If you’re reading this, you’ve stumbled onto one of my inactive blogs. Feel free to poke around, though if you want to RP with me, visit one of my active blogs, listed on my ABOUT.
If you’re reading this, you’ve stumbled onto one of my inactive blogs. Feel free to poke around, though if you want to RP with me, visit one of my active blogs, listed on my ABOUT.
If you’re reading this, you’ve stumbled onto one of my inactive blogs. Feel free to poke around, though if you want to RP with me, visit one of my active blogs, listed on my ABOUT.
If you’re reading this, you’ve stumbled onto one of my inactive blogs. Feel free to poke around, though if you want to RP with me, visit one of my active blogs, listed on my ABOUT.
Since Gmail recently informed me that someone’s been trying to hack into both of my Steve accounts, I’ve decided to come back and update all of my old Marvel accounts once and for all.
I will not be deleting any accounts or changing any urls. This is due to the fact that these roleplays, many of which were running for more than a year, are the product of fun and hard work. They were done with these urls and they will keep these urls with the only exception being if I decide to reboot any of them, I may take their urls with me.
This does not mean that I will no longer be roleplaying on tumblr. In fact, I still am, though my focus is now DC characters. I have also re-booted Dane and continue to play him on the Marvel side of things. The following is a list of my active blogs that I will update as is needed.
Personal: therealzombiequeen
Leonard Snart/Captain Cold: frigidandsharp
Dane Whitman/Black Knight: danewhitman
Walter Kovacs/Rorschach: scarletmonochroma
Anyone who comes looking for me on my now inactive blogs is welcome to follow me elsewhere. Though, I may have to be reminded of who you are if we interact (my memory has never been all that great). Other than that, my skype is chaoticfayth, and I’m almost always online. It’s been a real treat, and I look forward to the next chapter in my roleplay life.
Not easy in the slightest. Thus why two weeks became two months overseas. I am more than glad to finally be home. Could not be happier, in fact.
Perhaps it is. I know that there are moments of my past that I would eagerly forget if I had the ability. You know, now that I have returned, perhaps the two of us should catch up over coffee or something of that nature?
It was more of an - extended mission with a multitude of sub-missions. Diplomatic procedures and reaching out in order to create good faith with the other governmental bodies that belong to the United Nations. We hope to have SHIELD outposts all over the world soon.
That is very reassuring to hear. My own flashbacks are becoming fewer and fewer the longer that I am away from the Grid, so I understand quite well.
Hey. Heard you had to head back early-- is everything okay?
Oh, I did not see this message until just now, my apologies.
London might have been too much for me, too soon. That is where I was stationed when Tron 1.0 passed away, and I had not returned since his death occurred. I believe Gibson and I are going to return together soon, because this is something that I need to overcome, as it is more than likely that I will be stationed with MI-13 in London in the future.
I am alright now, however. Thank you for being concerned, my friend.
Three weeks ago, Anon had begun to realize something very important.
Anon wasn't the crying type. Not much at all. In fact, he could count on one hand the number of times he had shed tears. But the night when Jaqueline Falsworth had whisked him home from London was one such night. Spitfire had left him sitting slumped on the couch of his own living room before dashing off again, and truth be told, Anon had expected Gibson to take hours to return from the Grid.
Hours, because, after all, Gibson was with Jalen.
Jalen the ISO, Jalen who was so much more perfect than Anon could ever even hope to be. And knowing this all just makes Anon sob harder as soon as he is alone. No, Anon was realizing that, yet again, he was not enough for the one that he loved. After all, no matter how much of himself that he gave to Tron, Tron would always love Alan as well. That was something that Tron could never get away from, either. After all, how could you fall out of love with someone that shared your face? With someone that wrote every inch of your code with loving hands?
Anon could never compete with that.
Just as Anon could never compete with Jalen.
And thus, he wept openly, hands covering his damp face, and a mewling black kitten circling his feet. The former program wept for love lost, settling into the thoughts that not only had he lost his dear Tron to the clutches of death, but that he had lost his beloved Gibson to the call of the ISOs. The perfect, beautiful call of creatures that were magnificent in their own creation.
So Anon did not hear the front door opening when Gibson returned home.
In fact, he was completely oblivious until warm arms circled his form and his breath caught in his chest. Anon didn't need to look up and see that face to know that the deep, husky voice soothing him belonged to the one that he loved most. That hands somehow more familiar than his own were cradling him close and though the tears did not stop, they did slow.
Gibson gave Anon a certain warmth that Anon could not duplicate. He felt safe with this ISO; as though in this one single man's arms, wherever he would be would be home. Arms that he fell asleep in so readily, with cheeks coated in drying tears and voice hoarse from so much agony.
And he wakes up in those arms that are so strong yet so gentle. In a bed that they have claimed with their sweat and flesh so many times over. Lips touch his forehead, his brow and Anon heaves a soft sigh, watching those stubbled, scarred features as he realizes something.
Gibson actively left everything behind for him.
His home, his life, but more than that. Jalen, the other ISOs still sat in wait for him. Even Castor, with whom Anon had mended ties. This was not the same as the last time - as with Tron.
Tron, who Anon had had to actively beg over a span of days in order to convince him to leave the Grid. And all Tron was leaving behind was his duty. Anon had even heard Tron say on multiple occasions that the Grid, its people, were no longer truly home to him. And yet Tron had been so very reluctant to even test out new horizons. Anon had never asked for permanency, merely for a short-term change, just for now. Still, Tron fought tooth-and-nail against him.
But when it came to Gibson, things were different.
Over the next few days, Anon expected him to leave. To return to the Grid and "finish his business" as needed, but Gibson never did. Not even when a certain distance set in to Gibson's eyes.
But one night there is anger on Gibson's voice. Loud and painful and Anon is reminded of times so long ago. Of Rinzler lashing out for Anon's throat with long hands and snarls under that already rumbling chest. But instead of lashing out, Gibson retreats. Retreats down to the workshop with his bike and busies himself.
Just as Anon used to do when Tron would be gone for so long on the Grid.
At first, he gives the ISO his space. Space that he is sure that Gibson needs for his own health, but he does not sleep himself. Instead he is on that balcony of theirs, leaning out to stare at stars that never failed to transfix him. The Grid had had stars as well, but none so many, and never of twinkling beauty.
Anon remembers the stars of the Grid. From when he had been trapped in the Outlands for cycles, chasing the last remnants of Abraxas. And later, as the SMP-hunting bug chased him through rocky landscapes. That bug was yet another reason for Anon to doubt the love that Tron had had for him. Weeks he had been lost, sending messages and even receiving some from Tron in return - but it was not Tron who even attempted to find him.
No, as Anon was dying, arm leaking coolant and energy so low that his circuits failed to lose their light, it was a horde of Users that fell upon the bug and drove it away. Anon remembers Lora and Ram's gentle hands on his near-lifeless body as he was repaired and rushed back to the Grid. He remembers Sheridan and Stetson as they ripped the bug apart and saved the life of the poor, dying SMP.
But Tron he did not see for days later.
Days later, and constant reassurances that Tron was "just in the city" and "would be home soon", the former of which was true. But the latter...
Anon did not see Tron until he had nearly healed the wounds from his weeks-long fight against a monstrosity created upon the Grid. Tron seemed ashamed, saddened, but never apologetic. Even then it had struck Anon as odd. And later - how Tron refused to go anywhere near the faint blue scar line that ran across Anon's left shoulder and partially across his chest. As though his Anon was no longer perfect in his eyes.
And the scars were what Anon carried to this very day. Carved into his flesh by a bug that had been crafted specifically for Tron, but had ended up with the mere SMP of Anon.
It is morning before Anon wanders down to find Gibson, and he carefully holds his beloved close, worried for him in his isolation. Gibson denies the worry, claiming to be fine, but it has been long since Anon was so naive.
Come the next night, Anon's terrors are confirmed as Gibson lashes out in sleep, screaming things of Abraxas. And Jalen. Always of Jalen. All Anon can do is to hold him close, to wade out the tides of utter agony until his muscles ache with the strain, but they last the night, and even as he falls asleep from pure exhaustion, he refuses to let go of the man that he had begun to call his partner.
In the morning, with muscles sore and mind tired, he suggests something simple. A specialist that he knows through Captain Rogers, a lovely lady who works with the mind and could help him to figure out what was troubling him so; even though Anon already knows exactly who the troubles are of.
But even the simple suggestion causes something within Gibson to snap, and Anon flinches, not willing to fight back as Gibson lashes out with loud, angry words. He simply closes his eyes, and doesn't open them until the front door slams open against the opposite wall -
- and Gibson is gone.
It is shame that fills Anon, shame that he cannot protect the man that he loves from the one thing that Gibson cannot protect himself from. There is no outside source to fight. No creature to combat, merely Gibson's own tortured mind in the wake of such pain.
Pain that Anon helped to cause in having the ISO leave his home.
Moments enough pass for Anon to slip on shoes and grab his keys, and he is attempting to follow Gibson. If Gibson wants to return to the Grid after this, Anon would welcome it. At this point, he wants nothing more than Gibson's happiness, even if it tears apart his own, because there can only be a certain amount of time before they are no longer happy together in this turbulence.
It is easy enough to follow Gibson to the beach. First with trails of blood, and second with the howling of such deep and agonized torment. Torment that Anon knows so very well. He had been there himself, not too long ago. And his own utter soul-wrenching pain had only been soothed by the strong arms of one he loved so much. And Anon can relate too much to what he slowly approaches.
As Gibson is in mourning.
Time it is for Anon to be the the strength that Gibson needs. And with such gentleness, he wraps Gibson in tired arms once more. The ISO whispers out apologies, such words that he never herd from Tron, even when his fellow Basic unleashed his inner beast and wailed upon Anon.
Because Gibson is not Tron.
And never will be.
Which is a fact that Anon cannot be more grateful for even if he tried. Scars heal, the Basic is beginning to realize. And the Tron that he had once called his own was so very long gone. To the clutches of death and ravages of time.
Rather, Anon had been given a second chance by one that he could call his "first".
As Gibson he had never not loved.
Anon had been long in realizing it, over so many weeks and countless moments. Tron was one that Anon had fallen for out of admiration - and because he had seen Gibson's recklessness, his strength in Tron. It was not Tron that he saw in Gibson. Just Gibson.
Gibson who had never been out of Anon's mind, even after corruption had forced Anon's hand. Gibson who Anon had called for and cried for even with Tron's hands upon him in the most intimate of moments.
Gibson, who had always owned all of Anon's heart.
For a week, Anon calls in to his beloved work. Natalia understands, sends interns to his doorstep with paperwork, but knows that she will not have her shadow at her side for many days. And certainly Anon works of his own accord, but he pays so close attention to Gibson. Abandoning duty to caress and hold the one that he loves so fully and completely. To shower Gibson in affection that he cannot make more real even if he tried - because it is more than real to him. It is a dream come true that he has such an amazing partner at his side.
The day that Gibson gives him a real smile in so many long days - Anon's breath flees from his lungs, and he cannot help but to kiss the handsome man for all that he is worth, capturing that smile on his own lips as arms wrap around those strong shoulders.
Something more than the normalcy that they have ever had settles in. As though they are a pair of happily domestic humans that have never known anything but eachother's presence. In such a beautiful, quiet week, Anon forgets about Tron. Instead he laughs as he secures one of his own bright blue bowties around Digit's neck like a collar and watches with laughter as the creature parades across the bed as though her new collar gives her the most supreme of titles.
A glance at Gibson, and he sees that smile again, and a nod that he returns. He expects Gibson to come sit with him, to play with a rambunctious adolescent feline and simply bask in one another's company.
But his breath is swept away as hands fall upon him, far more gentle than he has ever been used to. Somehow they both become tangled upon the bed in a mass of limps and soft words, the whole of the world left forgotten outside that room. Clothes, bedsheets are swept to the side and they do not unite in a way that they have done in the past.
Rather, they make love, in every sense of the idea.
So slow, full of emotion and raw love that Anon nearly finds himself shedding tears of nothing other than pure joy. Gibson's lips are on his, thighs framing the ISO's hips as their fingers tangle together in a slow, rocking union of warmth and love.
To him, Gibson is home.
To him, Gibson is love and perfection.
To him, Gibson is all that matters in existence.
And it is all that he would ever wish for, in the end.
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snowghoul
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