#he learnt so much from him and remembered so many life lessons

[dewey-ing-it]

Like father uncle like son nephew

[misty-memories09]

Modern kny au headcanons, still on the group 1 (Makomo, Giyuu, Sabito, Mitsuri, Tengen and Kyojuro) btw. Also, this is like middle school/highschool although multiple (all) of these remain true for their whole lives.

Part 1 (Makomo, Giyuu and Sabito)

Mitsuri —

she learnt how to make necklaces out of beads and the rubber bracelets (still don't know what the fuck they're called) from makomo. so like she really loves making friendship bracelets for her friends and she's the type of person to give them to the whole school. but she also colour codes them so pink goes to her closest friends aka the friend group.

she loves to get to know about the latest fashion trends from tengen, and from the previous post I mentioned that sabito got into henna art and got mitsuri and tengen into it too, so like whenever they hang out, they draw henna art on each other's hands. (Mitsuri does Tengen's, Sabito does mitsuri's and Tengen does Sabito's).

she's also someone who looks like would get scared while watching scary movies but doesn't. but her favourite genre is romcom and I feel like she's had a wattpad phase atleast once in her life.

this one's from kimetsu gakuen, I really REALLY loved how she wants to draw a manga and then she also made the lovestory (or maybe it was that she had it I don't remember properly what), so like her dreams supposed to be to become a manga artist or an author. so she's writing a novel and she makes the other review it, and when she meets shinobu and they become quick friends like that.

she finds it ADORABLE that giyuu has so many toys, she really likes going over to his house and playing with him. (I headcanon them to be weird together and like I love giyuumitsu friendship where they're both silly and the same breed somehow). sometimes they get competitive in showing how many toys they have too and especially over limited edition ones. and they also built a lego city together and they named every single citizen too. they're both whimsy and child-like like that and no, I will not listen to criticism.

she also has a drawn potrait of all of her friends in her house because she loves all of them so much! this is because she used to get bullied in 2nd grade (and onwards), so finding people who not only appreciate her 'weirdness' but also join her make her so happy.

Kyojuro —

it's canon that he likes sweet potatoes (omg same), so, adding to that he don't believe him when he says that he can cook sweet potatoes, he will burn your whole kitchen down in the process. whenever he cooks sweet potatoes, they happen to be either undercooked or burnt, there's no inbetween but he's working on it.

okay, so, it's modern au so I imagine him wearing hearing aids, whenever he's upset by hearing something or someone, he just turns his hearing aids off (since he's someone whose quick to jump into conclusions, quick to change his mind etc etc).

he gives lessons to younger (and sometimes older) kids about history. reason being that he likes helping others and he also has a love for history (canonically).

I feel like he's the only one in the whole group who wears the proper school uniform/wears the school uniform properly.

he has had trouble sleeping (after his mother's death) and wakes up instantly but whenever he's having a sleep over with the group™ he always sleeps comfortably and is the last to wake up and if he doesn't wake up there's no telling whether he's going to jolt awak, going into hibernation or dead.

Tengen —

he's the opposite of rengoku in terms of uniform and firmly believes that the dress code is there to break. so he constantly bedecks himself in accessories and doesn't even wear the uniform at times.

the group™ likes hugging him, because he's bigger and taller than them = warm hugs. so in winter season, they just cuddle up to him, all of them. and in sleepovers he's in the middle of the pile, so he's just a glorified giant teddy bear. sabito is the most embarassed about it and mitsuri is the least.

he knows about all of their crushes and is prone to tease them about it alot but he's also the first person to listen to all of their problems without interrupting. and he's actually very reliable so he would only tease them about their crushes when the said crush isn't around.

he's the only one in the group with a musical skill but he likes playing REALLY loud so, obviously, alot of noise complaints. his friends are always a subject to his musical performances, sometimes mitsuri joins in with a violin that tengen owns but she sounds like a dying chicken, giyuu also joins with an off-tune harmonica. tengen is, ofcourse, very supportive of them and “lets play it so loud that there's not a working eardrum left!”

he's the one whose the most obsessed with taking care of his looks in the group and in the process he has successfully dragged mitsuri and sabito into the pits of routinely care of hair, skin, nails and what not. he also loves giving all of them makeovers, he has supplies full of beads, jewels, makeups etc and mitsuri sometimes asks him if she could take some for the jewellery she makes (tengen is more than happy to share). and he always gets the others to be models for his newest fashion invention (he wants to be a fashion designer).

Also, help me name this group, I don't wanna keep referring to it as the group™

Next — Gyuutaro, Shinobu, Sanemi and Obanai.

[Clarification: sanemi and Obanai go to a seperate place I'm just throwing them in the same part because I'll do the kamaboko squad later, and yes, I'm throwing Ume in the kamaboko squad because 1) I can, 2) Kanao and ume friendship.]

[pistachiofiasco]

terror, touch, dawn

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader Genre: comfort, character-introspective(?) Words: 2657 Warnings: some allusions to canon-type violence; spoilers for Gilbert's route

Also on AO3!

surprise! I'm back with another one folks. this got moulded into so many different shapes before it settled into this. i had wanted it to be more, but i've been so deprived of gil content that i'm feeling a lil uninspired smh

beta read by the ever-wonderful @scummy-writes - thank you for putting up w my ramblings about very specific wording

Gilbert von Obsidian knew fear. He had experienced it so much throughout his life after all.

And yet, as he closed his bedroom door and turned to find a familiar figure curled up in the black sheets of his bed, he wondered if he had ever experienced this.

It was different from the fear he remembered feeling towards the creature that had been considered his father. He remembers the distance, the avoidance, the protection, the childish feeling of needing to stay away from whatever that thing that stalked the palace hallways was. After the turning point – the image flashes unbidden in his mind again, always, always returning: black stone and black skies and heads on pikes and the sheer abject disinterest from those around him – his fear merged with his hate. In the Emperor's last moments, Gilbert realised one of his greatest fears had already become a truth: he was as much a monster as the man whose body fell and disappeared from his sight.

It was different still from the fear which lurked deep in his heart, which echoed with every thump of his cane, which lingered in every footprint he left behind. The fear he had been taught, which had been carved so carefully into the dark marrow of his bones. No one could be trusted. Every interaction would be analysed, every person would be guilty until proven innocent, every action would be a source of suspicion. It became fuel: for every moment of fear Gilbert felt, he paid it back twice-fold. He was the most feared man on the continent now. Every betrayal, every deceit, every knife was returned. This was Obsidian after all, lessons had to be learnt. It had always been this way.

It was different even from the fear he felt about his sickness. In his youth, he had been afraid of spending his entire life locked in his rooms. He longed to breathe fresh air and play in the grass like other children did. He wanted to feel the sun warm his skin as flowers swayed in the wind around him. In his weakest hours as a child, he would stare beyond the curtains of his bedframe, beyond the curtains of his windows, poised like delicate and intricate bars of a prison. Half-awake, his eyes would linger on clouds that floated so far out of reach of anyone or anything. He would wonder what it could possibly be like to be so free. As he grew older, he found Rhoderic and made plans – plans for a new Obsidian, a new order, a new world even – and his fear changed shape. It was no longer about where it would trap him, but when. There was so much work to be done, so many fine lines to tread and needles to thread. So much to dismantle. Every moment had to be worth something, no matter how much pain he was in.

Fear was a normal part of Gilbert von Obsidian's life. Receiving or inflicting, it was so ingrained in him that sometimes it barely registered anymore. It was fear that had brought him this far after all.

This was different. A feeling unique, reserved only for you (so many things in his life were just for you).

It was still quite novel to him, to walk into his bedroom of at least ten years and find you sleeping so soundly. His life had been full of novelty since he had pulled you into it and you had decided to stay. Mostly, he was delighted. Sometimes, the pit that opened up in his stomach threatened to swallow him whole. And very rarely, he would feel like this. Breath caught, chest tight, eyes wide, a pounding echoing from the back of his head throughout his whole body. Terror coursing through every inch of him. And it was from you. You, who wept for everyone's pain but your own. You, who reached your hand out to everyone with no lies in your heart. You, who had accepted his everything as it was, whose only wish for him was to find his happiness again.

You, who loved him.

(He knew this, though it still didn't make any sense to him. He had called your love absurd and mad and baffling more times than he could count. He knew it, and you took every opportunity to show it (soft affections and stern lectures both), though he understood that he still didn't trust it. Trust you. It was a discussion you had had before, a truth that you faced with your usual determination and clarity, even as the weight of it tilted his world view.)

This feeling brought out his worst traits. The easiest solution was always to remove the source. It made his vision blurry and made that old voice sing (kill it kill it kill it). It was the closest he got to panic, he realised, the desire to wrap his hands around your throat and silence you. Like forgetting to control his strength in a fight. Like using full force to throw you like a ragdoll against a wall to protect you from a knife. It only took a moment. It was dangerous. For both of you. Because at the same time, his solace in the dark for so long had been you. Akatsuki's stories, the you he met in Rhodolite, and now the you here now in Obsidian, in his hands. Every time he had felt himself drowning, your hand had reached for him to pull him back to the surface. You would probably never quite grasp just how deeply he relied on you.

It made him ache.

Gilbert knew what you gave up for him. He knew all the concessions you made to him, how much you let him get away with. He had watched you butt heads with people for far less than what he had done to you, watched you not give an inch only to turn to him and give him a mile. He knew his worst habits and the worst he would do if you let him. You didn't, you couldn't, otherwise you would stop being yourself (and there would be no greater betrayal to Gilbert von Obsidian after all). But he was more aware than anyone how much space you gave him and how little he gave back to you.

In one moment – when you had stared into his soul, gentle but unyielding, and asked him what he truly wanted for Obsidian, for the people he worked so hard for – he had wondered what it would have meant for the two of you if he was 'clean'. If he could shed off the layers of grime and blood and filth that made this nation, as if he hadn't been mired and marinated in it since his birth. As if the name Obsidian, a name for fear and pain, wasn't moulded into his features, wasn't the only thing people could see when they looked at him. He felt the need to scrub at his skin and flesh and hair and eyes until there was nothing of Obsidian left and it was just him, just Gilbert, once again. And he could hold you without worrying about the smell of blood sticking to his skin and the image of dirt smearing across your gentle face, and you could smile and hold him like you had no care in the world and maybe you could both just be happy for the rest of your lives.

It was absurd. You had made him into an absurdity incarnate.

There was no coming back from everything the Emperor of Obsidian had done. And Gilbert was not one for regretting the choices he had made and the path that he had carved forward. But just in that moment, he couldn't help but wonder if you wished that of him. The look you had in your eyes sometimes when he returned from his work, when he knew you could see and smell and feel what he had done, made him wonder if you wished he could be better. (You didn't. You didn't wish he was better, you wished he was happier. You had told him that. Had told Gil, who hates liars, that.)

A ridiculous thought flits through his mind, almost making him laugh into the black night of his bedroom, over the pounding of his heart. Chevalier would be able to teach himself to be who you wanted him to be. It wasn't often that he compared himself to the Rhodolite prince this way; comparisons were inevitable considering the similarities they shared. Gilbert himself had always considered them two halves of the same coin – alike but clearly different. Chevalier Michel and Gilbert von Obsidian would never know love, would never know friendship, and would never find a middle ground. They would always be walking in opposite directions (he had believed that to the very end, and yet the stubbornness with which you wrangled him and Chevalier into each other’s company at every opportunity was almost scary. He expected it of himself. But to see Chevalier coerced into it too was beyond his expectations. They had both finally found something they agreed on: you were a force to be reckoned with when you wanted to be.)

But you had fallen in love with him as he was. And you had never denied what he was. Neither of you would have gotten this far if you had tried to ignore it after all. And so perhaps the terror came from the acceptance, the (almost) unconditional devotion. Perhaps for the Emperor of Obsidian, the weight of such feelings was just so unfathomably heavy that he felt it would be the death of him.

How strange, when his death was something Gilbert had never shied away from.

-----

"Gil?"

Your voice in the dark, sudden as a whip and gentle as a summer breeze, startled him. It sent a bolt down his spine again, hot and cold all at once. It made him dizzy how much he wanted to wrap himself in that sound, layer it fiercely around his wounded heart as it ached and throbbed in his chest. He felt like he might cave in on himself at any moment. He felt as fragile as you looked. So at home, unfurling in his black sheets, stretching the drowsiness away in his bed, blinking bright eyes open in his room to find him in the dark (just like you always did).

"Gil." Your voice was rougher than usual with the weight of sleep and small in the blackness of the room at night. You found him still. He could see well enough the way your gaze softened and your lips curved, even with half your face still buried in the pillow (his pillow too, since you seemed to be lying on his side of the bed). Your hand emerged from the covers and stretched out from the safety of the bed to him, inviting. It was cute, the way you wiggled your fingers to encourage him, the way the sleeve of what was definitely one of his shirts was too long and draped over your knuckles. It looked like salvation.

He felt frozen, his muscles locked at the chill that ran up and down his spine. He wondered how much you could actually see as you lifted your head to squint and pout at him. It felt like something in his chest had opened up inside him. Like his heart had been precariously placed on a trap door and this one moment was the trigger. An ache in his ribcage, a weightlessness in his stomach, a chill in his spine. He wanted to close his eyes, to turn the handle of the door and leave and find a less frightening room to spend the night (the infirmary would do). And when you asked in the morning, he could laugh at the idea that you had missed him so much you dreamt of him coming to you in the night.

Gilbert von Obsidian was very used to fear. But it had been a long time since he had run from it.

Forcing past the stiffness in his limbs, he reached for your hand. He was still dressed in his formal attire, not even close to ready for bed. But he didn't have time for that now. The brush of your fingers against his even through his glove didn't shock him like he expected it to. His fingers tingled, almost ached, like his body had been craving your touch whilst his mind was preoccupied. Your fingers slid against his, skin finally meeting skin as you pressed your hand against his. He wondered again just how much you could see of his expression, but perhaps his silence had been a better indicator. You held him gently, reverently almost, even when you were just barely on this side of your dreamscape. You pulled him closer. His knees brushed the bedframe now. His hand, in yours, was turned softly. You brushed your lips across his knuckles and the warmth rushed through him again. It felt like something had taken an axe to the inside of his chest, the way it seemed ready to crack open. His hand was pressed against your cheek as you laid a proper kiss on the flesh of his palm. It made his lungs stutter.

He felt raw. Exposed and vulnerable. And when you looked at him, he couldn't decide between reclaiming control and giving in to you. He had been working so hard on trusting you more. He truly had. He had given you more space, tried to let you explore and expand your horizons as you wished. He had even come to you once when he was feeling unwell (you had dropped everything and devoted all your time and attention to him, just like he had hoped. And it had made him feel so hilariously shy, of all things. He felt like a child again. You had lay with him and watched him and kissed his forehead and thanked him. He had wanted to crawl into the warm safety of your heart and never leave it.)

He watched you sit up, still holding his hand to your cheek. In the midst of his ruminating, you had removed his gloves. He let you lift yourself up onto your knees, bringing your face in line with his. Let you hold his cheeks in your hands, sighing at the ache rushing through him again. He let you stare at what you could see of his face and when you reached behind his head to gently maneuver his eye-patch off, he let you do that too. You pulled him close, your fingers played with his hair and your heads leaned together and your hands held his face and he let you. Your breaths mingled as your lips pressed against his cheek, against the corner of his lips. He stayed still.

When you finally brought your lips to his, with all the softness and gentleness of your night, he remembered what it felt like to break. He felt like he had fallen from a height and splattered against the cobblestones of the castle gates; like he had been beaten with a club, so bruised and battered that not a muscle in his body would move; he felt like there were no bones left to break in his body when you held him like this. You terrified him, in all the ways he had come to crave. When you held him like this, tension flooded in and out of him at the same time. His lungs emptied in a rush but he breathed easier than he ever had. The chill that accompanied him all his life seeped away, replaced by your warmth. One numbness went away as another eased in.

You held him like he meant more than anything to you. You felt like daybreak.

it took weeks to decide just the last one of this (that's not an exaggeration, you can ask scummy)

also there are two easter eggs in here -> a frieren one - hint: the ost is amazing -> an epic the musical one - hint: i'm obsessed w ayron alexander as antinous

if you find them, more love and affection unto you friend!

[fandomsareforlife]

Lost In What You Think Of Me (And Too Confused To Choose Who I Should Be)

Zane always had felt…off. Even after learning who he is, and gaining his memories again of his father, he still doesn’t really know who Zane is. Pixal, or Primary Interactive eX-ternal Assistant Life-form,is an android with a specific purpose in mind: serve Cyrus Borg the best as she can. So when she meets the ninja, specifically one with white like her, she isn’t sure what to do about the new things that swarm her head. OR Zane and Pixal’s evolving relationship with both each other, life and gender, told over the series in a series of drabbles up to season 13.

AN: Hiiii I know I have been dead but I prommy I had a good reason. I was writing this beast of a fic! It's 12,534 words so I recommend reading it on AO3 but you do you boo

I wrote this for the Ninjago Big Bang 2024, with accompanying art from @froginninjago on Tumblr and @caseyjonesisinthehouse on tumblr!

Anyway, trigger warnings include canon typical violence, death (it is a Zane centric fic what you expect?), grief, accidental misgendering, and gender dysphoria

Read On AO3

Zane had never truly felt at peace before. He knew that he had come from somewhere, but where that was remained a mystery to him. He had no memories of who he was, nor did he have any knowledge on who he was supposed to be.

He did not know if he had any enemies in the past, or any friends. He did not know if he had always enjoyed ice cold drinks or if he used to prefer warm ones. He did not even know if his name really was “Zane,” or if that was just a name his mind came up with to deal with the lost memories of who he is. He did not even know if he was actually a male or not.

All he knew was that he woke up in a cold bed, with an elderly woman sitting next to it, in the dead of winter. She had asked him many questions, like where he was from, and what his name was, and why he was there.

Zane could answer none of them.

She gave him a funny look, her lips pursed, but she didn’t make any comments, instead telling him to take a shower and meet her when he was done.

There was an odd disconnect between his mind and his body as he bathed, but Zane chalked it up to not remembering what it was like before he ended up here, and ignored the voice in his mind that said that was not what it was.

The next months were a blur.

Zane was initially put into the orphanage, because he thought he was a teenager, but they kicked him out because he was considered too odd. He didn’t know why they thought that, but he had heard whispers about how he was “a fruity weirdo” and how he should be with the men more than the girls, and how he shouldn’t enjoy cooking as much as he did.

The comments made no sense to Zane, but he never asked for any clarification about them, instead simply leaving the village, for he figured that he should not cause any undue inconveniences on others. The old woman whose home he had woken up in was kind enough to give him a basket full of dried food, things that would last a long time, and warm clothes, no matter how much he insisted he did not need them.

Setting off into the world, Zane made a conscious effort to avoid staying in one place for far too long. He had learnt his lesson the first time: people would tolerate you for short doses, and then proceed to get annoyed at the idea of you existing, for some reason, so you had to leave.

He would stop occasionally at small villages, offering up what work he could do, mostly menial things like carrying lumber or picking crops, in exchange for money or food. At every village, he would eventually get ostracized, though, because he was "odd," just like he was shunned at the first village. And then he would be left on his own, with no real knowledge of who he was or what he was doing.

Eventually, Zane made his way down from the frozen mountains to the valleys, which, while just as cold as the mountains, were rumored to be abundant with natural resources that one could live off of if they were willing to endure the cold. Of course, no one would ever be crazy enough to do that, right?

Well, Zane was already considered crazy, and the cold did not bother him much anyway. He would take his chances.

And for a while, he was alone. He would occasionally pass by travelers trying to get to a village in the mountains, but they were far and few between. All Zane had was his meager supplies, the berries around him, and the few animals that were willing to brave the cold alongside him.

But one day, a strange man found him while he was meditating under the water. Zane was baffled as to what he was doing, but the man simply told Zane that he could come with him and have a place to stay, and in exchange Zane would train under him.

Something in Zane's mind told him he should go with the man, that he should be eager to protect the innocents, so with a nod, Zane got out of the water, and followed the man to his monastery.

~~~~~~

Getting to the monastery, Zane couldn’t help but still feel out of place, but at least here he had a purpose.

He was to be the ninja of ice, dressed in white. He was to defend those who could not defend themselves, as was the ninja way. He was getting better at his shurikens of ice, and at the obstacle course. In regards to ninja training, Zane was excelling.

On the other hand, he was not excelling at getting along with the ninja at some times.

It wasn’t like they were cruel. Not like the others at the villages Zane used to stop at on occasion, that forced him to run away time and time again from their cruelty. No, they were far kinder to him.

But he could not shake off the feeling of being an outsider. Maybe it was from how the others would talk about their families, and how they always seemed to know what to do, and they never seemed to feel out of place in their own bodies.

They didn’t seem to be drowning in something like Zane was.

Zane did try to get close to them. He played video games with them, sparred against them, cooked food for them, but…there was always a disconnect it seemed. Something always felt a bit…off.

The time this was most prevalent was when Cole showed him some of his drawings in exchange for a chocolate cake. Zane admired how realistic they were, with how sharp Kai’s jawline was in contrast to the softer edges of Jay and Nya’s, and how Wu’s hat was so detailed it seemed more like a photo than a drawing.

And then there was the portrait of Zane.

There were none of the curves in Jay and Nya’s portraits, instead only angles. Even his eyes, which Zane always viewed as the softest part of him, were harsh, the pencil lines pressed down so hard Zane wouldn’t be surprised if there were imprints on the other side of the paper. He wasn’t smiling, and the whole drawing was in black and white, unlike the others with colors splashed in.

It was probably as accurate as the other drawings, but Zane couldn’t help but feel a disconnect to it. Like he was looking at someone else’s picture, not his own. His heart ached, and his mind wanted to take the piece of paper and rip it apart and scream at Cole for making a drawing of him that was so wrong.

However, he did not tell Cole this, because he didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so he smiled weakly and said it was wonderful. The smile on his friend’s face barely soothed the ache in Zane’s heart.

—-----

As time went on, the ache in Zane’s heart grew worse and worse. The majority of days it was tolerable, but on some days it was so bad he could barely stand it.

On one such day, he was in such a state that nothing seemed to be real. He was lucky he did not injure himself while he was training, and he didn’t seem to make any large errors in socializing with the others.

When it came time to start dinner, Zane could not find his usual apron, a simple black and red one, but he did find a bright pink one that he thinks Jay got Nya for…something. Zane couldn’t honestly think of why he did it, for all he cared about was that his gi would not be at risk for getting dirty while he cooked with the apron.

Slipping on the apron, Zane felt…odd. The ache in his chest eased up just a bit, and he could breathe normally for the first time in what felt like hours. It was with a happy hum that he cooked dinner.

But when he went out, he learnt that no, boys do not wear pink, why are you wearing that, is that a joke, Zane? Zane could feel his humiliation build up and the ache come back, worse than before, as he watches his fellow ninja throw the food he made so carelessly.

After that, things seemed to go in a whirlwind. The ache stays all the time now, and Zane is left wondering where it came from.

Learning about his origins, and the fact that he did have a father, who loved his son very much, even if he was mechanical, should have made Zane feel better. Instead, it had the complete opposite effect on Zane, because he was sure that androids, sorry, nindroids, were supposed to be content to follow the programming that their creator gave them. At least, that seemed to be what Jay’s comics said.

But knowing he was supposed to be a boy made Zane feel…hollow. Why did he feel this way? He was to be a boy, so why did that idea make his skin crawl?

There was no room for such questions. So like he had so many times with things that hurt, like the lost memories and the cruel words, Zane ignored the issue. If he did not think about the issue, then he would never need to deal with it.

A perfect solution.

~~~~~~~~

Many months after Zane learnt the truth of himself, in New Ninjago City, in what would be the tallest building in Ninjago, another nindroid was being awoken in the workshop of Cyrus Borg.

Her name was Primary Interactive X-ternal Assistant Life-form, or P.I.X.A.L, or as her creator called her, Pixal.

Cyrus had built her a brilliant silver, and no detail was overlooked. She was average height for a female, and her clothing was a homage to the female rulers of the past, to remind them of all of those that came before them. Even her hair was amazing, with each strand a special blend of metals that made it flexible, yet able to hold a shape.

She was perfect. Cyrus had spared no expense for her build, and it showed.

Pixal was Cyrus’s sixteenth attempt at an assistant, and while she no longer had the issues of overheating like her predecessors, there still were issues with the artificial intelligence enhancer-emotion suppressor chip. Cyrus wasn’t sure how to fix this, however, so he simply left it as it was because quite honestly everything else seemed…perfect.

She was a dutiful assistant, as Cyrus programmed her, able to do anything he requires from her. Not that he asks for much, but it is nice to see her succeed. Like a parent might feel, he supposes.

The main issue is her lack of emotional understanding. She seemed to struggle with the idea of being her own being and not an object of Cyrus’s. But he can only be patient, and hope that the AIE-ES chip will soon be repaired so he can fix the issue.

After all, there was only one incident in which her lack of emotional depth caused any real issues, and that was quickly solved by some of the human employers.

Cyrus was sure everything will be fine.

~~~~

Zane wasn't sure what he was doing with himself when he found himself a teacher after the Overlord was defeated, and he and his brothers (for they were brothers now) were left powerless and Lloyd was gone.

He knew why Wu gave them the job of being teachers at his academy, despite none of them having any qualifications: he wanted them to have something to do, instead of wandering around aimlessly. Even if Wu said it was to have some extra help in preventing their students from getting into mischief, Zane knew better.

But being a teacher was not without its challenges. His students, former pupils of Darkley’s School for Bad Boys, were unwilling to listen to him when he taught. They couldn’t be reprimanded for long, for they did not fear the consequences. And he had no clue what he was doing, for a 6-week course was not enough to teach anyone, even an nindroid, how to be a teacher.

It did not help that being called “Mr. Zane,” made something in him hurt. He had no clue what it was, because all of his operating systems were functional, and none of his research or questions to his family could give him answers.

The ache reminded him of when he asked his father if he could modify Zane, because Zane was both terrified of having his memories removed and of having that longing in him for the rest of his life. But he only told his father of the fear of his memory being lost, because it was too hard to explain the odd feeling he felt.

But his father, the man he desperately hoped would understand, told Zane he was perfect. “I could never make you any better than you already are,” his father had said.

His father could not fix him, and he would not offer Zane any advice on how to fix himself, even on his deathbed. Zane never felt so helpless as he did when he heard his father take his last breath, on that hospital bed.

There was no time for grief, though. There never was. So Zane simply picked up the broken pieces and moved on, even if it felt like he was drowning in honey.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Meeting Zane was…odd for Pixal. He was just so human-like. He did not seem to mind being out of date, when Pixal knew if she ever got that outdated she would most likely be decommissioned.

She did not understand why she had scanned him, but she did feel…something in her system malfunction when she did. She could not understand what was the issue, so she made a note to investigate and do a diagnostic later on.

However, a diagnostic was unable to be completed, for she suddenly could not control any part of herself. She found herself moving along to the commands of the Overlord, who was somehow, against all logic, still there, and able to force Pixal to do his bidding.

Pixal could not stop herself from attacking the children, when logically she should never do unless entirely unavoidable. Logically, making copies of Zane for an army was bad, but nothing she did could stop her body from doing it. Making a body for the overlord was a terrible idea for the fate of ninjago, but she could only watch as Lloyd got his powers drained out of him.

Everytime she tried to go against the Overlord, she got the same error.

REQUEST DENIED. FOLLOW OBJECTIVE CHECKLIST.

If Pixal could feel, she would feel despair.

~~~~~

Zane wasn’t upset about being left behind at Garmadon’s monastery. He understood that the ninja needed someone to watch over the Techno Blades, and as the one who required the least amount of sleep, Zane volunteered for the job. But that did not mean that he was not lonely, all by himself.

He did not like being by himself with his thoughts. It let the voice inside of him, that whispered that being called a brother was wrong, grow too loud to ignore. And all Zane could do with that voice was ignore it.

In a weird way, he was grateful for the chance to fight something outside of his mind, even if he was annoyed that the nindroids ambushed him. Well, he was with most of them. Pixal he was glad to see, if only because she was so much like him.

When he used his technoblade on her, he did not expect to free her from the Overlord’s brainwashing, nor that the way to defeat the overlord was to use the technoblades to erase the Digiverse entirely. But he supposes that is just how life is when you are a ninja.

When they get onto a circus truck to get to the city, in order to avoid suspicion, Pixal offers to repair Zane. Zane sees no harm in letting her, even if he did not like being repaired. but quickly regrets that when she pokes at his heart. It hurt, but different from the ache he was used to. It didn’t feel wrong, it simply hurt. A blinding pain he wished to never feel again..

Pixal was apologetic, though, so Zane forgave her for it. He then tried to answer her question about why he was so different from others, but he had no satisfactory answer.

He was just different. Being different was something that Zane had gotten used to being.

However, being different did not make it any easier to hear Pixal tell him they were compatible as she powered off, nor did it make the guilt he felt go away at being the reason she powered off.

~~~~

Everything after receiving Zane’s power supply was a blur to Pixal. She somehow could feel so many more things she could have never imagined. She felt a connection with Zane, unlike any she had ever felt.

She also felt an odd sort of thing, that made her want to be Zane. She had chalked it up to having half his heart, which surely had unforeseen results.

But she felt…freer than she ever had when she was fighting with him. When the ninja called for Zane, she wished she was Zane. She felt more like Pixal when she was with Zane than without him.

(A part of her wondered if she wanted to be Zane, but that was preposterous. She was programmed to be Cyrus Borg’s female assistant, and not a piece of her code was to make her want to be a boy. It was simply illogical to feel this way.)

Her creator did not seem to understand what she meant, however, when she tried to explain what she was feeling. And it was not like she was able to explain any farther, with the nindroids coming in to attack.

What happened next would be something Pixal wishes she could save in her memories as low quality screenshots, rather than the high quality videos they were.

The ninja were sent to the digiverse. The Overlord almost defeats them. Wu tried to destroy the system. Her father was taken. The ninja were sent to space. The ninja came back.

But one moment she will keep in her memory files as clear as she could was Zane sacrificing himself.

He had grabbed onto the Overlord’s armor, and she knew that unless he let go of it, Zane would be dead. And he did not let go.

“Go, ninja, go!” Those were his final words. The words that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

For the first time ever, she had sobbed. Great, gulping tears that she could not stop, no matter how hard she tried. Because the one she was compatible with, the man she wished to be, was gone.

The funeral was locked under as many layers of security as Pixal could find. She never wanted to think of that again.

Pixal missed Zane.

~~~~~

When Zane made the decision to sacrifice himself, it was not entirely made out of pure selflessness.

Instead, he had done so partly because he wanted the constant ache in his soul to go away. He knew what would have happened if he did not let go of the overlord’s armour. He knew he would die.

Logically, he was aware of the fact that his family would miss him. If he had not made a backup of his consciousness on Borg’s computers, so he could rebuild himself from scratch after the deed was done, he might have hesitated.

But he did not need to hesitate. He would come back. Dying would not be a big deal because he would come back.

(One would say that one looks for what they can not have. Zane did not like to think of that quote. It hurt a bit too much, especially as time passed on.)

When he found himself existing only on Borg’s computers, he found himself overwhelmed with the choices he had for what his new body could look like. He decided that if he was going to rebuild his body, he would do it right.

While some might say he should have left his body just as it was, Zane could not help but wish that it was more like Pixal’s body.

It was odd to think this, he knew, because boys do not want to look like a girl, but he could not help but want to look like Pixal. So he took a look at the prototypes for her, and the designs for the evil nindroids, picking and choosing what he wanted.

The time he spent in the modelling app was…informative. It allowed Zane to design his body to what exactly felt right to have.

In the end, it ended up being softer, smaller in a way. Where his hair was ramrod straight in a way, he let it have a curlier nature to it, similar to Cole and Jay’s. His shoulders were no longer as pointed, nor were they as broad. His feet were a bit more narrow, with soft curves. His hands were long and elegant, like piano players were.

Zane wanted to be soft for once. Not cold or calculating. He was still a man, just…a bit more soft.

(A part of him wanted to be soft like a girl but that was preposterous. Zane was a man. That was what he was made to be.)

When he sensed Pixal in the mainframe, he did the only thing he could think of: call out to her and start the manufacturing process, even if everything was not perfect.

“We're all different, but I don't feel so different around you.” Those words rang out true in Zane’s chassis as he spoke them through the computer speakers. He did not feel like an outsider with Pixal, but rather felt a kinship with her, most likely because of their shared experience of being nindroids.

“You are vital to me.” Without Pixal’s designs, Zane would not have known what to do with his own rebuilding and remodelling. She also gave him hope that someone out there was like him. She was the one he looked at and went, “I want to be your friend, because you look friend shaped.”

He smiled when he saw Pixal had run into the factory, and asked, “Are we compatible now?” because that was what she had told him, and before he had doubted that because she had claimed he was out of date. But now not only was he going to be up to date, he was going to no longer ache as much.

But just as the machines started to build him up, Zane felt someone overtake the systems. He could feel someone add weapons to his body, add systems he did not want to have, take away the modifications he had made and put his old body frame back.

He tried to scream, but before he could make a sound, he felt himself shut off.

The last thing he saw was Pixal, screaming and fighting as hard as she could. But with half of Zane’s heart, she could not fight as well as she could with him.

~~~~~~~

Pixal did not like to dwell on the circumstances that had led to her being uploaded to a computer in a dingy dungeon, her dismantled body just in view. She was sure if she thought about it too hard, she would end up giving herself a virus or whatever the nindroid equivalent was for a human migraine.

But she could not deny the facts: A man that her systems told her was named Ronin, had dismantled her and took her to an island along with Zane, where he seemed to be dazed and confused. There were very few moments of awareness from him, and Pixal was very sure he had lost all of his memories.

She had heard his screams as a monster, Chen she heard was his name, took his elemental power. She was not even aware that Zane still possessed it, but he did, or at least Chen thought he did.

Pixal did not hate very easily, but she thinks she could make an exception for the monster that was Chen.

The guards had talked about using Zane as bait to make the ninja come to the island, in an attempt to also steal their elemental powers. For what, none knew but Pixal knew that the ninja would come to save Zane and none of them could have any idea of what Chen was doing.

The computer did not have any sort of clock, and there was no real sign of time changing aside from the guard shifts, but 21 guard shifts later, Zane started to whimper. Pixal called out to him, wondering what was going on and risking her existence to comfort Zane, who, if she could love anyone besides her creator, she would love Zane.

Zane had quietly whispered that it was just a dream. Pixal had always wondered what it was like to dream, but when she had remarked this aloud to Zane, he did not know who it was speaking.

If Pixal had a heart, mechanical or bloody, she would have sobbed. He did not remember who she was. Zane did not remember who his family was, or that he was the elemental master of ice.

But then he asked if Pixal and him were compatible, and Pixal could have sobbed, but instead she just replied, ”Yes, Zane. Yes, we are.”

Eventually, she managed to get through Zane’s head that he needed to free himself, and together, with her limited knowledge of what exactly Zane was doing, they started to work together to get Zane out.

Although, admittedly, she did not expect for Zane to have a saw now. She did not recall that as part of his original design, so it must be a new addition from when he rebuilt himself.

When he eventually got into Pixal’s cell, she wished she could take away his hurt. She knew how much it must have hurt to see her like this, as scrapped parts, only her hard drive functional. It hurt seeing herself like this, but she had made acceptance.

That is why she told Zane to go on without her. With her, Zane would be slowed down significantly. He would not reach his goal if he was focused on her. Logical dictated-

Or Zane could just…put her hard drive in his neural drive, and input her into his hard processor. That also worked. An ingenious move by him, but Pixal did not expect anything less from the one whose heart she also shared.

She had access to every system Zane had, and she had no doubt she could be of much help as she was pretty sure he had no clue what he was doing with it-

Something poked them in the back. A taser. The body was powered off.

~~~~~~~~~~

Zane had to admit, having Pixal in his head definitely took some adjusting. Not because it was an unpleasant change, but because he had never had to share a headspace with someone before. Although he doubted many others can say they have had to do the same, so he will cut himself some slack this time.

One upside to sharing a mind, however, was the fact that Pixal was incredibly helpful in helping him out with navigating his new body. If it was not for her, he would not have known that he even had explosive shurikens! Pixal really was amazing.

And she was much smarter than Zane, which he greatly appreciated. He usually listened to her ideas, because when he didn’t…

Well, he found himself on the ground of a cave.

“Perhaps I should have listened to you,” Zane groaned as he pushed himself up, trying to regain his bearings.

Pixal huffed. “Perhaps is an understatement.”

Zane would have responded with a snarky reply, but suddenly he sees the Titanium Dragon. The one from his nightmares. The one that had been his thoughts since he woke up.

Someone was talking to him. Pixal was talking to him, but Zane couldn’t hear her, instead feeling his breath quicken. It was going to eat his head, and he couldn’t stop it! No amount of ice made it go away. No amount of cold made it back off.

He didn’t want to die. He had died, and while he might not have regretted doing it in the moment, he had caused a rift in his family and made everyone upset with him. and he was still in the wrong body, and he isn’t Zane that died but a new one, a fake one.

“You used to have a dragon,” Pixal told him, but Znae didn’t remember that. He didn’t remember anything of his past. Nothing that happened to the old Zane affected him because he didn’t remember it. He was just a replica.

And Zane was so so so afraid. The original Zane would never be this scared.

Pixal was talking again. Zane had to focus so hard on what she was saying. “Close your eyes,” she commanded, and Zane didn’t understand why she asked him to do that but he did.

The ice dragon was so loud, even when Zane couldn’t see it. Pixal asked him what else could Zane hear, and all Zane could hear was his thoughts telling him that he isn’t the white ninja, because the white ninja never felt this out of place in his own skin, never wanted to rip it off, never wanted to be something completely different-

“Who are you then?” Pixal’s voice, calm despite the franticness Zane knew she was feeling, broke through his thoughts.

It took more effort than Zane wanted to admit, but he eventually was able to choke out, “I am…the titanium ninja.” That didn’t encompass everything he was now, but he could barely care about how accurate his words were when he heard the fierce roars stop.

The dragon wasn’t…the dragon was not real. Zane opened his eyes slowly, hopeful that the monster that haunted his nightmares was gone.

Instead of a fierce dragon, roaring and making something in Zane ache, there was a sleepy dragon, curled up and purring. He had a vague memory of a dragon in his past named Shard that this was very similar to.

Gently petting it, Zane whispered, “And you are not here.”

“Anxiety levels are going down,” Pixal announced, but there was still franticness in her. “But your elemental reactor levels are going up-”

Before Zane could hear the end of her sentence, Zane felt a cold feeling encompass him. Unlike when he died, however, this was like coming home. Like this was who he was meant to be.

When the feeling faded, Zane could form a dragon.

~~~~

Being in Zane’s brain took some getting used to. It was similar to being a computer, Pixal thought, only she couldn’t seamlessly take control of Zane at any given moment. Instead, she had to go around his coding if she wanted to do such a thing…

Not that she would ever do that without his permission, but Pixal would have liked to have that option available sometimes. Especially when Zane was being especially idiotic.

Something that Pixal enjoyed about being in Zane’s brain, however, was simply the sensation of being in Zane’s body. While Pixal may not have any control over it, she could sense everything that his body did. And she will admit, she found a particular sense of peace in Zane’s body.

It wasn’t how the others treated him, or how he had ice powers, or anything like that. No, she found peace in other ways, like in the sharpness in his jaw, or the way he had large hands or in his broad shoulders with a flat chest or his height.

The things that defined him as a man. The things that made one look at Zane and go, “yes that is a man.”

Pixal knew that there was nothing wrong with being a woman. She is one, for gods sake! She just…appreciates the things about Zane’s body that make him look like a man.

It is a persistent thought, but she ignores it most of the time. Pixal does not have time to deal with this, and besides she is more useful being an assistant to Zane in his head, and if she gets too caught in her thoughts, she can not be as helpful to Zane.

Another thing Pixal likes, though, is being able to talk to Zane as much as she wants to, within reason. She knows it is silly, and illogical, but talking to Zane is just so interesting. He sees the world the same way she does, quite literally, and they tend to have very fascinating conversations.

Their conversations can range from why they were created to how similar they are to large language models to why AdBlock restrictions are irritating.

One day, after Jay had suddenly declared a ban on saying “I wish,” Pixal and Zane had a conversation that was probably the most deep and most meaningful out of them all.

“If you could have three wishes granted, what would you wish for?” Zane asked as he cooked dinner.

“What do you mean? And you forgot the salt,” Pixal replied, trying to figure out if Zane had forgotten anything else. Her boyfriend was prone to doing such silly things like that.

Zane put the salt in. “Thank you, and what I meant is if you were given three wishes, but you couldn’t wish for love or more wishes, what would you wish for?”

Before Pixal could properly formulate a response, she was responding. “I would wish to look like you.”

The spoon in Zane’s hand clattered to the ground. “I beg your pardon?”

“Then beg,” Pixal quipped back, before pausing, contemplating what she should say.

Should she tell Zane the truth? Tell him the rightness she had felt in his body? Tell him how it felt so so so good to be in his body? How, while her old chassis didn’t feel wrong, it wasn’t right?

After running 21 “if-then” scenarios, Pixal concluded the best course of action would be for her to inform Zane of this after dinner. “I will discuss this with you after dinner, if you wish. But for now, please keep an eye on your cooking. You’re gonna over cook the rice.”

Hurrying to remedy the error, Zane whispered, “I will be talking with you about this. I wish to understand what you mean.”

And that was why Pixal loved Zane so much. While many others would have left it after the first sentence, Zane clarified his intent behind his actions, rather than letting anything linger. Pixal appreciated the good communication immensely.

During dinner, Pixal noticed Zane was quieter than usual, only talking about 7% of the time rather than the usual 39%, but none of the other ninja seemed to notice, too focused on making fun of Kai’s latest piece of fan mail for some reason Pixal was too distracted to figure out.

After 34 minutes, dinner was complete and the kitchen was cleaned, and the rest of the ninja went off in their own direction to relax after dinner. Except Zane and Pixal.

When Zane laid down in his bed, Pixal was tempted to shut him off, simply so this conversation would not happen now. But eventually it would, and delaying the inevitable was illogical.

“Pixal?”

“Yes Zane?”

“What do you mean when you said you wished to have my body? Was there something wrong with yours?”

Pixal loved Zane so much. Sometimes Pixal wondered if he ever had a thing called tact, with how bluntly he asked questions sometimes.

But a question he did ask, so a response he earned. “...there was nothing wrong with my old body.”

“Then why do you want my body?” Zane’s voice was glitching, the numerous logical scenarios he was running overwhelming his systems. Pixal hated when he did that, since it made it so his systems run slower, making her slower. But this time was one where an exception could be made.

It took Pixal a while to figure out what exactly was the correct thing to say here, but Zane was patient, as always. Even when he was dying to know the answer to his question.

“...I suppose the easiest way to put it is that it feels…right to be in your body. Not to say that mine is bad but…” Pixal couldn’t explain more. There was more she could say, but there were no words she could find to explain.

Thankfully, Zane did not push. “I understand. I…If I were to make a body for you, would you like it to be based on my current design?”

“Yes.” Pixal had never been so sure of anything in her (his) entire life before. “I would like that a lot.”

Zane hummed in thought. “Thank you for informing me. Now, I believe it is time for us to rest, don’t you?”

As much as Pixal wanted to protest, to keep talking to Zane, the need for a cache cleaning was becoming too much to ignore. The numerous scenarios Pixal had performed made her (his) system laggy, and Zane was surely in a similar state.

So together the two nindroids powered off for the night, not thinking much of the conversation that had just occurred.

—-----------

Over the next few weeks, Pixal couldn’t get that conversation out of her (his) head. It was like a bug had infested her programming, preventing her from doing anything productive because all she could think about was this stupid bug.

Because no matter what she tried, she could not get the idea of Pixal being a man out of her mind. She knew it was ridiculous, that Cyrus Borg designed a daughter, that Pixal was Zane’s girlfriend, but…

The idea of having a male body, of being referred to as mister and sir? All the things that people associated with masculinity being associated with Pixal?

Something in Pixal wanted that. So Pixal did research. A lot of research.

And…Pixal realized that others felt this way. Guys who were trapped in a girl's body. Woman in a man’s body. And so, so so many more.

Pixal was a boy. And he didn’t want his old body back.

It was hard to not tell Zane all of this, all of what Pixal had discovered. But Pixal had run 42 “if-then” scenarios, and if Zane did not take this well, the chances of Pixal being left on her own devices, inside a computer, so he would not change so drastically, were too high for him to risk.

So he kept quiet about what he had discovered, and his desires for a body of his own. The conversation was deleted from Zane’s memory drives, so he did not ask anything more about it from Pixal. And Pixal tried to keep his desires hidden, ignoring them as much as he could.

He was more useful in Zane, anyway. THis was for the best.

Until one day, he was not.

—-----

Not being able to inform Nya that she needed to realign Zane’s neural inputs, not give him a new binary power core, made Pixal feel…useless. Sure, he could figure out what was wrong with Zane, but not being able to communicate it with anyone besides Zane was frustrating. He often had what he thought were excellent ideas, but unless Zane deigned to inform the others about them, or follow through with them, no one knew about them. And if no one knew his ideas, then Pixal was as good as useless to the ninja.

There was only one true solution to this predicament: Pixal must build himself a brand new body, one with better combat experience than his old one, so he can be as useful to the ninja as possible.

And if it gave Pixal the chance to have a body that was right, according to the image he had created in his processor? Well…that was Pixal’s secret to keep.

Hacking into Cyrus’s computers was simple. Startlingly so. Pixal made a note to inform Cyrus of this after he had completed what needed to be done.

It was honestly so simple to rebuild his body. Pixal had spent hours fantasizing about creating a body that was exactly to his liking, with combat capabilities and a masculine appearing figure based on Zane’s design. All Pixal had to do was recreate the image in the modeling program, and hit the start button on the machines to initiate the building process.

Uploading his hard drive info was a bit more challenging, due to him falling behind on uploading it to the cloud network that Borg utilized for all projects, but eventually Pixal managed to upload all necessary data to a spare hard drive. He triple checked that he had all memories on it, for he did not want to end up like Zane, with memories that he didn’t remember, only heard about.

When all was complete, it was time to disconnect himself from Zane’s systems. It was both somehow terrifying, bizarre and freeing all at once. No longer did Pixal have the sound of Zane’s thoughts in the back of his mind, able to be tuned into if Pixal truly wished to. No longer did Pixal have knowledge of everything Zane did or could do at his fingertips. No longer did Pixal feel stuck in a body that was not his in any way.

Instead, Pixal could insert his hard drive into his new chassis, and reboot himself. The process was rather slow, taking 4 minutes and 32 seconds, as to be expected for a hard drive that had large amounts of data on it that had to be preserved, and for a brand new chassis that needed to have all systems a-go.

But then, the moment he had been waiting for so long finally happened.

Pixal opened up his eyes, and took in the assembly room properly, not through a camera or Zane’s eyes, but his own. He flexed his fingers, strong and big, perfect for attacking others or inventing things. He flipped his hair, still long like in his old design for he didn’t want to look too similar to Zane. It was styled differently, now with most of it hanging down with only a few layers pulled back to keep them out of his face. He ran his hands over his armor, glad that the printing and the materials came out just as he had designed.

The nindroid just sat there, admiring his new body. It was sleek, elegant, and cool. And it was right. Every detail Pixal had designed felt right. There was no odd feeling anymore, like something was off. There was no need to tear off his plating because surely something must be wrong for it to feel this bad.

As Pixal sat there, an ugly thought arose in his head: What would Zane think?

Would he be thrilled? Glad that his once-girlfriend found peace in his body? Or would Zane be enraged? Upset that Pixal did such a thing behind his back, and wanted to be a fighter?

Even though Pixal’s heart wanted it to be the former, the logical scenarios he was running pointed towards the latter as the most likely scenario.

Zane would be furious if he heard what Pixal did. That was what would happen if he found out.

So Pixal simply just had to ensure he didn’t find out. Only how…

Suddenly an idea came to him, that was so stupid it might just work! Be Samurai X!

It worked for Nya, from what Pixal could gleam from Zane’s memories! It would surely work for Pixal as well, right?

With that plan in mind, Pixal made his way to the Samurai X cave, which hadn’t changed locations since the last time Zane went there, when he needed a few upgrades.

Putting on the Samurai X armour, Pixal felt like this plan would work out hopefully. Zane would get over him not being in his head. And when the idea of Zane rejecting Pixal was easier to swallow, Pixal would tell him.

~~~~~~

It has been over a year without Pixal, and Master Wu. A very long year.

Zane wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing with himself, if he was to be completely honest. He knew, logically, he was helping, running all the algorithms and making sure that the others had the supplies they needed.

But a part of him was missing. Pixal had been in his head for so long, ever since he came back in a body that every day felt more and more distant from his mental image of him, and her suddenly not being in it…

Something in Zane was broken. Not physically (he checked), nor was his software broken, but something in his heart was broken. He could barely function at first, when he realized Pixal was gone for good. Zane was able to run the systems she did, was able to do everything she could himself, but it felt wrong.

Pixal and him were a team.

Why did that have to change?

It was so hard to muster up the energy to continue on at first, but it slowly became easier to get through the days without feeling like the world was drowning Zane. The feeling of grief was not one Zane was unfamiliar with. He had experienced it with his father.

Back then, he had already mourned his father once, and he had the rest of his family all around him, and he had his students to worry about. Now, he was missing the man who had been like a father when his own could not be one, and the others did not understand the impact of Pixal’s passing like he did, having assumed for a long time that she had always been gone in a way, because they couldn’t interact with her like he did.

Anger filled Zane at the idea of him being the only one mourning Pixal, but Zane could not allow it to consume himself. If he did, then it just made all of Zane’s own flaws much more obvious, and he could barely think about himself without blue screening (literally).

The only thing that seemed to help was Jay’s idea to give Zane a hologram projector, so he could change his appearance. While Zane did not require such a thing, he did see the benefits to having it. He could assume a human appearance, and he could disguise himself as other nindroids.

Other nindroids such as Pixal…

It was wrong for him to do so. He knew it was wrong. But one night, when he was camping out in a cave, on his way to a temple that might have some answer as to where Wu was, he activated the hologram program and turned on his selfie camera on his phone.

Pixal’s face stared back at him. It was just as Zane remembered, bright white with purple circuits, and a long silver ponytail. Her dark purple tunic was draped across his chest, also a brilliant white. Looking at the face, Pixal’s green eyes stared back.

A sense of euphoria bloomed in Zane’s heart. It wasn’t him, no, but for some reason, in a hologram of his dead girlfriend, Zane felt like he was looking right for the first time in a long time.

He brought up a hand to run through his hair, but the hand just went through the ponytail. The holographic ponytail.

The illusion was dropped almost immediately after that. A sense of shame flooded Zane. What was he thinking? Why did he think that would fix anything?

He would never be Pixal. He was Zane, the master of Ice. A wonderful man, one that most would be glad to call a friend.

Zane didn’t sleep well that night, or for many nights after. The feeling of delight he had felt looking like Pixal haunted his dreams and memories for days, weeks, with no end in sight.

~~~~~~~~~~

That day, Zane and Nya were doing a routine check up on the Bounty’s computer system. The others had noticed a slow down in the system, requiring Nya and Zane to go through and figure out what issue had arisen exactly.

“It doesn’t seem that anyone downloaded any suspect files…” Nya muttered, pulling up yet another antivirus program. “Are there any background programs running that we didn’t check yet?”

“There doesn’t seem to be…” Zane sighed, before frowning at a programs’ name. SXCOMPXB “Nya, do you recognize this?”

Nya leant over, and shook her head. “Never seen it. Maybe that’s what has been slowing this down? Open it.”

Nodding, Zane opened the suspicious file. Was that against what every single technician recommended for internet security? Yes, but when did the ninja listen to common sense?

Never. Even when it was to their detriment, Zane suspected that they would rather burn along with the world than actually listen to advice from anyone besides Sensei-

Shaking his head before his mind could continue on that train of thought. Zane opened the file.

His processor froze when it finally opened. Pixal’s face was staring back at him, just like it was when she was in his head.

“Pixal…” Zane whispered, reverently. He didn’t expect a response. It would be foolish for him to. That didn't mean he did not wish for one, however.

And to his great shock, a voice that was not Nya’s responded. It was Pixal’s. “Z-Zane,” she whispered, a smile forming on her face. “I-I didn’t expect-”

Nya came closer to Zane, staring up at the screen with a scrutinizing glare. “What are you doing? I thought you were lost.”

Pixal blinked before shaking her head. “No, I…I must have uploaded my consciousness onto a computer and the Bounty’s computers must have found them and copied them onto its systems.”

It sounded bizarre but…Zane had heard odder. And besides, the logistics didn’t matter to Zane as much as the fact that Pixal was here again. That he could hear her voice. See her face.

After much talking, Nya, Zane and Pixal came to the conclusion Pixal would stay in the Bounty’s computer, and would be an ally to the ninja. Zane was overjoyed.

He would never require her assistance, but if she wanted to help, he would support her choices. And besides, now he knew she wanted to stay.

“I am glad you are back, Pixal,” he hummed.

Pixal had a smile on her face, but it seemed…off. But it might just be the graphics looking different on the Bounty’s computer screen than in Zane’s HUD. “I am glad to see you too.”

~~~~~~~~

There was honestly no intention on Pixal’s end to come out to Zane as a man. He had his doubts before, but connecting to the Bounty’s systems, and seeing Zane’s face light up at the idea of Pixal as an assistant….

Znae would never accept him. Would never see Pixal as a man.

So Pixal was content enough to stay hidden away, spending more and more time as Samurai X, protecting those who could not protect themselves.

But then his system got hacked. A foreign entity was introduced to it via Zane and….

Pixal felt so helpless, being unable to fight back against the intruder that was inside of him. Felt violated, like someone had exposed everything about Pixal to someone he had never even met before. Had never even heard of before.

All Pixal could do was connect to the Samurai X mech and start flying it towards the bounty, and in doing so, that made everything fall apart around her.

“Samurai X is approaching,” Pixal announced, dread filling up.

Cole nodded. “He must be here to help us!”

If Pixal could swallow, he would out of sheer anxiety. “I am afraid that is unlikely.”

“What? Why?”

“Because my system is overrun.”

Kai hit the table. “You’re making no sense, Pixal. What are you talking about?”

“This would be a good time to make a minor confession.” Pixal glitched, but he hopes his confession got through.

“I am Samurai X.”

There was pandemonium for only a few moments, before all of a sudden, Pixal was unable to control the Samurai X mech. Instead, he was fighting against his friends, and he could do nothing.

It hurt, hearing his friends cry out that Pixal was betraying them, and to hear them call him “she.” There was no time to dwell on that, however. Pixal had to reboot the system to purge the foreign agent before he caused serious damage.

But Pixal was not successful. The reboot was too late. The sword still hit the thruster.

Despite the ninja’s many efforts, they still crash landed. It might have been less damaged than if Nya had not attempted to control the rain, but Pixal didn’t need to be connected to the computer to know that the ship was badly damaged.

As everyone caught their breaths, Pixal made a split second decision. He pulled on his helmet, revealing his new facial features to the ninja for the first time.

“Zane,” he called out, his voice low like it never was when he was in the computer.

Zane turned around in an instant, staring. “Pixal? Is that actually?”

Nodding, Pixal forced himself to keep his eyes locked with Zane’s as Zane came closer. “It is me, Pixal, yes.”

A cold hand grabbed his arm. “What…why do you look different?” he whispered, looking at Pixal, voice glitching from something besides damage.

Before Pixal could respond, Kai yelled, “What about Lloyd and Harumi?”

The ninja and Pixal all froze. The two youngest were still missing. No one knew if they were even still alive.

Zane and Pixal locked eyes and nodded, coming to the same conclusion. There would be time for explanations from Pixal later.

Now was the time for searching.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zane wasn’t sure what to do about the fact that Pixal wasn’t dead apparently, and had rebuilt a body without informing Zane at all.

On one hand, he was happy! He had missed Pixal desperately, and it was nice to have her back!

On the other hand, it was odd to see Pixal so different. Her voice was much lower now, and her body was designed in a way that reminded Zane of his own, or the nindroids from so long ago that worked with the Overlord.

Perhaps she had simply uploaded her consciousness to one of the remaining chassis that were not used for security bots? That would explain the more masculine appearance and voice, even if it didn’t account for the hair.

But those thoughts were pushed to the side, as the two had to first search the surrounding areas of the Bounty for Lloyd and Harumi. Nothing came up, but Pixal was hesitant to allow the others to wander far in the dense jungle, at least without comlinks.

The ninja then had to try to repair the thruster, but it was clear that would be a lengthy endeavor, even if Jay’s reactions were humorous…or maybe Zane’s funny switch was on too high again.

Seeing Pixal’s body relax at the sight of the Samurai X’s mech made the tightness in Zane’s chest relax a bit. Pixal was going to be fine, hopefully.

Hearing that Lloyd and Harumi were alive was an even bigger relief.

The two pieces of good news made the others much more motivated to work on the thrusters, and with Nya there to turn the thrusters on and off, Zane and Pixal could go work on the computer.

Unfortunately, there was not much success with that. No matter what they tried, the computer would not turn on.

“Try now.”

“No.”

“And now.”

“No.”

Pixal’s voice was tinged with frustration, her responses clipped, making Zane frown. “I detect frustration from you, yet that emotion is not needed for this task. Is something wrong?” he asked, hoping to not set Pixal off even more.

Pixal sputtered. “No!” She then looked away, crossing her arms. “Yes!” Eventually, she turned to look back at Zane. “Zane, may I ask you something?”

Zane’s response was automatic, if inaccurate. “You have half my heart. You can ask me anything.” Technically, Pixal did not have his heart, if the hazy memories of Chen’s island were anything to go by, but Zane hoped she figured the sentiment nonetheless.

Pixal gripped the controls to the computer. “Are you upset with me for building a new body?”

“What-No! Pixal, where did you get that idea-”

“You seem upset when you look at me. Was I that much more useful in the computer?” Pixal questioned, desperation evident in her voice.

Zane walked around the computer and grabbed her arm, forcing Pixal to face him. “I…I did not expect you to reuse an old chassis, that is true, but I would never force you to be something that you do not want to be. You did not like being in my head, right?”

“I did not, you are right.” Pixal tilted her head. “What do you mean by an old chassis? I designed this myself.”

Now it was Zane’s turn to be confused. “Well, I know your old body was destroyed, and if you had rebuilt it, I would assume it would be just like your old one, so surely this is just an old-”

“I designed this body to be what I want it to be.”

If Zane could breathe, the wind would have been knocked out of him. “What do you mean?”

Pixal hummed. “I feel…better in this body. I did not like being in my old body, and being in your head…the main reason I tolerated it for so long was because it felt right in a way mine never had. And when I saw an opportunity to create my own…I designed it after yours.”

All of a sudden, a memory that had been deleted resurfaced. Zane and Pixal talking about what would Pixal wish for if Pixal could wish for anything. Pixal saying that Pixal would wish for Zane’s body.

“...I suppose the easiest way to put it is that it feels…right to be in your body. Not to say that mine is bad but…”

“Zane?”

Zane jerked out of his thoughts, and stared at Pixal, realization growing. “Your new body…does it feel right?”

Pixal nodded. “It does. It feels so right.”

“Then I am happy for you.” Zane tucked a piece of synthetic hair behind Pixal’s ear. “Anything else you wish to tell me?” he asked, half joking.

Pixal bit her lip but nodded. “I…You do not have a girlfriend anymore, but rather a boyfriend.”

Zane blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The reason this body feels so much more right is because…I am a man.” Pixal’s voice was quiet, but her words left no room for argument.

Smiling, Zane hugged Pixal as tightly as he could, tighter than he would for any human. “Well, I am glad that I still have a boyfriend. I was worried you were breaking up with me for a second.”

Pixal snorted, pushing away. “Well, you might not have one if we don’t figure out what is wrong with this computer.”

Nodding, Zane went back to his place on the other side, pulling on different wires. “Now?”

“Still no.”

Sighing, Zane went back to trying to figure out what was wrong. He ignored the funny feeling in his heart.

He didn’t want to change like Pixal. He couldn’t.

~~~~~~~

Pixal couldn’t believe how everything changed so fast.

It sometimes felt like just the day before he was still stuck in Zane’s head, stuck as his girlfriend.

But then he was out of Zane’s mind, by his own violation, and he was fighting as Samurai X. He helped the ninja take down the Sons of Garmadon, had fought with the Resistance, and even faced the terrifying Oni.

Honestly, if it weren't for the fact that Pixal had checked five times, he would have assumed his memory banks were damaged somehow, if only for how absurd everything seemed.

(Sometimes, he wished he could, if only to erase some of the reactions he had received after telling people the truth about his identity. Most of them were positive but a few made Pixal shiver from something besides the cold.)

Ninjago seemed at peace for once. No major crimes were being committed, and the ninja were rarely called out by the police to help with arrests.

But then came Aspheera.

Honestly, if Pixal could have, he would have never allowed the ninja to go on such a foolish quest. They should have realized that would end up in disaster.

However, the ninja were so desperate for something to do and it was supposed to be a simple sort of adventure. Not one that ended up with a Serpentine being released from a prison with a vendetta against Wu.

Pixal wished that it just ended with the city destroyed. Wishes rarely came true.

They thought Zane had died. Thought he was gone for good this time. No consciousness was left behind for them to rebuild a body. Not even a wire was left for them to remember him by.

Zane was just…gone.

Or so they thought.

As they quickly learned, Zane was not dead. He was just…in a realm that was so dangerous the First Spinjitzu Master was afraid of it.

No big deal. (That was sarcastic. It was a very big deal.)

Pixal sometimes wished he had gone with the ninja to the Never-Realm. However, he knew that it was probably for the best of Ninjago that he did not go. The multiple crimes he had to stop as Samurai X proved that leaving the realm undefended except by Wu would have been a bad idea.

But it was…startling to see Zane so off. He still smiled and sat with him to do their routine repairs, but there was a distance between them now. A distance formed by the sixty years he spent alone in a realm of ice and cold, as the cruel ruler who forced the subjects into an endless winter.

There were many changes to Zane now, caused by that experience.

Zane would wake up with horrific nightmares, and Pixal would spend hours trying to soothe him, often until the sun had risen.

Ice formed around his feet, either gentle swirls when he was happy or jagged edges when he was furious.

He could barely stand any sort of heat, and would snap at Kai whenever he sparked up even a little bit.

Instead of using his trusty bow and arrows, Zane had switched to a staff. The way he fought with it was both mesmerizing to watch and terrifying to be at the other end of.

Even the ninja seemed distrustful of Zane, referring to Zane as just a teammate and not as their brother, and treating him like he would break at any moment.

There was a desperate hope in Pixal that things weren’t as dire as they seemed. That things had not changed so much that they were not compatible anymore.

He had both dreaded and was relieved when it came to a routine file cleaning. Him and Zane had made it a monthly date night of sorts, sitting in the workshop and going through the memories they had stored for those that they had deemed significant. The ones that would just come back if they hid them for forever.

(They had both learnt that lesson the hard way with the Overlord Virus that had almost destroyed Zane, formed by Zane blocking out the memory of his death so deep inside of him.)

But neither of them were looking forward to this date night. Tonight, Zane and Pixal would have to go through over 60 years of memories of a real life horror show, to determine what atrocities must be retained and what Zane could get rid of.

Zane was nervous when they hooked him up, leaning back in the squishy office chair as per usual. Pixal gave him a smile, and held his hand. “It will feel so much better when you get rid of those memories. I promise.”

Swallowing, Zane nodded. “I hope you are correct.”

“Shall we get started then?”

“Okay.” The response was not loud or enthusiastic, but it was consent from Zane for Pixal to dig through the memories of the Never-Realm.

If Pixal was human, his hands would be trembling from nerves. As it was, his hands were steady as he tapped on the keys, opening the software to examine the memories.

The first memory he booted up was one of Zane with a mech, in a cave. A man was there as well.

“That is Vex,” Zane whispered, clenching his fists.

Nodding, Pixal turned back to the memory showing, hoping a clinical approach would make this much easier.

“Oh, such a pity. You truly have forgotten. You're unwell, my Lord, but do not fear. I will take care of you. It is my sworn duty.” Something about Vex’s words made Pixal want to throw something, but he refrained. Calmness would make this much less painful.

“Your duty?”

“You are the Ice Emperor, the ruler of this realm.”

“I am?”

“Of course. Why look.” Vex handed the Scroll Of Forbidden Spinjitzu to Zane. “Here is your scepter.”

Zane looked at the scroll, before turning to Vex with a frown. “But I am not a man.”

Pixal blinked at the revelation, wondering what Zane could have meant. He turned to Zane to ask, but before he could, Vex was speaking again.

“What do you mean, My Emperor?”

Levelling Vex with an unimpressed look, Zane toyed with the staff. “I am not a man. I am…a woman. And thus I am the Ice Empress, Vex.”

The screen was turned off suddenly, and a sob came from behind Pixal. Pixal whipped around, coming face to face with Zane sobbing quietly, ice forming around him. Her?

Footsteps quiet, Pixal approached Zane and cupped Zane’s cheek. “Zane? What is wrong?”

All he got for a response was incoherent sobbing, so Pixal decided to just climb onto Zane’s lap and hug Zane until Zane felt better.

After eleven minutes and forty three seconds, Zane finally choked out,“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Sniffling, Zane squeezed his eyes shut. “F-for lying. I-I know I should have told you I pretended to be a woman in the Never-Realm, but I was scared.” Zane’s voice was glitching, presumably from how upset Zane was.

Well, that would simply not do. Pixal cupped Zane’s chin, forcing Zane to look up at him, in the eye. “What were you scared of?”

“That you would leave,” Zane whispered.

Pixal softened and hugged Zane again. “Well, that was illogical. Why would you being a woman make me leave?”

Wrong thing to say. Zane tensed up in his arms. “I do not want to be a woman.”

“So that whole-”

“I do not…” Zane took a deep breath. “I do not understand fully why I did what I did but…I do not want there to be even more changes. The others…they just assume my memory was so damaged I did not realize I was a man, or that Vex made me pretend I was a woman for reasons unknown.”

Rubbing his thumb over Zane’s cheek, wiping away tears, Pixal hummed in thought. He was pretty sure Zane did want to be a woman but…

Pixal remembered how hard it was to fully accept himself as a man. How he had battled it out in his head for months. While he could simply…force Zane to accept herself, it would most likely do more harm than good.

So instead, Pixal just petted Zane’s head. “If you wish, we do not have to f-”

“I want to finish.” Zane sighed. “I have a feeling if I do not tonight, I will end up deleting everything and hurting myself.”

Nodding, Pixal scooted off Zane’s lap and booted up the computer once again. “Okay.”

That night, after watching decades of loneliness and violence and destruction, Pixal slipped into Zane’s bed and laid with her throughout the night, soothing her after the inevitable nightmare.

The experience was bad but it did bring one good thing.

Zane, for some reason, started to be okay with heat and fire again. Kai was overjoyed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Showing Pixal the memories of the Never-Realm was…bad. Zane was sure there were better words to describe it, but she did not want to think of them.

Another thing she did not like thinking of? The fact that the way she figured out what that weird feeling she had been plagued for the entirety of her existence was by becoming a genocidal empress.

Of course, Zane was not going to tell anyone that she was a woman. It was too risky, and besides the others were already wary enough of her as it was after the Never-Realm.

So Zane kept it hidden, never revealing anything to anyone. Not even Pixal, her beloved boyfriend. But in secret…

It was a dirty little secret, in a way. One that Zane tried so hard to keep concealed.

Late nights became research time, where Zane delved into the intricacies of the transgender experience, reading story after story of other women who felt like she did, and were accepted.

Upon learning that some transgender people burnt things that reminded them of their past negatively, Zane gathered anything that made her think of dark and sad memories of her past and set them all to fire.

It should have terrified her, the flames growing larger than her. But she just watched with a small smile at the past going up in flames.

If anyone were to ask, she was just getting rid of some old junk. Not that anyone did ask, but if they did, she would say that. All anyone did was show surprise that she was okay with fire once again, after being so vehemently against it.

Zane might have been able to get away with this secret, but then came Prime Empire.

It shouldn’t have caused anything major to happen. Just another villain trying to take over Ninjago, albeit in an unique way this time, trapping people outside of Ninjago rather than destroying the city.

But then came the detective costume and all the performing that went with it. Zane would admit afterwards that was not as effective as she had hoped, but in the moment?

The act of performing was freeing in a way. It reminded Zane of the anecdotes she had read of drag queens, who found peace in the art.

As the detective, Zane wasn’t just Zane, the ninja. She was a private investigator, looking for clues about Unagami. She was something besides herself.

It was, dare she admit it, fun.

But then the mechanic came and captured her. Captured Zane to use as an energy source to free Unagami from the game.

The pain was blinding. It was one memory Zane wished she could delete from her memory drives, if only because of how much it hurt. The electricity coursing through her circuits was higher than she had ever had felt before, and Zane wasn’t sure how Jay could ever manage to deal with this.

She thought she would die before anyone could rescue her.

When Unagami was released, all Zane could feel was exhaustion. She was exhausted.

But that experience opened her eyes to how easily she could die. How easily she could have another funeral, and no one would know she was actually the daughter of Dr. Julien, and Pixal’s girlfriend and the ninja’s beloved sister.

In the dead of the night, a few weeks later, Zane, for once, made an impulsive choice. She broke into Borg Industries, and fired up the machines needed to build a new chassis.

The design was hastily made, taken from Pixal’s original design with a few minor changes. The main difference was the hair. Where Pixal had a long ponytail, Zane had two braids, one on each side of her head.

But aside from that, Zane was the splitting image of Pixal when she first met him, just in a ninja gi.

Not long after Zane had transferred her consciousness to the new chassis, the door to the factory was slammed open.

Standing there were her family, and Pixal, looking around for a threat. The ninja looked around, confused.

“Are you sure that there are bad guys with Zane here?” Jay whispered.

“Well where else would Zane be? And you heard the report, there was activity in here!” Kai hissed back.

Zane quickly realized what was going on. They did not realize it was her who was using the machines, and thought villains had taken her to the factory for…something.

Clapping her hands, the lights turned on, and the ninja all turned towards Zane. Shock colored their expressions.

Pixal was the first to regain his composure. “Zane? Is that-”

“It is me.” Zane’s voice was quiet, but it felt like she was screaming in the silence.

Metal clanked against metal as Pixal made his way to Zane, cupping her cheek. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.

“And you look handsome,” Zane whispered back, hugging Pixal.

“Will someone explain-”

Cole cut Jay off. “Looks like we have another sister, Zaptrap. Nice to see you’re not captured Zane!”

“I am glad to not be captured as well,” Zane chuckled, letting go of Pixal to look at her family.

Lloyd smiled. “Yeah, I am too. But…a little warning next time?”

“Yeah,” Nya snorted. “We thought that the Mechanic got you or something.”

Smiling sheepishly, Zane nodded. “Alright. I will remember that.”

Kai yawned. “I don’t know about you guys, but I want to go back to bed. Can we all agree that Zane’s amazing and go back home?”

Laughing, Zane nodded. “Of course. I did not mean to worry.”

“You never do.” Pixal slipped his hand into Zane’s. “My very silly girlfriend.”

“My lovely boyfriend.”

Pixal’s eyes glowed with happiness as they followed the rest of the ninja, who were eager to go back to bed.

For the first time in her life, there was no hole in Zane’s heart, a desire she could not fulfill.

Together, Zane and Pixal walked out of the factory, for once at peace entirely.

[sleepy0s]

the trio

This is like YHS was transported to hermitcraft! Quotes as you go.

It's midnight, I am so close to kicking my cat out of the room.

~~~

A bit of Narrating? IDK

~~~

Okay, so.. Current situation! Grian is gone..? No one knows where he is. But there are three young kids on the server! Maybe young.? They're like 16, we think. Either way, two of them have very heavy Japanese accents, the third has a mix of a british.? And the Japanese accent.? They keep whispering to each other in Japanese.. God if only Etho were here. 

~~~

Okay! Update! They know english. And, we’ve learnt their names! Sam, Taurtis and Grian. Now, even though all three of them seem very cute, Grian is very secretive about his past so it can't all be that good.

Talking about Grian! He is so cute! He's got cute little white dove? Wings, overly fluffy brown hair and so many freckles! He’s like a little bundle of joy! (Why isn't he like this anymore?)

~~~~~~~~~~

To the fic!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

YHS!Sam: If you were my husband, I'd put poison in your drink.

YHS!Grian: If I was your husband, I'd drink it.

~

Okay, lesson learnt. Don’t talk about relationships. 

The topic had come up between Pearl, Scar and Iskall. Unfortunately, Grian, Sam and Taurtis were nearby and started talking about it.

“Hey Sam, who do you think is most likely to get together from school?” Taurtis asked, skipping ahead of the two. “I dunno. Don’t think about that much.” Sam shrugged, looking towards Grian, “What about you Gree-on?”

“Not a clue. But I hope i dont get with either of you. I want a calm life in the future.” 

“Hey! I'm Calm!” Taurtis protested, gasping with fake offence.

Sam had stopped walking and was just standing on the path, a smile on his face, “You good Sam?” Grian asked, stopping to look at him.

He took a second, thinking about his words before talking, “Gree-on, if you were my husband, I’d put poison in your drink.” Taurtis was shocked. Not because of his words, no, no that was a normal thing for Sam to say. But because he had the guts to say it on hermitcraft, who all seemed to be very protective over Grian.

Grian, who walked over to Sam, his white wings twitching. He leaned in close to Sam’s ear before whispering, “If i was your husband.. I drink it.” Before he smiled and skipped over to Taurtis

~~~

Scar: Life could be a lot worse Taurtis

Taurtis: Life could be a whole lot better too!

~

Forced therapy, ah. Everyone's favourite thing.

Cub was currently sitting in a locked room, Taurtis sat opposite him. The teenager seemed.. Displeased. Their conversation had been going well, Cub had managed to get Taurtis to open up a bit.

“Just remember Taurtis. Life could be a whole lot worse.?” Okay, now that he thinks about it, maybe that is not the best use of words. This was obviously proven when Taurtis started yelling.

“IM SORRY? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME!?” Cub tried to speak, but was immediately cut off by Taurtis, “Did YOUR best friend stab you!? Do YOU live with a psychopath? Are YOU threatened with a knife almost EVERY day?”

“I-” 

“YEAH sure life could be worse. BUT IT COULD ALSO BE A WHOLE LOT BETTER!”

~~~

There you go c:

ALSO! By the time this is read it's probably gonna be christmas eve c: that just makes me happy

~~~

[naraeragon]

[Mihawk x Reader/OC] The strongest swordsman who was raised by a witch

Reader is my witch OC - Yidhra. I have been making arts about them and this is my fanfic for them. This mostly based on 'The witch and the kid' trend

Tags: mentor Reader, pupil Mihawk, witch Reader, old English pronoun, horticulture, BB x shota, slight horror

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

Mihawk was 10 when he ran away from his home without much grief and frustration. He was abnormally calm for a young child and was able to live on his own as long as he could until he stumbled into the witch's wood. He was taken shelter inside a cave from the heavy rain, then the witch found him.

She could have penalised him for intruding her forest, Mihawk knew she would by the look on her face, and people rumored that witches always kidnapped and feasted on children. Mihawk would be lying if he said he wasn’t afraid of her but he knew well not to show it. After all, he had been surviving until now with some tricks under his sleeves.

To his surprise, the witch just asked if he wanted to stay at her place. It came with a price of course.

“ I shall be thy mentor and caretaker. Thou may learn as much as thee want until thou reach thy adulthood and leave. ” The witch offered.

There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch, was the first lesson Mihawk's learnt so instead of accepting the witch’s offer immediately, he asked.

“What do I have to pay?”

The witch seemed pleased with his sharp mind, not many children of his age are well aware of danger around them. Or perhaps any child who had suffered illed fate would develop that level of caution.

“Thou shall know until the time comes. Agree or not, the choice is thine.”

Even though Mihawk seemed to be more mature than other children of his age, there was no possible way he could survive alone without getting his hands dirty. He wouldn’t mind, yes, but if he had a choice to live a better life, he would definitely take it. In the end, he was just a mere child.

“I’ll follow you, mentor. My name is Dracule Mihawk.”

He thought maybe living with a witch couldn’t be worse than being a slave.

“I am Yidhra. I am a witch. Remember, thou art forbidden to speak of mi name to other individuals.”

Mihawk was adopted by a witch when he was 10 years old.

----------

[knight-already]

Lily's character makes more sense if we analyze her as a poor child, who just like Severus, when they came to Hogwarts were surrounded by impossibly rich kids and so many of them too! Which made them feel a certain way as I'm sure they noticed the wide range of quality difference between them and their peers

Because poverty certainly has many lessons to be learnt and how we chose to apply those lessons are completely up to the individual -- that is to say no one person will have the same view.

Could you imagine, two sisters living in the working class. The eldest had between hand me downs and all the new stuff while the second sister takes her older sister's hand me downs only. That was their life for as long as they could remember.

They were fine with it because that was their reality.

Then one day the younger sister finds out that she is magic. So now, their parents have to change things up and buy her all these 'new' (though may as well be second hand) things that petunia will never use or need.

So everything they buy is solely for Lily. 

This school has all these kids from different back grounds. Some so rich to the point only few could only imagine, but to Lily and Severus, even the student who was middle class was impossibly well off.

So, it leads to Lily possibly telling  her parents about how she feels, and her parents do try to help her even just by buy a pair of brand new robes. Possibly taking away from Petunia yet again, who had to deal with her second had clothes because no one here was much better off. 

I sure the small difference her parents tried to make was nothing to Lily as her peer's had so much more.

Petunia as she gets older tried to keep up this façade of always being the perfect middle class family. She wants to fit in amount her peers even as an adult. She never wants to be or remember where she came from. She just wants to keep the perfect appearance.

Then she gets Harry, she's already funny about magic. But I think it really struck a chord with her and somehow she was taking out old feelings for her sister on her son, that's where almost inhumane treatment of the two boys come in. Why she would rub it in Harry's face so much.

It's one thing to not approved of magic -- it's nothing to just plainly treat him so horribly. So she treated him like she felt her parents treated her.

So back to Lily, she would undoubtedly be at the bottom of her friend group, because she was the Snape of her friend group with the Gryffindor's  and the only person who made her feel normal -- as though she was better off was Severus. So to fit in with her Gryffindor mattes she would have to hold the same beliefs and values like them, so she look like she somewhat belonged. I’m sure she saw how Severus was treated and maybe other girls, who were rather odd and didn’t fit the mold.

Who would want that for themselves? Even if those views went against Severus. 

As soon as Petunia was able she left her home and went to work in an office where she met her husband and became a house wife. {no hate on house wives or husbands} She was trying to better herself before she landed a good husband who would take care of her. Similarly to what Lily did.

So I mean by fifth year James could do no wrong in her eyes, he was rich, smart, friendly(?) and popular and very vocal about his support for muggleborns. I’m sure he gave her tokens of his affections, and would be sweet to her and I’m sure James was a prize to be won, any student who had interest in him possibly always told her how lucky she was that he liked her --  even if she didn't like his actions, out of loyalty to Severus she kept turning him down, but once she no longer was Severus’ friend?

I swear ppl would see Lily and -- you know that joke where when you get a birthday card and it's stuffed with money, you would have to politely read the card and ignore them money, as though it didn't matter?

[But we all know we could just throw the card and count the cash?]

Yeah, that's how we think of Lily as some saint who is not blinded by money and material things. But just like any person she would want more.

You know, I dear even say that the Snape's, financially could have been better off than the Evan's. Because they were a three member household to a four member household. The only thing that have Severus the disadvantage was the neglect he held at his parents hands. That's what generally makes ppl think Lily and Petunia were better off that Severus.

Not to mention how strange of a child he was personality wise.

Of course the Snape's wouldn't be ALL that better off. But with only one child... I'm sure they had to get second hand things or new thing if they could but there was no other child to feel the brunt of that.

[killiansprincss]

TIMELESS - A NEW CAPTAIN SWAN FIC 5/19

Summary: Season 3 divergence - When Zelenas time portal works, Henry wakes up alone in Storybrooke and must travel to the Enchanted Forest to get his family back. Only once he gets there he quickly realises its not like the one in his book, theres no Evil Queen and his mother Emma wasn't put through a wardrobe, theres even a poster inviting the entire kingdom to her engagement ball, to Hook. What will happen once Henry gets them to break this new curse and they get their memories back?

In which every chapter is based on a Taylor Swift song

Previous Chapters | AO3

CHAPTER 5 - THE BEST DAY

I don't know why all the trees change in the fall

But I know you're not scared of anything at all

Don't know if Snow White's house is near or far away

But I know I had the best day with you today

Henry. Storybrooke. Home. Zelena. Time Portal. Enchanted Forest.

Emma felt as though she had just woken up from the craziest dream, which in a sense, she had. “Wh-What happened?” She wraps her arms around her son and kisses his head, how did he end up here all alone?

“I’m not exactly sure. I woke up at the hospital and everyone was gone. I think Zelena’s time portal worked.” Henry explains

Emma nods her head at her son, trying to make sense of this situation. “It definitely worked. I grew up here and there’s no talk of a Dark Curse or an Evil Queen.”

Too many lives now existed within her head, the one where she grew up an orphan and then gave Henry away, and then a fake life where she and Henry made it on their own and now this time altering life where she grew up happy and a princess. Emma looks over at her brother, who in her original timeline had only just been born. “You were a baby.” She mumbles to herself. “This must be pretty crazy for you right now.”

Leo just shrugs, “I’ve learnt to expect the unexpected in this family. When a 14 year old boy that looks like you and knows way too much about our family and says he’s your son, I realised crazier things have happened.”

Her baby brother. When her parents told her she was having a baby brother she hated the idea. But then when he was born she adored him, she loved watching him grow up, she remembers watching him walk for the first time and the first words he spoke. She was a teenager exploring herself and navigating the life of a royal but when her baby brother toddled into her room when she was having lessons she couldn’t help the smile on her face. He began to irritate her as he got into childhood with his grabby hands on her dress and coming into her room uninvited and unannounced. But the past few years now he had grown into his teens he’d become her friend, she was there for him when he fell off his horse and they would talk for hours after the balls about how boring they were or how a certain duke or prince would fall over themselves to talk to her. He was real. Her little brother was real to her and the fact a life existed without him was strange.

“We need a plan. I’m assuming I’m the only person, aside from maybe Rumple and Zelena, who isn’t cursed. How do we un-curse everybody?” Emma asks in hope that Henry already had a full plan in action.

Biting his lip and avoiding his mother’s eye contact Henry tells her, “Well I thought you giving me True Love's Kiss again might work, but maybe we need something else. I thought we could go on an adventure just the two of us like old times. Find out more and see if we can find Zelena maybe. Tell her that we’re here to stop her.”

Emma’s heart soars, she realises how scary it must have been for Henry waking up all alone. “There is nothing I’d love more Henry, but in this life I’m the Princess not the Sheriff or the Saviour so I can’t just run off with you at the drop of a hat without raising suspicion.”

“I’ll cover for you.” Leo offers. “I’m used to covering for you. I’ll tell them you had an urgent wedding matter or something.”

Wedding. To Killian-Hook. Fuck.

“Yeah Mom, I was wondering about that.” Henry says with a huge smirk across his face. “In our timeline she pretends to hate him even though she enjoys his constant flirting-nice to see he wore her down here.” He says to Leo who looks happy and ready to converse about his sister's love life.

When he was awake she was going to murder him. There was no way the two of them meeting was accidental, of all the women to meet in a tavern, of all the balls to crash it was hers. She found it very hard to believe he gave up everything that easily, just a promise of her hand in marriage. He had to have been working with Zelena.

_____

Henry and Emma leave in a carriage just before day break, apparently Leo caught one of the guards in an uncompromising position and owed him a favour. The guard was more than happy to drive them north In the middle of the night no questions asked.

“The last anyone heard of the Dark One was when I was very young. Nobody has heard from him in a decade, apparently he was training an apprentice in the wastelands to the north was the last place anyone had heard from him. Considering that was years ago, I think it’s best to assume it’s Zelena.” Emma explains as they ride out of the gates of the castle.

“So we get as far north as we can, see if anyone knows anything or has heard anything.” Henry offers, “Grandpa will have strong magic that will block the entrance to wherever he and Zelena are hiding, like in Harry Potter where Muggles can’t see Hogwarts.”

Emma cringes at the grandpa's comment, her mind wants to erase her family’s complicated family tree. But, if a part of Gold still remembered who he was-well she would never use him as leverage-but the dark one would be more inclined to help or believe them. “We can’t go in the northern wastelands Henry, they’re wastelands.”

“Any chance you have a map of this place?” Henry asks and Emma laughs until she realises he’s serious.

“I’ve read stories about this place and now I get to experience it. I want to know everything about this place.” From the gleam in his eye, you’d think he was a kid at Disney World.

“I can’t believe you want a history lesson right now.” She smiles, she missed him, she didn’t realise how much she had missed him until now. How many times she would see something or overhear a story and know in the back of her mind there was someone who would appreciate it, even if she didn’t know who.

“I’ve listened to stories about this place for years, I’ve read every inch of that Storybook and now I’m here. I want to know everything.”

Emma ruffles her son's hair as she gives a brief history lesson. “There are 8 kingdoms, Misthaven which is our kingdom being the largest. There were 10 kingdoms a few hundred years ago but now they’re called the Wastelands as they abused their magic and they fall to the North of Misthaven, which is where Rumples castle is likely to be located.” She gives him a brief overview of the differences between the kingdoms and who their monarchs are until Henry eventually doses off.

Listing the features of the place she considered home jut confused her more.

She was Emma Swan. The saviour.

But she was also

Emma of Misthaven. A Princess .

Who was also due to be married to Captain Hook in a few short weeks. After they had been together, secretly and then not so secretly for almost 6 years.

She has no idea what Ki-Hook, did or said to Zelena as how else does she explain almost marrying him?

Before they were unwillingly dragged into her time portal, things with Hook were strange. They’d kissed in Neverland and Emma had wanted to do that again. As much as she hated to admit it, he understood her, when they were in Neverland she felt as though nobody knew how she felt but him and that scared her. He came back to save her in New York, he risked it all to save her when she didn’t even have her memories, nobody had ever gone to the lengths for her that he did. She was afraid, thats what it boiled down to. In this life she didn’t need to be afraid, her parents didn’t abandon her and her ex boyfriend didn’t leave her.

It suddenly makes sense though, why they felt drawn to one another. Though she was sure they had never met before, something in her gut told her she knew him.

He clearly knew her. Why else would Captain Hook be interested in a random princess he met in a tavern after escaping her dungeon? No way would the most fearsome pirate in all the land give up piracy for a woman?

Not that she cared. Those were false memories. She was cursed.

But then again, if Leo was real. And the love she felt and had with her parents was real.

No. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of his blue eyes and dark hair. Her hands roaming his chest under all that leather. How the taste of his lips feel. The way he makes her moan when he does that thing with his mouth.

She falls asleep thinking about his proposal. When he mentioned running away together and Emma leaving the kingdom she thought he was crazy. She couldn’t imagine actually running away and leaving everything behind. But she loved him. And love makes you do crazy things. So after a few days of going over and over in her head, she went back and told him she did want to run away with him, leave Misthaven. Show her parents that this was what she wanted, not to be a Queen married to someone she barely knows let alone loves, always having to hold her tongue, not allowed to have any real opinions if they don’t benefit the kingdom.

He got down on one knee that night on the deck of the Jolly Roger and asked her to marry him. It was a proposal and a promise. He proposed using his brother's ring, the one who died in Neverland. Emma didn’t understand the severity of what happened to his brother until now. She would listen to stories of Neverland and what an awful place it was, but Emma now knew just how horrible it was.

_______

Henry wakes up to the sounds of swords clashing outside his window. What was happening?

No. Not his window. The carriage window.

He opens his eyes and focuses on what’s going on outside the carriage window.

The guard who was driving them north was fighting with a man who had the hood of his cloak up so nobody could see his face and he had a quiver of arrows on his back and a sword with no sheath, indicating the arrows were his usual weapon and the sword was stolen.

Emma finally opens the door and kicks the hooded man to the ground. “Please. We have no money and no jewels. I’m just a mother who is travelling with her son.”

Their carriage driver runs off into the trees as the hooded man stands up and they get a look at his face.

“My apologies. I thought this was a royal carriage.” He extends his hand to Emma and she notices a lion tattoo on his arm. “The names Robin.”

“Robin Hood?” Henry asks, despite being cursed he remembers him, and the things he caught him doing with Regina.

Robin nods. “Robin of Sherwood, or some know me by Robin Hood yes. My apologies again.”

“Why were you trying to rob a royal carriage?” Emma asks, careful not to be too trusting considering she had no clue what role Robin played in this realm.

“I target royal carriages as they carry excessive jewels and money they don’t need. There are people in these villages who need their money and jewels far more than they do. My wife and I can barely afford to feed ourselves, but there are some families with young children and no money to buy clothes or toys.”

“Steal from the rich and give to the poor.” Henry whispers. Turns out Robin Hood from this reality was pretty similar to the one they met in Storybrooke.

“May I ask, if you’re not royal what are you doing? As I’ve robbed my fair share of royal carriages and yours is very similar.”

“My son and I have been sent by our Kingdom to seek out information on the Dark One. Or even better if someone knows anything about a witch named Zelena.” The whole reason for their mission was to find out if anyone knew something and who knows what Robin may know.

The mention of The Dark One makes anyone look uneasy, but at the mention of Zelena’s name he went deathly pale. “If you come with me, I know someone who may know exactly what you’re looking for.”

Emma and Henry look at one another relieved, they were getting somewhere. “Thank you.”

They follow Robin for a couple miles to his home. It’s pretty small, and in a large village of similar sized houses. It’s a shock for Henry, who was used to much grander houses in Storybrooke with running water and electricity. To Emma, it's not much of a shock considering she grew up in a house not too dissimilar to this in this reality for the first 9 years of her life.

“Are you there my love?” Robin calls out as they walk through the door.

“In the kitchen.” A woman’s voice calls back. A familiar voice.

They follow Robin into the only other room in the small hut to find a tall slim woman with dark hair with her back to them. Only Henry would recognise her anywhere.

“Regina my love.” Robin kisses her cheek softly. “I brought guests.”

Regina smiles sweetly. Which was scary. Emma had never seen the woman so humane. She squeezes Henry’s hand whose heart must be beating a million beats a minute. “Welcome, it’s always nice to have guests. What are your names?

“Thank you for inviting us Robin, you have a lovely home.” Panic mode, Emma hadn’t thought about names-they’d have to use aliases but what?

“My name is Harry, and this is my mother Leia.” Henry offers. Really kid-Harry Potter and Star Wars?

Henry gives her a look as if to say ‘what would you have said?’

“They have questions about the Dark One. And specifically his involvement with your sister.” Robin tells Regina.

Regina just nods. “Well you better sit down for dinner then.”

So she knew Zelena was her sister in this reality. Was Regina the one who was given up then?

Emma and Henry sit down and are served an Enchanted Forest delicacy that Henry hadn’t had the luck of trying yet. Lucky him. It’s not exactly roast beef or hamburgers from Grannys. ‘Lamb’ stew with vegetables and potatoes. Except Emma isn’t too sure it is lamb, but she had grown accustomed to the taste and the texture. They had been driving all day and were starving though so they had no choice.

Henry looks disgusted but tries his best to eat it. Especially as his other mother served it to him unknowing of her relationship to him. It didn’t feel right, seeing his mother look at him but not see him. But Henry couldn’t risk anything but seeing if she remembers any part of him at all. She was the only link to Zelena, and if Henry started talking nonsense about being her son she would kick them out.

“So what is it that my sister has done to you?” Regina asks as she sits at the table next to Robin, who was her husband in this reality. Not surprising in all honesty, even in her cursed state he could see something was going on with Robin.

“She cursed the people in our kingdom to forget who they are. We fear she has something larger at bay with the help of the Dark One.” Emma tells her as she tucks into the stew.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. I have heard rumours of the things she has done to people, but hearing it first hand is heartbreaking.”

“We didn’t know she had a sister.” Emma mentions, hoping to hear more about this reality and why Regina isn’t a raging murderous bitch.

“Not many know that she has a sister, and I can’t imagine she ever mentions me.” Regina says, and it’s freaking Emma out how kind and nice she’s being. She’s far from the Evil Queen in this reality. “My mother, Cora, she found herschelf unmarried and pregnant was taken pity on by a Princess from a northern kingdom, and sent her to my grandfather's kingdom in the west. She was able to work and gave birth to Zelena whilst being able to look after her at the same time. She met my father, the Prince of that kingdom and he fell in love with her, he would always make excuses to need his sheets washed just to see her for a few moments a day.” The way Regina talks about her mother is very different, almost fondly. “Anyway, my grandfather eventually found out about their affair and told her she could never marry his son, that’s when she told him she was able to spin straw into gold.”

Emma had a feeling where this story was going.

“That’s when she met The Dark One. He taught her everything and my parents were able to marry. I was born just over a year later. Zelena and I were so close growing up but when we were of age, the Dark One, he began to teach us magic. My sister was gifted and the prodigy my mother hoped she’d be. It took me longer to even conjure a fireball, so his attention quickly began to focus on my sister. After a few years of being left on the sideline, I ran away. Sick of magic, I didn’t need it and it was awful-my mother used magic on me as punishment when I was growing up, and I’d seen the awful things it had done-I didn’t want to be that person. After a while of hiding out in the woods I met Robin, and the rest is well, history.”

She seemed happier. And not just because of Robin. Regina didn’t have magic in this life, and she’d never become the Evil Queen. She’d found Robin and started a life with him, away from magic and away with any evil. Was it cruel to eventually wake her up from this?

“Do you know where she currently is?” Emma asks.

Regina shakes her head. “I pride myself on not knowing her whereabouts but I imagine it’s somewhere in the northern mountains.”

“Have you tried a True Love's Kiss?” Emma raises her eyebrow at Robin before he explains, “I’m not sure what sort of memory curse your kingdom is under, but I’ve heard that True Love's Kiss can break any curse.”

That’s right. True Love’s Kiss. Her parents were never under a sleeping curse in this reality. They never had to fight for their love. “You might be onto something. But I believe it’s the King and Queen your sister is targeting with her curse, and I can only assume they’ve kissed, how can we get them to break the curse?”

“Sleeping curse.” Henry mutters. “They would have to be under a sleeping curse, correct?”

Regina nods. “You're a very bright boy Harry. It sounds like to give your kingdom their memories back, you need a sleeping curse.”

“That requires magic though. And nobody in our kingdom possesses such a kind.” As a result of not being the saviour in this reality, it also meant Emma had no magic. “Regina, is there any way you could maybe lend us some? If you had it in the past, I’m sure you could find a way to-“

“With all due respect, why would I help you?” Regina days cutting her off. That’s more like the Regina they know. “I’m sorry about your kingdom, but I haven’t touched magic in a long time and I don’t want to tap back into that darkness for two people I just met. I think you should leave.”

Knowing not to argue with her, Emma politely agrees and lets Robin show them the way out.

“Before you go.” Robin whispers. “My wife doesn’t have magic, but she does know more about where the Dark One resides. He has a castle up in the northern mountains, it borders the wastelands, it’s about three days from here. Good luck with your mission.”

Three days? They were running on a limited time schedule as it was. Three days there, and then the journey back?

“Got any bright ideas kid? Other than screaming Bloody Mary into a mirror 3 times?” She asks as a joke, except Henry’s eyes light up. “No. No. We are not doing that.”

“How else do you expect us to get information? We have to summon him.” Henry had met Mr. Gold, the pawnshop owner of Storybrooke who also happened to be his grandfather. Though Emma herself hadn’t met the Dark One in this reality, she had heard stories of the things he did to people and his ways of torturing. Hell she had learnt through Hook what he did to his ex wife. She didn’t know how it was going to turn out, she had to keep Henry safe.

“How do we even get him? We don’t exactly have his dagger? Dark one I summon thee? Would that even work?”

Mother and son hear a giggle behind them and look at one another before slowly turning their heads behind them to see Rumplestilskin. In all his crocodile skin glory.

“Dark One.” Emma breathes, a mixture of fear and amazement in her voice.

“The very one dearie.” He grins playfully. “What can I do for you, witch?”

Emma debates in her head what to say, how do you say you want a sleeping curse? And no way he'd give it to them.

“We need magic to save our kingdom.” Henry pipes up, eagerness getting the better of him.

“What does a Princess need with magic?” The Dark One asks, causing Emma to raise her eyebrow at him. “Oh yes I know who you are, Princess Emma of Misthaven. But I don’t know you.” He wiggles his finger at Henry, this version was a lot more theatrical than the one they knew in storybrooke.

Henry looks at his grandfather, with his scaly skin and his cane nowhere in sight. This wasn’t his grandfather, this was The Dark One who made deals and tortured people. His breath hitches he can barely speak, “I’m nobody. Just someone who needs magic to help bring my family back.”

“People in my kingdom have been cursed and they have lost their memories. I need magic to help bring their memories back.” Emma explains, hoping somewhere deep inside that Rumplestiltskin isn't the victim of this curse too.

Rumple prowls around the two, as if sizing them up or as if he was trying to read their minds. “And what manner of magic are we talking about here? You seem very confident that magic will solve this little problem. And why come to me at all? I’m sure Misthaven has someone who could give you a potion or an elixir.”

Struggling to keep her eyes on the Dark One as he keeps moving around, Emma decides on her lie. “My kingdom is scared of magic, most of them don’t trust it which is why it was easy for a witch to take their memories. I studied magic in secret, I don’t have any physical powers but I learnt the study of sorcery and magic from books in my library. I know that any curse can be broken with True Love’s Kiss, which is why I need a sleeping curse so that the curse can be broken. I’ve heard rumours you dabble with sleeping curses.”

Rumple fixates on Emma for a second, almost expecting her to break, but she remains strong. “And you have a victim in mind for this sleeping curse?”

Emma nods. “Yes. They may not have had any magic confirmation but I believe they are the epitome of True Love and a kiss will break the curse and bring back their memories.”

“And why aren’t you still a victim to this curse?”

Shit. She hadn’t thought about that. “I honestly cannot tell you for sure why. But I believe I regained my memories for a reason, I think it’s my fate to save my kingdom.” While she wasn’t the saviour in this realm, she was still the saviour of Storybrooke and she had to bring them home.

Emma isn’t sure if it’s a smile, a grin or a smirk that crosses his face when she mentions saving her kingdom, but Rumple was willing to help. “Very well dearie.” And with a wave of his hand an Apple suddenly appears in Emma’s hand.

“An Apple?” Emma’s eyebrows raise at Rumple, he had to know, even if he wasn’t showing it. This is too much of a coincidence.

“Most common form of a sleeping curse, other than a spinning needle. Just give this to your unsuspecting victim and they will fall into a deep slumber until their true love wakes them up.” There was a gleam in his eyes that made Emma think he knew, he must know.

“Thank you.” She says before he disappears in the blink of an eye.

“He knows.” Henry states as Emma just stands there going over what just happened.

“You think?” Emma couldn’t be sure, there were too many coincidences, but then again what was his plan if he was helping Zelena?

“He willingly gave us an apple for a sleeping curse with almost no questions asked. I think grandpa is still in there.” Henry was positive, he had to be. He’d made it to the Enchanted Forest by himself to save his family, and now he has to believe his grandpa knew who he was and that was why he was willing to help.

___

“So what is the plan now that we have the apple?” Henry asks his mother once they’re back in their carriage on the way back to the kingdom. Henry was on top of it, he always needed a plan.

“Well, I’m getting Gregory to drop you off just before the gates so we don’t raise suspicions and Leo will meet you in the stables, he’ll disguise you as one of his servants and then we can figure out how to get her to eat the apple.”

“Grandpa needs to be away!” Henry blurts out as if a lightbulb just went off in his head. “In the original timeline, Gramps had to find her before he could wake her up. What if that needs to happen again this time?”

“You’re right.” Emma says as she opens up the storybook to the right page, seeing the quest her father went on before-trapped by Regina and then slaying Maleficent. “Well we don’t have an evil queen to trap him, but he does have a trip coming up. We can poison Snow send word to dad, that way he’s going on a journey to come and save her. We can call it Operation Scorpion?

Henry just laughs at his mother’s suggestion.

“No? Okay how about Operation Python?” She suggests, smiling at Henry’s unenthusiastic face.

[figroth]

Flickers in the Dark

The orange lights flickered unexpectedly in the distance of the abyssal darkness.

Thania observed the first source of light she had encountered in years thoughtfully. What could the meaning of this be? Down in the Abyss there was no light. There was barely anything to be honest, but especially not light. She had learnt to sense her barren and bleak world through other means, so much so that she had almost forgotten what it was like to see. Could she believe her own sight after it'd fallen in such disuse?

Indeed the question of whether she could trust the vision was prevalent in her mind. Her many years of experience in the Abyss had taught her that trust was a sentiment one shouldn't afford to anything.

Once, she remembered, the harrowing cry of a woman echoing through the darkness. She had hurried to the aid of the distressed woman, hoping in the depths of her heart that she might finally have a companion in her empty journeys. At the end of her dash, however, she had met no person, but a bulbous mass of disparate parts. Her first tentative touches had felt a number of faces, distorted in unnatural asymmetrical shapes, undulating in and out as one with the breathing of the beast. As she stepped back, she could hear the unearthly shrieks of people rendered so inhuman in how real they sounded. She had barely escaped the claws that had then swooped in to catch her, and likely add her own face to the amalgamation.

No, there were two very fundamental lessons about living in the Abyss. The first was that despite the general emptiness, in the rare event of encountering something other than yourself, investigating was never worth the danger it put you in. Though Thania did not understand the purposes of the things she met and could never predict their actual nature beforehand, she knew they were never safe. From the pleasant aroma of a flower luring you into a plant that would entrap you and incorporate your living body to its growing vines; to a room of warmth and comfort inviting you to rest your sorrows away, only to sap away all your will and motivation by the time you woke up; everything in this world harboured a threat of some kind or other.

Yet, these orange flickers of light made Thania feel warm just by looking at them. She remembered a time when a flame of not too dissimilar hue would have kept her company through the night, shielding her from the cold of the outside world. She could imagine the small crowded home that surrounded such hearth. She yearned for its warmth. Could these lights possibly be houses of people? What else could create light? She had never seen the creatures of the Abyss do such a thing.

The second lesson of the Abyss was that the cold, lonely life it offered was not living at all when you didn't let even its rare encounters approach you.

"Do you reckon you'll find people over there?" Grinner suddenly appeared with a condescending chuckle.

She ignored him.

"It's almost inspiring how you still believe after all this time. Your optimism is why I like you, though", his mocking grin was perceptible even without having to see him.

Once upon a time, a naive young Thania had allowed herself to feel around his face and body. He had seemed roughly human-shaped, even if the texture wasn't quite right. But most noticeable had been the incredibly wide smile his face was contorted to. It was a smile she could hear in his very voice. That's why she had called him Grinner back then.

Of course, it had been entirely wrong to engage with him. She had once been glad to meet another person she could speak with. Nowadays, she wasn't sure if she should refer to him as a person at all. Her current theory had him be a demon haunting her in an attempt to confuse and mislead her, out of pure appreciation for her suffering. She still feared he might have yet worse intentions, however. Thus, she ignored him.

"Still not much for conversation, I see. You wound my feelings, dearie. In any case, be careful in your foolish little endeavour. We wouldn't want you to die, would we?" his last words were dipped with a pretend concern that induced an ominous feeling in her.

With his part said, she heard Grinner's essence dissolve back into nothingness. She was alone again. Perhaps she wouldn't be for long. Her tormentor didn't seem to think the flickers held anything good in them, and in truthfulness she agreed. But if the demon was right about one thing was that in the core of all her jadedness, she simply wanted to believe in the light again.

After all, although Thania always said she had been alone since the start, in reality she'd met other humans before. It had been mostly in the beginning, right after her home had been taken by the Abyss. She assumed they came from the same place, but she hadn't been able to confirm it, since she didn't recognise anyone she knew. Unfortunately, in most cases the humans were already dead or in irrecoverable states that didn't allow communication when she found them. Horrifying though these instances were, they were invaluable learning experiences that allowed her to survive all this time.

After a while, the humans stopped showing up. Thania was left to deal with the Abyss and its dangers by herself. What happened to her home, she never knew exactly. In her childhood she and her family had lived in a mining colony on a far-off moon of the solar system. It had not been an easy life, but it was all Thania had known and she had been happy. She knew that now at least. But then with no sign or warning, a fog of complete blackness had appeared and consumed the whole moon within it.

Where was she now and where was the moon gone now? She didn't know. Her current whereabouts, the thing she called the Abyss, didn't feel like she was on a planet or in space, or even in the fog that started it all. Sometimes the Abyss didn't even seem to have any corporeal form at all. It was just a Darkness, and she existed in it. Then, sometimes other Things would appear within it.

The fog had taken her entire home. But then, after the initial panic and mayhem, she was alone. She had met some people, but not nearly enough. Where had the rest of them gone? Where had the buildings and towns gone? Where had her family gone? Were they also somewhere in the Abyss to be found? Or had they perhaps been spared from the darkness and she could go back to them, if she only found an exit.

Those questions bothered her whenever she tried to sleep. But they were also what kept her hope alive. What kept her moving after a long series of disappointments.

There was of course something else that motivated her. That inner hunger she always felt that could never be quenched in the bare landscape of the Abyss. An agonising unrelenting hunger that plagued her always. It tormented her, but it kept her alive. It drove her to take risks she wouldn't have otherwise, every time a step closer to death. And yet when she made it out alive, she had what the hunger demanded of her. Perhaps without it she would have given up long ago.

Her belly now again rumbled. She didn't get to eat often. Whatever waited for her at the end of this trip, this was an unmistakable chance to alleviate that hard knot in her stomach.

She looked down at herself, a motion more symbolic than anything else. If she did find people, though, would they be able to accept her as she was now? A wandering creature, twisted by the instincts of survival and the corruption of the dark, who can only think of consuming whatever she can find to satiate her hunger... Was she perhaps also a monster of the Abyss now?

Her clothes were long gone, torn and frayed through time and wear. They wouldn't fit her grown body anyway. Instead now she wore a veil of shadows, fashioned like a cloak. Although no prying eyes could pierce the darkness that enveloped all and no clothing could shield from the coldness permeating everything in the Abyss, she still somehow felt safer or more comfortable with something on rather than otherwise. Perhaps it was an artifact of a life in a more reasonable world.

Would such appearance scare a fellow human? The transformations the Dark had forced upon her. Could they ever be accepted by people? If she ever re-surfaced to the real world, would she be welcome? Would she be able to live there? Or would she be so far gone, the warmth would burn her?

In the Abyss, there was no night and day. The only differentiation of time for Thania was the cycle of necessary movement replaced by the loss of all willingness to think and experience. Then, she would sleep, surrendering herself to the same void that surrounded her from all sides. Once again now, stopped in her tracks by her maddening thoughts, she found a hole to crawl in and lied down hoping the oblivion would claim her and erase all worries.

She had no dreams.

She awakened to the call of her hunger. Though sleep in the Abyss rarely offered enough rest to be considered fulfilling, Thania had at least shed some of her exhaustion, allowing to build up her mental fortitude once again.

The orange lights were still there. Whatever lay there, human, monstrous or otherwise, she would have to face it in the end no matter the outcome. That wouldn't change.

She made her way towards them once again. Although the Abyss had no definite shape or form, it did sometimes assume a particular, more corporeal state. Often Thania found her feet walking upon what felt like hard rocky terrain. Other times, it was as if she was in a murky bog, her legs submerging themselves into invisible mud and water. And yet other times, even more structure appeared in her way, like stony trees, pillars made of tar and even rivers of ambiguous substances defying the notion of gravity and flowing in any direction they saw fit.

This time the darkness melted into a liquid form and Thania found herself having to swim through a lake. It was not her favourite state. The touch of the water, if it could even be called that, made her yet colder. She pushed on despite it. The faster she swam, the sooner she'd be out of the lake.

Whilst at first, her head remained above the surface, letting buoyancy keep her afloat, suddenly all the enveloping darkness was liquid, pressing from all sides. In a panic, she tried to swim upwards, but no end to the water appeared. She'd closed her mouth as soon as the change occurred, so nothing had gotten in, but as a result she hadn't gotten a good breath in. She didn't have long.

Taking a moment to calm herself, she stopped and looked at her target, the only visible thing in so long. The Abyss was playing tricks on her, but the lights were surely there and approaching. She could try go back, but it wasn't certain the Abyss would change back. The lights were true and material, though, no matter what the Dark shaped itself into. That was her only hope.

She dove straight for the orange dots, now blurring through the pain-induced tears. She didn't even know if oxygen existed in the Abyss, yet her lungs longed for it nonetheless. They begged her to open her mouth, ignorant that what lay outside was not air. They pressure built up far quicker than she had hoped. She couldn't stand this. She was getting closer, but her instincts fought her.

She opened her mouth.

The darkness flowed quickly into her mouth and down her neck, filling her up inside with the most dreadful stuffy solidified sense of drowning. It reached the capacity of her lungs and then overflowed, spreading to her entire being. A single scream escaped, short in duration, muffled, and eventually swallowed by the void.

The next instant that she could be certain she was conscious, Thania was on solid ground -solid enough at least- with no sign of the lake that had been drowning her, for how long she couldn't tell.

She greedily breathed in and out, partly to calm herself, but also to make up for all the breaths she just skipped. The essence that had invaded her seemed to be gone and any lingering taste was probably her imagination. However, she didn't trust that it wasn't hiding somewhere within her with some insidious purpose. The fear of that would be something more to worry about in her lone moments of sleep, but in the moment she couldn't do anything about it, so she tried to repress it.

She felt around her body, from her limbs to her chest to her belly, to make sure everything was still in place, then she got up. The lights were closer than ever, fairly bigger than before and easier to distinguish. Without any other landmarks, it was hard to estimate distances, but she felt she was almost there.

As she continued on her way, the ground started to turn uphill. Eventually, after some searching she found a swirling path that appeared to climb up a hill or mountain. The lights proved to be higher than her current level, so the path seemed to be a promising way of reaching them.

As she went around the hill, the flickers came in and out of sight, as if something was hiding them, but now Thania could see they weren't quite round, but had a more elongated squarish shape. The excitement caused by this almost made her turn around and run away, for fear of the disappointment being wrong would cause.

"Don't do this to me now", she inadvertently mumbled to herself in a croaky voice.

The remaining climb was some of the hardest exercise she'd gotten in a long time. Other than running away from dangers, the empty Abyss didn't often offer much physical challenge. Now, the clear path up the hill seemed to stop and instead the way up was through steep jagged cliffs. Yet, the lights were just above, tantalisingly close and yet out of reach. Thania put in her all, making her way up, blindly searching for stable footing.

She was faintly reminded of climbing a much less steep slope in the dark during the exploration of an abandoned mine, back home. Was she with her friends then, venturing into dangerous passages out of curiosity despite warning; or had her father brought her there to familiarise her with the mines that she might also have worked in some day? She couldn't remember. Her memories of her old life seemed so far now, so faded. Lost almost, as if taken by the all-consuming Darkness.

A sharp feeling grasped her gut. Her memories of the old world were one of the few things she had, one of her precious treasures. Without realising it, it had escaped like sand in her hands. Was forgetfulness and nothingness all that awaited her? If she had lost what once was, could she perhaps ever make memories to replace the ones that were gone? A warm life with warm people. Could she possibly ever have something so nice?

A monstrosity of many eyes and enormous size stared at her and seemed to almost silently reply "No". Archs of almost human size, emitting orange light, with a cross separating them in four parts dotted the gooey flesh of the monster. By all accounts they should have been windows. And yet they were just another trick of the Abyss meant to deceive her. The window-shaped eyes of the vaguely spherical mass of overlapping disproportionately small arms turned to look at her. A maw covering about half of the creature opened in anticipation, revealing its inner dark depths. The two chicken-like legs supporting its weight dubiously, slowly started to move towards her.

Thania wasn't sure if this was worse than the creatures she imagined when she couldn't see the horrors of the Abyss visually. It didn't matter in this moment, however, as instead of a fearful scream, hoarse laughter escaped her mouth. Of course. What else did she expect? She felt horrible, yet she could only laugh.

But something else stirred within her at the same time. Looking down, below her cloak, in the light of the beast's eyes, she could for the first time see the gem that had embedded itself in her stomach. It opened up to reveal the mouth she knew was there, demanding flesh to quench its hunger.

Many might have wondered, had they heard Thania's tale, how she managed to survive this long in the Abyss, escaping its touch and its horrible traps. The simple answer is she didn't. Since the very beginning, the taint of the Abyss had accompanied her.

When the fog came, unimaginable beasts had emerged from it. Some had been satisfied hunting for food. Others had simply killed, seemingly for its own sake. Some few had committed unthinkable horrors on the unfortunate victims of her home. As for Thania, before she could escape one of the small ones had bitten her leg. What happened next was always a blur, but the creature had managed to enter her body and somehow merge with it. She could still feel it inside her, attached to her heart, its tendrils reaching within her, sapping any warmth she could produce.

Its thirst for life, its search for sustenance had always followed her. It was what had made her eat the the detached claw of a face-stealing monster. What had convinced her to accept the fruit of a tree growing out of a man. It was what gave her power and what had helped her survive.

It was what would have her fight the many-eyed monstrosity charging at her right now. And the survivor's hunger will be sated.

If only for a moment.

[jegulily-stuff]

Day 2: Spontaneous

part 1: here

@jegulilyweek

...

You aren't allowed to flinch.

That's something Regulus learnt early. No matter what you see happening to someone, you're not allowed to react at all.

He doesn't remember when his parents taught him that lesson, but he hasn't forgotten it.

(It was probably over Evan, his cousins' cousin. His death is so loud and bright and violent, like fireworks, and Regulus has always wanted to tuck himself away from it when they're in the same room.)

Sometimes its so, so difficult.

Bertha Jorkins sits across from him in the library, whispering incessantly with one of her friends while he tries to finish his Astronomy homework.

(Stars, always stars)

Sometimes Regulus worries he's magnitudes weaker than everyone else on earth.

It's an almost blasphemous thought. He's supposed to be the best the world has.

(He tries to be, he won't ever stop trying.)

But her presence is almost unbearable.

She screams and screams in his mind. It's all blood and blinding pain, and she'd been pregnant, and now, well...

She lives for days as her body and mind are ripped to shreds.

There's so much blood.

Even now it's on everything she touches. Red fingerprints on the books, on her friend's arm. Pooling under her library chair.

No one else reacts. Her friend smiles and giggles like nothing's wrong, leaning in to whisper something else as they ogle someone over Regulus' shoulder.

He focuses on breathing.

He's not allowed to close his eyes, not allowed to put his hands over his ears.

Bertha's eyes sparkle as she lays out some great social conspiracy under her breath.

Oh, you haven't heard, she wants to break up with him - no obviously she hasn't told him that - I think she wants to be single when she goes to that fancy gala she got invited to.

She's always gossiping, saying things she shouldn't, prying into other people's business, and always so blithely, so cheerfully. Like it isn't going to get her killed.

She actually dated Pettigrew for a few months last year. A few visits to Hogsmede, heart shaped sweets, sitting next to each other at lunch. And Regulus would have ignored it, what did he care about other people's silly childish romances? But she'd been so carefree about that too. Like it was just a fun few months of trying dating out for the first time. Saccharine and happy, no expectations, no resentments. Like he wouldn't be the one to lead her to her death.

Regulus used to think of it as frivolity. Her silliness, her lack of solemnity.

Now he's come to see it as a strength he simply doesn't have.

To be happy living. To not be weighed down by the fate hanging over you. To accept your lot without sadness and enjoy the life given to you.

He can't do that.

Everyone else seems to have fun with the bits of life that don't matter, that aren't part of their great fate. Skipping a class for an impromptu concert in the common room, parties, day trips, friendships, hookups, the whole concept of 'Valentine's Day'.

Regulus isn't spontaneous like that. The fate is all there is for him. He can't focus on anything else when he needs to get it right.

The sorting hat sat on his head for four and a half minutes while he told it over and over that he wanted Slytherin. He wanted to fulfil his destiny. That was his sole commitment.

Regulus has feared ever since that it saw his weakness and thought he'd fail.

(No one has ever failed. Ever in history. Evey single death he's read in the paper, and there are so many these days, are all exactly as they're supposed to be.)

He can't. He can't be the one to fuck it up.

And then there's Lily Evans.

[ask-healthy-light]

As the two Sisters each held one of Starswirl's hooves closer to their chests, they nodded to their former Mentor, before they briefly glanced at each other in confusion, as neither Celestia nor Luna understood why Starswirl brought it up; and they sweetly said they wanted to ask him about this, as they remembered he deeply regretted the way he taught them many years ago, for which he apologised.

But as the Bearded shamefully looked away from the Princesses, they quietly added that his lessons, his knowledge, even his advice and guidance, everything he had given them had helped them to become who they were now, many Ages later; and as their smiles grew brighter, they promised Starswirl that he had nothing to apologise for, as after such a long time, they had forgotten how he treated them.

For a brief moment, the Bearded looked at his Pupils, and his smile grew warmer when he heard their kind reassurance, which greatly relieved both Celestia and Luna, who thought that they were getting through to the Old Wizard; but their hopes were dashed when he closed his eyes again, and let out a deep sigh as he let his head hang, before he pulled his hooves back to clean his tear-stained face.

Although they might only remember the good moments from their countless lessons in order and chaos, magic of many kinds, and everything they were not taught at school, he could still clearly remember his vilest moments, which were worryingly numerous; but while he was able to justify his actions in the past, convincing everybody it was for the good of Equestria, he could no longer lie to himself.

Despite the fact that the Sisters were just Fillies when he met them for the first time, barely old enough to walk, he put too much pressure on them, kept them away from their Family for days on end, even forced them to study until they fell asleep on top of their books; and the only point of light was that he never once touched so much as a hair of their manes, but his words were harmful enough.

When he saw the all too familiar look in Celestia's eyes when he snapped at her, Starswirl realised that he had gone too far, and that he had done so too many times over in the past; and he sincerely apologised to the Sisters for never treating them fairly, never allowing them to live the happy and safe foalhood they deserved, and for so harshly criticising them if their efforts were not perfect.

At that moment, Celestia interrupted the Bearded, and asked him why he was telling them this, since she could not remember a single moment that he was cruel to either her or Luna, who nodded along in agreement; but after Starswirl laid his head back down, he quietly admitted that there was a chance that the spell to stabilise the Mirror would not work as he hoped, and he could have lost his life.

Even though he was incredibly relieved to know that he survived, that Luna, Nox, and the force they led were able to cross the Mirror safely, and that the Sisters did not remember any of his dreadful reactions, he did not want to pass into the hereafter bearing such a great burden; and he tearfully swore to do better, to teach calmly and patiently, and to help others in ways he never helped them.

When Starswirl opened his eyes again, he saw that the Royal Sisters had leaned back in their seats, staring blankly in front of them as they thought about everything that he had told them, for which, he figured, they would take a long time to forgive him, if ever; so he steadied his voice and wiped away his tears, before he said he would understand if they wanted to leave and never see him again.

After silence fell in the room, Starswirl expected Celestia and Luna to walk out without a word and leave him behind, yet, he would be all right with their choice if they did, and he would be glad to depart in peace; but they gently took his hooves, and with quivering breath, they sweetly said they were grateful for his apology, but after so many aeons had passed, he had nothing to apologise for.

As Starswirl's eyes welled up with tears of joy, the Princesses chuckled, and quietly said:

"You cannot try to worm your way out of your promise, Old Greybeard…" "And from now on, we will be the ones to teach you what we have learnt."

(Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, please reblog! Thanks in advance!)

Send an ask or request! | Start at the beginning! | Next part!

(I apologise for the lack of posts the past two days. I forgot to mention I was heading to a party at a friend's place for New Year's Eve, and I only got back home Monday evening.)

[aylen-san]

Features of the diet of elves from Eonwe

Continuation of the story of Maglor and Eonwe. Still in Elwing Tower

Maglor entered the tower, realising that this lesson would not only be about transformation magic, but also an opportunity to right some of the wrongs of the past. He hoped he hadn't found trouble again, because Eonwë would be worried and clucking over him like a quack again. And if she got carried away, she'd try to feed him grain, worms and bugs instead of elven food. Fish isn't so bad, though. The main thing is not flounder, for some reason the sight of it made him sick.

However, beetles, scorpions and snakes were fine if cooked properly. He remembered how Eonwë, caring for him, had said that taking small doses of poison was good for the body and built up immunity to poisons. Maglor couldn't help but smile at the thought of Maya explaining the importance of these ‘dietary’ changes to him with a serious look.

Awakening from his thoughts, he noticed Elwing watching him warily. Her tower was cosy and warm, filled with light and the smell of the sea. Paintings hung on the walls, reminders of her former life, and Maglor felt that this place was her refuge from the world that had brought her so much pain.

- This is your new beginning, Maglor, - Elwing said, leading him deeper into the tower. - Here you will learn not only magic, but responsibility. Redemption comes through hard work and understanding. And you must realise that becoming someone is not easy. Tell me what Lord Manwë and Lady Varda have taught you while I prepare tea.

Maglor sat down on the soft couch, feeling the tension leave his body. He looked at Elwing, who had begun to prepare tea, and began to narrate.

- Manwë and Varda taught me many things, - he began, remembering their lessons. - Manwë spoke of the importance of understanding the nature of the wind and sky, how they affect all living things. He taught me to listen to the wind and feel its power. Varda, for her part, talked about stars and light. She showed me how starlight can guide and protect, how it penetrates the darkest of darkness.

Elwing listened attentively, her hands moving deftly and confidently, preparing everything for tea. Her face remained calm, but Maglor hoped his words meant something to her.

- They also said that the magic of transformation requires not only knowledge, but also an understanding of your essence and the essence of those you wish to transform into, - Maglor continued. - Manwë said that to transform successfully, one must not only know the form, but also feel it, understand its spirit. I also learnt the structure of a bird's body and how birds fly. Grandmother Varda even gave me this.

Elwing nodded, handing him a cup of hot tea. Macalauré, meanwhile, showed her his treasure. It was the feather of a great eagle, sparkling with a silvery sheen and shimmering with all shades of grey and white. Elwing, seeing the feather, could not hide her surprise and admiration.

- Does this feather belong to one of Manwë's eagles? - She asked, gently touching its tip.

The young Maglor nodded, smiling happily. His dark hair glistened in the sun and his eyes shone with joy. He was pleased that someone appreciated his treasure at face value. The feather of the Great Eagle, a gift from Varda's grandmother, was very dear to him. It was as if it held the light of the stars and the power of the winds. Maglor held it carefully in his hands, careful not to damage it.

- Yes, it was a gift from Grandmother Varda. She said it would help me understand the nature of birds better and learn the transformation more easily. When I hold this feather, I feel closer to them, as if I can understand their thoughts and feelings.

Elwing looked at the feather carefully, her gaze softening. She knew it was not just a symbol, but a powerful stimulus that could help Maglor on his path.

- This is a precious gift, Maglor, - she said, handing the feather back to him. - You can achieve much with it. But remember that the true power of transformation comes from within, from your heart and soul.

Maglor nodded, taking the quill back, and carefully tucked it away in the velvet pouch he always carried with him. He liked to collect various trinkets and mementos from his many explorations of Amana, even if they had no practical value. Every item in his collection held memories of adventures and encounters, places he had travelled to and people he had met. To Maglor, each item was a piece of the magical world he explored with tireless curiosity and love.

- That's right, - she said. - Transfiguration is not only a change of the outer shell, but also of the inner self. You must fully immerse yourself in who you want to become. It is a complex and difficult path, but I believe you can make it. Considering your famous family stubbornness.

Maglor accepted the cup of tea, feeling its warmth in his hands. He hadn't noticed how cold he'd been as he made his way to the tower. Macalaurë looked greedily at the various dishes on the table in front of him, eager to try them all at once, but he didn't know what they were and was afraid of being ignorant. His growing body demanded a lot of food and he often felt hungry.

The table was covered with various viands: fragrant bread, crisp and golden; various fruits that glistened under the light coming through the tower windows; fresh green salads decorated with brightly coloured fruit flowers and nuts; and many small dishes with sauces and spices that looked so tempting. It all looked like a veritable feast for the eyes and stomach.

Eonwë took good care of him, and the elfling loved him dearly, but he had to admit that their diet was sometimes a little too specific. Eonwë had recently taken to the idea of hardening the body and added to his diet dishes that Maglor had learnt to eat without too many questions: insects cooked in various ways, a snake baked with herbs, or a soup of roots and mushrooms, which although healthy, didn't always taste good. But he wasn't much of a cook anyway, and most of the food in the house was food given to him by various elves, and Maglor felt like they were sometimes joking around with the inexperienced Maia. Macalaurë felt that he had to save food in his previous life as well, so he had learnt to cook for himself and tried to be as fussy as possible.

Now, however, he was faced with something completely different. The dishes looked sophisticated and attractive, but he felt a little lost. He didn't want to appear with bad manners in front of Elving, who seemed to be waiting for his reaction.

- You can try anything you want, - Elving said, noticing his embarrassment. - These are common Sindar dishes, and I hope you like them.

Maglor carefully took a piece of bread and tasted it. The flavour was delicate and crisp, the warm bread warmed him from the inside out. Then he tasted a piece of fruit, sweet and juicy, which made him smile.

- It's delicious, - he admitted, feeling warmth and joy fill him. - Thank you, Lady Elwing.

Elwing smiled back, her eyes softening.

- I'm glad you enjoyed it. Bon appetit, Maglor.

- I wish Daddy cooked as good, - Elwing muttered, no longer embarrassed and eating the biscuits with both cheeks.

- Feanaro is alive? - Elwing exclaimed in astonishment, feeling a wave of horror at the mere thought of it. Her face turned pale and her hands trembled. Memories of past troubles caused by Theanor and his sons surfaced in her mind like dark shadows of the past. Elwing remembered fire and swords, the bitterness of loss and the pain of parting. She couldn't believe that this nightmare could come back to life, threatening her family and everything she loved.

- No, - Macalauré shook his head, still eating, -someone else is taking care of me. He's just not a very good cook.

Maglor didn't want to say that Eonwë was his adoptive father, because some elves said he was lying and that the Herald of Manwë would never mess with a Rhodomancer. Others, particularly those who were loyal to his family, thought that this foolish bird could not properly care for Theanor's son. They believed that such a child needed true elven guardians who understood the intricacies of upbringing, not an angel-like creature who, in their opinion, knew more about battles and celestial achievements than about everyday life.

Some elves even feared that Eonwë might have ulterior motives involving revenge or punishment. After all, raising the son of Pheanor meant taking on great responsibility and the associated risk. They surmised that sooner or later, the Rhodomancer's past would catch up with him, and he would become a target for those who had not yet forgiven the deeds of House Theanor.

Elfing stood in front of Elwing, feeling her steady gaze. He knew that she too could have been one of those who doubted his current guardian, and so he preferred to keep that information to himself. But the stares and whispers of the elves, their suspicions and fears, all of it made him uneasy. After all, he knew that Eonwë cared for him more than anyone else, even if his methods were unusual.

Maglor lowered his head, contemplating how to explain the situation. He felt vulnerable and anxious, afraid that his words would be misunderstood or worse, rejected. He couldn't afford to lose those fragile sprouts of trust that might have sprung up between him and Elwing.

- Not too much, how much? You're looking at the biscuit as if you're seeing it for the first time, - Elwing remarked indignantly, the idea of taking Maglor for herself becoming more and more appealing. His current guardian didn't seem to be taking good care of the boy. Why else would he be so hungry?

- Well, - Maglor began, munching on another bite of biscuit, ‘he cares for me, I know that, but his culinary skills...’ - Maglor wrinkled his nose, remembering one particularly bad dinner. - Left a lot to be desired.

Elwing looked at him with growing concern. She sensed that Maglor was telling the truth, and that only strengthened her resolve. This boy deserved better than what he was being offered now. Elwing smiled, her heart filled with determination and warmth. It seemed that her path and Maglor's had intertwined for a reason. Not even a Kindred deserved to be mistreated, being only a child.

Elwing smiled, thinking about how to inform Earendil of the addition to the family. He would understand her and would definitely be pleased. And Elrond, when he sailed to Aman, would thank her for rescuing his foster father and raising him properly.

She imagined how Earendil, with his unfailing kindness and understanding, would embrace her when he heard the news. His eyes would glow with joy and he would tell her that he had always known she had a good heart. Elving knew for sure that he would support her decision as he had always supported her in the past.

Elwing also thought about the future. She imagined how Elrond would smile gratefully when he heard of her deed. He would say that she had acted wisely and magnanimously in saving Maglor and giving him a chance at a new life. Her son was rumoured to value goodness and justice and would surely support her decision.

- Maglor, - she turned to the boy when he finally broke away from the biscuits, -I want you to know that you can always ask for help.

[tomhollandnet]

The Crowded Room: Tom Holland reveals how he defied a studio - over a hairstyle

In Cherry you played someone with PTSD, in Devil All the Time your mind went to all these dark and difficult places and here, there are memories that are disappearing from your life. What is your fascination with playing these characters who have these mental health struggles and challenges?

I’ve never really thought of it in that way, that I am kind of chasing characters with these ailments as such. I love a great story. I love a great challenge. I love working with great people and The Crowded Room offered all of those things.

Why did this particular project grab you?

I was shooting Spider-Man 3. I was in-between hanging upside down, fighting Alfred Molina and having the time of my life and I found out Akiva [Goldsman, The Crowded Room’s showrunner] wanted to speak to me about this project. I met with him on the Christmas break on Zoom and we immediately hit it off. Our 45-minute meeting turned into a two-hour epic about what The Crowded Room could be. He was kind enough to give me the job and the adventure started from there really.

What is it about you and New York?. First there was the Spider-Man trilogy – and now this. When is a statue going to be built there in your honour?

I’m probably the wrong person to ask that question. I’m a huge fan of New York. I was delighted to call it home for almost a year. It is as much a character in the show as I am. New York in the ‘70s was a pretty crazy place. I think our department heads did a pretty wonderful job of bringing that to life. It was very cool stepping into that era. It was also equally scary – it was a very, very different time.

Speaking of the scary ‘70s, did you get much say in the wardrobe – and that hairstyle in particular?

I tell you what mate, I learnt a really valuable lesson from Jake Gyllenhaal once – “commit to hair and makeup and commit to wardrobe. Do whatever you can to make yourself look as aesthetically different as possible with each role that you have” – and with Danny Sullivan, I went for it.

The studio wouldn’t really allow me to cut my in the way that we did. Ultimately, I just took an executive decision to say, “I’m going to do it anyway because this is how I think the character should look”. I’m delighted that we did, because I think the hair is the icing on the cake for the character.

As for the wardrobe? I loved the wardrobe. I’ve kept it all – I still wear the flared jeans. I think they did a wonderful job of putting that all together.

Talk us through that hairstyle. What made you so convinced that it had to be that way?

I think I trust my own judgement. My make-up artist Rachel Speke did these wonderful mood boards for what she wanted to achieve and we would sit there and look at these different pictures of people in New York in the ‘70s and so many times this haircut popped up.

I think we were a little hesitant, because it is a huge departure from what I look like in real life, but I just felt it was so important with the character like this to disappear into his life as much as possible and be as authentic to the period. I do remember showing up to the camera test and there being some rather unhappy faces, but I think they came around in the end.

I feel more comfortable making executive decisions now because Rachel and I have worked on five or six feature films together. I feel like we’ve always done a really good job – and it’s always for the service of the show.

It is such a complex role. How did you stay on top of all the facets of it?

I think we did a great job of scheduling it so lots of our actors’ stuff was in order, but that wasn’t the case for me. I was bouncing backwards and forwards in time on so many different days. Shooting multiple episodes on the same day was really, really tough. It meant we really had to be vigilant and prepared for every day’s work.

Ben Perkins, my acting coach, arguably saved the show. He was so good at making sure Danny’s arc was a strong cohesive one, not only to us making the show, but also to the audience.

There are some very intense scenes in The Crowded Room. What kind of on and off-set support did you have?

Akiva is a professional, he was a great ally on set. He’s not only a great friend, but also a great leader. I have a wonderful support system of friends – my brother was with me and my best friends from my personal life also work together as a team. Yes, there were times when I needed a shoulder to cry on – and I had plenty of shoulders to choose from. I was very lucky.

Since you became a star in the Spider-Man movies, you’ve also consistently stretched your acting skills in other, smaller roles – is that something you’ve deliberately sought out to do?

It’s something that I’m definitely very aware of. I love playing Spider-Man and Peter Parker, who I feel like is my best friend. He changed my life. I also have had two incredibly gifted agents since I was 13 years old who have been so good at positioning me to work at the right times with the right people.

It has definitely been something that has been in our strategic conversations about not getting put into one box. I love challenging myself. For me, it all comes under the same umbrella. It is something we think about and something we actively try to achieve.

Roles like this must take up so much energy and emotion – how do you take a break?

I am currently taking a year off. Today has been my first day of work in ‘23. I’ve been home, I’ve been lying low, I’ve been working on my house and building cupboards and gardening and all that sort of stuff.

I did know while I was making The Crowded Room that I did have this wonderfully long break coming up, so I took on the challenge, was dealing with the hardships of the character knowing that I had a break at the end.

I thought that after two months I’d be itching to get back on set. I’m now six months in and I’m absolutely loving my time off – I’m really enjoying myself.

[bewitchingbooktours]

Bewitching Blitz- Exiles by LJ Ambrosio #Fiction #ComingofAgeFiction

Exiles

Reflections of Michael Trilogy

Book Three

LJ Ambrosio

Genre: Fiction/Coming-of-age

Publisher: Film Valor

Date of Publication: May 2024

Number of pages: 150

Word Count: 40,241

Cover Artist: Seamus C 

Book Description: 

In this final chapter, Ron's story concludes from Reflections on the Boulevard (2023). 

Michael's wish was for Ron to exile himself in the heart of Paris with its beautiful culture and citizens as they protest and fight for the soul of the city. 

Ron's journey is met with life-affirming friendships and lessons along the way. 

The final book in the Reflections of Michael Trilogy, which started with A Reservoir Man (2022).

Amazon      BN       Smashwords

CHAPTER ONE

A cool autumn breeze, in the twilight, wrapped around our exile who sat on a bench in front of a bookstore that resembled a place we might find in a Tolkien novel. On this street, rue de la Buccheri, was the bookstore Shakespeare and Company. The store itself was famous for housing the books of many great literary artists on their shelves. They also supported any young or old artistic vagabonds by allowing them to sleep in the aisles of the bookstore on makeshift beds when finding themselves homeless.

Ron, who managed the store, sat on this bench every evening thinking of Michael. Ron thought of things he remembered and how much he learnt from Michael. He felt the emptiness in his soul, yearning to have that connection just one more time. He had lived in Paris for six years now, a brief time for an exile, yet he was free from a society drowning in untruths; his refuge was the bookstore.

Just like every night, as Ron prepared to close the store, he occasionally checked the front of the store, looking for his friend. Then, he noticed another young man still looking at books on the outside shelves.

Ron moved outside to get a closer look at the late customer under the guise of moving the outdoor book bins back inside. He suddenly noticed that the young man was putting a book down his pants.

Ron raised his voice and shouted for the thief to put the book back on the shelf. The young man, caught in the act, ran away.

The young man sprinted and tripped while running past the café. In this stumble, he decided to turn the corner and make his way rapidly toward la Seine.

Ron, weak in the legs from forgetting the spirit of his youth, had been managing bookstores more than living life. His legs pumped forward. but with the awkwardness of an old man who had forgotten how to walk. In a few seconds he was up to speed and ran faster to catch the thief.

Near the corner, Ron had missed his opportunity to slow and check for other people walking, so he slammed into a group of women. He especially blasted into an old lady whose groceries flew into the sky, and a yogurt splattered against a wall and the faces of the other women. She turned to condemn her assailant, but he was already on the next block in pursuit of the thief.

He spotted the thief at the Notre Dame Hotel, out of breath, leaning against a pillar. Surprised at the thief’s choice to stop here, he slowed down and let his feet pound the street into a halt.

Ron grabbed at him but still missed his shoulder.

“Give me the book back!” he said, very loudly.

The thief just shrugged his shoulder, a mocking smile. His smile made the act of chasing him through the streets feel silly, as if this were a game that had been played and he took it too seriously.

The thief looked at Ron and asked, sarcastically, “What language are you speaking?”

“What do mean? I am speaking French!”

Our thief laughed, turned to a random man who walked down the street, and said, "This young man thinks he is speaking French Go ahead say something to this stranger; he will tell you are speaking some other language other than French!”

“I will call the police,” Ron said firmly.

About the Author:

Louis J. Ambrosio ran one of the most nurturing bi-coastal talent agencies in Los Angeles and New York. He started his career as a theatrical producer, running two major regional theaters for eight seasons. Ambrosio taught at 7 Universities. Ambrosio also distinguished himself as an award-winning film producer and novelist over the course of his impressive career.

Website: https://www.ljambrosio.com/ 

Blog: https://ljambrosio.blogspot.com/ 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/authorlambrosio

TikTok https://www.tiktok.com/@ljambrosioauthor

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ljambrosioauthor/ 

Author Bookstore: https://payhip.com/LJAMBROSIO

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22516285.L_J_Ambrosio

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[five-sparrows-two-pennies]

four moments & four regrets (part 1)

12 June 2024

There are many lessons we learn along the way, some even life-changing, but many are from long-lived experiences. Rarer are those small, unexpected events that teach you a profound lesson in a matter of minutes, and leave your life forever altered. I have four. 2011: As a student counsellor in year six, it was my turn to answer the phones in the front office during lunchtime while the admin staff were on their lunch break. Two counsellors were rostered on each time. That day, it was Logan and I. I had recently learnt that Logan had a crush on me. I was not interested and it did not help my social status. I was interested in Zach, who was way cuter and way more popular. So I did what any stuck-up eleven year old girl would do: I avoided Logan, and when that was not possible, I ignored him. I would guess that we were in the office for around 30 minutes, no more than two metres apart. I imagine that my back was to him, or if not, I did not give him so much as a glance. I did not say a single word to him the entire time. It wasn't until lunch was almost over, and Christy came in (one of the other student counsellors from the year below, a lovely girl), that I realised what had been happening. With wide eyes and hushed tones, she urged me to look at Logan. The flesh on one of his forearms was a jarring red; his other hand gripped firmly around it, as though trying to suppress the pain. I noticed a rubber band around his red wrist. He had been flicking it against his flesh over and over and over again, presumably for the last 30 minutes. And I didn't notice. Because I was too busy ignoring him. My heart sank and guilt gnawed at my stomach. How self-absorbed could a person be to not notice that someone a mere two metres away was in so much pain? I would carry that guilt with me for many years into the future. I moved schools to a faraway suburb in year eight and never saw Logan again. I remember I messaged him on social media at some point during the earlier years of high school, apologising for that day, for ignoring him. I don't remember what he said (it was probably kind), but I do remember my old friends from his school telling me that he was going through a rough time. He had some mental health issues and missed a lot of school. I knew it was unlikely that I caused his depression, but I knew what I did that day certainly did not help him. I had apologised, but the guilt remained. When I was 18, living in Melbourne, I found Logan online again and I messaged him once more. I recounted the incident that happened seven years ago, and I apologised. He forgave me (he has always been kind and sensitive), and finally, I felt like I could let the guilt go - because we were both adults now, and he had offered me forgiveness as a mature adult. But I will never forget that incident, and the lesson it taught me.

[thceye]

     𝗵𝗲  𝗵𝗮𝗱  𝘁𝗼  𝗴𝗼  𝗮𝗻𝗱  𝗴𝗲𝘁  𝗮𝗹𝗹  𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹,     bringing  up  the  past  in  a  way  that  probably  was  supposed  to  try  and  pull  him  back  from  the  darkness  that  silco  had  grown  so  used  to.     maybe  the  last  time  they  had  seen  each  other,  that  fateful  night  in  the  cannery,  his  words  may  have  worked.     he  may  have  cowered  under  those  words,  may  have  looked  at  what  he  was  doing  and  let  the  seeds  of  doubt  get  planted  in  his  mind.     maybe  back  then,  everything  would've  been  different.     but  vander  had  told  him  no,  had  escaped  into  the  night  like  the     𝗰𝗼𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱     he  is,  children  in  hand  and  disappeared  from  his  life.     it  would  be  infuriating  if  it  also  wasn't  a  little  amusing.     the  pesky  little  fireflies  constantly  disturbing  his  plans  and  trying  to  pull  back  the  progress  he  was  making,  he  should've  known  it  was  vander  behind  that  ridiculous  mask.     it  still  seemed  that  no  matter  what  they  did,  they  just  couldn't  seem  to  stay  away  from  one  another,  something  constantly  pulling  them  back  together.

     𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱  𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀  𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗹  𝗮𝘀  𝗵𝗲  𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘀  𝘁𝗼  𝗵𝗶𝗺,     still  so  under  control,  not  wanting  to  be  the  true  hound  of  the  underground  that  he  knew  he  could  be.     still  trying  to  be  the  benevolent  leader  of  his  group  of  misfits,  who  figured  that  peace  and  love  would  get  zaun  the  freedom  it  deserved.     had  he  really  learnt  nothing?     shaking  his  head,  a  nasty  sneer  pulling  at  his  lips,     "     it's  a  lesson  you  taught  me,  which  is  why  i'm  surprised  you  haven't  learnt  it,     "     silco  admitted,  speaking  in  tone  as  if  it  was  obvious  and  he  didn't  take  his  eyes  off  of  him.     the  two  were  far  from  the  young  men  who  met  in  the  mines,  who  talked  for  hours  on  end  about  their  dreams,  tangled  up  together  under  sheets  and  so  full  of     𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲     and  love.     it  almost  seemed  ridiculous  now.     a  lifetime  ago.     a  far  off  dream  of  a  man  who  died  in  the  pilt  so  many  years  ago,     "     there's  a  monster  inside  all  of  us.     corrupting  and  twisting  things,  we  are  the  monsters  that  piltover  want  to  forget.     i'm  not  letting  them     -     the  nation  of  zaun  will  be  free,     "

     𝘃𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿  𝗺𝗮𝘆  𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹  𝗮𝗱𝘃𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗲  𝗼𝗻  𝗵𝗶𝗺,     their  size  difference  had  once  been  so  enticing,  something  that  had  excited  silco  as  much  as  he  had  felt  safe  whenever  the  other  was  around.     until  he  turned  on  him.     using  that  size  advantage  to  overpower  him  and  hold  him  down,  ignoring  the  way  he  had  fought  back,  pleaded  with  him  every  chance  he  got  out  of  the  water,  leaving  a  permanent  mark  on  his  face.     silco  was  the  eye  of  zaun  and  vander  had     𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱     him.     everything  he  did  was  on  him.     vander  probably  should've  killed  him  when  he  had  the  chance,  then  him  and  his  children  could  truly  be  free.     the  firelights  may  be  a  nuisance,  but  they  were  small  in  numbers,  merely  attempting  to  slow  his  plans  down,     "     maybe  you  should've  kept  your  adorable  little  mask  on.     didn't  really  think  you  were  one  for  theatrics,  old  friend.     guess  that  was  one  of  your  children's  ideas,     "     probably  felicia's  youngest,  she  had  always  been  the  dreamer.     not  that  felicia's  kids  remembered  who  he  was,  just  know  him  as  the  monster  he  is  now.     maybe  it  really  was  for  the  best  that  they  didn't  remember  him,  he  could  only  imagine  what  twisted  stories  they  had  heard  of  him.     maybe  he  was  always  the  monster  in  the  dark  to  them.

     𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗰𝗼  𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀  𝗮  𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲  𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿  𝗮𝘀  𝘃𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿  𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘀  𝗵𝗶𝗺,     one  of  his  hand  moving  to  the  knife  hidden,  the  very  same  knife  that  he  used  to  escape  him  that  night.     there  was  still  a  safe  distance  between  them.     but  they  were  significantly  closer.     close  enough  that  he  saw  vander's  reaction  to  his  scars.     guess  the  last  time  they  had  met  he  never  got  a  proper  look,  not  wanting  to  look  at  him  and  the  black  eye  deckard  had  given  him  making  it  more  difficult,     "     don't  be  rude,  vander.     look  me  in  the  eyes  when  you  talk  to  me,     "     his  voice  devoid  of  emotion  as  he  got  a  good  look  at  him.     vander  was  always     𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗳𝘂𝗹     to  him,  in  a  rugged  and  intense  way,  in  a  way  that  had  been  so  desirable  and  made  his  heart  race.     even  now,  he  could  feel  that  familiar  pound  of  his  heart  against  his  chest.     a  mixture  of  fear  and  desire.     but  silco  didn't  let  any  of  it  show  as  he  looked  at  him,     "     so  this  is  it,  i  guess.     you've  finally  come  to  finish  what  you  started  all  those  years  ago.     i  guess  killing  me  really  is  the  only  way  to  stop  me,     "     a  part  of  him  had  always  known  a  day  like  this  would  come,  he  never  expected  vander  to  be  the  cause,  but  in  a  way  it  made  so  much  sense,  like  everything  has  come  full  circle  again,     "     then,  what  are  you  waiting,  hound?     attack!     "

VANDER COULD VERY MUCH DISAGREE- perhaps it wasn't quite as destructive or problematic as Silco's way, and it certainly wasn't making much of an impact like Silco's apparently was. But the much larger man was doing something, even if it didn't mean much to Silco- it would have meant everything to Felicia and Connol. PEACE MEANT giving up on their fight- but not entirely giving up- no, he put his FIGHT INTO SOMETHING MUCH MORE WORTHY... the children were his new chapter in life, raising them all as his own, shielding them away from all the fury, the violence.... he would be damn if he lost them too- but it didn't last and now it's A WAR amongst their own people. Part of Vander knew it would come to this one day, but never thought it would come so soon- two old friends coming together... but not with the way Vander had wanted... no, not like this. Silly of the hound to have thought that things could go back to the way they once were- before the loss of their close friends, before the loss of many- before the drowning- the murder that would have taken place.... before...

" Never understood that ? I was the ONLY one who ever understood you, no one even dared give a SINGLE FUCK 'bout your ideas till I came along. You had heart- you did, now... you're- I don't fuckin' know anymore... you're cruel, you're using our own people and turnin' them into monsters- OUR OWN PEOPLE ! " Vander sneers with a mocking tone oozing past twin flesh, dark brows drawn together in frustration, jaw tight. " ... This wasn't the way... this was never your way to free Zaun. " Whispering the last part beneath his breath, words just slipped out without even knowing what was said- blinking then, shaking his head to dismiss these crumbling emotions, how they make him ache and swallow the lump in his throat- shoving whatever feeling down. It doesn't take much to get THE HOUND OF THE UNDERGROUND going, mentioning the kids always did cause the veins on his neck to pop out, irises darkening as he steps forward- still keeping a much-needed distance- even though something in him is SCREAMING for him to make a move- take him now- END HIM !

Vander had no choice... despised how Silco struck a nerve there blaming the larger man for bringing the kids into this fight- but he wasn't the only blame here, not that his so-called friend would care... but if Vander didn't prepare the kids to fight, to stand up for themselves, and protect each other... than he wasn't doing his job in readying them for the real world- perhaps if Silco wasn't out there causing mayhem and tainting the streets with his hatred... the kids wouldn't have to fret much... but this life wasn't comfortable, this life was FILLED WITH EVIL & HURT.... there was no sleeping peacefully, there was no playing outside a friendly game of tag. " Can't stop you ? Is that right ? " He chuckles- amused... knowing damn well he has a huge advantage when it comes to his much larger size compared to Silco... but he'll come to admit for someone so scrawny- THE EYE OF ZAUN definitely picked his fair share of fights back in the golden days- always one to run his mouth like he bloody well pleased- it only got him in trouble plenty of times, but he gave it his all- a catty little thing wasn't he ?

NOW ?-- he wasn't that same man back in the mines, back in the comfort of their shared sheets- no.... this was the first time the two of them had laid eyes on one another.... and Vander's eyes widened slightly- once he catches sight of the scars along Silcos features- he did that. He did that. His heart drops to his stomach, and he stares silently for a moment, eyes flicking from one side of Silco's face to the other. At first, the hound doesn't completely catch what Silco has said, it comes out a muffling sound- his feet dragging forward- much closer this time- still inches away from one another, but he can see better now- can see the damage better... remorse wrapping around his neck in a VICE GRIP- gaze dropping towards the floor then. " ...The Last Drop ain't goin' to be yours forever now, Silco- nightmares like yourself don't last forever, your reign of terror will come to an end... even if it means imma have t' stop yeh' for causin' further damage- no more hidin'... no more runnin' away... "