“You and Daniel have to get over the Tesla thing. We’re losing so much money by not stocking them.”

“See, that’s all you care about, money. We got principles over here.”

“Your principles haven't seen the commissions I made at Cole’s on the Model S alone.” Anoush was finally taking bites of his food - Louie knew arguing made him hungry. “How are those LaRusso principles working out, by the way? Isn’t that why Daniel’s in Tokyo groveling right now?”

In every thread of their banter, somewhere down the line, there was an ignition point. Whether he meant to or not, Anoush was lighting it. Louie’s pulse hopped in his jugular, running away without him.

“Hey, take it easy. We’re tryin’ to put the whole mess in the past. I don’t know what Cole told you-”

“It has nothing to do with Cole. I was here before the school fight happened, I had to deal with Daniel. He was erratic, he didn’t show up even when he promised to.” Anoush stabbed his to-go box with his fork, eyes dead-set on the rows of holes he was creating. Louie could physically feel each tiny screech and squeak of plastic on foam all the way back in his molars. “Karate…I don’t know, it’s melted his brain.”

“Look.” Louie’s back straightened, taut and strangely aching. “He’s not perfect, okay? What d’you want him to do, huh? He’s already trying to fix it. Everyone in the Valley’s breaking his balls, don’t need you doin’ it too.”

The way Anoush’s face contorted made Louie question whether any part of the last few minutes had been real. “...Okay then. I’m not breaking his balls, first of all. I have some concerns.”

“‘Cause you sound like you’re still salty.”

“I’m not -- oh my God.”

“Nothing melted his brain. What the fuck’s that about? That ain’t fair-”

“You weren’t here,” Anoush snapped. “Louie, Amanda was trying to run the whole show on her own.”

“Sounds like something she’d say.”

“She didn’t say anything, I was here! You weren’t! Everyone was fucking miserable all summer. There’s a reason so many sales staff bailed. The fight at the high school isn’t the problem around here, it’s just a symptom.”

“So the problem is Daniel, huh. That’s what you’re really trying to say.” Louie got caught in a loop where he couldn’t quit shaking his head. “So just say that.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You…you implicated it!”

Anoush was chewing on his bottom lip, staring down at his half-eaten food. He was jiggling his foot, a sign Louie knew well. “Or, you’re just putting words in my mouth and hearing what you want to hear, as per usual.”

“ As per usual ,” Louie scoffed. “Jesus Christ.”

“I haven’t said anything that I wouldn’t say to Daniel’s face. Actually, most of it I already have said to his face. So you can stop butting into shit nobody asked you to be part of.”

“You’re sat there talking mad shit about my cousin, and the way he conducts business, and his fucking private family matters. And I’m just supposed to sit here and-”

“Sit there and react like a normal adult who can regulate his emotions?” Anoush was out of his chair now, packing up his leftovers. He flat-out refused to look Louie in the eye. “Sure, that’d be nice. That’d be a pleasant change of pace for you.”

“I mean, you’re the one slandering the guy. Talk about “shit no one asked you to be part of”.” Louie didn’t budge from his spot, making air quotes to throw Anoush’s own words back at him. “You aren’t family, you don’t know him like--”

“No. You know what? No.” As Anoush looked up, Louie immediately wished he hadn’t. His dark eyes were alight with rage, and his entire frame quivered with a wrathful energy that was alien even to Louie, who had pissed him off more than anyone else on Earth over the years. He pointed right at Louie with a shaky but strong hand. “You don’t get to sit there and tell me I don’t know your family, I don’t give a shit about your family, whatever. It’s bullshit. I’ve known Daniel and Amanda for eleven fucking years. I’ve known those kids for as long as either of them can remember. You seriously think I wasn’t upset when I heard what happened to Sam? I was fucking sick over it, Louie. I didn’t even know if she was okay until a couple days later.” His voice broke, but he forged on at a volume that people passing by the office door could probably hear. “You know that’s complete bullshit. I’m trying to tell you I’m fucking worried about Daniel and you throw it back in my face. Real fucking cool.”

Louie was stuck fast to his chair by the crushing wave of hot shame that broke over him. His hands flexed, gripping the edge of his desk as if he’d fall a hundred feet if he didn’t. The Monday he’d fantasized about since Thursday was gone, destroyed by his own hand. Anoush stared, waiting for any type of response, and the pain in his expression sent Louie into a self-loathing tailspin. What kind of idiot was he to think he could claw their lost summer back from heartless, unyielding time?

“Now who’s putting words in who’s mouth,” he said flatly. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing. Anoush was right about him. Everyone was right about him. Like he’d done thousands of times, and would do thousands more, he kept acting the way everybody expected him to. If he tried to change, he would end up in the same spot or worse than if he just gave into the ever-present impulse to be belligerent and insufferable. He just pushed and pushed until he was totally alone. It didn’t matter that he wanted to reach out to Anoush and stop him from walking away. Anoush would walk away anyway. The damage was done.

“...I don’t know what I was thinking,” Anoush murmured. He didn’t elaborate further. He turned on his heel and made quick strides for the door, and a bolus of pure adrenaline shocked Louie into shouting out the words that were on a broken record in his head.

“Why’d you even come back?”

Anoush froze, but not for long. He faced him one more time. Anoush, the guy who was too intimidated by the dude behind the counter at the bagel shop to ask for a different flavor of cream cheese, was beginning to scare Louie with his intensity - and he realized all at once that he was actually proud of Anoush for standing his ground and shouting him down.

“I came back because you asked me to,” Anoush said. “I love Daniel, but it was you.”

Louie’s mind went blank. When Anoush reached for the door handle, he leapt out of his seat. “Hold up.”

They met somewhere between the desk and the exit. Louie gathered Anoush up in his arms, and he held on as tight as he could. While Anoush was smaller, that didn’t keep him from almost crushing Louie’s ribs when they embraced. As they stood still together, finally quiet, he felt the tension melt out of Anoush’s body from the top down. The shaking stopped. His head landed on Louie’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Louie whispered.

“Don’t be.” Anoush’s voice was muffled against his suit jacket. “I’m sorry. I started it.”

“No, hey. Don’t do that. Just me and my big fuckin’ mouth. I know you care, I shouldn’t’ve said that.” Louie closed his eyes and listened to the faint whispers of Anoush’s clothes shifting against his. Taking a deep breath, he was awash in the scent of whatever soap or cologne Anoush used - something sharp, herbaceous and a bit floral. He’d never noticed any of this before, and he didn’t know why any of it mattered to him, but it did. Letting go didn’t cross his mind until it was far too late. Anoush was the one to relax his grip, prompting Louie to do the same - but he didn’t move away. When he realized Anoush’s face was stained by tears, his heart went into free-fall. He stepped back to his desk to grab a box of tissues. “I’m really sorry, Anoush. I didn’t want today to be like this-”

“You didn’t text me back,” Anoush said. He bowed his head and harshly wiped the moisture off his cheeks, despite Louie holding out a tissue to him.

“...Yeah.”

“I just thought…”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Louie hesitated. “I wanted to call. And I know that don’t mean shit.”

Anoush’s shoulders were slumped, and he seemed so small. His eyes found Louie again, and they were still wet. “Why didn’t you?”

“Well, you didn’t call me. And I get why, I’m not, like, saying it was on you to do that,” Louie said. He let out a heavy sigh. “I just…I’ve always kinda been like this, my whole life, and I already let down my whole family about a billion and one times. And I thought, y’know, hearing you on the other end bein’ disappointed…I couldn’t handle it.”

Anoush didn’t respond. Louie let himself settle on the edge of his desk, and he scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand. He wasn’t going to cry. He didn’t cry. He wished he could. And then, Anoush was right in front of him. He brushed Louie’s own hand away from his face, replacing it with a soft palm pressed gently to Louie’s cheek. Before Louie could process the touch, Anoush leaned in and kissed him. It didn’t last, but Anoush’s lips were planted firmly on Louie’s for one, two, almost three sublime seconds. When he was done, he backed off a few inches. They stared at each other.

“That’s it?” Louie asked.

“You’re useless,” Anoush replied. When Louie caught a hint of his smile, and saw his own reflection in Anoush’s warm eyes, he was done for. He tugged on the front of Anoush’s shirt, bringing him back in to kiss him on his own terms. Anoush either lost his balance or simply threw the weight of his body against Louie’s, planting one hand on the desk behind Louie’s back to steady himself. Louie was determined not to fuck this up, this one thing that he’d wanted to do for way longer than he cared to admit. He refused to break away even once, and Anoush wasn’t going anywhere. He was bearing down between Louie’s legs, and when Louie tilted his head to deepen the kiss he heard a sound, a shaky little hmm of a sigh from Anoush. It was all too crazy for him to process. Anoush was here, Anoush was all over him as if they had narrowly escaped death in a cataclysmic war, Anoush still wanted him even though he was kind of awful….maybe Anoush wanted him because he was awful. Louie didn’t quite understand yet, but if this was the way to figure things out, he had no complaints.

They only stopped when they both ran out of air. Louie gazed at Anoush in a stupor, matching the pace of his deep, gasping breaths without realizing it.

“You didn’t disappoint me,” Anoush said.

Louie was still winded, not from physical exertion as much as the pure rush of being close to Anoush and hearing him say that. He’d known for a long time that he was a little bit gay, but he never knew he was this gay. Was it possible to be extremely gay for only one dude? He would need to do some research.

“I didn’t?”

“No. You never disappoint me. My expectations for you are extremely low.”

They both started laughing, a little nervous at first, then dissolving into uncontrolled fits of giggles. Anoush collapsed against Louie once more, hardly able to hold himself up from laughing so hard, so Louie held him up instead, arm secure around his waist. Anoush’s laugh was all he ever wanted to hear.

“I’m serious, though.” Anoush collected himself enough to look up, and he kissed Louie on the forehead. “I didn’t think that, even when I found out. I was just like, ‘yeah, sounds about right’. And I know I shouldn’t say he deserved it…but he deserved it. Wait, are you crying?”

The forehead kiss had done something to Louie. His insides hurt. He furiously rubbed at his face with his sleeve. “No.”

“Okay,” said Anoush softly, using his finger to wipe something off of Louie’s cheek that definitely wasn’t a tear.

“I did let you down, though,” Louie said. “Didn’t call you.”

Anoush shrugged. “Phones work in both directions.”

A phone started to ring. Louie huffed, perturbed by the intrusion into their space. With the blinds drawn, it was almost natural to forget where they were. He glanced over at the closed door and remembered that he hadn’t locked it, because he hadn’t come into the room with any plan to make out with his co-worker. He had to wonder whether Anoush had planned to make out with him, but there was no time to ask.

“Come on,” Anoush griped, fishing his phone out of his back pocket. His eyes grew wide. “Fuck. It’s 9:30 already? I forgot, I scheduled a call with one of Cole’s old clients. I poached like three dozen leads when I got out of there. They’re looking for a whole fleet of Mercedes vans.”

“You sure it’s today?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure he just called me, so yeah.” Anoush started to turn away, but Louie caught him by the hand and pulled him back for another kiss. “Louie…I’m already late.” He smacked Louie on the chest, but not very hard. Louie kissed him again, trailing to the corner of his mouth and then his freshly shaved jawline. “Okay… mm …I don’t even have the quote in front of me.”

“Don’t go,” Louie said, although he was aware he didn’t have much say in the matter. “I don’t wanna work.”

“You never want to work.” Anoush sighed and straightened Louie’s tie. “Tell you what. If you can sell one car before lunch, text me. I’ll meet you back here.”

“Yeah? What if I sell zero cars?”

“I will never speak to you again.”

“How about I sell two cars?”

“If you, Louie LaRusso, can somehow sell two cars in the next three hours…” Anoush thought, and then it dawned on him. He smiled in a conspiratorial way that Louie was immediately thrilled by. “We’ll both call in sick tomorrow.”

“Call in sick on your second day back?”

“Sure. We’ll both get horrible food poisoning from Coral Tree Cafe.”

“Okay. So we call in sick and do what?” Louie figured Anoush would continue to be cryptic, or even push him away - but he hadn’t learned his lesson yet, because Anoush leaned in to whisper in his ear. As he listened, Louie’s eyebrows slowly crept further and further skyward. Then Anoush gave him a peck on the side of his neck and brushed a crumb off his shirt.

“Sound like a plan?”

Louie nodded and swallowed hard. “Uh-huh.”

Anoush squeezed Louie’s thigh before he finally tore himself away. “You better start selling, then.”

When the door shut behind him, Louie sat there like a bump on a log for a few seconds, waiting for his heart rate to go down. Anoush and his mouth and his pretty eyes and unfastened top button were going to send him to an early grave. At least he’d die very, very happy. Louie checked his watch, swore to himself, then grabbed the iPad off his desk and dashed out to the show floor to hunt down his first mark. If Anoush wanted him to sell two cars before lunch, he was going to try and sell three. Louie couldn’t wait to see the look on his face.

#cobra kai #cobra kai fanfiction #ck #anoush norouzi #louie larusso #anouie #anoush x louie #cobra kai headcanons #squidward kissing essay gif #pls let me know if you read it even if you don't like it !!!! <3 #my fics

4 notes · View notes

shiraishi-kanade · 6 months

Text

Long overdue introductory post 📌

♪ Hi! I mainly go by Jay, but you can also call me Ollie and Lu!

♪ any pronouns

♪ physically disabled + dyslexic, please don't mind the typos, Typing is Hard

♪ English is my third language. I'm currently working on learning three more.

♪ I'm mainly a proseka meta writer, but I also write regular fanfics! You can find me on ao3 as Jeiseny. @jeiseny on here is also my main account, only relating to my writing and/or au's, that is empty for the time being.

♪ my favourite character is An and I'm always down to talk about her. I can talk about An Shiraishi all day. Feel free to ask me about her/tag me in stuff at any time!

♪ my main group is vbs and I'm caught up with their events at the time of writing this, I also follow n25 closely and keep an eye out on wxs. I'm admittedly not as interested in other units.

♪ favourite characters aside from An: Kanade, Touya, Akito, Shiho, Saki, Ena and Mafuyu - I'm fairly invested into their stories as well~

♪ I'm currently working on two unit shuffle au's and my mini-series Count To Five that is An Shiraishi-centric and takes place after Light Up the Fire. Feel free to check it out!

♪ You can talk to me in any form at any time, especially about proseka, but I don't intent to divulge more personal information aside what what I've already said. I also may disclose my nationality if it comes up, but only if I feel safe. I don't bite though!

♪ Other fandoms I've dipped my toe into: Ace Attorney, Pokemon (specifically gen3, gen5 and gen9), Cardfight!! Vanguard (the OG seasons 1-4), Genshin Impact, Stardew Valley, Horizon Zero Dawn + Forbidden West, Pandora Hearts. I'm not nearly as into them as I am in proseka, however.

♪ I didn't know how to tumbrl + exclusively use it from mobile, so tags and formatting on my post might be a little all over the place. Apologies.

♪ Classical music enjoyer. My favourite pieces are Sibelius Violin Concerto and Shostakovich Cello Sonata in D Minor. I've also once heard Requiebros by Caspar Cassadó live and that was legit a highlight of that entire performance, I can't recommend it enough if classical's your kinda thing.

That's all! Nice to meet you!

[dividers by saradika-graphics]

#jay rambles.txt #jay's character analysis #adding the tags here for easy access

7 notes · View notes

capsource · 1 year

Text

Mobile Masterlist

BloodRayne

Critical Role

The Legend of Vox Machina

Cyberpunk 2077

The Dark Pictures

House of Ashes

Little Hope

Devil May Cry

Devil May Cry 5

The Evil Within

The Evil Within 1

The Evil Within: The Assignment

The Evil Within 2

Fallout

Season 1

Far Cry

Far Cry 5

Final Fantasy

Dissidia Final Fantasy NT

Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII

Final Fantasy VII: Last Order

Final Fantasy VII Remake

Final Fantasy VII Remake: Intergrade

Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children

Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus

Final Fantasy VIII

Final Fantasy X

Final Fantasy XII Zodiac Age

Final Fantasy XV

Final Fantasy XV: Brotherhood

Final Fantasy XV: Kingsglaive

Final Fantasy XV: Aera Mirus Fleuret

Final Fantasy XV: Ardyn Izunia

Final Fantasy XV: Episode Prompto

Final Fantasy XVI

Fire Emblem Warriors: Three Hopes

Fire Emblem Warriors: Three Hopes Demo

Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Five Nights at Freddy's

Five Nights at Freddy's movie (2023)

Haunting Ground

Kingdom Hearts

Kingdom Hearts III: ReMind

Kingdom Hearts III: A Fragmented Path

Kingdom Hearts 4 Trailer

The Last of Us

The Last of Us Part 1

Legend of Zelda

Breath of the Wild

Skyward Sword

Tears of the Kingdom

Twilight Princess

Life Is Strange

Life Is Strange: Chloe and Max

Metal Gear Solid

Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain

Mortal Kombat

Mortal Kombat 11

Mortal Kombat 2021 Film

Nier

Nier Replicant: Devola and Popola

Persona

Persona 3 Movies

Persona 3 Reloaded Gameplay trailer

Persona 4: The Animation

Persona 4: The Golden Animation

Persona 5 Royal

Persona 5: The Animation

Resident Evil

Resident Evil mods (tag)

Resident Evil: Darkside Chronicles

Resident Evil 0

Resident Evil 1 Remake

Resident Evil 2 Remake

Resident Evil 3 Remake

Resident Evil 4

Resident Evil 4 Remake

Resident Evil 4 Remake: Separate Ways

Resident Evil 5

Resident Evil 6

Resident Evil 7

Resident Evil Village

Resident Evil Village: Shadows of Rose DLC

Resident Evil: Revelations

CG Movie: Damnation

CG Movie: Resident Evil: Degeneration

CG Movie: Resident Evil: Vendetta

CG Show: Infinite Darkness

CG Movie: Death Island

Welcome to Raccoon City

Silent Hill

Silent Hill 2

Silent Hill 3

Silent Hill 4

Silent Hill Downpour

Silent Hill (2006)

Silent Hill Revelation (2012)

Super Mario

Super Mario Bros. movie (2023)

Tomb Raider

Tomb Raider (2013)

Uncharted

Uncharted 4

Uncharted: The Lost Legacy

Uncharted (2022)

The World Ends With You

The World Ends With You: The Animation

Xenoblade

Xenoblade 3: Future Redeemed

#masterlist

20 notes · View notes

saratogaroadwrites · 10 months

Text

Tron: Liberation (1/15)

Tron: Liberation | saratogaroad rating: T total wordcount: 106,965 characters: Tron, Beck, Mara, Zed, Paige, Pavel, Tesler, Clu 2, Dyson, Yori, Quorra, Original Siren Character relationships: Tron & Beck, Beck & Mara & Zed, Tron/Yori other tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Continuation, For Want of A Nail warnings: none

The Game has changed. The Revolution has begun. With Tron healed and once more in the fight for the Grid, the war has begun. But Clu will not give up so easily, and this is a war that will be fought in the streets. But it is a war that Beck and Tron intend to win, so long as they can do one thing first:

Survive.

[AU: Fanmade Season 2]

Standing on the rubble high above what had once been the empty Plaza outside of Able’s Garage, Tron took a moment to breathe. To take in the hope building in his processor, and for the first time in a long time, not temper it with caution. Against all odds, they had succeeded. The mobile repurposer lay in pieces across the Plaza, Beck was alive, and the Uprising had truly begun.

And Tron himself felt free for the first time in over a five hundred cycles. Free of pain, of exhaustion that had chased his every binary string, and free of the fear that Clu would have him. His core, the stuttering feeling he’d gotten so very used to, ran smoothly with each stabilizing breath. He felt himself again. Whole again.

And he had Beck to thank for it. Brave, foolhardy, stubborn, strong Beck. Barely out of Beta and with so much potential already. Pride curled in Tron’s core as he looked down the rubble, down into the Plaza. Though some talked amongst themselves, the programs below—all fifty-eight of them—stared up the rubble towards "Tron” and his Renegade cohort. Mara, fists on her hips, stared them down as if trying to will them down through the sheer force of her glare. Since they were too high up to be seen clearly, Tron smiled faintly.

“Remember how I told you she’d still be here when you were ready?” he asked quietly, sensing more than seeing Beck look at him. “Looks like she wants you to be ready.”

As curiosity turned to a severely unimpressed look, Beck rolled his eyes. “Very funny.” He deadpanned. Tron’s smile widened a touch; for all he’d accomplished, Beck was still very much a beta. Young, foolhardy, but braver than most would have thought possible. Except, it seemed, when faced with the reality that he was going to have to lie to all of his coworkers. Again. Rezzing his helmet with a few quiet clicks, Tron gestured down the crowd.

“Come on, Tron. We need to get them out of here before Pavel comes back with reinforcements.”

He stepped forward, hearing Beck’s soft groan and the click of his helmet as his protege made to follow, but had to reach out quickly as the young program stumbled, a peripheral circuit on his leg flickering and almost disappearing into the bright whites of his suit. A clear sign of low energy if he’d ever seen one.

“You alright?” He asked softly, modulated voice echoing in his helmet. Beck nodded.

“Yeah.” Steadying himself on Tron’s arm, he stood and shook out his leg. With another flicker, the circuit’s light stabilized. “Let’s go.”

Behind his visor, Tron narrowed his eyes as Beck began the perilous journey back down to the plaza. It had been a long millicycle for them both, but where he’d been replenished in the repurposing chamber, Beck hadn’t been. And then the crash…his energy levels had to be low. But there was no time to ask after that, and Beck hadn’t come this far to be coddled every time he ran low. He knew his limits. As soon as they could, he’d put down for a sleep cycle and that would be the end of it. Shoving the concern into his low priority queue, Tron followed his apprentice down, remaining a pace behind when they finally reached the ground. Mara, still looking as angry as Yori ever had, stalked towards them. To his credit, Beck held his ground as she opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped as a sudden rumbling began to shake the ground. Everyone looked around, searching for the cause as they battled the instinct to take shelter. Some programs fell, unable to keep their footing, while others cried out in alarm.

“What is that?!” Mara yelled, Beck having reached out to take her arms and keep her on her feet. He couldn’t answer, not knowing, but as Tron looked out to the Sea his core ground to a halt. The rumbling, continuing to get worse, could only be caused by one thing at that moment in time.

The massive fleet approaching Argon from the north.

It was impossible to tell just how many ships there really were, but even from where Tron stood he could count the rows of Recognizers, the Carriers and Rectifiers. The Grid Herself was trembling, that’s what the rumbling was. Programs shouted in alarm, clinging to one another as the first ships cleared the city line and flew overhead, casting the entire Plaza into shadow. Tron glared up at a yellow lined ship, the eyesore a stark difference against Argon’s calm blue landscape, and the anger began to spin his core back up, faster and faster until all that was left was rage. His spine went stiff, fists clenched at his sides.

“Clu,” He breathed, circuits flaring in his anger.

Beck shook his head slowly. “Clu’s army.” He looked away from the fleet and back down to the crowd of programs all backing away from the rubble and towards the Garage that had once been their home. Only now Pavel controlled it. They couldn’t go back and they couldn’t go forward. Tron barely had time to look back down before the roar of engines broke into the plaza, mechanics skittering back and into one another in their haste to get away. The bikes rolled in two lines, numbers adding up until there were enough programs to encircle them and keep them contained.

Keep them surrounded, even as each solder got off his bike with disk in hand. They ignored the fleet passing by overhead as if it was normal, standing as if they were statues. Tron’s eyes narrowed as Beck let go of Mara, drawing his disk as he stood back to back with Tron.

“Ever fight this many?” He asked quietly, barely heard over the rumble as Mara held her ground, fists out in front of her as if that would hold the soldiers back. He had to give her a bit for trying.

“Not at once,” Tron replied, disk glowing in his hand. The soldiers stood tall, a wall around them and any hope of escape. But none of them moved, and Tron frowned. What were they waiting for? They had to know that neither Beck nor Tron would go without a fight, even under odds like this. Behind him, Beck shifted his weight. The mechanics clung to one another, no one daring to twitch as the line of soldiers parted. With a sneer on his face, Pavel took two steps in. For a program that had run the other direction just micros before, he seemed to have recovered his nerve. Mara took a step towards him, but Tron reached out and grabbed her wrist, jerking her to a halt before Beck could react.

“Surrender, programs,” Pavel sneered at them all, hands clasped behind his back. Tron tightened his grip on Mara’s arm as she tensed. “Come quietly and maybe the esteemed General Tesler will—”

He couldn’t finish. With a scream loud enough to make Tron’s audio inputs ring, Mara wrenched against his hold. She wasn’t strong enough to pull herself free, but she didn’t need to. Quick as a flash she grabbed at her disk with her free hand, the edge flaring Portal-bright even as she threw it directly at Pavel’s head. It was a wide, sloppy throw and the Commander ducked, the white streak of light curving above his head. It arced back into Mara’s hand and she glared at him.

“We’ll never surrender to you!” She spat, disk revving hot. Pavel blinked but then looked across the group as, one by one, the other programs drew their disks and flared them to life. Fifty-nine against all the guards would never be a fair fight, but their message was clear.

They would not be going quietly. Pavel’s surprised look fell into a cold stare. He turned to the nearest sentry.

“Destroy them all.”

And then he stepped back, leaving the sentries and soldiers to close ranks around the motley crew. They all held their ground despite shaking hands and knocking knees, standing shoulder to shoulder with their fellows. Tron let go of Mara’s wrist and she stepped aside, closer to her friends, with her disk in hand. She raised it into a defensive stance, the soldiers booted footsteps echoing as they marched closer, one measured step at a time. Tron stepped forward instead, and saw Beck do the same from the corner of his eye. He’d been on site for several fights that had seemed hopeless but had proven winnable in the end. This wasn’t one of them.

This wasn’t going to be a fight. No. It was going to be a massacre. He looked back just enough to catch Beck’s eye through their darkened visors. For half a nano Beck held his stance, didn’t so much as move…but then he nodded, just once.

And then he was gone, rushing forward in a blur of fists and feet, dual-colored disk clashing with a soldier’s in a shower of sparks. Turning away, Tron sprang forward with a growl. Someone shouted in alarm behind him but he paid them no mind as he threw himself between Mara and a soldier, catching the soldier’s disk on his own in a clash of sparks. The program startled, clearly one of the Argon contingent that had grown complacent and sloppy over the cycles of fighting Beck and his more ranged tactics, his refusal to derezz programs. It was clear that they were not prepared for Tron and his more direct approach.

With a wordless cry, Tron shifted his stance and kicked out with one foot, knocking the guard back into his fellows. Tron smirked as several more stared at him, but in the seconds that they didn’t know how to react he had already turned to Mara.

“Get your programs out of here! We’ll cover you!”

And then he turned back, ignoring their shouts of alarm as he raced forward. These programs, willful as they were, couldn’t fight the way he could. He and Beck would have to do it for them. Ahead of him, one guard called out an order—”Halt, Program!”— that died in his throat as Tron’s disk cleaved through the space between them to cut through his torso, breaking the circle that had surrounded them. As the voxels of their fallen fellow tumbled to the ground, the closest four yelled at him to stop, to surrender, but he was in no hurry to do that. He altered his course, skidding on one foot, and ran right at them, leaping to catch his disk as it returned to his hand. Suddenly aware that he wasn’t going to stop, one guard grabbed the staff from his leg and tried to hold off Tron’s advance, but it was no use. He pushed off on the landing, leaping into the air again to land on the staff, and then jumped to cleave his disk straight into the guards head. His fellows stepped back, hesitant. Tron smirked.

Behind him, taking advantage of the distraction and the opening, Mara had made a run for the Garage with three programs right behind her. Their friend—Zed—called after them, but his hands were full with a guard of his own that had pressed in from the other side of the circle. He was already stumbling back, but before he could slip Beck moved between them, catching the guards disk with barely a stumble. Zed heaved a heavy sigh as he wobbled clear, returning to his fellows to usher them out the gap that lingered in the line of soldiers while they were distracted, and Beck made quick work of knocking his target to the ground. The soldier impacted port-first and went still, lines flickering and limbs twitching from the sudden shut down, but Beck was already moving. Tron watched from the corner of his eye as he dove under a guards swing, knocking knees out and slamming another into the ground on his way.

Face hidden, Tron let himself smirk: Beck had the matter well in hand. Without another look back, Tron charged forward with a cry, leaping over the head of one guard he drove his disk into the guards neck, severing it from his body, before turning away. One particularly brave guard swung at Tron with a staff in an attempt to succeed where his comrade had failed, but Tron leaped, using the staff as a launch pad to throw his disk from the air. Four guards, including the one that had swung at him, collapsed into voxels with shouts of alarm and pain. Tron landed among the rubble in a crouch, mindlessly catching his disk as it came back to him. Already so many had fallen, but more still were coming. He could feel them approaching through the Grid, the thunder-rumble of more bikes and the hissing roar of lightjets overhead. Restored as he was, even he couldn’t fight forever. Not defending this many programs. They had to go. Teeth bared in an unseen snarl, Tron shoved himself to his feet and scooped up a red-lined disk from the mess on the ground, feeling the security code make the connection with his old routines like it had always been a part of him. The rim flared bright, blinding in the reflection of the guards helmets as he came at them like a storm. With two disks in his hands, the guards stood no chance. They tried, screaming and yelling to fall back, but he gave them no quarter. They had no chance to react, let alone run, from the two disks he threw to cleave through air and code alike. One fell, followed by another and then another, but for every two that fell there were another three to take their place.

Suddenly, Beck crashed into his back with a grunt. They both stumbled, but Tron quickly shifted his weight to keep them upright. Overhead, lightjets were dropping off their red-lined cargo, dozens upon dozens of soldiers. The only comfort was that the last program from the garage had returned to the building, the emergency shutters dropping with a screech and a clatter. Two soldiers derezzed under it, but Tron’s eyes were on the crowd around them. Stolen disk revving loudly in his hand, he watched the soldiers turn their attention as Beck shook his head.

“This isn’t working. There’s too many!” Beck gasped. Tron could feel him move, feel him look up and knew the number of soldiers he’d find. Beck’s whispered curse was answer enough. Tron narrowed his eyes.

“Where’s the nearest tunnel entrance?” He asked quietly, barely a whisper. Beck turned his head enough, and this close he could make out his frown.

“Under the garage. You don’t think—”

“It’s our best chance to get them back to the Outlands.” Even if he didn’t like it. He knew there was no way to fight these odds. The soldiers stalked closer, footsteps melding into a sound he’d last heard in his nightmares. Fighting to dislodge the memory, Tron shifted his stance. “Go. I’ll cover you.”

Beck was silent. But then he shook his head and stepped away, disk in one hand and a baton in the other.

“No.” He said firmly. Tron could barely look back before he continued, “It’s Tron they’re after. And it’s Tron they’ll get.”

Before Tron could process that, Beck was moving. He raced past Tron, dove right through the line of guards, and took off. He rolled beneath one guards attempt at a grab, pushing himself back to his feet and cracking the baton in the same instant. Code spread wide, knocking guards away as a lightjet rezzed. Beck looked back for one nano, an instant where Tron realized what he was doing.

“Wait—!”

“I’ll take care of this!”

With the whoosh of a pushed engine, Beck took to the sky. Dozens of guards followed right on his tail, rezzing their own jets and taking off in instants. About half of them joined the chase and the pursuit shifted, newly arriving lightjets taking off after Beck instead of dropping their pilots onto Tron’s head, but there were still too many lingering and coming after him! Already he could feel the exhaustion beginning to creep in, the fear that this would be a repeat of the coup so very long ago catching in his core even as he kicked a guard off his disks and flung him into his comrades. Their numbers must have been in the hundreds by now, and they just kept coming!

But then a noise came from the garage: the sound of a tank preparing to fire. Risking a look, he turned his head and stared as a blue-lined tank rumbled from the once again open garage and into the plaza, Mara perched half in the cockpit and half out. Despite her darkened visor she raised her head to glare at the guards, calling out as the tank rolled towards them.

“Get down!”

He had only seconds to react. He ducked, the blast rocketing overhead and impacting the numerous programs still in the plaza. With a burst of light and dozens of screams, they were reduced to nothing more than cubes. But even with that group falling, more came up from behind, angry and ready to derezz in a nano. Cursing, Tron dropped the stolen disk, docking his own as he ran for the tank, leaping up to the cockpit to grab Mara’s arm.

“Time to go!” He yelled, pulling her free. She cried out in alarm, the tank still rolling forward as he leapt back down to the ground. He rolled, forcing her back to her feet and to run as the tank, slow going and easy to dodge, barely slowed the guards down. He had to give her some credit: it didn’t take long for her to get the picture and she ran, boots clicking on the ground as she surged ahead to take the lead, grabbing a baton from a shelf and throwing it at him. Behind them, the tank gave way with a ground-rattling explosion that knocked programs from their feet in the same instant it made Tron’s core lurch. They were too close! Soldiers shouted for them to stop, to halt and submit, but then they went quiet. Tron turned, risking a look over his shoulder, only to find that the soldiers were now bolting in the opposite direction, back the way they’d come.

It made him stop. Mara skidded to a halt just out of reach and looked at him, startled. He didn’t look at her, but instead at the soldiers. Something was wrong, but what—the sound of a recognizer’s thrusters made him look up, just in time to see a single recognizer looming above the garage. Bright blue energy pooled between its thrusters, gathering like a storm cloud. Tron’s core froze for just a moment as he realized what was about to happen. Quickly docking his baton he lunged at Mara, knocking them both behind a repair station that still had a bike on it. She yelled in alarm, but there was no time to explain. Her cry echoed in the last instant before the Recognizer fired its horrible payload directly into the Garage. The skylights shattered, raining melting bits of glass and code around their shoulders. The lines supporting repaired jets and choppers snapped and gave way, code crashing to the ground to shatter into cubes. Mara yelled into his shoulder as he held her down, covering her as best he could. For a nano, the Grid seemed to hang. He knew what was about to happen, and was powerless to stop it. The great ball of blue energy hung above the floor for only a nano, the barest hint of an instant. Everything was clear.

And then it wasn’t. The moment passed and the shot struck home. The heat came first, then a blastwave that rattled the very airspace around it. Everything toppled, walls and personal items and docked transport units in need of repair. Soldiers that hadn’t gotten clear in time shouted in alarm or pain, falling to the ground or just plain knocked silly. With a massive plume of code dust and the screeching sound of shattering glass, Able’s garage began to collapse in on itself. Walls gave way into the now exposed tunnels; what floor that wasn’t immediately destroyed fell away and took programs with it. Lost in the destruction, Tron and Mara fell. Mara clung to his shoulders, desperate and afraid, and he didn’t try to dislodge her. Her scream and the shouts of the soldiers echoed around him, caught in his audio input as errors that he couldn’t fix. They were falling, falling, falling--

Something impacted his port. His system, overloaded, went into emergency shutdown mode.

Everything went mercifully dark.

——

If there was one thing Beck had to say about the guards of Argon City, it was that they were persistent. Three dozen lightjets had followed after him, half the force that had remained in the plaza after the massacre of their forces, and though they’d lost a dozen of their own to his fancy flying and lightwall, they stayed on his tail as best they could. Not that it was working very well for most of them; he knew the skies here, knew the towers and how to use them to his advantage. It wasn’t quite as protective as the canyon walls outside the city, and more than a couple of shots hit into buildings as he flew between them, but it would do.

Or at least, he thought as much. Quick as a flash, they dodged away only to be replaced by a squad of golden-lined jets. Not the yellow of the lead ship, but a warmer shade of yellow marked the jets that immediately opened fire, prompting him to dive and roll away. They were new! Chancing a look back over his shoulder, Beck frowned. It was hard to tell from this distance, and he had no desire to let them get closer, but it looked like all the pilots of those jets wore the same pattern. He’d only ever seen the Sirens share patterns before. So how had—it didn’t matter. Rolling again to avoid a hail of laser fire, Beck pushed on his thrusters as far as the controls would go, a burst of speed sending him out across the city. The golden jets stayed on him, dogging his every move and easily dodging his light wall. Where Argon’s guards would have turned away and gone around, these stayed on his tail, easily flying above or below to avoid crashing whilst keeping him in their sights.

So. They were smarter than Argon’s usual crop of guards. Alright, fine. He could play at that game.

Gritting his teeth, Beck banked hard, turning over a familiar section of the entertainment district. The towers were shorter here, not as easy to lose following jets in between sharp rises and harsh corners, but there was more room to maneuver and—something screamed nearby, a warning if he’d ever heard one. It caught in his audio processes, almost painful, and he jerked back on the controls in response, just in time to catch a blast of energy rocketing past. That hadn’t come from one of the jets, had it? In sheer vertical, he risked a look back. No, not from them, but from the command ship of the convoy! Its Mara-yellow accent lines flared from wingtip to stern as energy gathered at its tip, another screaming blast firing in his direction. With a panicked yell he jerked his control stick to the side, sending his jet into a sharp roll. He could feel the heat of the blast as it singed his wingtips, the four golden-lined guards quickly rolling their jets clear behind him. Though he was vaguely aware of the blast hitting one of the local towers, Beck was a bit too busy trying to level his jet to care. For a corestopping nano, it almost refused to stop spinning, but then it did and he heaved a sigh of relief, taking one quick moment to duck his head and look down.

In the end, that one movement likely saved his skin. It gave him the warning that he was about to be hit from below, and gave him the time he needed to jerk his controls back up, pulling the belly of his jet straight vertical as Pavel blew past him, the crazed program’s cackle echoing back at him. With a curse Beck threw his jet back into horizontal and poured on the speed, ducking through a gap between two buildings. He knew this city. If he could just get to the industrial sector, he could lose Pavel there. Considering how quickly the other program was chasing him, he’d need every second of lead he could get.

Of course, that was if he didn’t crash right into the fleet on his way there! How they’d moved so fast, Beck would never know, but as he came back out of the gap he had to send his jet into a dive to avoid the yellow-lined ship, his light wall cutting a slice into her belly as he flew so close he could have reached up and touched the ship. More light-jets peeled off to follow him, but Pavel was the one right on his tail, guns firing rapidly. Beck rolled, trying to make himself less of a target, but Pavel was smarter than most of the sentries and he knew how to aim.

Credit had to be given where credit was due: the Light Jets were fast, nimble, and maneuverable. They were not, however, durable. Only one of Pavel’s shots hit Beck’s engine, but that one shot was enough that the motor gave way and turned into sparkling cubes. Beck cursed hard, hard enough that Able would have grounded him, as his jet began to bank. Without the power from both wing engines he also slowed, and it was enough that Pavel crashed right into him. In a network of tinkling cubes, their jets became an odd three-winged vehicle. Pavel’s cackle was loud enough to drown out the keening sound in his audio even as he scrambled up from his controls and across, swinging his revving disk wide. Beck ducked with a hissed curse, curling to launch a kick into Pavel’s middle. The commander stumbled back, nearly fell over his cockpit, and Beck took advantage of the reprieve to leap from his controls and bring his disk up. Pavel charged again, and they clashed in the middle of their odd conglomeration of a jet. Sparks fell, lighting up Pavel’s sneering face.

“End of the line, Renegade!” He whispered cruelly. Beck’s eyes narrowed.

“Not for me, it’s not.” He shoved Pavel back as hard as he could manage, sending him stumbling again. The motion rocked the craft, and with a horrible cracking noise, the jets disconnected. With twin yells of alarm, both programs fell from the joined wing and towards the rooftop below. It was only a few seconds before Pavel impacted first, a frame-rattling thud knocking the sense from his processor. Beck barely had time to crouch and roll, every joint screaming in protest. He struggled to his hands and knees, blinking away damage warnings and quickly palming his disk. By the Grid, that had hurt. Everything ached now but there was no time to sit and nurse his wounds. Pavel was somehow getting back to his feet, yelling at the red-lined jets flying overhead.

“Stay out of this!” He shouted, disk a blazing beacon in one hand, “He’s mine!”

Clearly unwilling to risk becoming targets themselves, the red-lined jets peeled off back towards the city. In the same instant, Beck and Pavel stood up on the roof and stared each other down. The moment lasted only a nano, and then they were at each other once more. Orange met white, disks a blur of light and sparks as they clashed, dancing around the roof and barely keeping away from the edge. Flipping back from a strike, Beck barely had time to react. Pavel was just as fast as he remembered, and nearly as strong.

“I turn you in, and just think of the rewards I'll get!" Pavel shrieked, coming after him again and again. They almost danced, pivoting and spinning across the rooftop as if they had all the time in the world. Overhead, dozens of lightjets continued to race across the city, combing the streets for anyone who was still outside. None landed on the rooftop, even as Pavel leapt into the air and spun, both feet impacting Beck’s raised disk in a solid kick. The momentum sent him stumbling backwards, and Pavel lunged at him. There was no time to react: with a shout of alarm, Beck went down hard. He scrambled, getting his disk in both hands just in time to catch Pavel’s attempt at thrusting his own disk through Beck’s chest. The edges ground against one another, but even so Pavel ignored the sparks and leaned in close, almost touching Beck’s visor with his nose as he spoke.

“Your friends aren’t here, Renegade!” Pavel sneered at him, face close enough that he could count the jagged lines around the edges of a gash on Pavel’s cheek. “You’re all alone.”

“That’s good enough to take you down!” Beck retorted, kicking one knee up right into Pavel’s abdomen. The sudden attack made him jolt and stumble back, dislodging his disk and allowing Beck to knock an open-palmed strike into Pavel’s chin. Without his helmet, the Commander had left himself an easier target and stumbled back with a yelp of pain. Beck scrambled to his feet, quickly retaking his stance. Pavel shook himself, smearing a line of internal code off his chin, and raised his disk over his head for another attack. Beck stepped aside, circuits flickering for a moment. He had to end his, and fast. He stepped back in a wide circle, dodging more swipes than he crashed with. Pavel shouted in annoyance, coming after his target faster and faster, with wider and wider strikes, leaving himself open before he could strike again.

Beck didn’t waste his chance. Stepping back to the edge of the roof, he held his disk in a ready stance and waited. Pavel fell right for it, taking his disk in both hands and raising it over his head. He shouted in triumph and lunged forward, but in one smooth motion Beck sidestepped the overhead swing and thrust his elbow right into Pavel’s port. As with all programs, the pain of a port-strike would activate an emergency shut down and quickly disable all motion. It was a cheap move, one Beck hated using, but he didn’t have it in him to drag this fight out any longer.

And really, against a program like Pavel, he wouldn’t let it keep him out of sleep mode for too long. It worked, too, and with a screech Pavel went down like a sack of broken code scraps. Beck caught him by the arm at the last moment, hauling him back onto the roof before dropping him. Sure enough, the red-orange lines that marked him as Occupation had gone dim, his eyes closed and mouth hanging open. It wouldn’t last for long, just a few micros, but that would be enough for Beck to put some distance between him and the rooftop. Beck didn’t waste his chance, quickly docking his disk and running for the stairs that ran alongside the building. He took them two at a time, the metal vibrating beneath his boots and the splash of a puddle on the alley below as he hit the ground and kept running.

The alley, at least, was empty. Argon’s twisting network of alleys could get a program anywhere they needed to go, if they knew where they were going. Beck knew where he was going, being a native of the city and having had time to study Tron’s maps, but he was flagging. As the seconds ticked past, what energy he’d had left from the millis events began to disappear. He slowed, gasping for breath, and leaned against the wall of a building. He needed to find a bike, hit the tunnels, and meet Tron in the Spire. If they’d made it there, then—

The sound of a shot, loud and close, echoed through the alleys. Beck startled, whirled around, but no. There was no one behind him. He hadn’t been fired on. But then what…he turned back around, looked up, and felt his core grind to a halt. From this alley, he could see clear to the Plaza. To the Garage, and the Recognizer perched above it. Even from this distance he could see the energy shot, nearly half the size of the Recognizer, as it roared into the Garage. His core froze as the shot struck home, the explosion audible even halfway across the city as the blast wave rushed into the plaza, and with a massive plume of code dust, the Garage collapsed in on itself. It buckled and swayed, the roof going first, and then the walls. Everything gave way in barely a micro, all of Able’s hard work collapsing into nothing.

If there had been anyone still inside, they were gone now. Beck stared, barely able to process what he was seeing.

“No…” He felt more than heard himself whisper, taking a few shaky steps forward. If they were all gone, then— “No!”

He ran, pulling on every ounce of energy he had left to spare. The alleys blurred around him, the only thing he could see the plume of dust and smoke in the distance. Mara’s last words to him echoed, her barbed truth even more true now. He should have stayed, should have fought! He should have been there and—

A program stepped out from around a corner, red-lines bright in the dark blue of the alleys. Beck barely managed to stop before crashing into them, and his core screeched back into working order as the helmet derezzed to reveal a smiling male-designate face.

“Hello, Tron.”

Dyson.

Beck scrambled back, trying to hurry out of reach, but it was too late. Dyson sprang forward, pressing his hand to Beck’s chest, a black stain on the once clean white render. When he pulled away, a shock grenade ticked down the final beats before blast. Two nanos. Beck looked up. One nano. Dyson smirked.

The charge went off, blurring everything into white agony. Beck crumbled to the ground.

—

Standing at attention in the update room, Paige did her level best not to look at Tesler. Ever since the fleet had broken Argon airspace, her commanding officer had been touchy. Even more on edge than usual. Not that she could really blame him, what with Clu at the helm for this one, but it was putting her on edge and it was putting every single sentry, guard, and blackguard likewise on edge. The hundreds of highest ranking sentries were milling about the room behind her, watching their General and speaking soft, hushed tones.

No one knew what was going on, and while they were used to following orders without question, none of them liked being in the dark. Not about something this big, not after a fleet that massive had taken roost in the city and was still flying circuits over Argon’s main districts. A hundred thousand troops added to their number in less than a quarter milli, none of them really listening to General Tesler’s authority. And where was Pavel? Paige cast another look around the room, but just like the other two times she’d looked, he wasn’t there. There was only Tesler, standing with his back to her and his hands clenched into tight fists at the base of his spine. He was watching Argon, watching the light jets that had flown in with the fleet as they canvassed the entire city. What they were looking for, she just didn’t know.

Maybe she didn’t want to know. Whatever—whoever—they were hunting for likely had something to do with the mess at the Plaza. A program capable of something like that, loose in her city? While not entirely content to leave it to Clu, she wasn’t going to mind them being the ones to go after it first. At least like this she’d know what she was dealing with.

She just hoped Beck was alright. If her memory was right, he’d worked at the Garage that was bordered by that Plaza. The building that was now just plain gone, the few soldiers that had been able to return wounded as if caught in a blast. Paige had been able to speak to none of them, every last one whisked away by Clu’s soldiers that now outnumbered them five to one. Something was off about that, and it made her core lurch. Whatever had happened, whatever had caused the garage to become nothing more than a smoking heap of code and dust, it wasn’t good. The idea that Beck, soft cored and so very sweet, could have been caught up in something like that, made her processor want to stop. She’d have to try and find him later, see if he was alright. Make sure he wasn’t a part of all this. Filing the thought away in her task list, Paige drew a breath and held her position. None of them liked waiting for orders like this, Paige least of all.

But she didn’t have to wait much longer. Past all the soldiers, the door into the room swung open as Clu, clothed in a long black robe broken only by golden lines, stepped into the room.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” He said casually as he walked between the two rows of programs. A slight hum entered the room as he rolled two small spheres between his hand, helmet retracted into his armor as he stopped in front of Tesler. Her General had already turned around, and though he looked down at Clu it was obvious who the stronger program was. Clu cut an imposing image, shorter than General Tesler but much more feared. General Tesler’s jaw worked, and Paige swore she could hear every joint in his frame creak as he kneeled, putting himself onto his hands and knees before Clu. A murmur of alarm went up amongst the soldiers as he said,

“There is a terrorist loose in Argon. A renegade…and I bear the blame.” He went silent, but Clu shook his head.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Tesler. You’ve given your best; I know it.” Clu said as he began to circle the prone General, spheres still humming while Tesler tracked his movements. “What I’ve asked of you is no less than…perfection. And that’s no easy thing to achieve, my friend.” He smiled, letting the spheres rise from his hand. Paige grimaced faintly as the hum increased in volume, wedging its way into her audio input. It was an…odd sound. Almost hypnotizing were it not for the jarring pitch. They hovered in the air before Clu’s face, spinning as he gestured to them.

“Behold, the spheres. Their curvature, their shape. So endlessly…” He trailed off as if unsure, but Paige shook her head.

“Perfect,” She breathed. And it was the truth; there were no jagged edges, no hitches or catches. They were beautiful. Clu smiled at her. It made her core stutter, ice down her spine. She blinked—perfect? They were just spheres!--but he paid no heed as he said,

“Yes. Very good, Commander. They are perfect.” He turned back to the spheres, cupping them in his hand before he dropped it to let them float on their own. “But were they always this way? Did they emerge perfect, or was their perfection seized violently, from the torrents of disorder? From chaos itself?” He asked, snapping his fingers. The spheres dropped, and with a sound far too loud for their small size, shattered across the floor in front of Tesler. Paige flinched as several Blackguard gasped in alarm, but Clu’s face remained stoically friendly as he waved a hand at General Tesler.

“Pick those up, will you?” He asked, almost casual. Paige’s core gave another hitch, watching her commanding officer lean forward and begin to scrape voxels off the ground. No one moved to help him, to step back once more. Everyone watched, waiting for the other disk to drop.

“So I ask you,” Clu suddenly spoke, breaking the tense silence, “How do you take something so clearly broken…” He raised a hand back, palming his disk. Instantly, Paige had to stifle threat warnings; this was Clu. Fighting him would be useless even if he’d come to kill them all. He’d killed Tron himself! What chance did they have? Tesler didn’t seem to think they had much of one, and stared up with wide eyes.

“And make it perfect?” Clu finished, striking downwards. Someone cut off a shout as Tesler fell back, a painful gash down his nose and across both his thumbs. Clu’s disk hummed a toxic yellow in the floor, splitting the voxel remains of the spheres. It hadn’t been a kill move, but rather a display of power. Boots crunching across the remains, Clu crouched to pick his disk up, voice now icily cold.

“By changing the hands of leadership.”

Tesler stared up at him, eyes wide. Clu stood back up, eyes cold. Paige’s core spun up in her fear, faster and faster until she was sure every program in the hall could hear it. From the corner of her eye, she could see the soldiers backing up, closing ranks as they attempted to protect themselves without fleeing the room, trying to keep Clu’s anger off of them. Clu’s disk still spun a violent, toxic yellow, teeth gleaming in the light as he opened his mouth to speak, to condemn Tesler to the games or immediate deresolution

But then he stopped and looked up. Cautiously, Paige flicked her eyes to her side as a Blackguard strode past her, gold-tinted lines of Clu’s honor guard orange in the red light of the ship. Without a word or look to anyone else, he stopped at Clu’s side and leaned up to whisper in his leader’s ear, his voice inaudible in the open hall. Clu blinked at what he heard, looking to his messenger, but when the program gave a silent nod he inclined his head.

“I see.” His voice echoed through the room, and with another nod he dismissed the messenger. As quickly as he’d come, the program left the hall, leaving them with Clu once more staring Tesler down. Eyes still wide, Tesler didn’t look away as Clu docked his disk, the click harsh in the heavy silence. For a moment, Clu simply looked down at his General, face blank and eyes cold.

But then he smiled and reached down to take Tesler by the arm, pulling him from the ground.

“But it seems I won’t have to do that right away after all. Come, come—you too, Commander.”

Letting go of Tesler’s arm, Clu strode from the room at a fast clip, his cloak billowing out behind him. Quickly taking General Tesler’s disk from him, Paige ran through the health coding as they jogged after their leader through empty tunnels. Too many rushed patch jobs from the cycles before gave her all the practice she needed to quickly patch the injuries and she handed him his disk as they headed back into the bowels of the ship. They kept dangerous prisoners here, programs that needed some persuasion to finally talk.

She hated it down here.

Clu lead them to a doorway where two of his more golden-lined sentries waited, saluting him as he came to stand in front of the door. For a moment he stopped, cocking his head as if listening, before he smiled again. Standing a pace behind her General, Paige swallowed her fear and asked,

“Sir?”

He looked from the door to her, that smile still on his face.

“It’s nothing, Commander. Just an old friend saying hello.”

And then he opened the door, gesturing for them to follow him in. Though Tesler had to duck through the doorway to fit, they both made it into the small interrogation slash containment chamber. A pillar of lit red code served as both weapon and shackle, glowing energy lines connected to two cuffs that would keep any program they brought here tied to the pillar. It was also the only light in the room after the door shut, the shadowy alcove where a disk would be locked away to taunt the captive program dim without the disk inside it. It was a good method of containment, Paige had to admit, but it had always seemed cruel to her.

She shoved the thought away as she stepped around Tesler for a better look. Pavel was already in the room, standing with a smug expression on his face as Dyson stood in front of the program that was tied to the pillar. Once her visual system had adjusted to the light, Paige had to stop herself from audibly gasping.

It was the Renegade. They’d captured the Renegade.

And apparently had struggled to do so, a small part of her processor chimed in. He was covered in blue gashes, wounds to his frame and dim circuits speaking of a long battle. His helmet was cracked and scraped, head hung low over his chest as he sat slumped on his knees with his hands shackled behind him. Pavel didn’t look much better now that she could get a good look at him, but Dyson was unharmed. Handing a disk to Clu, the foreign General looked to Tesler.

“You should know, Tesler, that Commander Pavel was instrumental in capturing the Renegade,” Dyson said with a smile. “You really ought to promote him.”

Tesler looked like he wanted to hit something, but he nodded anyway. Pavel just smiled even wider, looking crueler by the moment. Tesler looked to Clu.

“Sir,” he said quietly, “Is there a reason we’re here?”

“Consider it a…goodwill present. He was captured by one of your own, in your city,” Clu said with a casual shrug, the Renegade’s dual colored disk flipping in his hands. “You may as well see which one of your citizens has been causing you all this trouble.”

“…Yes, sir,” Tesler replied with a narrow eyed look at the Renegade, who hadn’t once raised his head or even twitched. “Thank you, sir.”

Clu smiled. Without further delay, he activated the Renegade’s disk and scrolled through the protocols. Paige’s core twisted at the violation of privacy and space, but she said nothing as Clu finally reached the helmet removal protocol. With a single press and a handful of soft clicks, the white-suited program’s helmet came off. Pavel stared, stunned silent. Clu and Dyson exchanged a confused look. Tesler frowned.

Paige had to struggle to restart her core.

Sitting there under the spotlight, head hung low and frame covered in gashes that spoke of injuries beyond the blue stain of impact across his forehead, was Beck.

#tron #tron: uprising #tron fic #!fic #fic: tron liberation

11 notes · View notes

peggynet · 7 months

Text

mobile navigation

AGENT CARTER SEASON 1 ✦ 1.01 Now Is Not The End ✦ 1.02 Bride and Tunnel ✦ 1.03 Time and Tide ✦ 1.04 The Blitzkrieg Button ✦ 1.05 The Iron Ceiling ✦ 1.06 A Sin to Err ✦ 1.07 SNAFU ✦ 1.08 Valediction SEASON 2 ✦ 2.01 The Lady in the Lake ✦ 2.02 A View in the Dark ✦ 2.03 Better Angels ✦ 2.04 Smoke & Mirrors ✦ 2.05 The Atomic Job ✦ 2.06 Life of the Party ✦ 2.07 Monsters ✦ 2.08 The Edge of Mystery ✦ 2.09 A Little Song and Dance ✦ 2.10 Hollywood Ending

BLOG announcements answered questions events tagged in

COMICS all comics Captain Carter (2022) covers edits panels

EVENTS PEGGY WEEK 2024 day one day two day three day four day five day six day seven

FILMS Agent Carter One-Shot (2013) Ant-Man (2015) The Avengers (2012) Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015) Avengers: Endgame (2019) Captain America: The First Avenger (2011) Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) Captain America: Civil War (2016) Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022)

MISC behind the scenes icons resources news

PALS & GALS Ana Jarvis Angie Martinelli Betsy Braddock Bucky Barnes Daniel Sousa Dottie Underwood Dum Dum Dugan Edwin Jarvis Howard Stark Jack Thompson Melina Vostokoff Michael Carter Natasha Romanoff Stephen Strange Steve Rogers The Watcher | Uatu

PEGGYS Agent Carter Captain Carter Director Carter Peggy Carter

POST TYPE fanart fanfic gifs graphics photos videos text

OTHER MEDIA AGENTS OF SHIELD ✦ 2.01 Shadows ✦ 2.08 The Things We Bury AVENGERS ASSEMBLE ✦ 3.03 Saving Captain Rogers ✦ 4.14 New Year's Resolution ROGERS: THE MUSICAL (2023)

OURS all creations by Cassie by Laura by Maria by Pfeiffer by Raffaella

SHIPS Peggy/Angie Peggy/Daniel Peggy/Dottie Peggy/Jason Peggy/Natasha Peggy/Steve Peggy/Steve/Bucky

WHAT IF...? SEASON 1 ✦ 1.01 What If... Captain Carter Were the First Avenger? ✦ 1.09 What If... The Watcher Broke His Oath? SEASON 2 ✦ 2.02 What If... Peter Quill Attacked Earth's Mightiest Heroes? ✦ 2.05 What If... Captain Carter Fought the Hydra Stomper? ✦ 2.08 What If... The Avengers Assembled in 1602? ✦ 2.09 What If... Strange Supreme Intervened?

#mobile navigation

11 notes · View notes

katebeckets · 3 months

Text

my things

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ⟡ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

GENERAL —

all gifs gifts movies musicals personal favorites @emilyblr-gifs

GIF SERIES —

get to know me gif request meme follower appreciation scenes i constantly reference

TV SHOWS —

bones castle criminal minds gilmore girls grey's anatomy/private practice hart of dixie how i met your mother the mentalist rizzoli & isles suits timeless the x files

CASTLE —

all caskett in every season favorite castle scenes kate beckett + character development

CRIMINAL MINDS —

all emily prentiss episodes

HART OF DIXIE —

all hart of dixie rewatch lemon breeland in every season

THE MENTALIST —

all the cbi five being actual children jisbon in every season the mentalist + text posts tmsource episode of the week

RIZZOLI & ISLES —

all #married

TIMELESS —

all every episode of timeless

THE X-FILES —

all how to say "I love you" in x-files msr + the art of subtlety

PEOPLE —

idina menzel taylor swift

other links

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ⟡ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

DIRECTORY —

mobile bio ask memes answered asks about me tag mobile reblog/tag list song recs moodboards

PAGES —

projects media birthdays

this navigation mainly covers my creations and a few other things. for a more complete tags/navigation page (i.e., general tags and not just my things), go to my desktop blog! ♡

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ⟡ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

#mobile navigation #updated 9/10/2024 #mobile page

4 notes · View notes

edenpoise · 6 months

Text

𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐈'𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑!

tagged by: @hellsbroadcaster. <3

tagging: honestly anyone to sees this !!

alias / name: Lee

birthday: September 10th

zodiac sign: Virgo

height: 5'3 ( short gang! )

hobbies: art, roleplaying, writing, finding new plushies to buy, occasional mobile games, maybe other games, rediscovering old interests like fnaf and star wars

favorite color: yellow! i like shades of blue and pink as well!

favorite book: the demonata series, I don't have a favorite book but a favorite series!

last song: Labyrinth by Talyor Swift ( I usually listen to so many songs but this was the most recent ! )

last film / show: star wars the clone wars, season 1! ( captain rex is where its at! )

inspiration: When it comes to inspiration for Eve, honestly I just read various works from other creators in series I enjoy! I usually use a mixture of wholesome and motherly characters vs the badshit crazy ones. I usually don't need a lot of inspiration from other characters in order to depict what I want to show, but when I have a starting point, I can usually find characters that I can relate to Eve or other characters I have played before! I haven't been roleplaying Eve long enough to really have any thoughts of who I can inspire her after as of yet! I usually use songs and music to help me figure out moods!

story behind url: honestly I'm pretty simple and easy when it comes to urls, sometimes it takes me two changes to really find one that fits. But I tend to use ideas in which can relate or inspire the muse, eden of course from the garden of eden, and poise simply because it means to have composure and other such feats I take into account for her character!

fun fact about me: i just graduated from university with an animation degree! i spend my time working on animations, artwork, and building up money and a portfolio! another fun fact is that I actually started roleplaying many years ago, probably around six years ago?? at least five years, and then I left for a portion of those years due to school, work, among not having the inspiration to return. coming back, lot has changed but I'm so happy to see friends I made a long time ago are still around.

#✾ ⎰ ❛ apples peaches pears . ❜ ⧸ ⊰ out of char ⊱#// about me!#// been awhile since i've had to think about myself and whats interesting xD

2 notes · View notes

letsgethaunted · 1 year

Text

Mobile Tags! SEASON FIVE

SEASON 5 Part 1

SEASON 5 Part 2

#Mobile Tags! SEASON FIVE #Let's Get Haunted

1 note · View note

therecordconnection · 2 years

Text

"Here's to the Damned, to the Lost and Forgotten": "People Like Us" From Doom Patrol, S01xE08

youtube

When I had heard the news that confirmed Doom Patrol was cancelled and that the second half of its fourth season (coming out at some point later this year) would be the last hurrah, I got really sad. Shows get cancelled all the time and I don't normally get upset, but this was different. It's kinda like how Ron Swanson felt after he found out Lil Sebastian died. If it was anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. But Lil Sebastian was different. Lil Sebastian meant something to Ron in a way that no old bureaucrat ever could.

Let me just say it right now: Doom Patrol was the greatest superhero show I've ever seen, maybe the greatest superhero show I will ever see.

If you are completely unfamiliar with the show, I will give you a (spoiler free!) rundown of what the show is about. Doom Patrol follows the story of five characters: Larry Trainor/Negative Man, Cliff Steele/Robotman, "Crazy" Jane Morris, Victor Stone/Cyborg, and Rita Farr/Elasti-Woman (all pictured below).

Each of them have traumatic pasts and each were involved in accidents that gave them unique metahuman abilities but also left them all disabled and/or atypical in a very unique but true-to-life way. Cliff is a former race car driver who gets in a car accident but survives and lives on as a brain in a robot body (prosthetics). Rita Farr is an actress from the 1950s who is exposed to a strange toxin underwater during a film shoot that causes her to become a blob-like creature that sometimes loses control of her physical form (mobility). Jane has sixty-four distinct personalities, each with their own superpower (neurodivergent). Larry was an Air Force pilot who got horribly burned via exposure from radiation while testing an experimental space shuttle and eventually becomes tethered to an electrical spirit from another dimension (physical). Victor was involved in an explosion that blew off most of his body parts until his father uses experimental tech to turn him into a mix of half-man, half-machine (prosthetics). All of them (except Victor) are found and put in the care of Dr. Niles Caulder/"The Chief", a brilliant old scientist confined to a wheelchair. In short, this show follows a group of very broken people as they attempt to heal and deal with their respective traumas and try to come together as a superhero team. Even shorter, it's a show about atypical/disabled/neurodivergent characters who are seeking redemption and a chance to rebuild their lost lives with the shitty hands they've been dealt.

The show skips the whole "there is nothing wrong with us" conversation and gets right to the brass tax: There is something very wrong with each of them. The robotman can't feel anything except for emotions (read: mostly anger at being a brain trapped in a tin can), the actress has to deal with her face and limbs melting into a blob that can consume and crush people when under emotional duress, "Jane" is only one of sixty-four others that can come out to play whenever they choose, the former pilot will give everyone radiation poisoning if the bandages come off, and the cyborg has PTSD and some issues with a computer running his brain half the time. To the public at large, they're a bunch of walking freaks. To us, they are a rag tag bunch of misfits that represent and, in a way, stand up for the people who are atypical, the people who are different, and, most importantly, the people who have been brushed off and discarded by society.

A lot of their struggles involve dealing with a soulless government organization known as "The Bureau of Normalcy," which wants anybody who is even slightly abnormal removed from the world. I admit that the Bureau's role on the show and even the name is a little too on the nose, but it serves its purpose and sends the message the show wants to send loud and clear: Being different, whether you're born a certain way or have to endure a disease/issue that you didn't ask for, there is still beauty to be found and people who will love you regardless of what you look like, sound like, or have to endure in order to live your day to day life. Doom Patrol was a show that was on the side of the abnormal. It celebrated those that get stared at in public. It celebrated the people who are deemed weirdos and freaks because of their gender presentation or sexuality. It celebrated the people who manage to find hope in a world that would rather see them removed. There is a genuine and wonderfully human beauty to be found in this very weird show that contains robots, wizards, cults, a talking mouse and a cockroach who is a religious fanatic, carnivorous butts, sex ghosts, a man who is a triple combo of animal, vegetable, and mineral, a strange time lord that thinks humanity peaked on August 6th, 1980, and Alan Tudyk playing the snarkiest narrator/villain god I've ever seen in a television show. I will recommend this show until the day I die.

After the news hit, I began thinking about whether there's one single moment that will define the show for me, one moment that serves as the show's thesis statement. I ended up finding three scenes, but I'll write about one of them now and maybe save the other two for another time. Anyway, for me, if there's one scene that I think will define and illustrate what Doom Patrol wanted to do and who it wanted to celebrate, I think the scene posted at the top of this post is what it will be. I'll be getting into spoilers for the show from here so if you have any interest and it wasn't obvious already, I highly recommend watching the show. With that out of the way, I'd like to talk about Larry Trainor/Negative Man singing a Kelly Clarkson song with a drag queen in a cabaret that exists on a sentient, genderqueer street named Danny.

So, Season 1, Episode 8 is an episode called "Danny Patrol." Throughout the first season, we learn that Larry Trainor's (played by Matt Bomer) full backstory is this: he was a handsome ace pilot with the U.S. Air Force in the early 1960s living all the hallmarks of the American Dream. His only issue is that he's a gay man living a lie, being married to his wife, Sheryl, and being a father to their two kids, Gary and Paul. But unbeknownst to his family, Larry is having a love affair with John Bowers, one of his colleagues. After his accident leaves him a completely hideous looking radioactive man (similar in look to Deadpool), he spends decades conflicted about all the things he hid from. He regrets the secrets he hid from his family and the pain he caused them, he regrets not being fully emotionally open with John and pushing him away after the accident left him radioactive and ugly as all hell, and he regrets flying the experimental rocket plane that turned him into Negative Man. Of all the Doom Patrol members, Larry is the one who hides from the world the most, quite literally in the sense of him being bandaged from head to toe and still keeping his sexuality hidden from the world.

In "Danny Patrol," Larry and Victor Stone find themselves investigating Danny the Street, a sentient, genderqueer street that is being hunted by the Bureau of Normalcy. Larry and Victor agree to help, as Danny might have information on the whereabouts of their missing chief, Niles Caulder (who disappeared with the villainous Mr. Nobody earlier in the season.) While exploring Danny, Larry enters "Peeping Tom's Perpetual Cabaret," a building that hosts drag shows. The happiness found in this building fuels Danny and allows them to thrive. Prior to Larry and Victor entering Danny, we are introduced to the origin story of drag queen Maura Lee Karupt (played by Alan Mingo, Jr.) Maura Lee was originally Morris Walker, a bureau agent tasked with infiltrating Danny the Street and eliminating them. One visit to Peeping Tom's later and Morris (now Maura Lee) embraces who she feels she truly is and leaves the bureau behind in order to remain on Danny the Street.

In the Cabaret, Larry is asked by one of the drag queens to get up and sing for them. He responds, "I don't sing." Larry is told that in order for Danny to keep going, the party has to keep going. Larry agrees and approaches the stage. Danny (who can only "speak" through rearranging words on signs or flashing them on spotlights) gives Larry the encouraging message, "Don't Worry, Larry. I got you." Once on stage, Larry begins the opening to Kelly Clarkson's "People Like Us":

We come into this world unknown But know that we are not alone They try and knock us down But change is coming, it's our time now

In any other show, eye rolls and groans would start at the idea of a TV show stopping to deliver a seemingly random musical number. For Doom Patrol, a musical number is the least weird thing that occurs. By the time you've reached "Danny Patrol," the idea of an old gay man who walks around looking like the Invisible Man singing a Kelly Clarkson song isn't out of the realm of possibility. You don't even bother questioning how or why Larry even knows the song, he just does. Just roll with it.

If Larry Trainor had to sing a song, Clarkson's "People Like Us" is a perfect choice for him. From the opening lines quoted above right until the end, it's perfect.

Hey, everybody loses it Everybody wants to throw it all away sometimes And hey, yeah I know what you're going through Don't let it get the best of you, you'll make it out alive

The song is important to Larry's character and he's the Doom Patrol member best suited to deliver a message like this. He's the one member that doesn't really want to get involved in things at all and for the first few episodes struggles with even wanting to be alive. What's the point of living if you're stuck being a bandaged freak that can't really get close to anyone? What's the point of living if you have to hide who you really are? Which in Larry's case is being a gay man in a world that didn't accept him back when he was growing up in the fifties, and only marginally accepts him now. Being radioactive certainly doesn't help things. If any Doom Patrol member was going to tell you, "Don't let it get the best of you, you'll make it out alive," it would be the most convincing coming from Larry, a man who has been through absolute hell––he gets tortured and experimented on for years by the Bureau of Normalcy in the sixties––and is still alive to tell you about it.

Right before the chorus starts, Larry looks towards Maura Lee in the audience and invites her to join him on stage, which she does. The pre-chorus of the song is where the heart of the show really comes out. Larry and Maura Lee deliver these lines with gusto:

Oh, people like us we've gotta stick together Keep your head up, nothing lasts forever Here's to the damned to the lost and forgotten It's hard to get high when you're living on the bottom

These lines are representative of whom and what Doom Patrol wanted to celebrate: the damned, the lost, and the forgotten. At it's core, Doom Patrol is a show about truly odd outcasts and misfits learning to realize that all they have are each other. If they don't look after each other, nobody will, because "normal people" don't give a shit about them. Though the show focuses on comic book characters with superpowers, the metaphor works for marginalized groups in the real world. For example, it's called the LGBTQ+ community for a reason. The people within that community have to look out for each one another, because there's no guarantee that anybody else will.

During the performance, Larry is temporarily shown as human again. No bandages, no goggles, no need to hide. It's the first time in the series that Larry looks genuinely happy gets to be who he is without any fear. The look on his face and the way he's beaming when he watches Maura Lee perform the second verse is pure bliss. It's a little cheesy and it's even a little hokey, but Bomer and Mingo, Jr. are so damn committed to bringing the song to life that you don't get anything but genuineness out of them. It's colorful and full of life and full of beauty. It's one of the show's most heartfelt scenes and one that I hope will define the show once its all fully said and done. The show uses the song as a message of defiance and perseverance in the face a world that casts out the weird, the odd, the different, the broken. Larry and Maura Lee sell it perfectly:

They can't do nothing to you, they can't do nothing to me This is the life that we choose, this is the life that we bleed So throw your fists in the air Come out, come out if you dare Tonight we're gonna change forever

We are what we choose to be and fuck anybody that tries to take that away. That's the message Larry and Maura Lee want to spread. "You won't break us, no matter how hard you try. There is beauty in being different and Doom Patrol argues that a better world is one where those that are different are just as loved and just as embraced as those that are "normal."

Beyond Larry and Maura Lee, even Cliff Steele/Robotman gets in on the fun a bit during the song. During the episode, Cliff and Rita travel to deal with one of Jane's more dangerous personalities, Karen, a woman who believes life is one big rom-com and is using hypnotism to keep a boyfriend submissive to her and her whims. During that trip, Cliff sees a little boy riding by slowly on a bicycle. The boy stares at him and Cliff thinks its because the boy is scared of him or thinks he's a freak. Later, while Larry and Maura Lee are performing their song, we cut back to the boy returning to Cliff, this time in a makeshift robot costume made out of cardboard, to show that he also wants to be a cool robot like him. Cliff is shown teaching the boy some cool robot dance moves. You can't help but have a big smile on your face during that.

The whole damn song is an optimistic showstopper, which is something that DC needed for a long time. In a modern era where Batman is too dark and gritty for his own good, Wonder Woman retired and walked away from mankind for one hundred years for some reason, and Superman kills people (fuck Zack Snyder, by the way), it's beautiful that there's a DC property like Doom Patrol provides a reminder that no matter how dark things get, we have to try and keep going. "You've just gotta turn it up loud when the flames get higher." The Doom Patrol are heroes not because they perform outstanding feats and save the day, but because they inspire people to keep going, even when the chips are down. Their continued presence in our world is proof enough that even those who are dealt the shittiest hands can find ways to keep going, even in the face of impossible odds. Even though the sequence ends with it being revealed that the song didn't happen and Larry repeats, "I don't sing," you're still happy that for just one single moment, Larry got to live out a fantasy. He got to be free. He got to be happy. And everybody deserves that. Even radioactive men who are covered head to toe in bandages.

Doom Patrol's greatest triumph will forever be that it gave a home to the bizarre and the weird, and celebrated them. It not only has a love for its strange cast of characters, but it embraces those characters, warts and all. Though they're all superpowered and clearly ripped out of the pages of an old comic book, there is something so wonderfully human about the Doom Patrol. They struggle just the same as any of us. They battle inner demons, sexuality, trauma, disability, and more, just the same as any of us. They don't win at the end of every episode, but they do make a little progress each time they grace our screens. They help each other, they love each other. They remind us that we're all we've got and we've got to take care of one another. Doom Patrol's thesis statement is that there is beauty to be found in the lost and the forgotten. The Doom Patrol is DC's best kept secret. They're out there and you can find them if you know where to look. If you seek out the strange and the bizarre, you'll eventually find them. The Doom Patrol, both in the show and in the comics, are weird and different and strange. They're a unique superhero team unlike any other. I will miss them when they disappear from television, but my life is better for knowing that they're out there, standing up for the broken and the different.

Here's to the damned, to the lost and forgotten.

Here's to the Doom Patrol. Thank you for what has been a truly unforgettable experience for me.

#original post #doom patrol #Youtube

22 notes · View notes

runner5ive · 1 year

Text

Master Post and Intro

Welcome to my art blog mostly for the game Zombies Run! I thought I’d finally write up a proper pinned post with information people might be looking for when if they visit! I’ve been unhappy with how this blog looked on mobile for a while so I’m having a tidy up!

Spoilers and tagging system

Please note that this blog is not spoiler free! My art tends to be set ‘in between’ missions to keep it ambiguous. However, if i’m referencing a specific mission or season, I will tag my posts so you can avoid them.

If you want to avoid spoilers, please block: #zrs1 spoilers / #zrS2 spoilers / #zrS3 spoilers / (etc. until current season)

External Links

Instagram

Twitter

AO3

Redbubble

Ask box

Please feel free to send me art requests and questions for my Five via my ask box! I love receiving art prompts, especially when I’m feeling stuck in an art rut! However, depending on the nature of the ask, please know that I do not have to respond to every ask sent my way. I’ll try, but there’s periods of my life which are quite hectic and busy, so the meat space will always come first. Also, if I dont vibe with the nature of the request, I can also decide not to do it.

Final disclaimer

My Five is my Five. They’re small, blonde, cute, enby, and a bit of a goblin. I’ve purposely made mt Five how I want them (mostly, the least intimidating person ever with the most intimidating reputation) My Five is not your Five.

The beauty of the game is that you can make your Five whoever you want them to be. I’ve had someone appear in my ask box multiple times telling me that my Five was ‘wrong’ and telling me to ‘fix’ my Five to be more like how they imagine Five. If that happens, I can and will block.

Stay safe out there, Five 💖

8 notes · View notes

sketchyfletch · 11 months

Text

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @feralkwe (thank you!)

How many works do you have on AO3?

11. I also have various ones scattered on ff.net, as well as lost to time on livejournal and a graveyard on my googledrive.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

77246. In terms of fic writing output, I’m one of those little pilot fish that hangs around friendly sharks.

What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Dragon Age and the Arcana mobile game. I want to write more Mass Effect and I’ve done a Yasmin/Thirteen Dr Who ficlet. I used to write a lot of stuff for Naruto in my teens.

What are your top five fics by kudos?

A Little Tender Loving Care - Arcana. Smut. Giving Nadia a massage.

A Little Stronger You Thought - Arcana. A sparring practice with Nadia gets a bit hot and sweaty. Not actually smut this time.

Won’t You Cleanse My Soul - Arcana. And we’re back to Smut. The bathroom scene taken to a conclusion not in the game.

Not So Clean - Mass Effect. Smut again! Shepard and Traynor share a shower.

Alone At Last - Dr Who. After Ryan and Graham leave the TARDIS, Yasmin and Thirteen finally push past a barrier in their friendship.

Do you respond to comments?

Yes. I didn’t used to, but I love giving energy back to the people who took the time to write.

What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Back in my ff.net days, Leliana grieving after losing the Warden to the Ultimate Sacrifice. It implies Leliana dying as well. The angiest one on AO3 is Let it All Out, with Hawke spilling her guts to Leliana over everything that’s happened since they last saw each other in Lothering.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Alone At Last. Most of my one shots have a happy ending but this in particular.

Do you get hate on fics?

I’ve been fortunate enough to avoid it, although I have had a couple of ‘helpful’ comments telling me what I should do with the characters next (which is a guaranteed way to make me go in the opposite direction, not least so the commenter can’t claim credit for the idea).

Do you write smut?

Cough. See above.

Do you write crossovers?

I sort of am between Dragon Age games as I like bringing characters from one game and putting them in the setting of another. I’ve also been picking at a ‘Shepard crash lands on the Wounded Coast’ fic which I’m not sure will ever see the light of day.

Have you had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I’ve co-written a lot of storylines on forums, some of which have sprung out into me working on fics separately, but not collaborated on a fanfic before.

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

That’s a tough one. I adore Isabela/F Hawke, and ship Leliana very specifically with my jabby Siali Tabris, but if I was to pick one it would be Korra/Asami. When the first season of Korra came out I made a post on tumblr commenting on the chemistry between the two and really liking the idea of them together, but stating that the network would never, ever let it happen. (Child of the mid-2000’s ‘bury your gays’ wars here.) Having it come true was huge from a cultural standpoint, and I remember sitting at the computer sobbing my eyes out at the finale. It was so important to me so for that reason, I think they’ll always been my OTP even if I never write a fic for them.

Which now I want to. Dammit.

What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I really, really want to write more of Aliyah Hawke’s story. I love DA2 but Hawke as a protagonist never grabbed me by the brainstem in the way my Warden and Inquisitor did. I want to build her up some more. She has five chapters up on AO3 and I want to save her from the ashes.

What are your writing strengths?

I’m told I’m good at distinctive character voices. I like to switch around POVs a lot during fics to give different perspectives on familiar scenes, and the way I write inner monologues is very specific to the character who is the focal point at that time.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I’m not an especially funny writer. Some people have a real knack for turns of phrase that leave you rolling on the floor, and sadly I am not one of those people.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I have done this a lot as Nicolette is either Orlesian or French depending on what world she’s inhabiting at the point I’m writing her, and in reference to her faceclaim also has Indian/Rivaini ancestry, so I’d sprinkle her speech with bits of whatever her mother tongue is. I’ve learned to be increasingly careful about this because a) a lot of free translation tools are absolute arse and b) context is very important.

Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I’m actually currently writing it. ‘I Cannot Fly, So Let Me Sing’ started as a joke of me taking my very pacifist wandering minstrel character who I have been playing for years and playing with the canon like a ball of yarn until I could justify making her Inquisitor. It has been great working her into the story and also trying to weave in other character POVs, but I am currently taking a bit of a break as I have two bridging/important infodump chapters to write before I can move onto the next bit and I am STUCK.

Tagging @shenaniginstigations, @aithne and @zombolouge

#writing #fics

3 notes · View notes

zizzlekwum · 2 years

Text

Stranger In A Not-So-Strange Land

Masterlist

CHAPTER FIVE

The BAU goes toe-to-toe with their most prolific serial killer yet as you continue to heal. Follows the events of Criminal Minds Season 2 Episode 13 “No Way Out.”

Trigger Warnings: references to suicide

Word Count: 5,798

Tag List: @leftoverenvy @itsmeanobody @ctrljuls @theclassicgaycousin [if you want to be added to the tag list, please comment or send me an ask]

You limp your way into the BAU later than usual, having been held up at the doctor’s office.

“Hey, no more crutches!” JJ cheers as she comes around the corner, noticing your entrance.

You make your way to your desk and drop your backpack on the floor before falling into your chair. “Doc says my leg is healing quite nicely,” you tell her. “Pain’s still annoying me, though.”

She frowns. “Well, I have something that’ll take your mind off of it.”

“Oh, we got a case?” You stand and start walking with her towards the briefing room.

JJ nods. “It’s a bad one,” she warns you as you enter the room and take a seat at the table next to Emily, who greets you with a small wave. Everyone else is already seated besides Gideon, who is nowhere to be found. JJ walks to the front of the room and grabs the remote off of the table, pressing a button.

“1996,” she starts as a black and white image of a human ribcage appears on the screen behind her. “The ribcage of a male was found in the Desert Rose National Park. It was never identified.” She presses a button on the remote in her hand as the images of a severed arm and a limbless torso replace the ribcage. “This morning, the remains of two victims were found in almost exactly the same area.”

“Well, one year later is cause for concern, but ten years?” Prentiss shrugs. “That could be a coincidence.”

“It would be,” Reid says, sliding a folder across the table to her. “Except the unidentified male was missing a right rib bone.”

“And the torso found this morning is missing exactly the same bone,” Hotch says.

Reid nods. “Both of them seem to be surgically removed, and the advanced rate of decomposition on the male means that he died far before the female.”

“Oh, uh, Katherine Hale,” JJ says, bringing up a picture of a young, smiling blond woman. “They found a bracelet on her wrist. She ran away about two weeks ago from her small Colorado town.”

“Unsub’s crossing state lines. He’s mobile,” Hotch says as Gideon walks into the room, carrying an evidence box.

Morgan looks through some of the photos spread out on the table. “If the remains are related to the same killer, where’s he been for ten years?”

“Killing,” Gideon says, placing the box on the table and opening it. He takes out a stack of files and drops them onto the table in front of him. “Unsolved case files going back thirty years.”

“Jesus Christ,” you say.

“Every case, the victimology is the same,” Gideon continues. “The unwanted. This box is just the tip of the iceberg. Thirteen cases spanning 30 years. Same MO— right rib bone is missing. It’s him, Hotch, it’s the same killer.”

“All the remains were dumped in remote areas and always near Interstate 80,” Hotch says as everyone grabs a different file and begins to flip through. “And up until now, no remains this intact or this close to the actual time of kill have been found.”

“Never two victims dumped at the same time in the same place,” Gideon adds.

“All of these killings are the work of just one man?” Prentiss asks, flipping through a file.

Gideon nods solemnly. “The most prolific serial killer ever.”

“Wheels up in thirty,” Hotch says. “We’re heading to Nevada.”

* * * * *

You all spend the couple hours of the plane ride to Nevada going through all the case files, bouncing theories off one another. When you arrive, you split into groups. Morgan, Gideon, and Hotch head to where the remains were found while you go with Prentiss and Reid to the police station.

You all enter the police station and introduce yourselves to the officer manning the front desk. You notice more than one person glaring at the three of you as you pass by.

Reid frowns. “Is it just me or do you get the feeling that we’re not welcome here?”

“Oh, good, you can feel it too,” you say.

“No, it’s not us, it’s what we represent,” Emily says, walking around the front desk as you and Reid trail behind her. “The government’s not all that popular out here.”

A cell door creaks and slams as another officer attempts to drag a woman out of the cell. “You can’t make me go, I know what my rights are, I don’t wanna, don’t make me go! No!” the woman yells, fighting against the officer. “I don’t wanna go home, I know my rights!” She notices Prentiss and turns her attention to her. “What are you looking at, princess?” She rips her arm out of the officer’s grip.

The officer immediately grabs her again. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it, Jane, back to jail.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Jane says, then shoves the officer away and grabs onto Reid by his jacket lapels. “He’s coming,” she says harshly, her face grave. “He’s coming back and there’s nothing you can do about it! Do you hear me? Nothing! Nothing!”

The officer manages to separate Jane from Reid as she continues to yell. Something falls out of her pocket and she begins shrieking, reaching for it and pointing. Prentiss steps forward to pick it up. “Excuse me!” she calls. She holds her hand out to the officer. “She dropped this.” Jane reaches out to grab it back but the officer pulls her away. Emily tilts her head. “It’s harmless,” she assures the officer, who then allows Jane to grab the item.

“Thank you,” Jane says, letting go of Prentiss’ hand and nodding.

“What is it?” Prentiss asks.

Jane brings it up to her lips and blows. A whistling sound comes out as the officer forces her back into her cell.

Reid raises his eyebrows. “A psycho with a whistle. That’s not too weird.”

You snort. “Can’t be weirder than being buried alive by a serial killer,” you say, gesturing to your leg. “Or, you know, how I came to be a part of the team.”

Emily chuckles. “Point taken. Let’s go get set up while we wait for the others.”

* * * * *

Later, once everyone has returned, Hotch introduces you, Reid, and Prentiss to the sheriff, Georgia Davis, who insists you call her George. After you all get settled in, Hotch has George gather the other officers so you all can give the profile. Reid prints out something from the computer he’s using. “Early toxicological investigations of the victim’s blood indicated high levels of ketamine,” he says, standing and grabbing the paper from the printer. He then hands it to Hotch.

Hotch reads over the paper in his hands. “Ketamine is primarily a horse tranquilizer.”

“Also one of the more popular date-rape drugs, along with GHB and rohypnol” you add, mentally thanking your obsession with Law & Order: Special Victims Unit for the helpful knowledge.

“In street lingo, it’s known as being stuck in a k-hole,” Hotch says, nodding at you.

George looks horrified. “So his victims were completely conscious when he killed them?” She nods at the picture of Katherine Hale that’s pinned to the bulletin board behind her. “Imagine what she must’ve gone through.”

“It’s essential for this unsub that he sees the terror in his victim’s eyes,” Emily says. “That is what gets him off.”

“He’s either had medical training, or he’s honed his skills over the years,” Hotch says.

“Look for a man in his mid- to late-fifties,” Gideon tells everyone. “Highly intelligent, methodically and obsessively clean.”

“His vehicle is most likely an RV, muted in color, neither old nor new, and in perfect working order,” Prentiss explains.

“It’ll have a CB, radar detectors, and police-band radio,” Morgan says. “All these things have helped him evade you.”

“And this vehicle is his killing room,” Hotch says. “It’ll be soundproofed. Surgical instruments are on the walls. There’s a stirrup chair or an autopsy table in it.”

“All of his kills are recorded meticulously— if not on video, then in a journal that he carries with him in his right-hand inside jacket pocket,” Gideon says.

“How could you know that?” a deputy who previously introduced himself as Rick Silo interrupts skeptically.

“The marks left from the tools he used to sever the remains from the rest of the body indicate that he’s left-handed,” you explain.

“This man is void of all normal human feelings,” Gideon continues. “A killing machine. Incapable of remorse, compassion, love. It’s imperative that we catch him here, now, before he escapes and continues killing.”

“We have roadblocks on every interstate, track or laned, in or out of this town,” Deputy Silo tells him. “We’ll shut down this state if we have to.”

“Stop every RV, truck, and trailer,” Hotch tells the officers as they begin to file out of the room, on their way to man the previously-mentioned roadblocks.

You notice George leaning against a desk, lost in thought. So does Gideon. “Something troubling you?” he asks.

“That profile you gave,” she explains. “Reminds me of a story I once heard.” She stands resolutely. “There’s someone you should meet.”

Gideon waves you, Prentiss, and Reid over as George leads him back to the holding cell where you first met Jane. George’s keys jingle as she unclips them from her belt and uses them to unlock the cell door, which creaks as she opens it. “How you feeling, Jane?” George asks the woman sitting in the cell, her voice kind.

Jane shakes her head, not turning around. “I don’t wanna go home, George. Please, don’t make me go home.”

George pats her on the back, getting Jane to turn around to face you. She nods in your direction. “Jane, these people are from the FBI. I’d like you to tell them your story.”

“Why, so they can make fun of me, too?” Jane asks, skepticism written all over her face. She cradles her whistle in her hands, stroking it.

Emily takes a step toward her, bending down. “That’s very pretty,” she says, gesturing towards the whistle. “Did you make it?” She slowly sits down on the bench beside Jane.

Jane holds the whistle up, showing it to us. “It was a gift,” she says, turning to face Emily.

“Ah,” Prentiss says softly, gently taking the whistle from Jane and examining it for a moment. “What happened to you?”

Jane glances at George, who gives her a small nod. She takes the whistle back and plays with it in her hands, looking down. “My car broke down,” she says after a minute. “The engine went out on me and… you know, in those days, they didn’t have cell phones, so I tried to fix it myself. Then I felt a presence, and then everything went white. I was in a spaceship.” She smiles slightly in wonder at the memory. “And I could see myself. It was like time was suspended. I could feel everything, and there were strange maps on the walls— diagrams of all the stars. It was cold, very, very cold.”

She stands to face you. “And the alien, he did things to me. He touched me, very softly, and… he stroked my hair, and he drew lines all over my body. And the whole time, he was standing there, smiling down at me. Then I looked in his eyes, and I wasn’t afraid anymore.” Jane gives a slight shrug. “I don’t know why.”

“Then what did he do?” Gideon prompts.

“Then I… was back in my own bed, and it was the next morning.”

“When was this?” you ask softly. “How long ago did this happen?”

“I was nineteen.” Jane chuckles. “It was thirty years ago.”

“And did you ever see him again?” Prentiss asks her.

“Oh, I see him. I see him every time I shut my eyes.”

George leads the rest of you out of the cell as you all ponder the information. “The strange maps on the walls could have been anatomical drawings,” Reid postulates.

“What about the fact that she could see herself?” George asks.

You shrug. “Mirrors on the ceiling could do that.”

“So his victims could see themselves being dismembered,” Emily adds.

George shakes her head. “Every time I think it can’t get any worse, it does.”

“Her subconscious mind has created a delusion that she was abducted by an alien,” Gideon says.

“It’s possible she’s the only one who’s survived,” Prentiss says.

“Why did he let her go?” George asks.

Prentiss shakes her head. “She said when she looked into his eyes, she felt relaxed.”

“And in that moment, the one thing that he wanted, she didn’t give him,” Gideon says.

“Fear,” you say solemnly.

* * * * *

You drive with Emily, Morgan, and Reid to a trailer park, where you’re met with a squad of police cars. You exit the SUV and walk up to Hotch and Gideon, who are talking to George and Deputy Silo.

“We’ve set up a nationwide tip line,” Hotch is saying, “but all we’ve really got so far is white male, mid- to late-fifties, tall, with a medium build.”

“From the remains discovered this morning, we know he doesn’t keep his victims long,” Gideon says.

“We’ve got more cops by the hour to help find this guy,” George tells him. “We also put out a nationwide APB.”

“If he is still in this town— and we believe he is— he has absolutely no way out,” Morgan says.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go catch this son of a bitch,” Silo says. With a nod, you all begin walking in separate directions, each going to a different area of the trailer park to ask questions.

You limp along beside Prentiss as you approach the first trailer. She knocks on the door and steps back as a man opens it.

“Agent Prentiss, FBI,” she says, holding up her badge as you do the same. “This is Agent Y/L/N. We’re looking for someone, and we were hoping you might recognize the description. He’s a white man, in his mid- to late-fifties. He’s tall and has an average build.”

“He wouldn’t have stayed here for long,” you add. “But he would’ve continually returned year after year.”

The man shakes his head. “No, sorry, doesn’t ring a bell.”

Emily thanks him, turning around. The two of you walk to the next trailer and ask the same questions, but are told the same thing. Pretty soon, you’ve walked up and down the rows of trailers, always coming up empty.

“Ugh,” you say, taking off your hat and wiping away the sweat from your forehead before putting the hat back on your head. “I hate the heat.”

“Hey, at least it’s a dry heat,” Prentiss points out, chuckling.

“I swear, if it were this hot and it were humid, I’d just fucking off myself,” you mutter. She snorts. “And why the hell can’t we find this guy, anyway?”

“He’s obviously not here,” she agrees.

“The key to getting away with murder— at least, never getting caught, anyway— is to just not tell anyone,” you say, thinking aloud.

“And the only people he told were the people he killed,” Emily says. “Then he took from them what he needed— cash, credit cards.”

“Hmm,” you hum, your mind whirring. You take out your cell phone. “I wonder if anything of Katherine Hale’s was used after her death. Garcia should be able to tell us.” You shoot her a quick text, asking her to check, before sliding your phone back into your pocket.

“His RV should’ve been here.” Emily frowns.

“Yeah, it—” You pause. “Unless… he’s towing a trailer.”

“You know what, that makes sense!” Prentiss tells you. “That way he could unhook and move around freely.”

“He could also hide it. That-that’s why we can’t find him!”

“He’s waiting for the roadblocks to clear,” she finishes for you. “Okay, if he has a truck, it’d be just like his trailer— muted in color and American-made.”

“We should check back in with the others and let them know,” you say to her. “We’re looking in the wrong places.” She nods, and you begin the walk back to where you started. You take out your phone and dial Hotch.

“Hotchner,” he answers.

“Hey, what if he was towing a trailer and not driving an RV,” you say. “If he unhooked it and left it somewhere, we would be looking for a truck, not an RV.”

Hotch says something indistinguishable to someone else before replying. “Great work, Y/L/N. We’re going to take the night to regroup and start again first thing tomorrow. At least we know he never takes anyone while he’s here.”

“Got it.” You hang up and relay the plan to Emily. The two of you head back to the SUV and begin driving back to the motel. When you get there, the sun has already set. You let out a sigh of relief as you and Emily walk through the door to your shared room. Your go bag is already on the full-sized bed farthest from the door, while hers is on the other bed, closer to you. You flop down on your bed, rubbing your sore leg.

“Too much walking today?” Emily asks, unzipping her bag.

“Uh huh.” You nod, reaching into your own bag and retrieving a bottle of ibuprofen. You open it and shake two tablets into your hand before resealing it and tossing it back into the bag. Grabbing your other, regular nighttime meds, you stand and limp your way to the bathroom to get water from the tap.

“I think I’m just gonna go to bed and hope it hurts less in the morning,” you say to Prentiss, exiting the bathroom and returning to your bag to grab your pajamas.

“Probably for the best,” you hear her say as you go back to the bathroom and close the door before undressing. You quickly brush your teeth and wash your face, mentally grumbling at the fact that you’re in your mid-twenties— no longer a puberty-experiencing teenager— and still struggle with acne. When you’re finished washing your face, you head back to your bed and climb under the covers.

“‘Night, Emily,” you say, closing your eyes.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” she replies, and the corners of your mouth twitch up when she says your name.

* * * * *

You wake to the sound of a phone ringing. You groan, rolling over without opening your eyes. “Is it yours or mine?”

“I think mine,” Prentiss says through a yawn. A pause, and then: “Yeah, it’s mine. Prentiss.” You wait for her to respond to the person on the other line, hoping you don’t have to get up. “Oh, shit!” she exclaims, causing you to sit up and look over at her.

“What?” you ask, turning on the lamp on the table between your beds. “What’s going on?”

She grabs her bag and searches through it, finally withdrawing a pen and a notepad. She scribbles something down and hangs up the phone. “Get dressed,” she tells you, already grabbing her clothes.

“What’s going on?” you repeat, frowning.

“Garcia found out Katherine Hale’s cell phone was used five hours ago,” she tells you. “She traced the call to right outside the sheriff’s house.”

“Oh, shit,” you curse, echoing her earlier sentiment. The two of you scramble to get ready and are jumping into the SUV within three minutes, tires squealing as Emily tears out of the parking lot and down the road.

It takes less than ten minutes before she pulls the SUV into the driveway, the early morning light shining through the trees. You both jump out of your seats as soon as she throws it into park, drawing your guns. A quick look around shows you that Hotch, Gideon, Reid, and Morgan are already there, their SUV parked to the side, along with another police car.

You and Emily rush to the door. She nods at you once before charging inside. You both lower your weapons when you see Hotch.

“She’s gone,” he tells you as a way of greeting.

“Hey, Silo, don’t touch anything,” Morgan is telling the deputy, who you find bending down next to George’s fridge, about to pick up a spilled jug of juice. “We need to profile this room.”

“Profile?!” Silo exclaims, standing. “You said the call was made five hours ago by the unsub, right outside this house! Now, what’s to profile?! He took George!”

“Why?” Gideon asks as Silo clenches his fist, running a hand through his hair anxiously.

“All right,” Hotch says. “We need to work fast.”

“Okay, she enters the house and then it’s habitual,” Morgan says.

“All right, she drops her keys, hits the answering machine, takes off her gun belt,” Emily continues.

“Then moves to the kitchen,” you say.

“He’s never taken anyone of prominence before,” Gideon points out. “Why take the sheriff?”

Hotch looks down, noticing the sheriff’s weapon on the floor. “And not her gun. Silo, call your office, see if she was planning to meet anyone.”

“No way a cop would give chase without their gun,” Morgan says, shaking his head. “Definitely looks like she tried to make a go for it.”

“But she didn’t make it,” Reid says, bending down. When he rises, he holds a used syringe in his hand.

“Guys,” Silo says, hanging up his phone. “George brought Crazy Jane home with her.”

“So he takes control of George, then goes after what he came here for,” Morgan says.

Prentiss nods. “Crazy Jane.”

“Except she’s not crazy,” you say.

“Those footprints,” Morgan says, pointing to the kitchen, where the juice is spilled on the floor. “They have to be Jane’s. They go to the back. She escapes. The unsub knows the ketamine’s gonna wear off, so he’s gotta act.”

Gideon shakes his head. “No, he hasn’t got what he came here for.”

“So for leverage, he takes the sheriff, which means sooner or later, he’ll contact us,” Hotch concludes as his phone starts ringing. He puts it to his ear, answering. “Hotchner.” He pauses, then looks at Silo. “Katherine Hale’s cell phone just came back on in the middle of town.”

Silo starts for the door. “Let’s do this.”

“He thinks we have Jane,” Gideon says, following him.

“Which means he wants to trade,” you say.

“Whatever he wants, we need to find Jane and the sheriff fast,” Hotch says, walking out the door. He tosses Morgan the keys. “You go to town with Gideon, we’ll go to Jane’s.”

* * * * *

When Hotch pulls the SUV up to Jane’s house, Reid jumps out of the passenger seat as you and Prentiss exit from the back. You draw your gun as the four of you walk up the front steps. Reid and Hotch put their backs to the wall on the right side of the front door as you and Prentiss take the left, preparing to go in, when you notice the wind chimes hanging along the porch.

“Guys,” you say. “Take a look at the wind chimes.”

“They look like they’re made of bones,” Emily says. “I-I think it’s human rib bones.”

“Let’s go through the house first,” Hotch says. “Ready?” At your nods, he kicks down the door, and you all file in, guns in front of you. Hotch and Reid go left as you and Prentiss take the hallway.

“Clear!” you hear Hotch call.

You check the first room as Prentiss takes the second. “Clear!” you call.

“Clear!” comes Prentiss’ voice next. You finish clearing the house before regrouping on the front porch.

Emily pulls rubber gloves from her pocket, handing a pair to you. You pull them on as she does the same before each examining one of the wind chimes.

“Completely empty,” Hotch says about the house, walking out the door, followed by Reid. “She’s not here.”

“Well, he’s obviously been here before and left these… gifts for her,” you say, frowning as you examine one of the wind chimes.

“How romantic,” Emily says sarcastically from beside you. You snort.

“His version of romance, anyway,” Hotch says, stepping closer to you to examine the chimes in your hand.

“What— are you trying to say you think he keeps coming back here because he’s in love with her?” Emily asks.

“That’s impossible,” Reid says.

“He’s a sexual sadist,” you remind her. “Can’t feel love.”

Hotch sighs. “Well, define love.”

“Chemically, it involves surging brain elements called monoamines, dopamines, norepinephrine, and serotonin,” Reid explains. “Love chemicals controlled by phenethylamine, also found in—”

“Chocolate,” Prentiss says. She sighs. “I love chocolate.”

“Ooh, me too!” you say.

“Peas, too!” Reid exclaims excitedly. “It’s also found in peas!”

“Peas?” Prentiss repeats.

“Indeed, some veritable—”

“Reid,” Hotch interrupts, holding up a hand. “Reid, stop. Please.” He raises his voice. “Spread out, everybody. Keep looking.”

“I thought it was interesting,” you tell Reid quietly, shooting him a grin.

“Hey, look over there,” Hotch says, pointing to a barn through the trees. He walks down the stairs and heads in that direction, drawing his gun. You, Prentiss, and Reid follow him.

Hotch and Reid again take the right side of the door as you and Prentiss take the left. Hotch nods over at you before shoving open the door. “FBI!”

You and Prentiss quickly follow Hotch and Reid into the barn, guns pointed in front of you. You slowly creep along the side until you reach a curtain hung in front of you. Reid glances over at you and Prentiss, making sure you’re ready before he pulls aside the curtain and steps through the opening.

Outside, you see a silver trailer, halfway covered by a tarp. Reid motions you forward as he reaches up to grab the handle of the door, pulling it open. Hotch surges forward up the steps into the trailer, with you hot on his heels. You push through the pain in your leg and step up.

Inside the trailer is a wall of sharp tools, along with a long, bloody metal table in the center.

“Jesus fuck,” you mutter as Hotch gives the all clear, holstering your weapon. “It’s his freaking murder room.”

“I thought I’d seen everything,” Hotch comments as he examines the room. He looks down beside him and tenses. “Guys.”

“What is is?” Reid and Prentiss ask at the same time.

“It’s a coffin,” Hotch replies, bending down and pulling the top open. Inside is a dead woman with blood dripping down the side of her mouth.

“Hotch!” Emily calls. “There’s another coffin over here.”

Hotch walks over to the other side and opens the second coffin. You look down to see George, her hands tied in front of her. “It’s okay,” Hotch says, reaching down and pulling her up. “Don’t try to speak, we’ve got you.”

“Thank God,” George says as Hotch carries her out of the trailer, where four or five officers are waiting. You, Reid, and Prentiss follow behind him as he sets George down and unties her hands.

Hotch looks to Reid. “Call Silo, tell her we found the sheriff.”

Reid nods and takes out his phone. He says a quick few words before hanging up and turning back to Hotch and George.

“Are you hurt?” Hotch asks her.

She shakes her head. “Jane,” she says. “Did you find Jane?”

Hotch shakes his head. “No, but we’re looking. We do know that he doesn’t have her, either, though.”

George nods and opens her mouth to say something as every officer’s phone starts to ring.

“Well, this can’t be good,” you mutter to Emily as they all fumble with their phones.

“They-they found the school bus abandoned just outside of town,” one of the officers tells Hotch, his voice shaking.

“Oh my God,” George says, standing. “Did they find the children?”

The officer shakes his head. “No.”

* * * * *

Hotch quickly drives the SUV to the diner where Gideon and Morgan are with the unsub. Reid is in the passenger seat beside him, and you’re in the middle of the back seat, between George and Emily. Hotch slams on the brakes when he gets to the parking lot. He jumps out of the car and opens George’s door for her, helping her out.

“George?” A man turns and starts running toward George as you step out of the car behind her. “George, baby?! You all right?!” The man, who you assume is George’s husband, wraps her in his arms. “Thank God.”

“He killed Tommy’s teacher,” George tells him. “Annie. She was just 22.”

Her husband pulls away to look at her. “They found the school bus abandoned, just outside of town.”

“I know, the field trip!” George exclaims. “Tommy’s supposed to be on that field trip. Where is he?”

“Safe,” her husband tells her. “He’s fine. He’s with my mom. But that man, he also killed the school bus driver.”

“How?” George asks, turning to Hotch. “We had the whole town shut down, there was no way out!”

“What was the one vehicle we weren’t looking for?” Hotch asks.

“A school bus,” Reid responds.

“More importantly,” Hotch says, “where are the children?”

You look toward the diner, where you can see Gideon talking to the unsub, who appears to be seated in a booth. “Hopefully Gideon can figure that out,” you say.

A siren sounds as a police car pulls up next to you. You and the others walk over to where an officer is stepping out of the front seat. “Sir, I found her walking the streets,” the officer tells Hotch, opening the back door to reveal Jane in the backseat.

“Jane, he’s been coming back to this town for years to see you,” Hotch tells her as she steps out of the car.

“All those years?” she repeats. “Why?”

“He says he’s in love with you.”

“He’s in love with me? Why?! I—”

“That’s what he says,” Hotch tells her.

Emily steps up to Hotch’s side. “He hides out in your old barn and he watches you,” she says to Jane. “And when he leaves, he leaves those wind chimes as gifts.”

Jane nods. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they.”

“They’re not beautiful,” you tell her, shaking your head. “They are the rib bones of people he took, tortured, and killed.”

“He is not an alien,” Prentiss says. “You were abducted by a serial killer.”

“B-but he did come for me, didn’t he?” Jane says. “Not George, he came for me! Didn’t he?” She turns to face George.

“That’s what he says,” Hotch says again.

“You told me to run,” Jane says to George. She shakes her head. “But I didn’t want to run. I wanted to see him again, to see his eyes and see his face! And I don’t know— somehow it just felt like I was coming home!”

“Jane!”

You turn your attention to where Gideon and Morgan are leading the unsub out of the diner, where he is staring at Jane.

“Oh!” Jane cries, trying to run to him, but George holds her back by her right arm as Prentiss grabs her left.

“He has the children, Jane!” George exclaims.

Silo exits the diner behind Morgan and Gideon. “He has our children.”

“And we will find them,” Morgan tells him.

“And if we don’t, they’ll die of exposure!” Silo yells, turning to George. “He hasn’t got Tommy, George, but what if he did? Hand him over!”

“Silo,” George cautions as he takes a step forward.

“What choice do we have?” he tells her.

“Not this one!” She grabs his arm.

“Tell them, Jason,” the unsub says, causing Silo and George to look at him. “Tell them I’m not interested in harming children. You’ve studied me for years. Have I ever once harmed a child?” He shakes his head, giving Gideon a sinister smile. “Does nothing for me. Give me Jane, and they’ll have their children back.”

“Is she part of this with you?” Silo asks.

“Look at her, Rick,” George tells him. “She’s not a part of anything. She’s as much his victim as you are.”

“With Jane in my life, I will never harm another human being,” the unsub says, shaking his head. Jane smiles, struggling against George and Prentiss to take a step towards him. “Leave her alone!” the unsub growls.

Silo moves closer to him and Morgan steps between them. “Hey! Don’t even think about it!” Morgan tells him.

“No matter what you do to him, he will never give you what you want,” Gideon says.

“I’m telling you, Rick,” George says. “They’ll find the children. Trust me.”

“Take me with you, Frank.” Gideon turns to the unsub— Frank, apparently. “Just you and me.”

“And my Jane?” Frank asks.

Gideon glances over at her. “You’ll take me to where the kids are?”

“Happily,” Frank says. “I couldn’t have that on my conscience.” He smiles evilly.

Gideon nods to George and Prentiss, who release Jane. She rushes to Frank’s side. “I will take a vehicle of my choice,” Frank tells everyone. “Jason will drive. Once I’m satisfied that no one is following, I will take Jason to where I have the children. He will then call.” Frank pauses. “If anyone follows, the story will end in tears.”

Gideon nods as everyone makes way for Frank and Jane. Frank leads them to one of the SUVs. Hotch tosses Gideon the keys as they enter the back and Gideon gets in the driver’s seat. He starts the car and pulls away.

“FUCK!” you yell. “I hate this!” You stomp your foot and instantly regret it as pain shoots up your still-healing leg. You almost topple over, but Emily catches you.

“I hate it, too,” she tells you quietly as the SUV turns a corner and drives out of sight.

* * * * *

It seems like you all wait hours before Hotch’s phone rings, Gideon on the other line to tell him where to find the children. Everyone makes a mad dash to their cars as you, Emily, and Reid pile in the backseat of the remaining SUV, with Hotch driving and Morgan in the passenger seat. It takes over half an hour of driving to reach the edge of the desert, where Gideon is standing by the side of the road.

“He told you where they were?” Emily asks him immediately after stepping out of the SUV.

Gideon points to the rocks behind him. “They were just over that ridge.”

“Which way did he go?” Hotch says.

“West,” Gideon replies, starting to walk in that direction. You and Hotch follow him as he follows a series of footprints through the dirt. Suddenly, he stops.

“The tracks, they disappear,” Hotch notes. You curse.

Gideon looks out into the desert. “We’ll find them.”

15 notes · View notes