#the only time tron could trust an old friend

[vppacer]

An old friend :D

Some close ups:

[evecolourshock]

Fic time :) thank you friend

The Sea has no mouth, no arms, no eyes, no senses. None of the things that its creations or the ones that visit its shores take for granted. And yet it shakes and screams and does its best to beg when the poison touches its waters, burning and stifling and so painful to a not-life that has never felt such things before.

A Champion of Grids and homes and life snaps and snarls and rages, howling with a fury it wishes it could feel, when the pain abates so it is only twitching with it. He- he wanted to protect it. To prevent this from happening to it. Through the haze of agony, it feels a swell of gratitude.

It does not detect the Champion for quite some time. Not because he has abandoned it, but because it falls dormant in an attempt to recover at least a little. Its winds whip in frenzy, its waves crash and surge, protecting it as much as it can - but the Champion passes unhindered regardless, safe from the frenzied writhing of an injured being defying comprehension.

It is almost fitting, when the next time it truly feels the presence of the Champion he too is pained and poisoned. His fingertips brush one of its tributaries, less tainted than the rest, and it puts an inordinate amount of effort into fighting its own flow so he can have just one moment's respite with as pure a source as it can give him. Energy pools and gathers, silky-smooth and as delicate as it knows how, submerging the downed Champion as much as the shallow divot he rests in allows.

It's not enough, it knows, but he seems to appreciate its efforts with a quiet murmur of thanks.

It supports him as best it can, distracting his tormentors with wild storms and deadly surges, always keeping their attention away, away, away. The Champion - Tron, it learns - melts into its tributary, building a little filter system that helps them help each other. The burning lessens gradually, and Tron can at least sometimes move around unhindered.

The first of Tron's youngsters hurts it, hurts him, and it hisses vengeance. Tron can't bring himself to End the youngster, too kind and grieving to let go of the first new face after he was hurt to show him kindness... but it has no such compunctions. If the youngster escapes the containment area, they will find no sanctuary from its winds nor relief from the poison it is all too happy to make them consume.

The second youngster is both entirely unexpected, and a welcome balm to both it and Tron. It curls around this one's feet curiously - he is clever and cunning and brash and bold, but unflinchingly loyal and ever so kind. He takes up of his own accord the installation of more little filters in as many of its tributaries as he can get to, despite not knowing it is... more aware than most assume. The increased filtering helps it purge the poison, and it excitedly shares this new wealth of energy with its two Champions - one old and stalwart, the other new and adventurous.

The second youngster's name is Beck, and his very presence makes Tron smile. It likes him.

Tron disappears in a whirl of fire and fury, and no matter how far it stretches its winds it cannot truly find him. Glimmers, glimpses, but nothing it can use to bring him back to safety.

Beck slips into its depths of his own accord, brutally damaged. Tron had told him it was safe to do so, and its younger Champion pitched himself off one of the flying crafts into its embrace on those words alone. It sings him to dormancy as best it can, a symphonic lullaby of crackles and hisses, and his eyes close with a soft, trusting smile. It cradles him close, bringing the warmth of the shallows to the chasms it hides him in, and helps him recover the way he had helped it.

The Sea waits, and seethes. Storms once again thrash the surrounding land.

Two parts of a soul drop into its depths, caught by the tide and dragged down so it can inspect them. They flicker, white and blue and poison-orange, and it is strong once again so it sends arrowing lances into them to purge the taint.

The soul shifts, melds, and it rests this part of Tron on the softest bed of sand.

A body falls from above, battered and pained and exhausted. It knows this body, has held it through countless tremors and even more nightmares, and it surges up in alarm to make sure Tron does not drown. Its Champion's helmet is cracked, and it guides his head to an air pocket deep beneath its wild waves so he can breathe. He whimpers and whines as it eases him out of the golden cage he was trapped in, settles when it gives him back his restored soul.

It moves Beck so he can rest with Tron, both of them healing in its still, warm depths. One cycle they will be strong enough to handle the trek back to the surface, to travel up past its lazy currents and rolling waves to walk along its soft beaches, to feel its playful breezes tousle their hair and carry their laughter all the way up to its soft white clouds.

But that cycle is not this one, so the Sea hunkers down and presents only thunderous storms, howling gales, and crashing surges. It will not fail its Champions again.

In Betrayal, Tron put his all to try and save the Sea of Simulation from Clu. And he was visibly shaken and angered when he failed. He snapped for the first time.

In Legacy, Tron is reborn fully freed of Clu's control in Sea of Simulation.

[prose-for-hire]

Me and You

Pairing: Faith x fem!slayer!reader

Request: Hi, could you write a faith x female reader (maybe also a slayer) story where the reader is like Faiths opposite, really responsible and serious (sorta like Kendra) and her and Faith keep squabbling but end up falling for each other? If not I completely understand, its your call, thanks :)

Requested by: Anon

A/N: I absolutely love Faith, I want her to hold me lol 💖🖤

As soon as you had been called, your life had completely slotted into place. You were a Slayer. One of the chosen ones. You had perfectly crafted a ten-point plan and highlighted all of the goals you wished to reach now that you were on this path.

You took studying very seriously, you read more than the watcher that you had been assigned. He was actually pretty hopeless, you wondered why he had been assigned to you.

But, you did respect those in authority. So, you assisted him and somehow the correct tome made its way to his desk as if by magic. You respected the status quo for the most part. The way that everyone had their place and yours was to fight vampires and other kinds of demons.

You had arrived in Sunnydale, having been told there were already two slayers there. You weren’t really used to friends and so you didn’t know what to make of them. Faith had taken one look at you and decided she knew everything she needed to know about you.

“Slayer?”

“Yes! Isn’t it a gift?”

“Yeah, the kind you return” She had rolled her eyes at you and dipped. Not needing to hear you recite the entire Slayer manual to her backwards.

As time went on, you got on with Buffy although you felt she wished you would switch off as well. But you had a duty, it was what you had trained for. You couldn’t relax for a moment, you didn’t want to.

However, you entirely didn’t get along with Faith. You were always squabbling. You infuriated each other. You never agreed. Especially not on slaying. But it ended up bleeding through into all parts of you lives.

You just couldn’t stop arguing. Sometime sit was heated and one of you had your hand curled into a fist. Other times it was stupid and petty and you both knew it, but it didn’t mean you would stop.

However, as this continued, you began to find yourself becoming increasingly attracted to her. It confused you and you hadn’t understood at first. But soon you were watching her lips as she spoke. Imagining kissing her. Having those toned arms wrapped around you.

You only snapped more at her when you realised. Didn’t want anyone to notice, much less her, the way that you felt. You had never even considered that she felt the same. And she really did.

Buffy had said you needed to patrol. There was a nest of vamps and she needed you to take the west and you would meet your patrol partner there.

She had chosen to have her actual friends with her so that she wasn’t bored and decided to pair you and Faith up on the far side from where she would be. 

“You?!” You squeaked, your voice higher in pitch than you had expected it to be.

“Yep. Just me and you” She grinned at your expression walking past you her stake in hand. You exhaled, sighing audibly in frustration as you stalked after her to catch up.

You were going to be alone together. You didn’t know if you were annoyed or elated. You couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be her girlfriend.

It took about three steps before you began to squabble again. As you usually would. Your voices had carried across the cemetery you had been walking through. It wasn’t your usual stealth. Because of how much attention you were paying each other and how engrossed in the interaction you were, no matter how heated it was getting, it meant you hadn’t noticed the vampires that were beginning to surround you.

You walked for a while until you made a left turn and suddenly found yourself surrounded. A nest of vampires were apparently a whole army of vampires.

But they had a mastermind behind them. They had rushed you, you managed to thin the herd slightly but not by enough. You and Faith retreated into an old tunnel system. You fought hard, but it was no use. You were strong but there was too many.

You had began fighting in-sync but you had soon ended up as if you were fighting your own battle. Getting in each other’s ways. You shouted at each other but it was no use.

Suddenly as more vampires could be heard running to join the fight overhead, there was a loud cracking sound above your heads. The foundations weren’t solid in this area. The ground above had caved in and left the concrete crumbling into the tunnels.

Luckily, you and Faith had been left in one half and the vampires in the other. Unluckily, you had hit a dead end and had been sealed in.

Now you were trapped. Together. Because you had been paying more attention to each other rather than the threat.

“Well, that’s one threat gone” She shrugged as you just stared incredulously. You hadn’t taken out the nest and now you were trapped. There was no good side.

“Oh yeah, well done. I could have handled it”

“You and what army, huh? You’re kiddin’ yourself” Faith shook her head at you. At the way you were so self-assured you were giving her a run for her money.

But despite her faults, of which you had pointed out many to her as she had to you, she was perceptive. She noticed something about you. She wished she could pretend she hadn’t been taking notice of you on purpose. Because of that guilty affection she harboure for you. The one she couldn’t dare name. She didn’t want to get hurt, she would rather stick to relationships with guys she didn’t care about. She only had to pretend to care for a night.

With you, it was different. To be vulnerable with you and to have you reject her. To not be affectionate with her the way she was embarrassed to admit she had dreamed about.

She didn’t usually do this. Let you see that she took notice of you, but she couldn’t help saying it.

“Not everything is you havin’ the whole world on your shoulders y’know?” she asked, her tone had changed. Almost… softened. You didn’t take care of yourself at times, she had noticed. Sacrificing yourself for your duty.

“Yeah you wouldn’t know” You snapped back at her despite the tone you had thought you caught from her. But your voice was wavering. Every second you spent trapped you began feeling worse and worse.

Faith didn’t take your snapping personally, she never did. In fact, she found herself enjoying it. Finding herself noticing the absence if you hadn’t interacted that day. Even if it was just you at each other’s throats.

It had been hours. You had both barely spoken since. You had to take your jackets off as the room began to heat up. You were beginning to sweat. Your breathing irregular. You were pacing.

“I-I can’t do this!” You suddenly shouted, “I need to get out of here!”

“Hey, y/n/n-”

“Help!” You screamed, pounding on the wall. Hoping that someone, anyone would hear you. But Faith, as you usually would, knew that this could bring threat. You were panicking so Faith clasped a hand over your mouth, muffling your shouts. You missed the way her other hand lingered on your shoulder in your panic.

She expected you to push her off but you just sort of let her hold you there. The proximity to you was agonising and your breathing was heavy. From the fear. From the way her skin felt against you.

But rather than argue, you just stopped. She moved her hands away and you moved against the wall, sliding down it to sit at the bottom on the floor.

You put your head in your hands. You didn’t like this. You were truly scared. She had never seen you this way. You were always cool. Taking everything as it came at you. You took on every duty that was expected of you.

But now you just couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t follow protocol. You didn’t want to be stuck here. Didn’t want to have to wait it out. To possibly never see the light of day.

She saw that you were scared. Genuinely scared in a way you would never usually let her see. She presumed you were so cool all of the time. A robot. Y/n the slayer-tron.

You were visibly worried. Expecting the end. She watched you for a moment, debating whether to comfort you. Before her mouth decided for her.

“Hey, don’t freak okay? B knows where we are. Her and the others’ll come” She shrugged, sitting down beside you on the floor.

But she wasn’t as sure of herself as she came across. She was being strong. For you. She had never seen you be this vulnerable before. You would never admit you were scared. But being confined here it made you rethink everything. Your very purpose.

“What if we die down here?”

“Hey, don’t sweat it, huh? It’ll be cool” she said firmly.

She looked at you for a moment, wanting to put her arms around your shoulder. Provide some kind of comfort. She couldn’t explain it. She cared about you, she had just never known how to show it. Arguing and working up a lot of sexual tension was so much easier.

“B-but it’s real, isn’t it? That we could die. That we will die… sooner than later” You never allowed yourself to think of it, much less discuss it. But this situation had gotten to you somehow. Had made you question your resolve. Your duties. How you just listened to the rules without questioning them.

This also made you incredibly guilty. You prided yourself on how seriously you took your duty. On the way you were a watcher’s dream. How you had saved the world.

It shocked her, that you would include her in your thoughts. Gave her this strange feeling. Hope. Or, a feeling that you trusted her in some sense. Could rely on her in the way she wished you would sometimes.

“Look, I don’t know about you but I’m here for the long haul. We’re good at this, we’re survivors” She offered, talking of you both as a unit. As something that appeared to meant she was by your side. That you weren’t alone in how you felt.

“Yeah, when we’re not getting ourselves trapped” You berated yourself more than her. You didn’t want to be stuck here, but you would be lying if you hadn’t imagined having her to yourself this way. In a conversation that was kind.

“Accidents happen. Me and you, we’re, uh, the ultimate team. We’re- we’re gonna get through this, right?”

“Me and you” you repeated and she nodded, smiling. As if telling you ‘that’s the spirit’. But her smile dropped a little when she saw the look you were giving her. Your lips were parted slightly and she couldn’t help scanning your face. You were so close she could map out every feature so clearly. She was making a mental picture so that she could submit it to memory.

The temperature had been rising the entire time you had been stuck there. The proximity of the way that you were sitting made those words feel intimate. You had wordlessly shifted closer as you spoke.

The meaning growing as you both leaned in. Agonisingly slowly. Heat rising around you, but you still reached for her weaving your fingers through her shiny brunette hair. She felt so good under your hands it propelled your forwards her lips were waiting. She had waited so long for this moment.

Driven herself wild with want. With the lust she had, the thoughts she had drove her crazy. That she wanted all sides of you. Even your stick-by-the-rules nature. She was fond of you. She had such deep feelings.

Your lips met. Crashing against each other in your haste. In your innate need to connect with her. Through the arguing. Through the frustration. Focusing only on her lips, the way her tongue entered your mouth urgently.

You couldn’t get over how good she tasted. How you never wanted to stop. You were addicted to her touch. To her.

But of course, you knew this already. You were only confirming it. And this was no mere kiss. Not to either of you. This was Earth-shifting. Ground breaking.

You had kissed her. She was surprised at the way you had initiated this. She didn’t expect you to actually feel the tension the way she did. But she fucking loved it.

You were hungry for more. For her. In that moment, you were willing to forget your situation. Hell, you were ready to forget every responsibility. Your very destiny. Just to keep her lips on yours. To have her reciprocate your feelings even if it was only physical for her. But it wasn’t just physical to her. This meant something.

Suddenly you heard something. A spell had broken through the barriers that had blocked you in. A flash of light and you had sprung apart. Both breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. Chests heaving. Eyes glancing towards the other, making sure it wasn’t dream.

Some guilty secret. Somehow, you both knew that wasn’t the last kiss you would share.

Your rescuers all pretended they hadn’t seen anything. But your friends were all as relieved as you, it had been about time.

[handlewcaare]

Art credit: @kajuhz

Since the time he crawled out of his grave at the laboratory, isolation was the best company he could make. Anyone who approached him with well-meaning intentions were shot down. Mistakes were bound to happen, but he would have been a fool to make the same one twice.

Once he returned to the little hole in the wall that was his agency, he ensured to keep a gun wherever was accessible for a friendly genetist. Was it paranoia? He didn’t know, but he thought he was desensitized to it all. What one man’s fatal wounds were his blisters and mild annoyances.

That had been the exact reason as to why the Association wanted him.

Several years after he retired from being a lab rat, his agency ran slow. People would hire him for small investigative work, nothing that he usually did in the golden days. It was honest work, he wouldn’t complain, finding a stalker within the bushes and seizing him got his mind off it. However, with the rapid development of caped crusaders typically found in comic books, what good was an old gumshoe?

It wasn’t until a monster had destroyed his agency that he comprehended why people regarded them as a persistent menace.

The fault was his own for leaving his agency unlocked, but after seeing years of evidence for cold cases left in ashes, his regrets immediately flourished to rage. Furor was not a typical characteristic of his, but after seeing his furniture destroyed, the maps and photographs partially charred or shredded, the malicious being only grinned at how he set down his groceries by his feet and locked the door.

The aroma of burning flesh against the lashing tongue of a conflagration never bothered him. How his muscles and ligaments were shredded under the velocity of the being’s claws never hindered his own onslaught. How he had to pry his own intenstines out from his peritoneal cavity to prevent him from tripping over it never evoked a sense of horror. He would give credit when it was due, the doctor certainly enhanced his healing factor.

As it turned out, a Griffin-like being with a flaming head was harder to swat than he anticipated. From a bucket of water, to using the fire extinguisher before bashing it’s skull with the end of the empty canister, he didn’t know how long the fight lasted until it was a new record.

Seven days. Four hours. Twenty minutes.

As someone once said, “time flies when you’re in an adrenaline rush.”

Not even after he hobbled out of the destroyed agency with the singeing aroma of salt, copper, gasoline and rotting flesh, was he greeted with the cries reserved for the victor. Gasping and cheering onlookers could only watch in wide-eyed wonder and admiration at how he stood in grotesque triumph. Being in the limelight never gave him comfort, in fact, he nearly shuffled to escape the crowd as soon as possible.

“We could use someone like you,” a man in a well-tailored suit said, “I’m part of this association and—”

“No,” a harsh refutation, he knows, but he knew better than to hand out his trust like brochures.

In spite of his protest, the intern attempted to chase after him, “but, sir! That monster was a threat level—!” Demon? Dragon? Dog? Who knew. It wasn’t until his arm, the one hanging by a thread of rotting muscle, fell off his shoulder that he was finally left be. The suppressed disgust did not go unnoticed.

“I don’t care.”

Not initially. Had it been his choice, he wouldn’t have even dreamed of being regarded as a poster boy. Since being confined in a pseudo-cage match with just about every abomination Genus could conjure, joining a group of Boy Scouts would have heightened his sensitivity to something he encountered often.

He could barely stomach analyzing a pallid, frigid reflection of himself projected onto a stranger. To envision that scarlet thread lay limp between their finger and his own—a relationship he could best describe as acquaintances—only served as an irritant he couldn’t scratch out. Though, that might have been amplified by the constant attempts to recruit him.

At this point of his life, the private investigator would resume his work. He always did, even after spending a quarter of his immortal days chained to a wall with nothing but his thoughts and his weapons to keep him company.

His last case was what prompted him to apply.

He didn’t know who hired him, but he did know that someone managed to figure out the address to his homely apartment. When asked whether he knew who the handwriting belonged to, none of them would have matched the description of the writer.

Lollipops?

The private investigator couldn’t help but be a bit dubious, but it was better than getting harassment calls and emails from interns. He read somewhere that people ate sweets to stimulate their thinking, but he just assumed it was a quick way to get a sweet tooth.

What the hell, he needed to get some coffee anyway.

As instructed, he took the public transit to Y-City. Folks were more kinder, a bit pompous, but it could have been due to the fact that he was a walking carcass that made headlines already—save for the idol hero, Anal Mask or whatever the hell his name is—but college kids were quick to point out where Doctor Hajime’s lab was. “He teaches my robotics class,” was the usual answer.

By the time he encountered the front door, he counted how many seconds he would have to escape. Chances were there was gonna be a cyborg or a robot to try and pin him down, inject him with something to make him black out. He had his machetes tucked under the collar of his shirt, his dessert Eagles were holstered at his hips and he had a handsome fire axe within the bag of lollipops and candy apples. He had time to escape, he would ensure that he would, least he opt to shove himself into the nearby wood chipper to finally do himself in.

What he anticipated from the opening door was an older gentleman, someone with a bow tie and unruly and snowy hair. His countenance would have been cobwebbed with age, his shoulders hunched to pronounce a spinal compression. Yet, he would offer a smile as dulcet and as mannerly as any other kind old man.

Instead, the private investigator was greeted with a boy with vibrant tawny eyes and a little auburn curl at the top of his crown. He had to be no older than nine years old. He couldn’t have been any taller than the door knob.

In an instant, he snuffed out his cigarette against the masonry and knelt down to the kid’s height. An instinctual response from someone who was once an uncle—father?—in a family who had long forgotten about him. “Hey kiddo,” the investigator began, “you seen where your dad went off to?”

As incredulous as the kid was, the investigator nearly assumed he went to the wrong place. That was until the boy spoke, “Considering I haven’t seen my father in nearly four years, I’m afraid not,” he paused as he offered a small, wistful smile, “but trust me, you’re not the first person to ask me that.”

Safe to assume that the child genius was much more hospitable than the private investigator was accustomed to. Then again, as he presented a lollipop to the child, those tawny eyes flourished as he hastily accepted the treat from the detective’s grasp. “Thank you, sir!”

“Don’t mention it,” whether or not he was aware of it, there was a smile that aligned.

As the two of them enjoyed their sweets, Hajime elucidated further about the technological black market. What routes they typically took and how he managed to figure out their patterns. The kid truly did have a good head on his shoulders.

“I have a hypothesis that these robots that are being trafficked underneath City W, X, Y and Z aren’t really used for security.”

“And why do you think so?”

“Well, Z-City has a lot of manifestations of monsters. If basic security-Trons were sent off to handle the threats, it would be a waste of resources. I mean, it’s carbon and bismuth—it’s elementary stuff.”

The boy paused as he used his watch as a hologram to present the blueprint of one of the robots. The private eye wasn’t exactly ‘technologically savvy,’ but Hajime called it ‘basic’ so he would just have to take his word for it.

“But that’s not what caught my attention,” he elucidated, as the boy extended his fingertips, the robot’s physique separated by segments of its parts. When he pointed toward a certain adapter, the private investigator couldn’t help but furrow his brows a bit.

“That’s a cranial nerve implant.”

Hajime paused, as if he had fully prepared an exasperative and long-winded statement, “you’ve encountered them before?”

When implored, he suppressed the urge to visibly quake under the phantasmic impulses of electricity that had once trailed down the expense of his brain stem. It was a way to analyze how fast he developed increased intracranial pressure, he remembered Genus saying.

“Friend was a doc,” a decent lie that Hajime seemingly overlooked, though the private investigator felt an acrimonious taste in his mouth. “She said something about how it’d use electricity to wake up dead nerves.”

His russet glare narrowed as he brought a hand to caress his own chin, “thought they’d still be in development...”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” For a moment, the boy’s joviality made him appear exactly his age.

Ah- now it’s starting to make sense.

“From what I know, Z-City has monsters just about every corner,” the investigator began. His baritone suddenly lost it’s intrigue once he mentally assembled the puzzle pieces the best he could. “With monsters, people tend to be more scared than they should be. What do you think being scared means?”

The boy’s eyebrows raised, “they’re paranoid?”

“And—?”

“They...” while it was easy to assemble a mechanical enigma to guard civilians, it was harder to provide a baseline to something as fluctuating as human response. Hajime eventually restored to shrugging his shoulders, “...they’re desperate?”

With that, the private investigator pressed a finger to the tip of his nose before he pointed at Hajime. “Desperate people tend to do stupid. If I’m a single father living in Z-City, you think turning into the terminator wouldn’t be my go-to?”

Such analysis didn’t seem to satisfy the boy. Whether or not it was a challenging diatribe, it was enough of a refutation to make the investigator think a bit, “but you know it’s permanent right? I mean, the cranial nerves aren’t exactly something you want to tamper with, especially if those implants can get into your cerebrum and alter you entirely.”

“Well, you—the kid genius—might know that,” he deflected easily, “but what about me? I’m a single father with a degree in underwater basket weaving. Do you think they taught me about cranial nerves while I was trying to make a basket?”

One could hear a pin drop until the boy piped up, “I mean- if you’re scuba diving and you’re weaving the basket—”

“Just finish your lollipop, kiddo.”

Several weeks had passed when they finally traced a call to one of the robotic manufacturers. It was certainly much more handy than to thread scarlet yarn along what tabs had pinned photographs. Then again, doing things the old fashioned way made old habits die hard.

Needless to say, the private eye could understand the boy’s fascination with his toy-like projects. From a giant action figure he kept buried within the depths of the earth to the robot dogs that served as a pseudo-trump card, it was like assembling legos for him. As the two of them took the public transit to Z-City, the two of them settled into a comfortable silence, save for Hajime’s need to tamper with a Rubik’s cube.

Unlike the other Alphabet cities, the ambiance around Z-City felt calloused and empty. It was but the abyss that stared upon them once they left the transit and it gave the private eye an eery sensation that crept along his vertebrae. It must have been that paternal instinct.

“Stay close to me,” he cautioned, though he should have known better that Hajime didn’t like to be talked down to.

“I can take care of myself.”

“—and if I can’t take care of myself?”

Reverse psychology seemed to do wonders, as Hajime’s vanity subsided for the need to have his partner’s back. Should anyone ask, the detective wouldn’t admit the presence of his little smile.

The call had declared that the deal would be set in the alley nestled next to a udon stand and an apartment complex. It was an easy hole in a wall and, considering how the civilian was late, he and Hajime had to play their part. Between himself and no one in particular, he preferred it that way. The last thing he wanted was for someone to die in front of the boy.

“Oi,” the thuggish chirp resounded from the maw of a strange man who looked mechanically modified. His brows were too close to his eyes, accenting a crueler look. The detective fought every urge to usher Hajime behind him. “You Hammerhead?”

He silently reprimanded himself for not bringing a hammer.

“Yeah,” the detective’s response was nonchalant, a lethargic drawl that could have remained hidden within a thick penumbra of nicotine.

“Who’s the brat?”

“Mine,” short and concise, though he let his russet gaze nearly puncture into the dealer, “you want the money or should I show you my wedding photos?” He went in too eager, though that was exactly the point with desperate people. Fortunately, the dealer turned out to simply comply at the mention of money.

“Seven thousand yen.”

It was agreed upon with a shaky baritone by the real customer prior. However, it was a game that the detective often played prior to meeting Dr. Genus. Once he began to thumb his fingers along the bills in his pocket, the dealer swiftly interjected the detective’s counting.

“I-I meant Seventy thousand!”

“Oh?”

Seventy thousand it was that was instantly slapped into the dealer’s hand. However, there was hardly a moment when the dealer abruptly seized the detective’s arm and held him hostage at gunpoint.

Needless to say, one should never underestimate the strength of a man who wanted to make civilians into cyborgs. With an irritated sigh, the immortal felt his head jerk to the side as a bullet pierced through his temporal lobe. Albeit, the moment his body should have sprawled limp was the instant he seized his machete and took a blind swipe. What astonishment and pure horror from the mechanical marvel only wrought a hand to catch the blade.

Fortunately, the fist that veered to deck the detective never came to deliver. Rather, a tendril that emerged from Hajime’s backpack seized the mechanical marvel’s appendage into a tight lock. It was but a split second when the detective retrieved the machete’s twin and severed the appendage.

“Shit—!” The hydra hydrolauics swiftly seized ahold of the being and attempted to suspend him in the air. Hajime’s hands braced tight to his backpack’s straps, though the dealer proved to be a formidable foe, as he laconically wrapped his free arm around a tendril to toss the brat.

Safe to say that the detective prioritized catching the kid than the dealer. Both had landed with a harsh grunt against the asphalt before the detective hastily retrieved his desert Eagle and fired. Once again, it was a null chance, given how he was abruptly seized by his throat and tossed through the brick masonry of the neglected library.

What sanguine from the brunt trauma coagulated and the flesh wounds he sustained, he could only instinctively block the blow from the mechanical marvel. Regular fisticuffs was a fond favorite of his, typically because of how seldom he did it. What reciprocating strike had been enough to swivel his head evoked him to land a brutal bite of his axe into where his opponent should have been.

“Mr. Detective!”

It was but a moment that the private eye peered over to see Hajime with a snapped tendril, it’s cobwebs of electricity was a big enough hint for him. The instant he distanced himself, the dealer had not a moment to abstain when his back arched under the brutal conduction of carbon and lightning. His howl was guttural, ripping through the empty ambiance before he collapsed at their feet.

What should have been a victorious high-five was but a dreadful beat of anticipation. Hajime could only stare down at the beaten villain, “did I kill him...?” His murmur was rather hushed, as monsters were not the same as modified humans.

For the sake of the boy’s anxiety, the detective brought the tip of his shoe to budge the dealer. The somnolent twitch of his countenance wrought a sense of relief to weigh into the boy’s sigh.

The private investigator offered a high-five for the boy to make. The gesture was slow, as if cautious, but the kid genius managed to reciprocate it. “You did good,” he didn’t know it then, but it was a compliment that Hajime would hold to his heart later.

On taking the transit back to City-Y, the detective opted to intervene the silence. An odd thing for him to do, but it was just them and a few others coming home late.

“So, your parents—” it might have been too sensitive of a subject, but he opted to continue, “—did they uh...” it would have been easy to assume they did die. After all, it was how every hero was sculpted.

Hajime only shook his head, “no,” he said before he retrieved a little Rubik’s cube from his backpack. His fingers fidgeted the slots as his hazel gaze lingered toward the trinket, “I mean, they’re overseas. They send me birthday cards sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” The private investigator couldn’t help but raise a brow at that.

“When they remember.”

Had the private investigator known about Hajime’s profession outside of being a teacher then, he would have been more than happy to demand what the hell was more important than their own kid. Did they know he was handled by suits who depended on currency than their own workers? Even if one of them—two if he counted Badd later—was a child?

Even if he didn’t know it, his furor was quiet enough to make him try to huff out a sigh. His jaw clenched along the curses he would have hissed under his breath when no one was around. Fortunately, Hajime was a quick study.

“What about you?” He must have thought it was a witty comeback, considering how his nose wrinkled a bit, “where’d your parents go?”

“Can’t say I remember,” he knew he had them, but he didn’t know what he did with them. Were they around when he died the first time? Longer? All he could afford to do was wander aimlessly as a phantom without a shell. “Been around since the A.D’s.”

“The A.D.’s??”

As it turned out, Hajime was fascinated with history. The boy’s queries seemed to be rapid fire initially, such as whether or not Shakespeare was a real person (he was), how far has technology gone (far enough), or if the crusades were as brutal as written (it was, but he never had the pleasure in fighting in the wars). The boy’s excitement seemed to tucker him out quickly unfortunately.

Just as the private investigator began to describe what Feudal Japan was like, Hajime nodded off and slumped against the detective’s shoulder. Their stop only prompted him to gingerly scoop the boy up into one arm and carry his—surprisingly dense—backpack with the other. Fortune came in technological wonders, as the lab seemed to unlock its hinges at the presence of their creator’s facial recognition.

The time was late when he finally tucked the boy into bed. Hajime’s backpack slumped against the masonry. There was a strange and phantasmic ache at the base of the detective’s chest, something he hadn’t really felt since he last died.

Prior, he often wondered if it was better to be alone or to try and have a family. He was told he was good with kids by their parents who would hire him to find them. To imagine himself as a father was frightening nowadays, as he could envision that bastard trying to pick up his kids for experimentation.

With Hajime safely in bed, the detective’s thoughts drifted to the newspaper that detailed the triumphs of S-Class Hero Child Emperor against the dreadful turnip monster that interrupted his robotics cla—

...They seriously named the kid “Child Emperor” huh?

The detective contemplated on the transit home just as hard as he was contemplating it back home. His glare lingered toward the shredded up business card. It took every increment of his pride to collect the pieces, but the heroes association weren’t exactly child-friendly.

Did that mean he couldn’t try to do better? For the first time, he felt a sense of balance when handling the dealer. His agency was going to go nowhere and he needed the money, that wasn’t including the fact that Hajime would have ended up, perhaps, the only sensible person there.

he hated being right at times.

He needed to do better, not for the sake of spiting Genus, but to be better for himself.

After he called the intern’s number, he waited until there was a ‘hello?” At the other end of the line.

“Hi,” he says, “I’d like to file a hero application. Do you mind walking me through the process?”

[hello-robin-goodfellow]

TOP 20 DAVID WARNER ROLES (PART II)

10º Ivan Petrovich ‘Vanya’ Voynitsky (Performance: Uncle Vanya, 1991)

Warner leads in this 1991 televised production of one of the most famous Anton Chekhov plays. Ivan Petrovich (Uncle Vanya for his niece Sonya) is a more then sad and angry man, who sacrificed dreams of love and intelectual success to administrate a cottage of wich provide money to his brother in law, an old professor called Serebryakov (Ian Bannen) that does nothing but look down upon him, all the while being favoured by Vanya’s own mother. Making matters worst, Vanya is one of the two man who is in love with the professors wife, Yelena (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio). Two days of a family reunion mostly consisting of verbal fightings eventually makes all the tension that acumulates in Vanya’s mind eventually explode.

09º Konstantin Treplev (The Seagull, 1968)

The younger spiritual predecessour of Ivan Petrovich. Konstantin Treplev is an aspiring writer, who wishes to find a new style to talk about dreams, receiving praises from his mother (veteran actress Arkadina, played by Simone Signoret) and the love of the beautifull aspiring actress (Vanessa Redgrave). But the popularity of the best-selling writer Boris Trigorin (James Mason) and Konstantin’s problems to directly comunicate his feelings eventually make him fall down a tragic spiral of loneliness.

08º Bob Cratchit (A Christmas Carol, 1984)

Interestingly, when this 1984 adaptation of A Christmas Carol, Warner was first invited to play Jacob Marley. But he asked to play Bob Cratchit instead. And we all must be glad that he did, because he gives a very wholesome performance, that makes anyone wish to have him as a father figure.

07º Keith Jennings (The Omen, 1976)

In this aclaimed 1976 horror film, Warner’s character is a photographer, whose only job was to registrate the birthday party of the rich child of the american embassador (Gregory Peck) until a series of strange accidents start to kill people who knew that child or his relatives. Intrigued, Keith Jennings starts to investigate, and decides to form a duo with the american embassador, filling the role of the more proactive lancer to the mostly passive protagonist. One of David Warner’s most iconic good guy roles ever putt on the big screen.

06º Merlin (The Wizard, 2013 and The Once and Future King, 2014)

The two years in a row when David Warner played one of the most iconic wizrd mentor figures in mithology and pop culture. In 2013′s comedic short film The Wizard, Warner plays a Merlin that wakes up in modern times and is starting to adapt in a office work, while his colleagues try to adapt to his magic quirks. And in the BBC Radio 4 six episode drama The Once and Future King (adapted by Brian Sibley, the same guy who adapted the 1981 Lord of the Rings radio drama, from the novel series by T. H. White), where Merlin’s spirit sits alongside Arthur in the final battle for a conversation, we see how his Merlin could have acted in the past alongside King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, providing wise counsels with a bit of a snarky sense of humour and melancholy. Those works are two “must check out” for David Warner fans and for fantasy and arthurian mithology fans.

05º The Evil One (Time Bandits, 1981) and Ed Dilinger/Comander Sark/Master Control Program (Tron, 1982)

Yes, number five is a tye. Those two movies camed in a row, and in both David Warner played technology themed villains. In the first, Time Bandits, he is implied to be the Devil himself, and as such is portrayed as very powerfull and in control during most of the movie. In the second, Tron, Warner gives a triple performance: as the human Ed Dilinger and the program Comander Sark, he believes he is in control, but in reality is not. The real power is hold by Warner’s third character, the Master Control Program of the videogame. This transiction from a more simple one-and-all-powerfull antagonist to a more complex dinamic of a trio of antagonists was, for a lot of people, the introduction to Warner’s acting range, and for this reason it appears as a tye in this ranking.

04º The Doctor (Sympathy for The Devil, 2003 and Masters of War, 2008)

In the late 1970s, the BBC camed to search David Warner with an offer for him to play the Doctor in the main Doctor Who BBC Television series. He was interested, but unfortunally his filming schedule conflicted in working more them one season into a long-running TV Show, so he had to put the offer down. It was only in the 2000s, after the founding of the audio-drama company, that we would get a grasp of his portrayal of the Doctor, in the what-if scenarios provided by two episodes of Doctor Who Unbound: Sympathy for The Devil and Masters of War. In those audiodramas, he plays a alternate encarnation of the Third Doctor that is sent to Earth in 1997 instead of 1969, and thus could not help U.N.I.T with the Alien Invasions that happen in the 1970s. Thus, he finds a retired and pub-owning version of Brigadier Lethbridge Stewart, and has to relearn to gain his thrust, until the two become companions of adventures that investigate new alie threads indepedently of U.N.I.T 

Warner’s Doctor is a bit less quirky encarnation of the character, having instead a more pratical temperment. He sees the danger, and he goes straight to investigate how to stop it, all the while trying to keep the people around him calm. And later he will make a comment about neading more conforting and fitting shoes. 

This is a Doctor that you would surely trust to keep your life safe. 

03º Lisander (A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 1968)

A production that made a lot of millenials become Shakespeare fanboys, and they own this in part to David Warner’s performance as Lisander, one of the most romantic (if a bit bumbling) Shakespeare protagonists. Seeing the moments when he conforts and encourages his beloved Hérmia (Helen Mirren) and makes a mess of himself when he is enchanted to fall for Helena (Diana Rigg) is one of the most fun rides that an audience will ever get. Seriously, his Lisander was adorkable before the word ‘adorkable’ even existed.

02º Henry VI (The Wars of The Roses, 1965)

From a fun and very popular Shakespeare protagonist, to a heart-breaking and very underrated protagonist. For years i was one of several people who did not care for the Henry VI plays as it cared for its famous sequel, Richard III.

This all changed when i watched this 1965 televised production of the Wars of the Roses, that condenses the four plays in a way that makes it more accessible for audiences. Once again, this was helped in a big part by the performances of the cast.

David Warner was only 24 years old during this production, and had to cary the role of the vulnerable Henry VI from his youth to his old age and eventual murder by Richard III. 

And in my opinion, he carried it brilliantly. This was the sign that a very versatile actor would have a very long career.

And my number one David Warner role is...

01º Morgan Delt (Morgan: A Suitable Case for Treatment, 1966)

Henry VI stablished David Warner as a lead in theater and television. Now it was time to stablish him as the lead in film. And they did exactly that when casting him in the role of Morgan Delt, a painter who grew up mixing a familiar comunist education with an obsession with animals (particularly gorilaz) and is frustratred with his divorce of his socialite wife Leonie (Vanessa Redgrave), who is about to marry Jack Napier (Robert Stephens), art merchant and Morgan’s previous best friend. While trying every crazy squeam to take his wife back, Morgan must take on a journey to mature, so he can his wife go and be happy and he can recouver his career. But until this happens, transitioning from the sweet and romantic to the angry and scary, for Morgan, taking bombs home and wearing ridiculous gorila suits it is. 

For showing the range between scary villain and simpathetic hero that would be his trademark on years to come, and providing loud laughs mixed with an interesting commentary on masculine insecurity and entitlement, is that Morgan Delt is my favorite David Warner role. 

@amalthea9​ @superkingofpriderock​

[mewtwowarrior]

Now that I've got the second draft of that section of Ark’s backstory out of the way and I’ve rewatched Tron: Uprising, I’ve finally figured out how to resolve the end of this particular part of her story.

I thought of this when I couldn’t sleep and I typed it on my phone, so it’s pretty rough around the edges. The part I wrote yesterday has been in my mind for months, so it’s had way longer to cook than this part has, so this part isn’t nearly as polished.

I feel like it’s pretty clunky, but, at least I wrote something and got it out there. I can definitely edit and rewrite it later to make it better.

-

First drafts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 

Second drafts: Part 1 | Part 2 version 1 (you are here) | Part 2 version 2

Final draft: Combined Parts

-

Over time, Beck and Tron encounter Ark again and again. Each time she shows up, they mark her location and a pattern starts to become clear.

All of the places she's appeared at are starting to make a circle around an area.

It's clear that she's being used to lead them into a trap, but there's no telling when the final step will be.

Tron gestures at the map, "If we can figure out where she's leading us before she gets there." Beck realizes where he's going with this and adds, "We can spring the trap before they set it."

From there, the plan is put into motion. They split up, going into the city separately, but still close together. One of them will fight Ark when she shows up, while the other one discretely follows her when she flees. They have to be careful, as if the Occupation figures out that they know what the plan is, then they'll have time to set the trap.

Ark finds Tron first, so Beck gets into position, ready to quietly pursue her back to her headquarters.

When she takes off, Beck stays close behind on a parallel track, trying to keep from being noticed.

As soon as she starts to slow down, Beck does as well, hanging back to observe.

When he spots her go into a building, he memorizes the location and heads back to meet up with Tron to report in.

With the location now known, they start to put together a plan. Ark always waits a while before showing up again, so if they strike shortly after she appears and retreats, they should be able to go in and grab her without grabbing the attention that would be there once the Occupation's trap is set.

So, they wait, preparing everything they need. With Ark being rectified, she's not going to come along willingly, so they plan on taking several different ways of subduing her.

Like usual, Ark shows up again, they fight her and she retreats. But, this time, shortly after she does so, they follow after her.

The building is large, so once they sneak in, it's a tricky matter of finding where exactly she's at.

Beck knows the floor that prisoners have been on in other Occupation strongholds, so they head there first.

The floor is dark and nearly empty, except for one holding cell that has an active barrier.

As they get closer, it's clear that the prisoner is Ark, who is blankly standing in the middle of the cell.

Even as Beck quickly deactivates the barrier, Ark doesn't react in the slightest.

Despite this, Tron quietly uses a low voltage stun device to knock her out and scoops her up, carrying Ark in his arms.

Beck leads the way back, but as they near their chosen exit, they're stopped by Paige.

"You! What are you doing here?" She notices the scarred and unconscious program in Tron's arms, "What did you do to her?"

Beck shook his head, "We didn't do anything." Tron cleared his throat, and Beck hastily added, "Okay, we knocked her unconscious, but that's it. The Occupation did the rest. We're just trying to help her, she's the only reason why we're here."

Paige eyed the two masked programs with matching circuits, weighing her options. As a medic, she wanted that program to get help, but as a member of the Occupation, she couldn't trust these Renegades. She doubted that the Occupation had done this damage to their own program, but it was strange for the Renegades to risk kidnapping a low-rank soldier she had never seen before. That, and if this program was important enough, there was likely some kind of tracking device on her. If the Renegades brought her back to their base, then the Occupation could track them to their lair. Letting them go could be a win-win situation, but she had to make it look legit.

She drew her disc and went after the closest Renegade, "I don't know why you'd help somebody on my side."

Beck quickly blocked her attack and yelled to Tron, "Go! We're almost there, I'll catch up!"

Ark in hand, and trusting Beck, Tron left him to his battle.

Beck and Paige fought back and forth, until Beck saw his opening and just ran for it, disappearing into the city.

Tron was aware that there might be some sort of way the Occupation could track Ark, so him and Beck had set up a temporary base in the city.

Once Ark was secure, Beck got to work inspecting her disc, "I'm not sure how much I can do, but it won't hurt for me to give it a look."

He took off her disc and attached his wrench to it. To his surprise, it worked much like when he used it on a light cycle. Unfortunately, everything looked far different than he was used to.

There seemed to be layers of code, the top, and easiest to get to, was the Occupation code, but, underneath that, a few parts from the original code seemed to be coming up.

Tilting his head, Beck touched one of the older pieces of code to see what would happen.

Both him and Tron watched in horror as it showed them shaky and scattered memories of Ark being tortured.

Beck looks away, "The scars...these memories, they kept them with her for a reason."

Tron narrowed his eyes, "Likely so that she'd know what would happen if she disobeyed or failed."

Beck shook his head, "Maybe there's something else we can use to bring her back... Hey, she responded when you said her name, I wonder if there's some memory that it activates."

Tron looked over at Ark, "She's still out, so we'll have to try that later."

Beck nodded and continued poking around Ark's disc. After a while, he shook his head, "Something's wrong, but I'm not sure what. Things just aren't connecting how they look like they should be..."

That thought got put on hold as Ark started to wake up and stare straight ahead.

Tron nodded to Beck, then walked around to stand in front of Ark.

Beck got Ark's disc display back to the main area, then nodded to Tron.

Tron spoke quietly to her, "Ark, you're safe now, you're not with the Occupation any more."

Her eyes widened at this for a moment, but then her expression became blank once again.

But, that moment was enough. When she seemed to recognize Tron, a new file popped up and he activated it before it disappeared.

It was an older memory, from back when she was a System Monitor. Apparently, she had just finished an assignment, and Tron was praising her for a job well done.

Beck looked up at Tron, "She must really think a lot of you."

Tron nodded quietly, not saying anything.

Beck drops the topic and continues looking around Ark's disc. After a while, he sighs, "I'm not getting anywhere. I think we need a medic, but, the only one I know of works for the Occupation."

Tron sighs, "If we can't figure something out, we might have to go that route."

Beck nodded, asking Paige to help wasn't exactly an option, but what else could they do?

They took turns staying with Ark and going out into the city.

During one of Beck's outings, Paige is the one that found him. She grabbed him and pulled him aside, "Renegade, how's that friend of yours?"

Beck blinked, "Funny you should ask, there's something wrong with her disc, I think she needs a medic."

Paige looked at the masked program before her, if she played this right, the Renegade could lead her right to his hiding spot.

"If you'll trust me, I can give her a look."

Beck thinks this over, then nods, "Follow me."

Paige couldn't believe what was happening, everything was falling into place.

Beck took her right into their current base, she looked around, "Is this where you've been hiding all along."

He snorted, "You know I can't answer that."

Paige shrugged, "It was worth a try."

The temporary lair was sparse and Beck took her the shortest route to where they were keeping Ark.

Paige found the scene unnerving, the restrained program was just staring off blankly, "...Is she always like this?"

Beck nodded, "Most of the time."

Paige frowned, growing concerned for what that could mean about what happened to this program.

There wasn't time for that, though, she had a job to do.

"So, what do you know about her disc?"

Beck takes off Ark's disc and holds it out to Paige, "The Occupation's programming has taken over most of it. There's a few older memories here and there, but, for the most part, all of her original programming seems to be suppressed. But, the Occupation programming seems to have some odd connections. There's something missing or wrong, but I don't know enough to tell you what that could be."

Paige nods and takes a look for herself, everything seemed to be as Beck said. She avoided the memories for now, there was no need to be sentimental.

The more she saw of the modified disc, the more uncomfortable she was at the idea that the Occupation had done this to this program.

She tried to not think about it as she looked for the problem.

The programmed was bypassing something, but what? Finally, she found the answer in a severely burnt out energy processor.

There wasn't much that could do that kind of damage and on a hunch, she went to look at the memory fragments to see if they revealed the answer.

She got more than one answer, as she saw an Occupation program torturing the restrained program with bursts of electricity.

Even after the memory's playback ended, Paige stared at the disc. The Renegades had been right, the Occupation had done this to this program. But, why?

There's no answers in this memory cluster, and the only other one is far too old to be related.

With a look of determination, Paige went back to the damaged energy processor and slowly repaired it. It's not something she's done often and the work is somewhat tricky, so it takes a while.

Once that's done, she resyncs the disc to the program and takes a break.

Beck doesn't know what she's doing and thinks she's finished, "Thank you for your help."

"I'm not done yet. My patient still has code preventing her from functioning normally."

Beck was surprised at this, but his expression was completely hidden behind his mask.

Paige spends some time thinking over the challenges that await her with the overridden disc, she's never encountered a problem quite like this.

Once she's ready, she goes back at this disc again. She watches the older memory with Tron, but it contains no answers.

She digs through all the code and files, poking and prodding methodically, learning how the overlaid code works with everything.

Paige looks at different options and settings, she thinks she finds a solution when she spots that the newer code is set to default. However, she can't turn it off and reactivate the older code.

Grumbling in frustration, she investigates a few different things before turning to the bypass that was added to go around the damaged energy processor.

She tries a few different things before connecting it to the remaining older memories.

Going back to the defaults, she found that this extra connection had opened up the options.

Working quickly, she set the original programming to be the main and deactivated the newer code bit by bit, locking it out.

When she's done, Paige double-checks her work, then hands the disc to Beck. "This should fix her. There's still...unwanted code, but it shouldn't cause any more problems. I have to go."

She quickly and quietly leaves, she's got a lot to think about.

Beck looks to Tron, "That went better than I expected."

Tron deactivated his helmet with a frown, "That is, if this works."

Beck removed his helmet as well, "I think it will. She seemed like she wanted to help and was shaken by what the Occupation did to Ark."

Tron nods, "I hope you're right."

He walked over to stand in front of Ark, "Go ahead and sync her disc."

Beck gives him a nod and places Ark's disc on her dock.

It takes some time for the extensive changes to take place, but, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, her eyes flickered as the sync finished up.

Ark looks around in confusion, but sees Tron standing in front of her.

She gasps, "You were right, it was a trap. I'm sorry." The waves of memories keep coming, "Wait...the last thing I remember is they did something to my code...and then it all went dark. You fixed me?"

Beck came around and stood next to Tron. Tron put his hand on his shoulder, "A friend of Beck's was able to repair what the Occupation did to you."

Ark smiled, "Thank you. Judging by your circuits, we've got the same job, so I think we're going to get along."

Beck returned her smile, "I think we will, too."

Tron goes around and releases Ark from her restraints, "We've all got a lot of catching up to do."

[aliceslantern]

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 20--Zexion

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo continues to play into Xehanort's hands, and finds an old ally in the process.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

It took time to earn Xehanort’s trust--perhaps too much. But then again, considering Ienzo had suffered “twelve years of indoctrination with propaganda”, it was surprising the man began to trust him at all.

Two weeks after his initial arrival at the castle, his milk dried up completely, an ache so intense he felt it inside of his still-deadened magic. Amalia would be six weeks old. His arms felt so empty without her. He hoped that she was safe, healthy, that Demyx was with her. He had to believe this for his sanity.

Ienzo had to be clever. He was shocked at how easily deception came to him--deception that had never been used to do anything more than hide when Even sought him. He pretended to take an intense interest in “Ansem”’s research. And to be honest, he was interested, but not in the way he let on.

“Darkness is intrinsic in every heart,” the man told him. Ienzo was joining them for meals now. “If we can draw out that darkness… we can give people power. Help them shed their bonds of tyranny.”

“But it seems there’s some kind of transmutative property to darkness which is mostly unpredictable,” Ienzo said carefully. “How do you plan on controlling that?”

“I have several tests running which may illuminate such things,” Ansem said, and elaborated no more.

Ienzo swallowed. “I see. Perhaps you may… let me see some of this research. I wonder if my power might provide some sort of… insight.” He continued to eat, as casually as possible.

“Perhaps,” he said. “I’m sure its absence must make you feel blind. You do understand why we had to do things this way, yes?”

Ienzo smiled. “Of course. Were I in your shoes I’m sure I would’ve done the same.” He decided to take the risk. “What… did you do, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Ansem grinned back. “Placed a limiter upon you,” he said. “A self-replicating injectable. Given time… I’m sure my father would consent for you to receive its antidote.”

Ienzo tried not to show his horror. “Quite.”

Once a week or so, Xehanort requested an “audience” with Ienzo. He seemed to be selecting places he thought would be most important to Ienzo; the gardens, the main library, his father’s study. And they were; seeing how they had been perverted seemed like a personal slight. But Ienzo had to be cordial, polite, accommodating. Instead he forced himself to thank him for allowing him this much “freedom.”

They were being served tea in the rose garden one afternoon. It was a bit too cold to be outside, and Ienzo hadn’t been given a coat, just a sweater. There were two heaters hovering around, but they didn’t do much.

“I must thank you for your patience,” Xehanort said smoothly. “I know this must not be easy for you, to be treated a prisoner in your own home.”

“I thought I was a…” He took a deliberate pause here. “Guest.”

Xehanort chuckled. “A guest in a locked, warded walk-in closet?”

“...Your words, not mine.”

He picked up his cup. True to Lydia’s word, all of his family preferred things dark, sour, and bitter; Ienzo wondered if they could not taste well due to the darkness. “I would like nothing more than to allow you run of the castle, to give you quarters more… suitable for someone of your status.”

“But you don’t trust me.”

“My sons don’t trust you,” Xehanort said. “ I think you were a little boy misled by people who supposedly cared about you. No. You have been nothing but tolerant of how we’ve treated you, questioning nothing.”

“Over the intervening years… I’ve been treated worse,” he said pleasantly. It was time to lie, and lie big.

This got his attention. “Have you, my dear prince?”

“Oh, yes. Quite often we’ve stayed in… places of ill repute, in cities crawling with danger. My guardians… coddled me endlessly, would not allow me the freedom to make my own choices. They said it was for my safety.” He tutted. “But do they truly wish for me to be king, if I am not allowed to make choices? Or am I… a puppet?”

Xehanort’s face organized itself into something he must’ve thought pity. “What would you have chosen, then?” he asked. “Xemnas said you were rather distraught, that night, when Even was injured.”

“Isn’t any child distraught when seeing violence for the first time? I did care about him then,  I won’t lie.”

“Do you, now?”

Ienzo sighed. “I’m sure your son must have told you stories of their years working together. Even is… hard to read. It’s hard to tell what he wants, what his intentions truly are. He is quite a master manipulator, Xehanort. I don’t know what I should believe.”

Xehanort smiled widely. “I think you’re allowed to decide what you believe now, child.”

Hook, line, sinker.

---

Soon after, Ienzo was moved from that small, enclosed room to his old bedroom. Seeing it was like a small gut-punch of memory. Had this space always been so open, the bed so exposed? It was smaller than he remembered, but larger than anywhere else he’d stayed in all this time. The bed was a king, four-poster, neatly made in violet silk, thin curtains tied back to each post. There was a large white marble fireplace with flowers carved all along it, a small chaise nearby. A sitting room adjoined this space, with a writing desk, a table to take his meals, three of the walls lined with bookshelves and storage; the fourth was mostly windowed. The bathroom, too, seemed large and exposed, too much light. Admittedly it was much more comfortable to wait in these rooms. At least he had the luxury of pacing, of books.

As much as he could, Ienzo researched. It seemed like a lot of the textbooks his father had given him had been removed, leaving spaces like missing teeth. Books about the science and theory behind magic… the fairy tales.

Time was passing.

His longing for his daughter and Demyx only seemed to be getting stronger. He knew he was missing the small moments, the important ones, moments crucial to her development. He didn’t even have the peace of his pendant, considering he’d taken it off that evening before bed. Being polite, kind to them--especially the youngest--was wearing. More than once he cried in the shower, and now and again there was the fleeting thought of what it might feel like to “fall” out the window. But it was never more than a passing impulse. He would see Amalia again, even if it killed him. He repeated it to himself, constantly, a manta. He would hold her, smell her. Play with her.

But Ienzo played into their palms wonderfully. He expressed curiosity about darkness, he yes’ed them to death when it came to their ideals. He complimented “Ansem”. When Xehanort offered him the new “name,” he knew it was a major sign of trust. Still, hearing that clunky X thrown into the name he had chosen so carefully felt like another stab to the self.

He needed to get down to the lab, desperately, but the few times he asked he was so politely told no. Ienzo took vociferous notes of whatever he was told, carving them between the lines of his storybooks. He left thin pencil leads among the spines to see if anyone was snooping through his things; it seemed like they weren’t, as they never broke.

He needed his power back. If he had his power, he could sneak down into the lab. There were no other computers connected to the OS that had Tron; he checked as soon as he was allowed to, but the computers Ienzo could access just had the basic office programs, editing programs, things of that ilk, as well as the Internet. Using that, too, was just about useless; he knew that Even had likely taken them off the grid again. And all social media was blocked, preventing him from getting any messages to any of his other friends. He wondered about physical letters. Maybe Lydia might pass something on for him? But he didn’t quite trust her yet, either, despite the fact that she seemed to be his devoted maid, and she hadn't exposed the fact he'd had a child. If he had the power, he could sense her intentions. Everything hinged on performing well enough to get the magic back.

Fall deepened into winter. He’d forgotten what these coastal winters were like, wind howling against the windows, making every room freezing despite the double-paned windows and the fireplaces.

Every now and again Xehanort, or one of his sons, would not-so-subtly pry for information about Ansem, about the resistance. Ienzo told them the rare truth in this case; he had no idea where Ansem was or what he was up to. He also said that Even had refused to tell him anything about the resistance. He kept his answers as consistent as possible, fully aware this was why they kept asking.

It seemed that several things happened in quick succession. “Ansem” deigned to give him his power back; Xehanort wanted to reintroduce him to the public; and someone else he’d nearly forgotten entered his life.

“You’ve been gracious,” Ansem told him. “My father agrees that there’s no point in suppressing your power further, lest we cause it undue harm.”

So Ienzo was led downstairs, so temptingly close to that lab, was laid onto a narrow gurney and strapped down. “What are--”

Ansem started an IV. “The serum works theoretically . But I don’t know for sure how it reacts inside a human body. This is… mostly for your own safety. Can’t have you falling and hitting that precious head of yours.”

Was that sarcasm?

“Don’t you trust me, Zexion?” Ansem purred. “There. Now be a good boy and try not to move.”

Something cold and stinging entered the port Ansem had placed in his hand; it felt like ice water being injected inside Ienzo’s veins. He jerked without meaning to.

“Stillness, boy.”

The cold crept down all along his body, a sharp shattering pain. Ienzo wondered briefly if he were simply being poisoned before he felt a heaviness in the pit of his being, something being lifted and dragged out of him. The serum made his muscles spasm, and he found himself grateful for the restraints. A pained noise left him.

“There, there, Zexion. Not much farther.”

The coldness worsened. He felt as though he could barely breathe, his magic straining against the limiter in his body, breaking it apart. Ienzo could feel dampness and realized it was his own sweat. He felt a mask being placed against his face and jumped before he realized it was just oxygen.

He thought he might shatter, his back arching against the bed. The magic bled back into his body, nearly as painful as when Amalia had separated from him. The pain peaked suddenly, and he blacked out.

---

Ienzo woke slowly.

He was in the infirmary of the castle. Something felt… off, about his body, and he realized it was because the heavy dead wrongness he’d carried all these months was gone. The magic sat under his skin, pregnantly. The serum had worked. There was still an oxygen mask on his face, an IV in his hand. It hurt to move; every bit of him was sore.

“...Why don’t you be a good little boy and rest?”

Ienzo jerked. He recognized the feel of this person, his voice. He tried to speak.

The man came into the range of his sighted eye. “Easy,” he said softly. “Easy, Zexion. ”

Ienzo swallowed. His mouth was so dry. In front of him was “...Braig.” No more than a whisper.

“These days I go by Xigbar, but whatever floats your boat.” He sat on the plastic chair near the bed.

“You look…”

He chuckled. “Like shit?”

“...Different.” He did. His hair was much longer, half-streaked through with white; Ienzo could not tell if he’d aged prematurely, or if it were something else. But then he saw his gold eye, his pointed ears. The eyepatch. “This whole time you’ve been… here?”

“Past thirteen years, kiddo.” He leaned back and crossed his legs. “Good help is hard to come by. All I had to do was swear allegiance to the old man. Would you believe he let me? But after all, I was around you, your old man for years. Figured I’d have to know something.”

Xigbar was hard to read. “So you decided to pay my sickbed a visit?”

“Soon as I heard. They’ve kept word of you being here hush-hush. But there’s a sweet little old lady who thought I’d like to know.”

Lydia. Ienzo swallowed.

“Don’t know what you’re trying to get at. Don’t know that I need to know, either.” He leaned forward a little. “Aren’t you handsome now? Just like your daddy.” A pause. “I guard the old man too.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Come on, kid. You and me were always pot-stirrers.” A laugh. “I don’t believe that’s changed. Not one bit.”

“Why not sell me out, then?”

“Bluntly? Because I don’t think anything’s going to get accomplished here, in the long run. Not by him. I’ve heard that darkness is affecting the farmland. Meaning food. Meaning the planet itself.” His expression became serious. “I don’t know about you, but I like to eat.”

Ienzo furrowed his brows.

“Look, if you need something, I can probably get it to you,” he continued.

“Why should I trust you haven’t been converted, too?”

“Come on, princey. Can’t you feel I’m telling the truth, or whatever?”

He could.

“Besides, according to the old tales… too much darkness, and the planet cracks like an egg.” He clutched his fist. “Don’t want to be there for that, either.”

“...I see.”

A substantial pause. Ienzo knew his cover had been blown at this point. “There’s something else.”

“And that is?”

A slow smile. “A little birdie told me that your family’s trying to find you. So I did some seeking of my own.”

Ienzo tried to hide the surprise on his face.

“They were hard to find. It took me months. Even’s still one clever bastard. I was playing poker one night in some dive bar when someone recognized me… and thought I might like to know you were still alive. He told me all about your little love story. Mazel tov, by the way. She's a cute kid.”

The words exploded from him. “They’re alive?”

“Alive and well.”

A relief he hadn’t quite let himself feel washed through him. “You’ll help me?”

“I’d love to wipe the stupid smirk off Junior’s face. It was his fault this happened to me.” He pointed to his eye. “They used us as experiments.”

“...They just used me as one. But it was necessary.” He sat up slowly. “Could you tell my family…” He hesitated. “Tell them to trust me. ”

Xigbar’s grin was wicked.

[scattered-irises]

LONG AWAITED CONCLUSION TO THAT ZEXAL PHILOSOPHICAL CHAT I POSTED A YEAR (or two) AGO

Part i

Basically, the theory is: Tron is a figment of the Arclights’ imagination and it’s actually just Byron going around messing everything up. Tron is a symbol of the corruption of the Arclights. 

****

And so, I pose you this question, Phosphorous. What if Tron never existed and was just a metaphorical representation for Byron's hatred and anger? What if the Barian World hadn't done anything to him and instead, just made him an angrier old man? So instead of this creepy, laughing child, we have this creepy man who goes around ruining people's lives for the sake of his revenge. 

The child is just something the Arclight brothers made up because they couldn't stand the fact that their father had become like that. But that was why they still followed him. Because he was still their father.

I see your point there. It has plausibility, muses Phosphorous. 

The reason why Tron erased their old names was because it was a way for all of them to disassociate their current selves with their past selves. They have changed too much to be considered Byron, Christopher, Thomas and Michael anymore. Christopher has turned extremely cold and calculating compared to his happier, gentle brother attitude when he was younger.

And Thomas...the poor child. He used to be a happy boy that teased his younger sibling but as IV, he masks himself as a happy celebrity loved by all in the world and underneath that mask is a sadistic monster and underneath that mask is a son that just desperately wants his father back and will do anything to get it and underneath that mask is a lonely young man who wishes to be understood.

Arguably, Michael is the one who remains closest to his original self. He's still the beloved younger brother and like when they were younger, still has a close relationship with Thomas. But he's cracked beneath his placid smile and gentle nature. When angered, he lashes out terribly and like Thomas, will do anything, even murder, to achieve his family's goals.

And so, one could argue that Tron is basically just an overall representation that their family has changed for the worse.

“How much autonomy do the brothers have? and how do they relate to others as they attempt to fulfill their families goals?” poses Phosphorous.

  Ah, ah. An insightful query, my friend. They are pretty much never seen doing things of their own free will. Even when it seems like they are enjoying themselves (I.E III sneaking into Yuma's house to eat lunch and meet him. It actually was just a scouting mission on his family's next target), their actions are meant to serve ulterior motives. In the end, all of the things they do is in the name of serving the family. 

A somewhat random note, Christopher looks at Thomas with contempt. They're basically polar opposites (But not really. Once Christopher gets emotional, he's just as broken and destructive as Thomas). 

Thomas has a grudging respect for Christopher because a part of him still recognizes him as his older brother. 

Christopher seems to care a bit more for Michael, but when Michael was being tortured, he watched the scene at the insistence of Tron. At the end of it though, he turns away, hinting at a bit of a conscience. 

It's Thomas and Michael that are more of a sibling relationship. This is most likely because they have spent all of their lives together while Christopher had been absent for 5 years from their lives. He was gone when Thomas was 12 all the way to when he turned 17 and Michael was 10 and is now 15

Thomas genuinely cares for Michael, going as far as to shout at Tron for treating his brother like that. Christopher immediately silences him. 

Michael also returns that gesture, although less because he ended up falling into a coma before we could see more. 

“Yet all three are, at least at times, willing participants in Tron's schemes?”

Yes, my fellow thinker. Christopher is the most loyal one. He never questions Tron’s orders. Michael will go with his father in hopes that he will get his family back. He is Tron's favorite because he is a "gentle and obedient child." I find it quite sad how, although Christopher is the most loyal one to the cause, he isn’t the favorite. I suppose it is also because I am the eldest of three, yet am not as favored as the youngest. 

“The youngest seems to be favored most of the time,” muses Phosphorous as they look out at the tumultuous Barian sea. 

It's Thomas that sometimes goes out of line. He's the strongest of the brothers, but Tron is always saying that he is the weakest. It is most likely the fear of Thomas realizing that he's actually powerful and could turn on Tron. Hence, that is why Tron says he trusts no one.

Phosphorous stands, overlooking the gloomy landscape of crystals. 

“So each and every one is then beholden to this idea of what? A happy family? Or just something different than their current state of affairs? Do all the brothers truly share this idea of a return to a happy family? Or do they don't even know that that looks like and just want something to change?”

In short:

Tron: Kill my murderers and I'll become your happy ol' dad again and we can go back to England and do happy British people stuff

Sons: Uh sure okay

Personally, I think they all know to an extent that they're deluding themselves

They're just ambling down this path of lies because the brothers are desperate to have a place to belong to after being separated for so long

But you might have a point that they might not even know what a truly happy family is anymore.

“So it's like they're chasing something that doesn't exist then?”

Exactly. Much like the couple that was running to the end of the rainbow. They are chasing a boat that has already long passed by. After all of the things Tron did to them, I'm sure they all know that they will never be "normal" and "happy" again.

“So under your theory, Tron doesn't truly exist, or at least is highly metaphorical, which makes all of their struggles self-inflicted and their delusions even more deep.”

Quite perceptive of you. Tron does exist, but he's basically Byron but meaner. They merely use the child with the ruined face to cover up the fact that their father has turned into a monster.

"Hey so dad's gone nuts but let's pretend it's a weird little boy who's nuts so it takes a bit of the pain away."

“Ah, so then they could say "Tron" instead of ‘Father.’”

Yes, exactly. They almost never address Tron as father. They only talk of their father in the past tense.

“But then,” proposes Phosphorous, dramatically turning back to me. “Why would they care so much for the new names they received? Or do they not care for them?”

Those names have become a part of their identities. They use it to cope with the fact that they've all gone south personality-wise. Thomas even uses IV as his celebrity name, perhaps as a sign that he does not recognize his celebrity persona as his true self.

Phosphorous takes in a deep breath, the acidic breeze rustling their toga. Their eyes meet mine own with a sharpness that I had always so admired.

  “So these new names, they're basically masks, but do they disassociate themselves from their new identities the same way they do with Tron and their Father, or do they still think of themselves as fundamentally themselves, just forced to do things they wouldn't normally do? Though I would assume each brother is affected differently by their mask,” says my friend as they begin to pace.

Ah, they still view Tron as their father (A leader) but deep down they probably don't want to put two and two together. So it's a superficial belief of "We fight for Tron (our father but let’s not think about that.)"

Either that or,

They are fighting for their Father,

 who is basically just an idea of a happy family now whilst Tron

represents a bad family.

Onto your second point, the brothers fit into their masks to different extents.

Michael doesn't seem to mind III for they appear to have the same personality, save for III's destructive tendencies.

When Christopher is reunited with his student that he abandoned and is called Christopher, he sadly smiles and says. 

"It's been a long time since someone has called me that"

And Thomas probably has an extremely difficult time taking off his mask after wearing it for so long in front of so many people

“So then do their numbered names also represent a bad family? also why do they start at three, like why not 1,2,3 instead of 3,4,5?”

I still don’t understand why it’s 3 4 5 (Nor does anyone else, for that matter.), however, their numbers are probably how Tron sees them. From his scientific background, he probably just sees his son as pieces of useful data he can use to his advantage.

“Hm, the only thing I could think of for the numbers was that Tron was somehow including him and the boys' mother in his count, like their the first two so that's why it starts at three, which is something you probably already thought about,” theorizes Phosphorous futilely.

Perhaps the numbers are used as place holders. They are not Christopher, Thomas and Michael. They are merely placeholders for when Christopher, Thomas and Michael return. When their family is whole again...

“But if the numbers are place-holders then so is the name ‘Tron,’” concludes Phosphorous.

Indeed.

“But I wonder if the brothers associate the numbers with Tron, like the numbers aren't really them, just a means to an end that will be removed when they get their father back, or if they're deluding themselves,” muses my friend.

Yes, the numbers are most likely temporary to them. Christopher is deluding himself.

He knows that he’s Christopher under V’s cold exterior. Same for Thomas and Michael. They are a family of delusions, united under the promise of a better tomorrow that will never arrive. 

  And so I thank you, for bearing with me. 

  Without ceremony, Phosphorus walks away from the crystal cliff, leaving me. I stare into the depths of the sea of ill intent and allow the sounds of the waves crashing against the crystal to overtake me. Closing my eyes, I begin to meditate. 

  Thus we conclude our bout of philosophy and ardent beard stroking. 

[patientfocusly]

headcanon + family !

@alnaari      [     meme     accepting !      ]

( sorry in advance because i kind of hijacked this ask to update my overall family headcanon for shiro instead of the tidbit that i intended for it to be adkfjgh )

tl;dr:  Shiro’s family are people he would not only die for, but people he has unwavering belief in and has given a part of who they are, to create who he is, and likewise, they contain a part of who he is, within them.    

Shiro is second generation American. I headcanon Voltron to be set roughly around 100 - 150 years into the future. Shiro’s parents were drawn out to America to join the rest of their extended family who also made the move throughout the years, though leaving behind Shiro’s grandparents on his father’s side. Shiro’s mother was pregnant with Shiro’s older sister, Toshiko, during their move. Shiro was born 3 years later, in Sacremento, where they’d settled down. ( I also imagine migration is a lot less of a hassle in this time ~ but I’ll make a post of how I imagine the VLD post-modern world would differ to our current reality later. )

The four of them were extremely close. Shiro grew up loved and supported and getting up to mischief with his big sister. Shiro was extremely close to his mother when he was young. His father was a little strict and slow to understand some Western constructs, but was overall open-minded if he could see that it was what was best for his children. Shiro could confide in his sister literally anything under the sun. This bond only began to fracture when Shiro was diagnosed with MND*1 at age 16, during his first year at GG.  

VLD doesn’t mention Shiro’s family at all. Not at the Kerberos launch, not in his visualisation during lion bonding, and not when the group return to Earth. These facts are what has prompted the headcanon that Shiro’s parents and sister are no longer alive.

~I haven’t hashed out the circumstances around this too much but here’s a brief timeline of the events -       He loses his mother at age 6 due to terminal illness -       He loses his father at age 20 due to a hit and run -       His sister is caught in the Galra cross-fire, leaving behind her husband and two year old son*2.

Shiro is no stranger to loss, starting with the fading memories of his mother. Life keeps taking and taking from him. Every moment of success or happiness, seems only to be rewarded with pain and more suffering. And this cycle continues for him as we are introduced to him in VLD i.e. reaching the edge of the solar system - only to be captured by the Galra, finally escaping and returning to Earth – only to be launched back into space and having to fight in an intergalactic war, finding a semblance of peace with new friends and new purpose – only to die, is brought back to life – only to live with the debilitating guilt and dysphoria of living in another’s body. And so on.

A year or so after his father’s death is when I headcanon that Adam proposed to Shiro. The accident was a reminder of how unguaranteed life really is, and they already felt like they didn’t have enough time with the imminent worsening of Shiro’s illness. Adam was Shiro’s family. Adam made Shiro happy. At this point, Shiro had begun to notice the pattern of happiness and loss, and a part of him was expecting to lose Adam. (This may or may not have played a minor part in Shiro’s decision to go on the mission. Just a minor part, but significant enough to mention, all the same).

Shiro always had a close friend in Keith. There was something in him that called out to Shiro, and his gut instinct turned out to be right. The fact that they both understood loss beyond their years must’ve helped the understanding they had with each other, though they never spoke about it beyond the conversation we saw in VLD about Keith’s father. Keith is Shiro’s family. While in space, this bond only strengthens as they face the hardships of war and hard decisions together. Keith becomes an irreplaceable part of Shiro’s life. 

Pidge, Hunk, Lance, Allura, and Coran are an unlikely group of people that are thrown into Shiro’s life path but find a place nestled in the twists and curves of it. Without a common cause to fight for, they may never have even met, let alone become a united front, an understanding forming between them that can come only from shared experience, impenetrable. But life isn’t about what doesn’t happen, or what could’ve happened; it’s about what does happen and it’s outside of your control. There’s a closeness he feels with them that can’t be manufactured by any other means apart from trusting someone with his life, and having them trust him of the same.

He feels a special closeness with Allura. She, too, has suffered and lost, in greater quantities than even Shiro can fathom. She, too, has had leadership placed upon her, based sheerly on the fact that there is no one else to carry the burden. Sometimes they butted heads, but they always believed in each other, and more importantly, they believed and wished wholeheartedly for the same future. Their bond strengthened when Shiro’s soul passed through Allura to enter his new body – something that also allowed him to receive Allura’s Altean crystal as the energy source for his cybernetic arm, and perhaps even pilot the Atlas as a mecha-tron. Allura was    is Shiro’s family. 

In summary, Shiro’s family are people he would not only die for, but people he has unwavering belief in and has given a part of who they are, to create who he is, and likewise, they contain a part of who he is, within them.    

*1 Please see Shiro’s illness headcanon *2 I didn’t want to stray too far from canon, but I’m also holding onto the headcanon of Shiro having a sister. So in my canon, he asks Commander Iverson about Toshiko when the crew return to Earth who informs him of her fate ~ he doesn’t find out about his nephew until later. In any non-canon AUs, Toshiko is alive.

[taiblogcomics]

Mulling Over the Culling

Hey there, moving day. Oh boy. Well, here we go. If you thought the last issue was bad and a character assassination, this issue is even worse~

Here's the cover:

Ah, the boring "team versus shot yelling at each other" cover. It's a really boring cover, especially for an annual. I will also point out that this annual came out after issue 8. So it hasn't actually been a year yet. That's one of the major problems with this story. The New 52 wasn't even a year old yet, and they're doing huge event crossovers between books. A lot of books didn't even make it past this point. Lots of them, like Static Shock, were cancelled after issue 8. So a good third or so of the books were being cancelled, while the others were engaging in unnecessary crossovers. And that's where this story comes in!

Anyway, the cover's awful, let's see how awful the story is too. So, since it's not obvious from the cover (another mark against it), this storyline is a crossover between Teen Titans, Superboy, and Legion Lost. The short description for that is that a few members of the Legion of Super-Heroes come back from the 31st century to find some sort of cure they need in the future. So in addition to the Titans and Superboy--not to mention all the villains and other characters we're going to introduce in this--now you have to keep track of and presumably care about Gates, Dawnstar, Timberwolf, Tyroc, Tellus, Wildfire, and Chameleon Girl. Good luck getting off any sort of emotional resonance with a cast list in the 20s!

So we open with Tim Drake on his back with a boot on his chest. The boot belongs to Artemis, making her comics debut here, following her appearance in the Young Justice cartoon series. Also here are new versions of Thunder and Lightning, a pair of minor Teen Titans characters. In the old continuity, they were Vietnamese twins, but in the New 52, now they're a caucasian brother/sister pair. Lightning's pissed because Artemis is expositing to Tim, because Tim "wears the colours of Harvest". Thunder and Lightning have exactly the same Tron suits as the Titans do.

The backgrounds are horrendous. I hope radioactive lava orange is your favourite, because you're going to be seeing it for a week after reading this. After Tim forces Artemis off him, he suitably impresses the group, and they run off together. Artemis exposits all the way, mentioning she's also not a metahuman, making it really weird that Harvest would want to kidnap her to join his army. They then run into a grungy-looking cyborg guy named Fist Point. He and his goon squad demand a toll, which is stupid. Tim tries the whole "we have to work together!" shtick that might work better on Saturday morning cartoons, but such comraderie has no place in the New 52. They beat up Fist Point and reunite with the other Titans.

This is also where Superboy joins the party. Like, this whole annual could've been about getting Superboy to join up and him working to earn the trust of each member. That would've been really good! Instead we get this, where Superboy agrees to work with the team, and Cassie tells him nobody cares about his opinion. Cassie's continued attitude is one of the most frustrating things about this series. We then cut over to a brief scene with the Legion Lost--remember them? They're in this crossover too!--determining that Gates' warping powers can't seem to get them out of this place. They resolve to keep working together, however. I already like them better than the Titans, since they're not being pissy at each other. This is a bad sign for a crossover~

This then cuts over to Harvest and his goons (including Omen and Leash from the last issue), gloating over how their plans are going to turn out great. He sends out Leash again to torment them, and we can talk about this guy now. He's got a glowing purple ribcage, a leather bodysuit, and assless chaps over that. He's also wearing a do-rag, has pale white skin and red lipstick. Unique among Harvest's goons, he appears to have been made entirely for this series. If this is the kind of guy they could come up with as new characters, maybe making terrible versions of previous characters is the better choice. Anyway, Leash ties them all up with his powers and torments them.

So hey, you remember Skitter? Was she your favourite character? I hope not, because a mysterious person we don't see offers her hand to Skitter and removes her from the comic. No, seriously. Skitter won't appear or even be mentioned again until the very last issue of the series. Anyway, Leash gathers up the Legion and the Titans and pits them against each other. A terrible fight scene ensues. It's really hard to look at, mostly due to the bright orange backgrounds. The fight with Wildfire and Superboy is particularly eye-searing. It's this fight, though, that the pair put together than neither side is working for NOWHERE and probably shouldn't be fighting each other.

Harvest and friends note that neither group is going for the kill, and thus it's time for the Culling to officially begin. What have I been reading up to this point, then? We cut over to another group of metahuman kids, including Thunder, Terra, and Beast Boy. These names are only significant if you know the previous continuity, so any new readers they were hoping to attract are just gonna be confused. Beast Boy is also red now, because the New 52 makes everything edgy. Like, there's an actual explanation that ties him to Animal Man's mythos, but let's face the truth. The New 52 loved it some edgelord '90s designs, and this is just another example.

So the Culling officially begins, and all the metahumans begin fighting among themselves. And you really have to wonder why. Like, nobody's being mind controlled or possessed or anything. All Harvest is promising is a chance to join his side, which isn't exactly appealing to the people you have kidnapped and tortured. So fighting for Harvest isn't exactly great incentive. And yet, even Lightning is out here, begging Beast Boy "Don't make me kill you!" Nobody has to kill anyone, you idiot! Except those who are even bigger idiots, I guess. Remember that Fist Point mook? He shows up and murders Artemis.

Yeah.

They used this series to introduce a new version of a popular character from a popular TV show, to make the character's debut in comics--and then they killed her off in the same issue. That's absolutely disgusting. This is why I hated the New 52. They could've done anything in the world with these characters. Instead, they reinvented them to either be assholes, villains, or dead. This is not restricted to just this book either, but it seems pretty excessive doing this here.

So Tim swears vengeance for Artemis, despite having only met her this issue. The Titans and Legion officially team up and beat back their foes, to Harvest's consternation. Don't they know better not to fight back, he's asking as he destroys his equipment in a Kylo Ren-style tantrum. Can't they tell he's already won? With the fodder dealt with, Harvest sends in his big guns, his personal Ravagers team. This includes Omen, that gold guy from the cover of issue 7, and that Templar guy also from the same issue. There's a couple others, but I'm gonna save the rants about them for their more full appearances in later issues. Next issue, though? More fighting! That's all this crossover is!

And now we’re truly on the downward plummet. I think I’ve said what I need to about Artemis, but please never forget that they did this. Imagine if they murdered Harley Quinn the first time she showed up in comics, in a crossover in someone else’s story. That’s what this is like. It’s stupid and awful and should never happen.

And don’t worry, dear readers. We won’t miss any of The Culling, because I actually followed Teen Titans back when it was coming out. So I even have the issues of Superboy and Legion Lost that make up more of the crossover. We’ll get to that next time~

[sibillascribbles08]

Uuuuh probably long, sappy Scruff fic

an AU where they were childhood friends, but when they meet up again Dareth doesn’t recognize Ronin, and Ronin doesn’t say anything

I’m writing this at 11PM so if there’s typos that’s why

“▒▒▒▒? What are you doing here?”

“Uh, tapping on your window?”

“Psh, you know what I mean. It’s almost two in the morning.”

“I um...”

“What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to say good-bye, maybe.”

“Good-bye? Maybe? What’s going on?”

“I can’t stay here. I’m leaving.”

“What? Did coming out to your parents go that bad?”

“...I haven’t told them.”

“You said–”

“I know, but I can’t, sorry... you... I thought about asking you to come with me but I know you have a future here.”

“▒▒▒▒, come on. Don’t go.”

“I can’t. I can’t keep living like this.”

“You don’t have to. We can figure it out just–”

“I’m sorry.”

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

When Ronin first saw Dareth again his heart got stuck in his throat.

It’s not that he forgot, no, he never forgot. You don’t forget your first and biggest crush that easily, no matter the kind of shit you go through. In fact, he thought about him more often then he’d ever admit. Sometimes he even used his connections to see what the man was up to. A rise and fall in career, off to run a dojo, and then running around with the ninja.

Part of him was surprised, but no, his personality didn’t seem to change all that much. If nothing else he was more carefree in his older age.

But as far as Ronin was concerned they’d never cross paths again, until he had to go and get mixed up with the ninja.

Looking back, stealing Zane and messing with their memories wasn’t the best idea. Of course they came looking for him when more disasters started cropping up.

Still, despite the shock that ran through his system when Dareth first came wandering into his pawn shop, he couldn’t help but get a flash of deja vu. Like it had happened before. Maybe because of that strange dream he had.

With his heart lodged into his airway, he held his breath. As if Dareth hadn’t been cute enough when they were teens, now he was just gorgeous. He still had dimples when he smiled, which he was doing a lot of as he studied the shelves. Big brown eyes, gorgeous brown hair, all complimented with his brown robes that had no business showing that much of his chest hair.

He held his breath so long he got dizzy and forced himself to inhale, hoping it wasn’t as noisy as it felt. He didn’t move, he didn’t dare. He just sat there, waiting for Dareth to approach, waiting to see if the man would even recognize him.

Maybe not, not as if Ronin looked at all the same as he did back then, but there was a chance right?

Eventually Dareth wandered up to the counter. He rested it elbow on it, leaning against his hand, eyes half lidded.

“Nice place.” Dareth grinned. “Don’t happen to have any spare trophies, do you?”

Ronin couldn’t stop himself. Habit kicked in because, of course Dareth still had the same habits he did in high school. How many times did he use that move to get Ronin to chuckle when he was feeling awful?

So once again he was laughing. Caught himself too late to stop it, but quick enough to clear his throat and pretend nothing happened.

“Yeah, I’ve stolen–er, acquired a number of them. Probably be easy to change the name plate.”

Dareth laughed this time, grinning wider. “Hah, I was kind of joking but that’s good to know. Might look into it when I get some spare money.”

Ronin crossed his arms, relaxing against the counter. “Have to build up your wall of fake accomplishments huh?”

“Hey,” Dareth pointed. “Some of them are real. Just like to... add emphasis you know?”

Ronin found himself smiling again. It felt so easy, so natural, like they hadn’t been apart for almost thirty years. Maybe Dareth did recognize him.

“So, what’s your name? Haven’t seen you in town before.”

Well, so much for that hope.

“It’s Ronin.” He answered. “And that’s all you need to know.”

“Ronin huh? Sounds familiar. Something familiar about you.” Dareth leaned in close again, squinting. “Can’t seem to place it.”

Ronin let out a nervous laugh and moved away. “Hah, well, I get that a lot. Eyepatch makes it hard for people to get a proper read on my face.”

“Swear you were in a dream somewhere.” Dareth hummed as he straightened up. “Maybe I’m remembering wrong.”

If they wound up having the same dream that would be something freaky. For now, Ronin ignored it.

“So, if you’re not in the mood for trophies can I convince you to buy anything else?”

“Oh? Just what would you try selling someone like me?”

“I have a killer collection of old records.”

Dareth gave a mock gasp. “How did you know that would get my attention?”

Ronin shrugged, but his gaze darted to the side.

“Lucky guess.”

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

Ronin told himself that it was a childhood crush. It had been almost thirty years. It was over. Done. Finished.

That’s what he kept telling himself when Dareth visited more and more often. It’s what he emphasized with Dareth accidentally broke his leg. It’s what he chanted in his head on loop whenever the man would check on him in the hospital, or back at his home. It’s what he whispered to himself whenever Dareth would leave, a smile from the earlier conversation still lingering on his face.

Damn it, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Why couldn’t he just grow up?

But part of him didn’t want to, especially where Dareth was concerned. Talking to him was effortless. He couldn’t even remember the last time he laughed this much.

And there was plenty of conversation to be had when he was helping put Laffy’s together. By now they’d developed some inside jokes, that left Nya staring between the two of them as they tried to cover up their laughter. There were paint fights, Dareth tossing ice down the back of his shirt, and at least two late nights Dareth convinced him to dance around the still-being-built dining room floor.

Well, even if Dareth didn’t remember him, it’s not like Ronin didn’t have a chance, right?

But somehow that felt deceptive, twice as deceptive as it normally did. The biggest reason he avoided any kind of long term relationship, apart from the fact he just sucked at them.

At some point they’d find out, and what would they say then?

Then again, Dareth already knew back then, at least partially. He’d been one of the few people Ronin could even trust with a secret like that. There’s no way the man would judge him for it now.

But that still left the matter of telling him.

Of course an opportunity would come leaping out at him over a pair of drinks. Laffy’s was long closed for the night, most of the cleaning done, but after a busy day like that Dareth convinced Ronin to stay.

For once he wasn’t overdoing it, but he’d had enough to start feeling tipsy. By now he’d shoved his empty glass to the edge of the counter so he wasn’t tempted to look for more.

“You ever been in love?” Dareth mumbled.

The question had come from nowhere. After a lengthy conversation on whether Tron needed a reboot or not, there’d been nothing but silence. Then that.

Ronin blinked, trying to get his eye to focus. In the end it just settled on Dareth. “Once.”

“Only once?” Dareth stare was full of doubt. “Come on now.”

“Only once.” Ronin said. “Would you believe it was on my childhood friend?”

Dareth hummed. “I guess I’d believe that. Strong bonds and all.”

Hah, yeah right. Ronin snorted, ignoring the urge to reach for his empty glass. “I ran away from home at fifteen. Last time I saw him.” Well, that was a lie, but Dareth didn’t need to know that yet.

“Huh? Why did you run?” Dareth frowned.

Ronin bit his lip, rolling it between his teeth. “I just... couldn’t keep living like that.”

His friend snorted, almost burst out laughing. “Funny, that’s what my friend said.”

Once again his heart lodged in his throat. “What?”

“I had a friend run away when I was in high school. They... they were dealing with a lot. I got it. But it still sucked.” He rested his face on his palm. “Sometimes wish I had run with them.”

Ronin rolled his eye. “Trust me Dareth, you don’t.”

“Oh? And how would you know.” The man looked at him again. “It’s not like you were–”

Dareth froze. His eyes went wide, mouth hanging open. He was looking at Ronin like he’d seen him for the first time.

Then recognition swept over him, then something else, as if he was in pain. “Ronin?”

Ronin ignored how fast his heart was racing. “Yeah?”

“Did you... did you used to know me?”

Once again he was biting his lip as he nodded.

Dareth stood up, nudging his stool back. “It was you! That’s why you looked so familiar. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Say what?” He ignored how his voice cracked when he spoke. “Part of me assumed you forgot me for a reason.”

“I never forgot you.” Dareth protested. “I just didn’t recognize you. I mean look at you.” He gestured from Ronin’s face down to his legs. “If you hadn’t made that comment and convinced me to take a hard look I still wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Well, on one hand it’s a good thing I look so different.” Ronin kept avoiding eye contact, leaning on his prosthetic hand. “But sorry, guess I should have brought it up sooner.”

“Hang on.”

“Hm?”

“You were in love with me?”

His face slipped, and he would have slammed his chin into the counter if he hadn’t caught himself and sat up completely straight.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“W-well.” Ronin sputtered. “You just... were really nice you know.” He laughed, because that always covers it up, right? “And cute. But I was never... I mean I wouldn’t have...” More nervous laughter before he cleared his throat. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

He was hoping Dareth would laugh it off with him, but the man’s face was serious, gaze fixed on him. Ronin swore the room just jumped three degrees. He rubbed the back of his neck to get rid of some imaginary sweat.

“Do you still feel that way?” Dareth took a step toward him.

“I...” Ronin hesitated, not sure what to say. Instinct told him to keep denying it, but judging from the way Dareth kept glancing at his lips, that wasn’t the right answer. “Honestly?” He swallowed. “I’m... probably more in love with you now than I ever was.”

Dareth reached out, taking his right hand and sliding their fingers together. Ronin didn’t move, didn’t breath. He just kept staring until Dareth was so close that it felt rude. His eyes closed when their noses brushed together and he sighed when their lips met.

That contact had his brain dragging up a dozen daydreams. Before he could catch up he found his free hand sliding behind Dareth’s neck, into his hair, pulling him as close as possible.

Dareth responded by placing his hand on Ronin’s back. Their attempt to get even closer forced Ronin to stand up, not that he was complaining. It was easier to kiss when he wasn’t tilting his head so much.

Ronin let go of Dareth’s hand, putting both of them on either side of the man’s face as he deepened the kiss. Dareth wound up turning them both, pushing Ronin against the bar counter. The impact had him gasping, reminding him to breath.

“You know,” Dareth said as he kissed Ronin’s cheek and then his ear. “I always pictured doing this next to the jukebox the first time around.”

Ronin laughed, not bothering to stop the man as he moved to his neck. “Funny, my first day dream was always on the roof of my house.”

“You really liked me for that long?” Dareth kissed his collar.

Ronin sighed but forced himself not to melt under the contact as he pushed back. In a flash he had Dareth pinned against the counter instead. “Admittedly I forgot about it for a while, but then you had to show up looking fifty times more gorgeous than you ever did.”

Dareth blinked, seemingly surprised. “Hah, gorgeous? Ronin, I wouldn’t–”

“Don’t tell me I’m wrong.” It was his turn to kiss Dareth’s neck now. “No one’s ever taken my breath away as fast as you.”

“You’re one to talk.” He put his hand on Ronin’s cheek, forcing him to look back up. “Just look at you.”

“You better not call me pretty.” Ronin pretended to pout.

Dareth shook his head. “No, pretty’s not the right word, but I at least know it suits you so much more.” He ran a hand through Ronin’s hair, letting the strands fall back into place. “You just look so much more like... you.”

God, the most frustrating this about this man was that his words always wound up twice as gorgeous as his face was. Ronin tugged him back into a kiss, not sure how else to phrase his appreciation.

Before he could get in too deep a second time, however, Dareth gently nudged him back with a hand against his chest.

“Not that I’m not enjoying this.” His cheeks were stark red, the color reaching all the way to his neck. “But I thinking we might want to slow down just a touch.”

Right, that was probably a good idea. Hell, were either of them even sober right now?

“Want me to take you home?” Dareth offered.

Ronin snorted. “If you come with me what makes you think you’ll make it home.”

That blush was only getting worse. “Right.”

Ronin smiled and leaned forward, kissing Dareth on the nose. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dareth blinked a few times, as if regaining his composure. “Right, see you tomorrow, Roni.”

“Roni?”

“Uh, yeah, nickname.” Dareth grinned. “Don’t like it?”

Ronin thought about it for a moment. At least it was a change of pace to his codename that had just turned into his regular name. “Nah, it’s fine. Just don’t use it in front of the ninja.”

Dareth laughed at that. “Oh yeah, I can see how that would go. Kai would never quit calling you Roni.” He poked Ronin in the side.

He squeaked as he took a step back. “Hey!”

“Oh, so you are still ticklish in that spot.” Dareth kept grinning. “Good to know.”

“Dareth, don’t you dare.”

“Aw, come here, just want to give you a good night hug.”

“You do not, you liar.” Ronin darted away to keep his distance. The pair of them ran circles around the dining room, but despite being out of breath Ronin couldn’t stop laughing.

For the first time since he ran away he felt like he was home again.

[kh-akira]

Day 3 ~ Friends or Lovers?

For this day of the @khoc-week it felt appropriated to write a new entry. Akira has a hard time to believe that people would want to be friends with her, but once she accepts this, she cherishes them and is utterly loyal.

Best Friend: Ilana

Ilana was the first friend Akira ever had. The girl was the only one that didn’t mock her for having such a fighting spirit and getting into trouble for it. As a kid, Akira often imagined that Ilana was a princess (she is related with Ansem the Wise around a few corners) and she her shining knight in armor. Ilana takes care that Akira doesn’t strain herself too much, either from training or working and is always happy to spoil her with some sweets as gesture of thanks for being her protector.

Best friend and Lover: Lea

After Ilana, Lea was the next friend she made and the only one for a long time. When Lea as a kid, won a tournament, Akira asked him to train her to become as strong as him. They spent many wonderful years together training and getting into trouble together, Isa and Ilana always there to patch them up and give them a good scolding (mostly Isa) The habit of sitting somewhere higher and watching the sunset Lea got from activities with Akira. A few months before the events of BBS, Akira started to develop a child crush on Lea, that she never admit and sneakingly sabotaged any other girl that showed interest in him.  When Lea returned to Radiant Garden, Akira was at first very happy to have her friend back, but when she learned of the things he did as Axel she was utterly disappointed and rather hostile towards him. But over time she realized how sorry he was about all of that and he tried his best to redeem himself, the hostility vanished, trust returned slowly and she promised him to help in any way she can. Akira and Lea are plagued by similar cases of guilt and fear of themselves, so they are able to understand the other and give the comfort they need. They also got a very strong (and some would say excessive) competitive streak and like to exchange playful banter with each other. Over the course of a year, they both realize that they have fallen for the other, but don’t speak it out. For Akira as she barely could handle friendships, so she doesn’t believe she is worthy of a romantic relationship and Lea is in a similar predicament, plus he doesn’t want to push her. During the battle at the Keybalde Graveyard however, Akira finally got over herself and confessed to Lea, who happily returned the confession.

Kairi: At first Akira saw Ilana in Kairi and wanted to protect her with all costs, but soon realized that the two are different. She then helps Kairi with her training and encouraged her that she would be able to help her friends. Akira often acts like a big sister or even overbearing mother to Kairi, which can lead to arguments between them, but every time they can resolve them. 

Radiant Garden Restoration Committee: For many years, Akira saw the other members as mostly colleagues and not friends, which changed when Lea and Kairi joined them.  Aerith is like a big sister to Akira, helping her with tea against her nightmares and trying to give her advice.  Leon and Akira get along well, due to their similar attitudes. He was the one who trained with Akira after they had to flee to Traverse Town. Cid always does his best to put Akira in a good mood with some jokes, which Akira only started to appreciate when she warmed up to the ideas of friends. The both of them always think about new ways to improve the defense system of their world. Also Cid was the one who came up with the nickname Sparks. As soon as Yuffie had been old enough, Akira started to train with her too. She would describe the young Ninja as exhausting, but dependable. On good days Akira is amused by Merlin’s absent-mindedness, on bad days she wants to choke the old wizard. He was the one who taught her Fire and Thunder magic and gave her the magic blades. As soon as he was activated, Akira started to work closely with Tron together, figuring out the secrets of Ansem’s computer and seeking for knowledge that could help them against Xehanort. By the order of her friends, Tron oversees Akira’s sleeping schedules and her health. Akira carries a little part of Tron with her in the Gummiphone

Seasalt members: Akira hadn’t been friends with Isa as kid, she mostly thought of him as boring and snobby. But as adults they go along way better, bonding over trying to keep Lea in check. (Tho it tends to happen that Isa also has to keep Akira in check because of Lea’s influence.) She would get along with Roxas and Xion splendidly. She would pamper them with all sorts of sweets and gits, train with with and develop also a little competitive streak with Roxas, since they bond over using dual wield weapons.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

TRON: Uprising Anastasia AU

Okay, hear me out on this, guys, because I’ve had this idea for WEEKS now and it’s awesome.

Beck is the youngest son of Kevin Flynn, ruler of the Grid. While he is close to his older brother Sam, he is the closest to Kevin’s youngest brother/bodyguard, Tron.

(In this AU, Alan is the middle Flynn brother because... reasons.)

For many years the Flynn family ruled over the Grid, until they were betrayed by Kevin’s closest advisor, CLU, who was employed by Kevin to help him create the perfect system.

In CLU’s eyes, the monarchy was blocking the path to the perfect system.

CLU staged a revolution against the Flynns, and invaded the castle. All the Flynns were captured and derezzed.

Tron is presumed to be the only Flynn left alive, as he was away in a remote part of the Grid on business for Kevin at the time. He grieves for his entire family, most of all for Beck, who was the youngest of them all...

Cut to years later in Argon City. General Tesler and his armies have the city as one of their landholdings, and try desperately to quell the rumors that cities across the Grid have gained freedom from CLU’s control due to his failing as a leader (he refuses to be called a ruler, as that would associate him with the Flynns). CLU, coincidentally, has passed on due to old age, and the fire of the revolution is beginning to fade.

Another rumor they are trying to quell is the rumor that Beck, the youngest Flynn, may still be alive.

It doesn’t help that Tron, who has turned old and bitter from the loss of his family, is offering a reward for anyone who can bring Beck back to Tron City alive.

Among Tesler’s most trusted officials is Paige, a former medical program who clawed her way up the ranks and is fiercely dedicated to CLU’s cause.

Also in Argon are two con programs, Zed and Mara, who moved to Argon from Tron City after the revolution. They figure if they can find a program convincing enough, they can pass him off as Beck and split the reward. But they’re not stupid; they know other programs are trying this too, and everyone knows that Tron is the sharpest program on the Grid. They’ll need to find someone really convincing...

Coincidentally, also in Argon is a program named Jet, a mechanic program with no memories from his early childhood. He was found by the side of a road by a kind program named Able.

His earliest memory is one of medical programs swarming over him, but everything before that is blank. He could access his disc to remember, but there’s a part of his disc missing, and without it, he can’t remember anything.

There is one thing he does remember, though: Tron City. He’s not sure why he remembers the name of a city he’s never been to, but he has the strong feeling he just has to go there.

One day Jet musters up the courage to go the train station and ask how much a ticket to Tron City would cost. On his way, he runs into Zed and Mara, who are stricken by how much he resembles Beck. Seriously, he could’ve been Beck’s long lost twin.

They’re about to ask him if he’ll join their little scheme, when Enforcers suddenly appear out of nowhere. Zed and Mara immediately make a break for it, leaving a confused Jet by himself.

The Enforcers are led by Paige, who is also struck by how closely he resembles Beck, someone she remembers from her time as a medical program in Tron City. But it couldn’t be him, she thinks.

Paige questions Jet, who informs her of what just happened. Jet also asks her if she thinks there’s a chance Beck is alive. Paige promptly dismisses it, because she witnessed CLU’s Enforcers leading the Flynns away to be derezzed herself, and she specifically remembers Beck among them.

She should bring in the program for further questioning, but instead she lets Jet off with a warning, telling him to be careful when it comes to rumors.

Jet tries to forget about the two programs he met, the more rational part of him saying they clearly were bad news.

But then again... they seemed to know a lot about the Flynns, and of Tron City, which is exactly the place he wanted to go.

The next day, he decides to seek them about again, and offers them a deal: if they can get him to Tron City, he’ll take part in their scheme.

Zed and Mara train Jet to pass off as a Flynn, all the while slowly striking up an actual friendship with him. Zed is apprehensive about it, as is Mara but less so. Jet is just stoked he actually has friends.

But eventually, the two warm up to him completely, and even confess why they know so much about the Flynns: they used to work together as servant programs in the castle, and while they didn’t know Beck personally, he was always nice to them, nice to everyone really.

As he trains, Jet begins to experience flashes of memories. For example, he blurts out one day that his supposed older brother Sam had a humongous crush on a program named Quorra, even though Zed and Mara are pretty sure they never told him that.

Finally, they’re able to sneak onto a train headed for Tron City. However, on the way, the train is intercepted by Paige, who has direct orders from Tesler to put down any potential supporters of the Beck rumors. Luckily, the trio are able to escape her notice, and are soon on the way again to Tron City.

But what they don’t know is that Paige is now following them on her own, determined to put down these three renegades.

When the trio gets to Tron City, the first thing they do is seek out Tron. Unfortunately, he has begun to give up on the possibility of Beck’s survival, as all he’s gotten are cheap imitations from con programs, and is refusing to see anyone else.

They do meet Cutler, Tron’s bodyguard, who like everyone else is startled by Jet’s resemblance to Beck. He agrees to persuade Tron to see Jet.

Upon seeing Jet, however, Tron gets a look of devastating grief on his face (because this program looks so much like his beloved nephew)... before it hardens again and he snaps at Jet to leave, then slams the door in his face.

His rejection leaves Jet crushed. Seeing their friend close to tears from defeat makes Zed and Mara feel incredibly guilty; they’ve dragged this program into their harebrained scheme, this program with no memories who never complained the whole time.

So they go and bang on Tron’s door again, demanding he give Jet another chance. Surprisingly, Tron agrees, but only if he and Jet may speak alone.

It turns out he only wanted to berate Jet for thinking he could pull off such a stunt like this, just so he could find answers. Jet, now angry, retorts back that Tron is not the Uncle he has started to remember, and that even Tron City was a long shot for him and his missing memories. He even pulls off his disc and shows Tron the missing piece.

Tron’s face contorts in shock.

Because he had the missing piece of Jet’s disc all along. Because right before he left Tron City, Beck gave him the piece, saying it was so he could have the family around if the business he was on ever got him down at all. But Beck didn’t know that over time, without that piece, he would eventually lose his memories, until he reattached it to his disc.

Deciding to take the chance, Jet reattaches the piece to his disc and puts it on.

And suddenly he is hit by a wave of memories, until he remembers everything.

He remembers his father, Kevin, his brother, Quorra, his uncle Alan, and his favorite uncle Tron... and he finally remembers who he really is.

He remembers that he is indeed Beck, and shares a tearful reunion with Tron.

Zed and Mara decide to refuse the reward and return to Argon, but promise to keep in touch with Beck. Beck decides to stay in Tron City, since the passion for the revolution has faded almost entirely, with only CLU’s most dedicated generals still believing in the cause. But that’s okay; there are rumors of an uprising forming against the generals...

And they would all live happily ever after... if it weren’t for Paige. She corners Beck when he’s alone, and activates her disc to derezz him.

Beck questions her on why she’s doing all this, to which she insists that it was necessary for the Flynns to be overthrown—they and their selfish ways were doing more harm for the Grid than good, until the programs rose up and destroyed them.

Beck wants to plea with her, but realizes it’s useless. So instead, he curls his fists, sets his jaw, and tells her to do it. To derezz him. If it’s what she really wants. At least he’ll be with his family again.

But when she finally goes to make the killing blow... she can’t. And the realization that she can’t do it makes her drop to her knees in shame.

Instead of calling for Cutler, Beck comforts Paige, and when she’s ready to stand up again, he offers her a proposition.

In the end, it is not announced that the Flynns had returned to rule the Grid. Both Beck and Tron are quite done with the drama that comes with being part of the monarchy. Tron does help to set up a better political system on the Grid, before he and Beck live out a peaceful existence in Tron City.

Paige returns to Argon and tells Tesler that she has killed Jet the renegade. And when Tesler is sure that Jet has disappeared off the Grid entirely, he is satisfied and leaves it alone.

Zed and Mara actually get together in the end, as Zed finally works up the courage to tell Mara about his little crush on her.

It’s a happy ending for everyone, even the general. The general, of course, is not happy for long, as an uprising soon begins in Argon against CLU’s remaining forces... but that’s another story entirely.

Yeah, so... I wrote a lot, didn’t I? Sorry, I got kinda carried away thinking about the possibilities for this AU. Let me know what y’all think of it!

[imitationpersonne]

Get to Know the Blogger

Can be used for RP and non-RP blogs to get to know a bit about the person behind the screen! Repost, don’t reblog!

1. FIRST NAME:  My alias is KumaraDosha, and you can call me that, Kumara, Mara, or something else you have learned I go by. :3c

2. STRANGE FACT ABOUT YOURSELF: I have an extra half a vertebra in my lumbar spine, bigger on the left side, that makes my back less stable and more susceptible to pain and injury, and part of the reason I had to change my career from being a surgical technologist was because of that wear and tear.

3. TOP THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU FIND ATTRACTIVE ON A PERSON: ...I really don’t know how to answer this. Attraction is so finicky for me, and “aesthetically pleasing” really just depends on the person. I guess all I can say is the most identifiable “type” of person I’d be attracted to are sort of...waifish women? Maybe Scandinavian features, IDK. Something vaguely similar to Anya Taylor-Joy’s soft looks, any hair color.

4. A FOOD YOU COULD EAT FOREVER AND NOT GET BORED OF: Ice cream/shakes.

5. A FOOD YOU HATE: Olives.

6. GUILTY PLEASURE: Assigning characters of different fandoms Homestuck godtier classes and aspects.

7. WHAT DO YOU SLEEP IN: Usually an old, big shirt and pajama pants.

8. SERIOUS RELATIONSHIPS OR FLINGS: Serious relationships only, if not neither.

9. IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN THE PAST AND CHANGE ONE THING ABOUT YOUR LIFE, WOULD YOU AND WHAT WOULD IT BE: I might go back and pick sonography as my major first, instead of trying nursing school, getting psychologically abused and mistreated by nursing teachers, having a breakdown and quitting, getting a surgical technology degree after being treated poorly by teachers/students/staff, quitting surgical tech work after 3 years due to depression/anxiety and physical strain, then coming back to school for a third time with past healthcare-school trauma and trying to get a bachelor’s in sonography. Then again, I learned a whole lot--educationally, about life, about the behaviors and cultures of healthcare workers, and about how people are--in those other schools/professions, so I’m not sure that’s worth giving up? I’d be very much richer right now, though, and not dependent on family or in debt. Plus, surgical technology is actually really cool (and still very much a passion of mine), and I don’t want to give those experiences and memories up. So maybe I’d just nix the nursing school, do surgical tech for a few years, and then go for sonography. Who knows, man; life and its consequences are so unpredictable.

10. ARE YOU AN AFFECTIONATE PERSON: Probably not. I am very sensitive to rejection if I’ve been honest or vulnerable, so I usually only gush over people I trust and honestly feel that way about.

11. A MOVIE YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN: I really don’t know if there’s any like that for me?? But I guess The Signal is a movie I like to show people and watch with them, because many haven’t seen it, and I find it fascinating. I also love Tron Legacy a whole lot.

13. YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO KEEP ANY ANIMAL AS A PET, WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE: I would choose a Samoyed dog, if I were able to have it well-taken-care-of (which I can’t do at this point, which is why I don’t have one).

14. TOP FIVE FICTIONAL SHIPS: Oh boy, uh. At the moment? It’s hard for me to give any ultimate lists, because they can all be terribly mishandled or cringe depending on how they’re portrayed, which often somehow turns out to be popular in the fandom, and that spoils it for me a little bit... You know what, screw the rules; I’ma throw out a bunch--six from BNHA that I favor atm and then a diverse cast of some oldies I still like that will be more than five. Not particularly in order of rank...

From BNHA, Monoma Neito x Shinsou Hitoshi; Monoma Neito x Midoriya Izuku; Monoma Neito x Kuroiro Shihai (there may or may not be huge RP bias here); Bakugou Katsuki x Uraraka Ochaco; Bakugou Katsuki x Todoroki Shouto; Shigaraki Tomura x Dabi.

From other fandoms... Kuja x Terra (Dissidia Final Fantasy), Genos x Sonic (One Punch Man), Akabane Karma x Asano Gakushu (Assassination Classroom), Beyond Birthday x L Lawliet (Death Note, but ONLY from an epic-long series of canon-divergent fanfictions that nobody’s going to have heard of), Yami Bakura x Yami Yugi (Yu-Gi-Oh!), Aoba x Noiz (Dramatical Murder), Matsuoka Rin x Nanase Haruka (Free!), Eridan Ampora x Sollux Captor (Homestuck), Caliborn x Dirk Strider (Homestuck), The Batter x Zacharie (OFF), Sniper x Spy (Team Fortress 2). ...The hate/enemies/rivals ships are kind of a theme, aren’t they.

15. PIE OR CAKE: Cake.

16. FAVORITE SCENT: At the moment, I really like the Snowflakes and Cashmere body wash at Bath and Body Works. Also Butterfly Flower. Also give me baking cookies or blueberry muffins.

17. CELEBRITY CRUSH: They all disappoint me. They’re just human beings, often not very good ones.

18. IF YOU COULD TRAVEL ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD YOU GO: Heaven, bitch. (Okay, maybe an island resort or a cruise or something.)

19. INTROVERT OR EXTROVERT:  Introvert who can appear extremely extrovert in comfortable company. I guess ambivert fits better.

20. DO YOU SCARE EASILY: Depends. In real life, I’d say not really, but if you can find a way to trigger my imaginative paranoia, then maybe. I can’t play scary video games, because they make me way too tense, but I absolutely love watching other people play them, and I get very scared, especially by jumpscares (but in a fun way, LOL). I also love watching horror movies (though most are embarrassingly un-scary). I do not like jumpscares in movies. Cheap. I also love reading/hearing creepy stories that are presumably true (that’s usually what triggers my imaginative paranoia and puts me in a bad headspace, but whoops, still interesting to me).

21. IPHONE OR ANDROID: I’ve only ever had iPhone.

22. DO YOU PLAY ANY VIDEO GAMES: Yeah. I wish I played more, but I seem to procrastinate a lot on playing games for some reason, and I’m not that good besides. I prefer PC to consoles, and I have tons and tons of games on Steam (many that I haven’t gotten around to trying yet), but I also have a PS4 and Nintendo Switch. Games of note that I have played a decent bit are Zelda Breath of the Wild, Fallout 4, Skyrim, Darkest Dungeon, Smash, Saints Row 3 and 4, many of the Final Fantasy games... And a heck ton more, uh.

24. WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH A MILLION DOLLARS: Pay off debts, share with family/friends, charity, invest in rich people stocks or whatever, and also live a nice-ass life. Honestly not sure if I’d quit working entirely...? I tend to get depressed if my life doesn’t have meaning like that. I have to give something back to the world. Besides, a million dollars literally lasts like under 20 years in normal circumstances...? That’s not something you retire on as a young person, unless you’re investing well...which I would need help figuring out how to do. I hate managing money.

25. FICTIONAL CHARACTER YOU HATE: Off the top of my head, probably Jane Crocker and Aranea from Homestuck.

26. FANDOM THAT YOU WERE ONCE A PART OF BUT AREN’T ANY LONGER: Trigun fandom! I still love that series...!

tagged by: @galaxythixf

tagging: You, but only if you like me, even if from afar. :3c

[swanqueeneverafter]

What Dreams May Come, Pt.10

Henry’s Dreamscape. Refugee Camp. (Henry squats beside his motorcycle and opens his Tron lunchbox, which he now uses as a toolbox.) Henry: “Okay, Zen and the art of fixing a busted motorcycle. First lesson, know thy tools. Starting with the humble torque wrench.” Ella: (Taking the wrench:) “I like this torque wrench. Thanks for letting me help. Really.” (The moment is interrupted by three smelly thugs.) Thug 1: “The magical carriage is real. Bet it's worth its weight in gold.” Henry: “And let me guess. You fine fellows are here to kill us and take it?” Thug 1: “Hey, he's smarter than he looks.” Henry: “Yeah. Good thing you’re not.” (Henry and Ella leap into action, Ella armed with the wrench, Henry with his toolbox. The pair of them make short work of the thugs, working as a team and running off the would-be robbers.) Henry: (To Ella:) “You okay?” Ella: “Yeah, I’m fine. Nothing we couldn’t handle.” Soldier: “How about us?” (Turning at the sound of the voice, Henry and Ella see that a platoon of men have surrounded the camp. Glancing at their armour, Ella can tell they’re part of King Richard’s army.)

Storybrooke. (David sits outside his house on the front steps, staring at the coin in his hand. Upon hearing his name spoken, David looks up to see no one around. After hearing it again, he gets up to investigate. Seeing nothing, he is about to blame it on the wind when he turns and comes face to face with a vision of a man who's hands are covered in blood.) David: (Shocked:) "Father?" (Overcome by the sight of his long-dead father, David collapses to the ground.) Storybrooke. The Dragon’s Lair. (Needing a pick-me-up from her disappointing adventure through the dreamscape, Zelena sits at the bar drinking while Maleficent listens with less than a sympathetic ear.) Zelena: (Downing another shot:) "I know it was only a dream, but I couldn't even make that work." Maleficent: "A blind man and his two annoying, self-righteous children? Sounds to me like you had a lucky escape. Listen Red, count yourself lucky for what you have, not what you want. Besides, men are usually far more trouble than they're worth, trust me. (Spots Robin enter to begin her shift:) Oh, thank god. Robin, customer for you." (With that, Maleficent turns and heads toward her office in the back and out of sight.)

Zelena: "Hey stranger, when did you get back?" Robin: "You're kidding, right? Haven't you heard?" Zelena: "No, I... haven't really checked in with anyone, I came straight here." Robin: "From the dream world?" Zelena: "Yes, but how did you... Oh, your aunts told you didn't they?" Robin: "Yeah and Mom, you can't mess around with that stuff anymore. Promise me." Zelena: (Scoffs:) "I don't think that'll be a problem, my experience was hardly what you'd call fulfilling. But enough about that, what's your news?" Robin: (Takes a deep breath:) "When Alice and I crossed the town line back into Storybrooke, some guy followed us." Zelena: "What?" Robin: (Nods:) "From the Land Without Magic." Zelena: "So, what happened?" Robin: "Well at first we thought we caused it, but it turns out the guy was texting and driving so that's why he... drove into a tree." Zelena: "The bloody idiot. Were you hurt?" Robin: (Shaking her head:) "No, Alice and I are fine, but the guy had some injuries." Zelena: "Serves him right, the daft twit. I'm so glad you're all right." Robin: "Yeah, me too. Jefferson said that dreamscapes are not to be messed with." Zelena: "The Mad Hatter? What's he got to do with it?" Robin: "He's the one who warned Alice and I about the dream world. He said bad things will happen if-" Zelena: "Oh, sweetie. There's a reason he's known as the Mad Hatter. The man's bonkers. Don't worry about him." Robin: "Well he sounded pretty serious about it." Zelena: "Yeah, well you've nothing to worry about. My dreamscape was one big bust." Robin: "Why, what happened?" Zelena: "It doesn't matter. I went there looking for something that just... wasn't meant to be." Robin: "I'm sorry." Zelena: "No, I'm sorry. Robin, I want you to know something. Any happiness I have, it all began with you." (Mother and Daughter stand and embrace as Zelena allows a tear to fall down her cheek.) Storybrooke General Hospital. (Greg Mendell walks back to his room attached to an IV stand. Entering, he finds two people waiting for him.) Rumplestiltskin: "Ah, Mr. Mendell. Glad to see you're up and around." Greg: "W-who are you?" Rumplestiltskin: (Gesturing toward her:) "This is Alice. She was there at the scene of your accident and wanted to see how you were." Greg: "I-I'm fine." Alice: "Are you sure? My girlfriend and I feel partly responsible for what happened." Greg: (Shaking his head and taking a seat beside her on the bed:) "No, please, it was my fault. I should've been concentrating on the road." Alice: "Well, as long as you're all right." Greg: (Smiles:) "I'll live. (Turning to look at the man beside them:) A-and you are?" Rumplestiltskin: "That's not half as important right now as finding out who you are." Greg: "I-" Rumplestiltskin: "No, no, dearie. Not here. My friend and I have many questions and I think it best if we were not disturbed while I ask them. Let's go for a drive, shall we?" (Greg glances nervously at Alice, who smiles.) On The Road. (Alice stares at Rumplestiltskin while he drives.) Alice: "I don't know about this." Rumplestiltskin: "Alice, we're just going to ask our friend a few questions." Alice: "Yeah, but-" Rumplestiltskin: "I had my suspicions about Mr. Mendell the moment he entered our lives. Now with the sudden reappearance of our mutual acquaintance, along with his warning, there's definitely more going on that meets the eye." Alice: "You think Mr. Mendell isn't who he says he is?" Rumplestiltskin: "Oh, I know he isn't. Alice, those protective spells across the town line are among the most powerful magic ever created. No mere 'ordinary' man should ever have been able to penetrate them." Alice: (Glancing back towards the trunk of the car:) "So who do you think he is?" Rumplestiltskin: "I'm not sure. But if my inkling is correct, we could all be in a lot of danger." (Alice's eyes widen at this, looking once more towards the trunk and the faint sound of pounding coming from it.)

Kingdom Of Valencia. (The Jester exits his quarters just as Madelena corners him.) Queen Madelena: “Where are you going? It's time for four o’clock fool-around.” Jester: “Is it? M-my sundial must be slow because of the... c-clouds.” Queen Madelena: “If you're worried I'm upset about you helping my husband with that ridiculous show, then don't be. Who cares? He's an idiot.” Jester: (Pulling away from her:) “Yes, well, that's the thing. I don't think I can do this anymore. I guess I just feel a little... guilty.” Queen Madelena: “Well, that's very noble of you to care about someone's feelings. Guards! If you're developing a conscience, then you're no good to me. (To the guards:) Take him to the dungeon, the really scary one. With the mice.” Jester: “Wait, no! Please! (As he’s being dragged away:) At least let me change my clothes! These are gang colors!” King Richard: (Rounding the corner:) “Oh, hello. I was just coming to see Steve.” Queen Madelena: “Who's Steve?” King Richard: “Steve McKinzie. The jester. You don't know his name? Well, no matter. (Taking her arm:) Say, what do you call a tiny mosquito in a tin suit?” Queen Madelena: (Allowing herself to be lead away:) “Oh, God.” King Richard: “Nope. A gnat in shining armor. (Chuckles:) I've got so many of these.” Queen Madelena: “Please stop talking.” King Richard: (Laughing:) “No, I love talking with you.”

Storybrooke. Swan-Mills House. Morning. (Extracting herself gently from her wife's embrace, Regina slowly sits up, fixes her hair and pads softly towards the bathroom. A short time later, at the sound of the shower running, Emma yawns then pushes herself up onto her elbows. With only the slightest hint of trepidation, Emma slides out of bed and walks over to the bathroom. Standing at the door, she smiles at the sound of singing coming from the shower.) Regina: (Upon seeing Emma enter the steam filled room:) "Hey, you." Emma: (Stretches languidly:) "Hey yourself." Regina: "Well? You coming in here or not?" (With a smirk, Regina turns her back and resumes her shower. Not needing to be asked twice, Emma quickly removes her shirt and underwear before joining her wife.) Emma: (Kissing Regina's shoulder:) "Good morning." Regina: "Mm, morning." Emma: "Well this is definitely different to last time we were in here together." Regina: "Mmhmm. A lot has changed for the better." Emma: "You're telling me. (Sliding her hands softly up and over her wife's belly:) We're getting pretty big." Regina: (Laughing:) "Yes we are." (Placing her hands over Emma's, Regina turns and faces her wife, kissing her deeply.) Emma: (As they part briefly:) "I wasn't too rough with you, was I? I mean-" Regina: "Shh. Baby and I are fine. All that remains is the memory and the glorious night's sleep that came with it." Emma: (Slightly relieved:) "That's great to hear. I know it was just a dream, that we weren't really there but-" Regina: "It was real to us. Every. (Kiss:) Magical. (Kiss:) Moment of it." Emma: "I have never felt closer to you than I do right now, and I am so excited we're on this journey together." Regina: (Smiles:) "Forever."

A Short Time Later. (Having showered and dressed, the pair are about to head down to breakfast when Regina calls Emma back.) Regina: "Emma, about yesterday... You were right. I was a little rough on Snow and she didn't deserve it." Emma: "She'll forgive you, it's what Mom does." Regina: "Yeah, I know, but... I guess old habits die hard. I shouldn't be keeping her at arms length. She's family and despite our history, I truly care for her." Emma: "She loves you too, so much." Regina: "I know. I'll make it up to her somehow. I just wanted you to know that..." Emma: "Message received." Regina: "Yeah." Emma: "Awesome. (Taking her wife's hand, she leads them toward the stairs:) And all it took was me pounding you against a tree." Regina: "Emma! (As Emma laughs:) You know our son could've heard that." Emma: “He’s not even here. And trust me, if Henry’s dreamscape is half as fun as ours, it’ll take a lot more than that to wake him up.” Henry's Dreamscape. Kingdom of Valencia. (Ella, Henry and several of the refugees are lead into the castle by the king's soldiers. Standing at the staircase is a gloating King Richard.) King Richard: "Well, well, well. How the mighty have fallen. Princess Ella of Valencia and her rebels. (To a guard:) Has she been searched?" Guard: "Yes, Sire." King Richard: (As the guard holds out the Jewel of Valencia:) "Ah ha. I'll take that, thank you. (To Henry:) And if it isn't the hero." Henry: "The name's Henry and this isn't over yet." (Seizing the guard's sword, Henry manages to disarm three soldiers before turning to see Ella in Gareth's grasp.) Gareth: (With a knife at Ella's throat:) "Your move... 'Cause I haven't killed anybody all day.” King Richard: “Gareth! We agreed I would say the cool things.” Gareth: (To Henry:) “So, what's it gonna be?” King Richard: “Damn it, Gareth!” Henry: “Fine.” (Drops the sword.) Ella: “Henry, no!” Henry: “Now let her go.” King Richard: “You are so noble. But, no, I don’t think I will. Well, well, well... Looks like it's time for dinner. (To Gareth:) Nailed it.” Gareth: “Boom.” The Dungeons. (Henry, Ella and the other prisoners are lead into the dungeons.) King Richard: (To Ella:) “Well, normally I would let you say your goodbyes but I'm executing Henry the hero straight away. Guards, take this man to the gallows immediately.” Ella: (As Henry is hauled away and a hood put over his head, Gareth closes the cell door:) “No!” King Richard: (To Gareth:) “Hmm. It's nice to finally have people down here. Feels lived in.” 

Storybrooke. (Dressed only in his hospital gown and robe, Greg Mendell is shoved inside a shipping container. Following him inside are Alice and Rumplestiltskin.) Rumplestiltskin: "There, we shouldn't be disturbed here. Now, dearie. Who are you?" Greg: "M-my name is Greg Mendell, I'm from-" Rumplestiltskin: "Don't insult my intelligence. Tell me who you really are." Greg: (Looking back and forth between Alice and Rumplestiltskin:) "Okay, I give up, who the hell am I?" Alice: "Sometimes that's the greatest puzzle isn't it?" Rumplestiltskin: "Tell us who you are!" Greg: "You're mad, you've gone mad." Alice: (Shakily:) "We're all mad here!" (Alice suddenly pulls out a gun.) Rumplestiltskin: "Alice, what are you doing?" Alice: "This was in your glove box. I thought you wanted me to bring it?" Rumplestiltskin: "No, I keep that for my protection. I still have enemies. Now, put the gun down." Alice: "No, sorry. We don't have a choice." Greg: (Panicked:) "Why are you doing this?" Alice: (Waving the gun around frantically:) "Because we need answers." Rumplestiltskin: "Alice, no!" (When Rumplestiltskin makes a move for the gun, it goes off, shooting him. Aghast at what she's just done, Alice drops the gun as Rumplestiltskin collapses to the floor, a pool of blood forming around him. Having seen more than enough, Greg Mendell turns and runs out of the container, as fast as his legs will carry him.) Henry's Dreamscape. Kingdom Of Valencia. Gallows. (Striding confidently onto the platform, Richard approaches the hooded man.) King Richard: "Not so tough, are you now, (Removes the hood:) Henr- (The Chef is revealed underneath the hood:) Aah!!" Chef: "Aah!!" Meanwhile... (Henry is pushed into a chair and his hood removed. Laid before him is an exquisite banquet of food.) Queen Madelena: (Entering the room:) "Hello, darling." Henry: (Turns:) "Queen Madelena?" Queen Madelena: "There's braised rabbit and Bordaux." Henry: "You saved me?" Queen Madelena: "Oh, I've done a lot more than that. (Picking up a bread knife, she cuts Henry's hands free:) I have a proposal for you. (Taking a seat opposite:) I've written someone, and he's coming to execute my plan. He doesn't play nice. (Raising her goblet:) Everything's about to change."

[nikolaiis]

THE DICE ROLLER --;;

( JON BERNTHAL, CISMALE ) has NIKOLAI SOKOLOV been acting strange lately? i’m sure the incident still has the THIRTY EIGHT year old MOB ENFORCER on edge. he’s known around treeville  as LOYAL & PROTECTIVE – but can be VIOLENT & HEADSTRONG if you get on his bad side. HE couldn’t have done it, though, because during the incident they COMPLETED MOB WEAPON INVENTORY 

hello it’s mae again & apparently i just can’t help myself; this here is nikolai sokolov, an enforcer in the trons’ mob, @viviantrons‘s bodyguard, and pretty much the antithesis of everything clair is, so i look forward to the challenge ! you can read his bio below the cut or you can read it here.

general aesthetic--;;

tensed fists and jaw; blood between teeth and fingers; tattoos that cover the corporeal form; eyes that have seen too much but haven’t seen it all; calloused from wielding knives yet soft enough for playing cards; violent and headstrong and all the things that shatter at dusk

                                                      check his pinterest here 

biography--;;

tw: car accidents, death, mob related activity, drinking, gambling, guns

Nikolai grew up predisposed for things he did not understand, and he took life by the horns and made it his. His grandfather, Vycheslav Yegorovich Sokolov, immigrated to the United States from Yaroslavl when he was twenty-one in 1950. He brought his pregnant wife with him, and began a modest life in New York City. Shortly after their arrival, their son was born: Vasili Vycheslavovich Sokolov. In an effort to make a better life for his son, Vycheslav leaned into his father’s contacts in the States. He ran small gambling rings out of a laundromat, collecting some off the top as he went. He amassed a small fortune, which - thanks to the war efforts and careful investments throughout the 50’s, 60’s, and 70’s - rose and fell in value. With this fortune, he put Vasiliy through school, where he graduated with a degree in business management and hospitality.

Vasiliy continued his father’s work, moving to New Haven, CT and opening up a small hotel. He used the hotel as a cover and location to host his father’s business deals and poker games. Father and son remained independent from organized crime, though they lent favors here and there if it suited them. While in university, Vasiliy met his eventual wife, Helga Lundqvist. She was a clever mathematician, and he brought her into the fold on the side. She studied probability, patterns, human behavior with risk and reward. Helga became the assistant to Vasiliy with his hotel, occasionally running games herself. They continued in this life, carefully toeing the line with law enforcement and bigger gangs from larger cities, and eventually they married in June 1978.

Nikolai was born in 1981, three years after his parent’s marriage. His sister, Sophie, followed four years after he in 1985. They were practically raised in the hotel, the only place they truly found peace. Their parents were separated by different work environments; while Vasiliy remained the face of the business, Helga was running all of the games, keeping tabs on who they could and could not trust. Vycheslav warned his son to keep a low profile; scarred from the devastation his friends and allies had suffered during the Red Scare, he did not wish harm upon his grandchildren. Vasiliy acknowledged his father’s wishes, but still amassed a security detail upon his daughter’s birth.

Sophie was headstrong and Americanized, shirking the separate lessons her parents tried to put her through. She had her mother’s wit, and used it to her advantage, dipping and weaving through her parents’ influences. While Nikolai attended the same college his father had, Sophie ran to the west coast, wanting to be as far from home as possible. Their parents sent Nikolai after her, and he went, grappling with his own secret.

His mother’s teachings had awakened nothing but his addictive personality. He loved the games, the rush of tallying up the wins and losses, the thrill of placing a winning hand down with a blank face. He wasn’t the ideal son, lacking cleverness but having ample amounts of headstrong belief in himself and his abilities. In essence, he was sent to watch over his sister, and make sure she was alright.

He followed Sophie, remained in San Francisco as her. She was in school nearly full time, and while he had to break her out of a few unsavory situations (some involving jail) a few well placed threats and well timed phone calls back home amounted to good favors.

Here’s where Nikolai begins to lose himself.

Untethered from his parents’ influences, Nikolai finds himself in love with every substance out there. He’s too dull to run the games by himself, he’s too easily distracted by what he knows he would do rather than by what is actually happening on the table. But he’s strong. He can handle himself in a fight. He can also handle his alcohol. In the years of trailing his sister around, he begins to collect his tattoos, begins to get mixed up in things he’s far too out of his depth with.

A few times, it is Sophie who must rescue him from himself.

Sophie graduated college and refused to return to Connecticut. She loved her American life, loved her American friends, and wanted to stay far from the reaches of her parents. They agreed, provided Nikolai stay and look after her, though by now Sophie is the one mostly looking after him.

At about this time, Sophie found a new job in Santa Barbara, working as a publicity assistant for an up and coming fashion brand. Nikolai moved with her, down to the beachside city, and settled in with her. They lived there for four years, and life seemed okay. Across the  continent, Vycheslav warns his son to reel his children in. Neither party listens.

It’s an accident, is all it is. Nikolai thinks she’s safe to go on a trip with some friends from work, while he stays in the Santa Barbara. Sophie packs her bags, tells Nikolai not to worry, that she’ll be back in a few days.

If he’d been more alert, he may have noticed that she’d packed a fair amount more than would be needed for a few days. He would have noticed that she’d been coming back later and later - not that he would have noticed, as he was hardly home himself. He would have noticed the hickies and starry look in her eyes; he would have noticed the scent of cologne and aftershave. He would have noticed the ring.

Sophie left to elope, fully intending on returning home after a few weeks. Instead, due to brake failure, her and her fiancé were killed on the highway by an errant eighteen-wheeler.

It’s an accident, but it costs Nikolai his family and his parent’s money. He’s making some of it back with his games, but not enough to afford where he and Sophie were staying. Not enough to warrant being allowed to stay in Santa Barbara. He packed up his car and drove, and kept driving, until he ran out of gas in Treeville.

He spent the last little bit of money that he had at the nearest casino. He wins that hand, and the next. He keeps winning, and winning, and winning, until he’s woken up with the crack of a gun against his head. Nikolai didn’t remember parking his car, wandering around town until he found a mansion that was rich enough to spark some kind of drunken memory. Memories of home, of living in the hotel, of his mother’s games. He’d somehow gotten in, he’d somehow broke into the house, before he was taken down in the foyer. Now he’s facing an impressive stone faced man in a bathrobe, and he remembers his grandfather.

At thirty years old, Nikolai gets the only job he’s actually qualified for. Blake Trons offers him a position in his mob, and he accepts. For seven years, he stays comfortably in the middle of the pack; not the go-to man, but not the worst. He’s tested, time and time again, and sometimes he lets his temper get the better of him.

At thirty-seven, Nikolai is offered the job he had failed at before. Blake tells him to watch over his daughter, and watch he does. He doesn’t anticipate tolerating her. He doesn’t anticipate liking her. He certainly doesn’t anticipate falling for her.

At thirty-eight, Nikolai still has the job he failed at before. He’s still failing, but in a different way. But moping doesn’t bring Sophie back; it doesn’t make Vivian look at him again.