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smallestapplin · 40 minutes ago

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It won’t come off

Warnings : first contact au, major character death (reader dies), Bee and reader are close despite the language barrier, could be read as platonic or romantic. Italicized dialogue means only one understand.

This was commissioned by : @bellafragolina

Word count : 1,596

You were just so small compared to him, to see someone so tiny and squishy he couldn’t believe his optics! You looked up at the towering mech in a mix of awe and fear, you didn't even come up to his knees, he's so massive to you. You speak yet he can’t understand you, he can see your intake moving but it's a bunch of cute mutters and squeaks to his audials, but that’s okay!

“Don’t worry little buddy I got you. Oh primus, this is great! I get to show you around, I’m sure A-a-tron and Steve will love ya!”

He’s gentle with you despite his excitement, picking you up with care and even taking you small little space craft with him. You don’t understand anything he says, it sounds like whirls beeps and clanking to you, but that should be fine, right? It’s clear he’s a sentient robot of sorts, you wish you could communicate and ask.

But with how damaged your space craft is, you don’t think that would be possible.

You two swiftly fall into a routine, he works and you scavenge around for any metals you can use to repair your ship, though you’re glad you still had food and supplies on board. You don’t get a lot of time to do so, however, this mech loves talking to you even if you can’t understand him, you can hear his tone.

It’s cute how he lights up when you answer, it gets him rambling that much more. Being down here with no light, unable to tell how long you’ve been here, makes it hard to keep track of how long you’ve been missing, surely communications back home would try to find you, right? Looking back at the yellow bot you smile, maybe being stuck here isn’t so bad, though you’re not sure how much food and water you have left or how long it’ll last you.

Though over the course of your stay you’ve picked up on a few words, one of which at least part of his name, the look of joy that crosses his face and the whirling metal sound which you could only think was a squeal, lets you know he’s overjoyed to hear you call him ‘Bee.’ Though he has a much harder time with your language, you can hear him call you ‘little buddy’ all the time, it’s adorable in your eyes, it worries you a little how long he must’ve been here alone.

You heard it first, the sound of something falling? Maybe it’s because everything on this planet is so much louder, but you hid in the hole in Bee’s chest plate not wanting to take chances. You hear Bee coo at you, placing a hand over where you hid, thinking you’re just so cute. Only moments later do you hear talking, and Bee excitedly rambling as your name pops up a few times.

You wish you could understand them better.

“Little buddy? Orion, please, he’s insane.”

“Dee, be nice, he can help us find a way out!”

“Oh yeah, sorry little buddy is just shy! I mean I don't blame them for how small they are, but they are so cute! Best company ever. Now that you two are here we can have massive sleepovers, dude it’ll be great-“

Even from Bee’s chest you can hear the annoyance of one of them. Being able to hear things but not see them is horrifying as you can recognize the panic in their voices, the sadness, the anger, feel when Bee is running and freaking out. Just what is happening out there? You almost didn’t want to leave the safety of Bee’s chest plate, it was safer here, and he’d protect you!

B127 cringes, looking like a guilt turbofox as Alpha Trion and now the others stare at him, yeah having a cog would be so cool! But where would his little buddy stay? you’re too close to where his cog would go, too close to-

“H-hey, you can’t just-“

“An organic?” From the open chest plate Alpha Trion holds you up, such a small little thing, fleshy and squishy.

You shake under the new bots' glazes, all of them staring you down, some in awe, some in curiosity, some in bewilderment, but the large purple one is not easy to read like they are, or even like Bee is. The yellow bot reaches for you as you shakily call his name, your voice as small as you are, and quaking in fear at this newcomer.

“They are my friend, you can’t just take them!” Even as nervous as he is, he refuses to let you get taken from him, he can protect you just fine.

Alpha Trion glances between you and the newly fogged yellow bot, before carefully handing you back to him. You cling to Bee’s zero, just as he clings to you, holding you close to his helm and trying to mutter soothing things to you.

“I see you are fond of them, but let it be known this entire world can hurt them or worse, they are too soft to handle this place on their own. And with your next journey ahead, I fear what may happen to them.”

Though the older cybertronian warns him, Bee holds you closer.

“I can protect them! I have up to this point, even before all this, they are my little friend, we spent so much time in the mines together, they even learned how to say a nickname for me!”

Their usual silly cybertronian was determined, optics narrowed filled with promise that nothing could get between him and you. Though Alpha Trion was not convinced, merely giving a solemn nod before the first blaster set off. Back into Bee’s spark chamber you went, and they went running once more, trying to figure out their new T-cogs. You groan at the whiplash from going to sit in Bee’s spark chamber, to a driver’s seat, back to the spark chamber, and constantly flipping between a soft blue and the chaos happening outside.

When everything finally goes still you wish it made you calm down, but it only made you worry more, Bee was never quiet, there was always sound around you, his humming, his chatter, the sound of his work around you, nothing was ever still like this. Yet you stay put, Bee is the only one you trust, he’d keep you guarded.

When the sound returns you breathe a sigh of relief, even if it sounded angry, at least Bee was talking.. all this adventuring has made you tired and hungry, you can’t wait to go back to the mines and back to your ship. You nuzzle against the blue pulsing thing in his chest plate with you, briefly noting how Bee’s voice shakes as you do so.

He speaks to you, yet you can only understand him saying ‘not’, maybe if you wait a little more you two can get things settled. Bee tried but taking on so many bots at once in such chaos, and trying to help Orion and Elita out was overwhelming, but he’d do it, he can’t let anyone down when they’ve done so much for him.

It was a slip up, he didn’t get the blast coming but it didn’t go too deep in his plating, he can still fight!…what is all this red stuff leaking from his chest plate? It’s no oil he’s ever seen before. His spark sank, swiftly taking cover from all the fire to rip his spark chamber open and pull you out.

You’re weak.

It hurts to move.

Your pained whimper makes his eyes leak, you can hear him frantically muttering to you, comming someone like Orin for help, but you can’t take it, he sounds so upset.

You place a hand to his face plate, softly speaking to him trying to settle his nerves, but it's just making him cry that much harder. You’re certain he’s apologizing, for what you aren’t sure, but you’re just happy to have met him and seen life beyond your stars.

“It’s okay…I’m here. Bee, please don’t…don’t feel bad.” You know he can’t understand your words, your languages apart, but the love for him united you both.

Your eyes feel heavy, but he needs you, you know he does, he’s your friend, you can’t leave him. Orion appears in view, saying something to Bee but the yellow bot lets out a wail, not wanting to let you go, you’re hurt, you need him!

You’re human.

You’re soft, just like Alpha Trion said.

This world was against you, such small thinsg to them would be the end of you.

If only Bee had taken it to spark to realize just how fragile his squishy friend was, he was sure you’d never get hurt.

Some friend, he is, right, little buddy?

Yet your body is limp, you aren’t answering his ever growing yells of your little name, you can’t leave him, you can’t…

Orion places a servo on Bee’s shoulder, letting his friend grieve such a heavy loss. You would want him to live, to fight on, protect anyone from your fate. But the larger bot stays quiet, keeping his thoughts to himself as Bee refuses to let your limp body go.

And he’d have to until you can have a proper going away after they stop this madness.

But he can’t let you go, even placing your body in his spark chamber again and weeps. You’re limp, you’re losing your warmth.

And this red stuff won’t come off.

#angst #major character death #transformers #transformers x reader #transformers one #tf one bumblebee #tf one b 127 #tf one x reader #reader dies

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strayheartless · 1 year ago

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More than a question. Holy shit finally someone talking abt strifehart!!!! Imma follow you TwT

I feel like a fraud😭😅 I would die for strifehart honestly, but I am incredibly guilty of not posing about them as much as I would like. So….

Here have some of my Strifehart headcanons:

They don’t show affection very freely around other people but if they fall asleep together on the Couch everyone is always surprised to find out that Squall is the clingy one.

They are both guilty of dad-ing Sora. Squall will hand him money, his keyblade and some extra potions and snacks before he heads out the door; while Cloud will zip up his hoodie, check his gear and do the whole “if you need us you call, Kay?” Sora’s given up trying to point out that they are not his Dads.

They rib each-other endlessly, smirking the entire time. Things like, “gods Squall, why are you so useless?”, “dunno, must have caught it from you!” It always has people asking how they can be a couple.

The loving bullying doesn’t stop when their alone, it’s just more tactile. Poking, hip checking, raspberries, tickle fights, picking the other up and bodily moving them when their in the way, flicking the others nose, aggravated biting, hitting each other with magazines and newspapers when the other isn’t paying attention, play fights. They are like actual children but no one ever sees it cause they like it to just be for them.

They steal each others food all the time. Which is funny because they are both quite territorial about food by nature. This usually ends up in one of them grabbing the others hand and forcibly trying to wrestle the food out of it; or playing keep away with their plates.

They work with eachother silently and like they’ve done it all their lives. They always seem to know where the other is and move accordingly to being in each others space.

Cloud is the only ONLY other person aside from Sora who is aloud to be left alone with Tron. Squall would chew off his own leg before giving DiZ the passwords and while he likes Ienzo he’s still not really sure he trusts him.

They communicate through raised eyebrows alone. And always know what the others thinking.

Cloud has had to physically retrain Squall from beating the shit out of Siefer the first time they went to Twilight town and found out this GROWN ASS ADULT had been bullying kids. (I know canonically Seifer is supposed to be a little older than Hayner pence and Olette but I vibe more with the darkness took Gaia and the planet headcanon than the “everyones from radiant gardens” canon.)

Squall is naturally left handed but was forced to write right handed in in SeeD and so Cloud keeps taking the pen out of his right hand and butting it in Squall’s actual dominant hand.

Cloud carries all his stress in his shoulders and hands (you know exactly where this one’s going.) and Squall is usually the one massaging out the tension and …. Kin- pfft🤣 I’m sorry I cant!

Cloud knows every one of Squalls buttons and how to push them. He can be irritating when it suits him and sometimes he gets bored enough to provoke his partner. Squall usually ignores him which is a mistake because it makes Cloud push harder until he ends up in a headlock.

Squall will never EVER Admit that he gets seriously grouchy when Clouds away. Like it’s adorable but Aerith wants to strangle him most days when he’s skulking about like a lion with a sore tail. It’s incredibly amusing to watch his head snap up when he hears Fenrir pull up outside of Merlin’s.

#strifehart headcanons #strifehart #ask #ask answered #Anon #anon ask #you didn’t ask but I have an answer anyway #squall leonhard #KH squall #KH cloud #cloud strife #KH sora

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bookwormlover10 · 4 months ago

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God I want to make a Beauty and the Beast Au with Tron and Yori so bad !!! Like hear me out !!

We could have Tron curse into the Rinzler because he pissed someone off and got a whole Castle curse with him. I guess in this au we could call it Beauty and the Rinzler. I have decided of who should curse him. it's tied between Clu 2 and Alan. But I'm also thinking about Alan being the cogsworth of the au, because I have my mind made up that Flynn is the Lumiére of the Au and Sam is going to be our Chip but instead of being tea cup he's going to be a cute little candle to mash his father. ( Think of litwick from Pokemon but on a little old candle holder tray. I think you know the ones I'm talking about).

On Yoris side it pretty much what you expect. I only have pin point on who going to be the Gaston of the story. The candidates I have are Sark for obvious reasons, Dyson for also obvious reasons, and tesler because hear me out on him.. Dumont is Yoris dad in this. you can't convince me that they don't have a father and daughter relationship.

But the twist is I'm gonna add Beck as an orphan that Yori befriends and emotionally adopts ( thought Beck adopted her first because she fead him food and read him a story) so when he heard he immediately went there to to rescue her.. he fails to do so when Yori explain what happened and Yori refuse to let Beck back out in the cold all alone and The Rinzler agrees. So Beck ends up staying at the castle ( so he can protect Yori for the monster obviously) and he befriend little Sam and becomes Sam brother figure. ( What can I say I love the found family trope)

And that all I have so fair. But you. Lovely reader you might ask as to why I haven't written this. While the answer is simple my dear reader because 1. I can't write or finish a fanfic for the life of me. ( I blame schooling for smashing academic writing in my head and I'm a lazy writer to..) And 2. I can't draw monsters for shit. So I'm just putting the idea out there. Manifesting. topical fandom stuff..... You can also add more stuff if you want.. just have fun with it..

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evecolourshock · 4 months ago

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Story based on this post (thanks @astercontrol for the inspiration, and to the anonymous poster for the question to Aster that started it all).

Beck's always had a bit of an... odd relationship with how he sees the Users.

He's not- it's not that he doesn't believe in them. Everyone comes from somewhere - Programs from Users, ISOs from the Sea, Users from... other Users, according to Tron, though Beck does not want to know how given the mere recollection makes the Monitor visibly nauseous. And Flynn might be near-mythical to a lowly Mechanic like Beck but he definitely exists.

It's just... Beck's not entirely sure they're worthy of being prayed to. So he doesn't. If he needs luck, he prays to Luck. If he needs strength or persistence, he prays to the Storms. If he needs resilience or hope or miracles, he prays to the Grid. Sometimes they even answer.

All things whose nature he knows and can trust in. Not fickle mortal beings, no matter how godlike.

Other Programs pray to Users though, both in general and Flynn specifically, so Beck's... kind of gotten into the habit of accommodating for them without compromising his own beliefs.

Most shrug off his turns of phrases, thinking they misheard. Others laugh at him, or do a double-take, or ignore him. He's used to it - his way of thinking isn't exactly popular.

None of that prepares him for Tron's reaction.

Beck's just about reached his limits with Tron - injured again, didn't tell anyone again, pushed too far again and suffering for it. He would think by now Tron knows Beck doesn't mind skipping a sparring session in favour of a lesson on how to write those after-actions Tron likes done. "I am getting you some energy." He enunciates slow and clearly, pushing a protesting Tron into sitting down. "If you are not sitting here when I come back, I swear to your User I'm going to drag you to the healing chamber and throw you in it."

Tron freezes, staring at Beck for long enough Beck thinks he's crashed. "Okay." The Monitor croaks out, and Beck isn't sure what to make of the expression that sinks into the lines of Tron's face.

But he promised to get Tron energy, so he goes to do that with a hair ruffle he'd never get away with if Tron was any less out of sorts. Beck tries to think over the reaction while fetching the glass - that's not normal.

But neither is Tron, he realises. Tron's User isn't Flynn. Tron is the only Program whose User isn't Flynn.

...how long has it been since Tron's been able to pray to his User? How does he pray to his User? Does he pray to his User, or does he pray more like Beck does - to storms and energy and wild untamed Grid, his User more a Creator and teacher and guide than god?

Beck doesn't know. But he intends to find out.

Mara sacrifices a little bit of every meal, no matter how small her rations. Zed is a bit more practical, with material gifts. Able- Beck swallows around the lump in his throat. Able prayed in eloquent speeches.

If Beck's in a really tight spot, he sings to his patrons. If he isn't... depends what he's praying to and why. Some require words, others more physical things.

The dispenser chimes when the glass is full of energy - so slow, Beck wants to look at that because he bets he could improve it with a bit of help from Luck if they're not feeling too capricious - and he makes his way back to the training salle with it.

Tron is exactly where Beck left him, slouched over and quiet, which is new. He's never known Tron to be agreeable when he's in that kind of stubborn mood before. Beck crouches down in front of him, sits on his heels so Tron can look at him without having to move. "Energy. Drink." He pushes the glass into Tron's hand. Tron mutters a thanks Beck only barely catches, sipping liquid blue.

Unlikely to be sacrifices, then. At least of food.

Tron clearly hesitates before restarting sparring, still sore and tired, so Beck does his best to convince Tron that's enough for this cycle. He's still got last cycle's after-action to write, after all, and he wants some help to make sure he gets it right.

#...i think i invented Grid paganism. and of course i give it to beck. as if he doesn't have enough problems already #again leaving this here because i have run out of words #tronfic #fic spun off others' ideas

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alicepao13 · 2 months ago

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Hudson and Rex S05E19 - The Cook, The Chief, The Cop, and His Lover - Part D

How dare you, sir, he comes from a good family.

lol I know it's a roll but when you freeze it it's like a move from The Matrix.

*offended that's-my-partner-you-threw-a-knife-at look*

Meat cleaver. Shit's getting real. Not on the face!

I really liked the choreography on this fight scene but it's not exactly for screenshots. Nicely directed, nicely shot, it's also clear that the guest actor, Curtis Lum, has martial arts training. We see a "clash of fighting styles", John Reardon is also good here and from what I've seen in his filmography (the titles that I know anyway) I believe that he has majorly missed on doing roles like these when he was younger (which in my opinion he should have gone more for instead of, say, Hallmark), aside from his role in Tron Legacy (which I've watched) and something called Son of the Dragon?

Their fight also has some comedic elements, which makes it suitable for this show. Filming a fight like we're on John Wick obviously wouldn't do (assuming they could even do something like that, which for many reasons I believe that they can't).

Do you think he'll let you put it on real quick?

I almost forgot I could put gifs in this. Anyway, tumblr makes it extremely hard to find what I want. But this is so funny.

"If you're done acting stupid, we're going to arrest you now."

Charlie is so used to Rex taking down the criminals that he told him good job when he was the one that did all the work this time.

One complaint. I needed Charlie to actually seem like he came out of a fight and not like he just caught a wild fist on accident.

Oof, do not tell Kurt how much money he would have earned if he could wait it out for 20 months. And without killing anyone. It's definitely not for everyone.

That's actually true.

Ancient history.

Now, that's just unreasonable.

Yes, you two will have to go through that very difficult conversation.

If they'd told me they'd whump the fuck out of Charlie next season, I wouldn't have whined for them giving us nothing in this one.

*crickets*

Oh, really, Joe Donovan?

Well, a year is too long.

Okay, Joe. You're the one who sends them undercover, though.

Episodes 18 and 19 are filled with comedic moments. I consider the last four episodes of the season pretty good. I'm truly glad that they seemed to have kept the order the episodes were originally put in (judging by John Reardon's facial hair or lack thereof, the only episodes that could have switched were 17 and 18, but I think that, given that Charlie's old case is set up in 15-16, it's logical that it would follow in 17, and there is no argument that 20 was supposed to be the season finale).

The reason that Joe and Vanessa stopped dating is the lamest excuse I've seen for two people who are supposedly truly interested in each other.

Anyway, now I want Thai food.

#the great hudson and rex rewatch of 2024

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jojosbizarrekakyoinobsession · 1 year ago

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My brain won’t shut up about how Jotaro and Kakyoin would spend a rainy day together, so here we go with another unnecessarily long ramble.

The two somehow always manage to get caught up in the rain, despite knowing that rain will be on the forecast. Nori fully blames Jotaro for dragging him out of the house for last minute errands or food runs. Jotaro would compensate by using his own coat as a makeshift umbrella in an effort to keep Nori dry. It’s an attempt and somewhat works, Nori’s hair is thankfully spared, but they’re still soaked through their clothes by the time they get back home. And Jotaro never hears the end of Nori’s snarky remarks about his poor storm planning.

Of course being the highly protective, attentive, and caring boyfriend that he is, Jotaro doesn’t want Noriaki to catch a cold, so as soon as they step through their front door, he immediately goes into the bathroom and starts preparing a bath. Depending on Nori’s mood, he’ll either want to bathe alone or want Joot to join him, but on rainy days like today, Noriaki always wants to bathe with Jotaro. They sit cuddled together in the bath, soaking in the water’s and each other’s warmth, neither of them talking or moving until the water turns cold or Nori complains about pruning. Nori is leaned back comfortably against Jotaro’s chest, while Jotaro buries his face in Noriaki’s sea of hair and keeps his arms around him, engulfing him in a secure, warm embrace.

After the bath, Noriaki puts on a comfy, oversized jumper that he stole from Jotaro long ago, and goes onto make them both their favourite hot drinks to enjoy while watching a movie or tv show, or listening to their favourite music (today is a movie day ^ ^). Jotaro puts on his starfish patterned sweats, clothing that he only wears when he and Nori are alone together. As always, the two have a small argument about what movie they should watch that lasts till the drinks are ready, Nori’s choice of course wins today because he was right about his prediction of the rain starting while they were out of the house (like every other time).

I haven’t really thought about what their preferred hot drinks would be, but for now let’s say vanilla tea mixed with honey and milk is Nori’s favourite (mine too), and black tea with 3 or 4 sugars is Jotaro’s. Those are probably my final choices as their faves tbh. As for the movie choice, Nori would definitely pick some 80s or 90s sci-fi movie, so today’s choice is Tron. Joot doesn’t like to admit it, especially not to Nori’s smug face, but he does genuinely enjoy the sci-fi movies that Noriaki picks, but he won’t allow Nori to get another win today. Unfortunately for him, Nori can read him like a book and light teasing ensues when they go to bed later on.

It’s always a guarantee that they’ll fall asleep to the sound of the rain pitter-pattering against the windows and roof while they’re cuddled up together because they’re such grandpas despite being in their 20s or so. They never finish a movie or show while like this, especially on rainy/snowy days. xD

If the rain lasts for more than a single afternoon and night and goes onto the next day, Nori would spend his day tending to his plants on their porch, making sure they’re getting just enough water during the storm, and making him and Jotaro comfort food for lunch and dinner. Meanwhile Joot will sit hunched over his desk working all day on his marine biology research or whatever nerdy ocean desk work he’s into, with occasional kisses and cuddles from Nori as encouragement and a good luck blessing.

This ended up turning into a domestic ramble that can apply to a snowy day too, but whatever. I just love writing about how stupidly in love they are. I can’t get enough of them, and it’s starting to become worrying. (*´ω`*)

#ramble #domestic #jjba #jotakak #noritaro #jotaro kujo #noriaki kakyoin #jojo’s bizarre adventure #fanfic

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pomniegranate · 15 days ago

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It wasn't Sora's first venture into the digital realm that had occurred ages ago. As he pondered this, a wave of nostalgia washed over him, sparking his curiosity about how Tron was faring these days. The sharp, pointed ears atop his head twitched at Pomni's soft, hesitant voice. She was a whimsical jester, her eyes resembling colorful pinwheels that spun with every expression. Among the eclectic inhabitants of this vibrant world, she had fallen into the role of being his guide, as Ragatha encouraged Pomni to show the new guy around.

Stepping outside the expansive digital circus tent, Sora was momentarily blinded by the sun's warmth mingling with the Moon's cool glow, hanging in the sky as if frozen in time. Sun and Moon felt excited and unashamed to inquire whether Pomni and Sora were experiencing a romantic escapade. His large, clawed hand scratched the back of his head, revealing his bashfulness, a trait that never failed to amuse, while his other hand waved dismissively. A sheepish chuckle slipped from his illuminating maw.

To steer Pomni away from the teasing antics of the glimmering sun and the playful Moon—two lively orbs of light that seemed to revel in the chaos—Sora gently redirected the conversation. "How about we make our way to the lake?" he suggested casually, his voice warm and inviting. "I've been curious to see the boat there; it reminds me of home." The memories it evoked filled him with a longing for familiarity amidst this amazing digital circus.

And she was fine with her role; there was something about him that catches a person's eye without meaning: be it his aura, appearance or personality to choose from. He helped her and the others out of a rather sticky situation, so it was the least she could do for him. She didn't really need the push from her friend to do so. Though, Pomni isn't much of the guide type, she'd still do her best to get him accustomed to the world.

A nudge of her head and she led him towards the grounds just located outside the main tent. Sometimes she forgets just how expansive this digital circus actually was; little time was spent actually outside the large canopy, most of it was parading through games the host throws them in and being too tired afterwards to really travel outside. Some polygon food, maybe some time hanging out in the common area then the rest is spent in her room.

But she remembers the sun and moon partnering together simultaneously in the sky. The two AI's in the sea of blue didn't often talk to the players, so she found it odd, standing in place for a moment with an acute raised brow in confusion. Was it something about Sora that made them want to interact? And what were they going on about? A romantic escapade? It was just a little tour guide session!

The jester almost wanted to ask and see if they'd humor her with an answer, but it seemed the other took better at their teasing than she did. She was just kind of ... confused? But the spiked haired man was quick to deter her thoughts into another direction. Pomni was almost grateful for it, her gaze returning to the two brightly lit rocks in the atmosphere as she walked, but allowing her pinwheels to greet him once more. An easier tone shifted back onto her features, focusing solely on Sora and his little musings towards her. She always did like when she made anyone feel comfortable enough to open up about themselves.

⸺ ❝ Oh, the lake is pretty .. nice, I guess? Very digitalized, you know. I haven't actually been in it myself yet. ❞ Her head cants at him, curious to know more; just from his avatar, she guessed she never connected that possibility to him. ❝ Oh really? Do you .. remember your home, any? I always get a calming sense when I'm by the water, but .. I often have to close my eyes and use my imagination to get a more clear picture of what I'm trying to picture. ❞ Her gloves found themselves fidgeting at the yellow puffballs at her chest during the whole duration of their shared experiences.

#dichotomouskey #interaction ; main verse.#i love them and can't wait for more :3 #ooc ; out of the headset.#inquires from an audience.

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siberat · 11 months ago

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*Slides Monopoly money*

Can I have some Fattytron drabble?

(T/fp, I/dw or E/S I don't mind) Im just thirsting for a fat Mega/tron who's too full yet keeps stuffing himself to get some bot's attention (SW, Rod/dy, Mags or Op im not really picky about ships kek). But yeah, Fattytron being very full-

Never really requested drabbles before so im sorry if it's weirdly worded aaaaaa-

-not Chunkytron ☆

this is a two parter, here is part 1 ! Little bit of a slow start.

Mega/tron x Sound/wave, feeding,

The only sound emanating from the empty room was his grumbling belly. Sure, the mission to retrieve the relic was a bust, but was it really wrong of him to be angry? How hard was it to foil those pesky Auto/bots and their child counterparts? The warlord growled as he busted open a fresh box of energon goodies. He had his supper, consisting of a generous portion of food, and now it was time for dessert.

At least the snacks had been replenished. By who? He didn’t know or care; he just unwrapped the light blue round cake and took a bite. The sweetness soothed his woes, even if just for a moment. Thankfully, he had the whole box to himself.

Cake after cake was devoured, each bite bringing a smile to his lips. His tongue eagerly licked up any cream that smeared over his lips. These treats hinted at vanilla and were ever so moist; it always put Mega/tron in his happy place.

Why?

It was simple. Being stuck working in the mines with next to no pay, one could not afford such snacks. Lunch consisted of liquid energon with metal additives; while it did the job, it wasn’t anything to write home about. However, one would occasionally magically appear in his dreary lunch pail. After admiring the pretty light pink color flecked with blue geode crunches, Mega/tronus would unwrap the surprise. It smelled so lovely- he swore the little round ball just reeked of sweetness! And that first bite lit his taste sensors ablaze.

He felt as if his whole frame was lifted out of those mines and into some kind of nirvana. Each bite brought him so much joy! Sadly, like with most things in life, all good things come to an end. After licking his claws clean, there was no more to consume, and he sat there looking at the empty wrapper.

Ok, he also licked the wrapper clean, but who could blame him?

Now, all these treats were gone, making him feel just the same: sad and nothing to look forward to. The evening would be much more productive if he reviewed his battle plans instead. His rumbling belly did not agree, but there were no more of his favorite treats in stock.

You know when you just want to be alone and not bothered by anyone or anything? Yeah, this is how Mega/tron felt. So, when the door opened in this tucked away room that not many mechs used, you could imagine the annoyed look washing over his face as he gave a death glare at whoever dared to enter.

Once the door fully opened, it revealed Sound/wave's long, spindly form.

Great. Just who the Decep/ticon leader wished to catch him pigging out on sweets- it was a super-duper family-size box nonetheless. And yes, he ate them all; their empty wrappers lying around him didn’t leave any doubt about who indulged in them all.

Primus, Sound/wave better not gripe about it!

Instead, the silent warrior respectfully tipped his helm, acknowledging his leader’s presence, then walked to the pantry.

And cue a loud belly grumble. Mega/tron bent forward and curled his arm over his swelled tummy. With brows furrowed, the gray and purple mech cursed himself for not retreating to his personal quarters.

Perhaps he could just get up and leave?

Well, the sound of the other walking back to the table squashed that idea. He tried to shimmy his midsection out of view. Out of the peripheral view of his optics, Mega/tron saw Sound/wave set a large box down and then take a seat.

Couldn’t Sound/wave take a hint? Indeed, he’d not be this oblivious…

Those thin fingers made quick work of ripping the seal from the box and opening it up. His visored helm took a peek, then rubbed his servos together in what can only be imagined as glee. Then, his servos reached into the box and gently lifted out its contents.

And yes, a stupid smiley face appeared on his visor as a large cake was lifted and set on the table.

Large cake.

It was light pink with blue geode crumbles.

And very, very large!

Mega/tron couldn’t help but stare at the gorgeous sight. This was the biggest of his favored treats he had ever seen! Before he knew it, he was licking his lips and reaching out a claw to help himself.

But Sound/wave slapped his hand away and wagged a finger.

How dare he! Mega/tron’s face scrunched as he growled, watching his subordinate grab a fork and stab into his favorite treat. Just how the slag could Sound/wave eat this? He had no freaking mouth!

But that fork traveled his way, and those furrowed optics grew wide in shock. What the slag was going on here? The treat stopped just short of his lips—so close that the warlord could practically taste the sweetness.

And Mega/tron just stared at the communication officer. Was he being serious? Was he wanting to feed him this cake? While the mech may have been unsure, his belly wanted the attention.

A loud, whining gurgle erupted, demanding to be fed.

And Mega/tron had a ferocious appetite!

And that chunk of cake pressed ever so teasingly against his lips. The spindly blue mech made some clicking noises and tilted his helm to the side.

Mega/tron was no dummy. He got the hint. Hearing the other’s engines purr, it was clear Sounwave wished to feed him. And the sound of the warlord's belly grumbling, he wanted to be fed.

Was there a downside to this?

#chubformers #Siberat drabbles

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fights4users · 2 years ago

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Sleep cycle | Speculating how sleep would look in the system/grid

Who’s ready to sound really pretentious about beddy-bye?! I made a half joking post about God mandated bedtime before, but now I have a more concrete idea.

—

For one thing programs aren’t like us they don’t take something like food and convert it to energy. It’s absorbed straight and directed to whatever function they need/want. There’s Energy used to run but it can also be directed and transferred. An example being, Yori uses some of the energy Tron gave her to transform the apartment and herself. There’s purpose and intent behind the way they use energy. It’s what differentiates X from Y ( Thus not every energy transfer = sex )

They get power from just about everything they do and the world around them, if everything is running properly (when we see the ENCOM system and the grid they are not running as intended). Honestly I’d say a energy cycle is like a water cycle except transferred between programs, vehicles and their surroundings etc. (I don’t know a thing about computers this is all speculatory based on the world we see in the films,) I think the occasion where a program would need to drink energy or find a pure source would be rare, and it’s more of an extra boost. Like how the only setting outside of the cavern we see anyone drinking is the End of Line club, a bar. In both films it’s shown getting that excess/pure energy can pretty much get you similar to our idea of “being drunk”.

Anyways, what’s this have to do with sleeping? Well,

—

Sleep is a self-regulatory thing, just like people it’s saving that extra energy and sort of “recharging”, honestly with programs I think it’d be fun to take that literally. For programs it’d be storing the unused energy and absorbing more from their surroundings ->charging (again it gets more fun the more literally you take this). It’d be different depending on purpose and type, some may follow the “God mandated bedtime” whenever the computer shuts off or goes to sleep while others may not sleep at all! (Like how some constantly run in the background even with your stuff turned off). Additionally like drinking power/energy I think it could sort of be recreational? Someone said it before me but programs are their job- so the occasional rest might be thrilling? I don’t know.

Ok so now we’re getting into headcanon territory as opposed to me theorizing. Beds! What, where, how- or is it like a stand up thing in a tube. Looking at Yori’s apartment and the brief glimpses of furniture and how the Novel vaguely explains- furniture is Function> looks- even after Yori’s designs come through it’s sort of “a put a nice warm electric pillow on the lounge seat”.

I’d say it’s Ancient Greek very table/sofa like beds mixed with 80s contemporary meets liminal space. I think beds being table/slab like would make sense… charging table like a phone lmao. Some are completely content “Frankensteining it” but mattress, sheet, pillows are more for fun. (Yori would probably rather de-rez than not have it decorated, can you blame her? Her styles great.) basically computer lounges, conversation, pits etc

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murderbees · 10 months ago

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thinking about Tron program bodies again, blood is not enough for me, where are the wires and fans and plates of metal that bend and snap

I have this vague image of an anatomical diagram of a program

Energy Circulatory System - the Blood, also the digestive track bc they don't have food, Mouth to throat tube to processor located center, near the disk port, it processes and then pumps the energy through the lightlines of the body, if a program overclocks themselves enough, they can suffer burnt or even ruptured circuitry

Energy both fuels the program and cools them off, when cooling processes are activated, the energy will be cooled off by nearby venting processes and will then be circulated throughout the body

Venting System - Similar looking to lungs, two fans that sit within the upper chest, one on each side, subtle ducts can open along the sides of a program to release extra heat (they sorta look like gills, ticklish), Most of the cooling is done through this system, Vents work to expell air through the nose, mouth, and additional vents and ducts, some programs have extra vents for their functions (Mechanic need more bc they work in hotter environments)

The Disc Port - connected directly to the morherboard of the program, this is why if programs are hit there, they will derezz, sorta like a brain (head wounds are not fatal), all processors are connected via wires to the board

Processors - part of the motherboard, eyes, ears, nose, tongue, all the senses are split up into different processing units, These usually have a mechanical unit, like eyeballs, that connect to the board with long thin wires, essentially the nervous system, but centered around the disc not the head

Internal Systems - internal sensors and diagnostics that regulate the body, the Endocrine System, Connected to a programs personal display, will update with warnings and display whatever parameters needed about the body

"Bones" - programs don't have bones, but they do have metal tubes that house their more delicate pieces (wires), Some programs (security) have more reinforcement around vulnerable areas, like the throat and chest, with the plating sometimes even being above the skin, Additonal plating can be added to the forearms and calves without much modification, further integrated armor is an arduous process

Derezzing is still a thing, parts of a program will maintain integrity to a point, then they collapse into voxels, Not all pieces will derezz, if that threshold isn't met, the pieces will remain in their form, basically, if you want to fully derezz a program you have to grind them into voxels, otherwise the bones and other stuff are unlikely to derezz until the energy runs completely out (usually a few days, or the Grid equivalent), where they will then turn into a pile of voxels

Voxels and Energy both evaporate, losing their vivid technicolor hues, until they turn a dark soot grey, at this point they disappear leaving a thin dusty film behind, it's hard to clean and slippery

#does this count as gore???#btw idk how computers work so Im just making this up #If you have suggestions or info on how computers actually work please add bc it would be cool #Tron hc #I guess?#I want programs to have adaptations that fit their function and environment better #mechanics who work in tight and hot spaces with additonal vents and more efficient venting processes #Security with additional armor like an insect carapace #Medics with advanced processors and sensors for diagnostic purposes #aerial programs with better energy circulatory systems to cope with the forces

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tumblingbackwardsdownthestairs · 11 months ago

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Team 41514 | The Don-Trons

Part 1 Betrayal (next part will be linked here)

April really did try to stay awake after her alarm went off. She had moved it farther from her bed so she’d be forced to get up, she brushed her teeth right away, she even made herself a morning coffee. Now that coffee was going cold while she sleeps on her couch. It really was a valaient effort but there’s only so much you can do when you spend your nights working part-time jobs or fighting with mutants. Luckily something came along to wake her back up.

She has no time to react to her wall bursting open before she’s catching a turtle shell hurling towards her face. Mikey quickly pops out to wraparound her tightly, tears streaming out of his eyes.

“April help! He’s gone crazy!”

“Don’t be ridiculous Micheal! ‘Crazy’ implies lack of reason and you know I have plenty of reason.”

April stares at her friend hovering in the rubble that was once her wall, clutching his weapon and grinding his teeth.

“And what reason could you possibly have for destroying my apartment?”

“Oh please. It was just a wall, hardly your whole apartment. Besides, you destroyed something much more important.”

April’s lips press into a tight line, “more important than my wall?”

“But of course! Both of you are responsible for breaking something infinitely more valuable: my trust.”

“I swear! I didn’t know what he meant!” Mikey pleads.

“What are you two on about?”

“Scoff! Like you don’t know.”

“Barry told me some kids asked him to be the supervisor for their club and I was all excited and I ask ‘did you say yes?’ and he did! So I screamed ‘yayyyyyy!’ and was all excited ‘cause he was taking initiative and helping out human kids and the school and I hadn’t even needed to convince him and I was so proud! But then it turns out the club was a robotics team and he never even told me so I couldn’t tell Donnie but even if I did he wouldn’t have been able to join because he’s not a student at your school except Baxter Stockboi was able to so maybe he could’ve especially with Barry being in charge but Donnie doesn’t like Baxter or Kendra or anyone on the team except maybe Sunita and Dale or maybe just Sunita since we’ve never really talked to Dale and honestly we’re not that close to Sunita but I’d like to because she seems super cool and you guys always hangout and I just want to spend more time with her!”

“Yeesh, did you get any of that?” everyone turns in surprise to find Leo, leaning in the doorway to April’s kitchen, eating noodles out of a takeout container with chopsticks. “Just saying, I completely skimmed past it. Didn’t even look like he was breathing for most of it.”

“Are you the one who keeps eating my leftovers?”

Leo freezes. Risking only a quick glance away from April’s eyes to the food in his hands before getting caught back into her deadly stare. “No?”

“I don’t have time for any of this. I need to be at school in,” April checks her phone, “five minutes ago!” Her head drops back onto the armrest in frustration.

Leo puts down the chopsticks, grabbing the hilt of one of his katanas eagerly, “need me to get you there?”

“No!” she and Donnie cry.

“It pains me to say but this is far more important than April’s education. She will not be able to go to school until this is resolved.”

April’s eyes snap towards the purple clad turtle. Donnie claiming something is more important than education? “What did you say happened?”

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here-there-were-dragons · 2 years ago

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it would make sense and be a good idea if the next ancient breed for lightning after this one was a robot/cyborg/golem/steampunk clock construct/ect and this is all the reasons why as well as some speculation on what a hypothetical robot breed could be like

now that aethers have been released and the first lightning ancient confirmed organic, it seems as good a time as any to dust off this old draft of a suggestion i made before aberrations were even an element at all. please read it i worked very hard on it

(i can’t do anything about the weird spacing between some words, it doesn’t show up on the post editor)

reasons it would make sense and has precedent in canon:

-steelhounds. from their art, they are clearly robotic or at least heavily cybernetic lifeforms. there are edible steelhound puppy food items, which both means that they have biological components at some stage of their life, and that they can breed, or have the ability to convert organic life.

-the stormcatcher and his flight prefer to rely on machinery for things rather than outright spells. out of all of them, he seems by far the most likely to make his first attempt at a workforce by literally building them (to be “perfect” probably”) and then animating them with his own mana rather than forming them from magic like the others presumably did.

-the lightning flight has a strong thematic precedent for rogue golems, “progress”, and a certain sort of “making technology better/using technology to make a superior version of this thing”. over half of it’s native life seems to be escaped populations of self-replicating robots and cyborgs. there are mysterious golem factories everywhere. it would be a very effective payoff of that thematic thread if it turned out the original children of lightning were themselves mechanical too.

-there is precedent for elemental spirits inhabiting inorganic bodies in several golem workshop enemies, along with many other “enchanted statue” types. normal, organic dragons are also technically artificially created bodies imbued with draconic spirits of elemental magic, and regularly grow inorganic and even immaterial structures like crystals and smoke as part of their bodies. it doesn’t seem a massive stretch of the imagination that the stormcatcher could imbue a draconic spirit into an inorganic shell of his own construct.

-the stormcatcher is obsessed above all else with advancement and productivity. machines do not need to sleep. machines do not complain. machines do not have feelings or thoughts or biological failures. machines do not need to ever stop being productive. replacing his employees with machines is absolutely something the stormcatcher as we know him would do, and the only reason i could see for why he has not done that yet is that he already tried this once before and it blew up in his face.

reasons it would be a good idea to do regardless:

-people really really want robot dragons. i am aware of multiple people who would lose their minds over robot dragons.

-i cannot emphasize enough that the only way people wouldn’t love this idea is if the execution was wildly questionable or ugly in design

-even if they hated the design that got chosen i know for a fact people still like the general idea of a robot dragon

-as said above, it would tie a long running thematic thread together very well and just give the idea of lightning flight in general a little more feeling of cohesiveness and depth

-since it would be an ancient breed, and therefore only able to breed with more of it’s own kind, there would be absolutely no need to worry about how to adapt all the modern genes to a robotic body. you could just pick out the few that would adapt well as a “paint pattern” or something, and then for the rest you could just go wild adding whatever steam vents or lasers or robotic attachments or jetpacks or tron lines whatever machine-themed additions you could think of. they should definitely get circuit.

-it would feel more diverse than another “smooth 4 limbed mammalian noodle with deer or undefined bean nub shape head and dog legs and one defining feature” or “tundra” again. flight rising as of late has a huge design diversity problem and really seems to have trouble coming up with things that genuinely look different while also looking like complete designs that consist of more than one or two sort of disconnected feeling gimmicks. making the entire body a robot would make it more likely that the design would feel more cohesive if nothing else.

-it would make more sense that they don’t wear clothes

-lore writers would have a lot to work with

-you could say that their roars sound like electric guitars and dubstep screams echoing over the dunes

how it could work lore-wise:

self-replicating artificial lifeforms already exist canonically, but since i imagine the staff would prefer to have a lore explanation as to how they reproduce here’s a few suggestions

where they came from, why they’re like that, how they might have worked, and where they could have gone:

origin 1: abiogenesis- in the beginning, there were 11. in the beginning, 11 became more. while the others built their children of blood and bone, the father of storms saw another path; his creation would not be one of weak flesh-but of living lightning and metal.

in an ill-tempered grumble of thunder, he retreated to his workshop.

for weeks the ringing of hammers, switches, and coils haunted the then-empty dunes as slowly, beneath an infant spire that for another ten thousand years would not earn it’s name, the father of storms’ own image of took shape.

he welded brass, balanced gears, built engines, carved thoughts circuit by circuit written in lines of gold, breathed life and magic into their hollow forms as only a god could. at last he had his workforce-eternal machines of his own ingenuity to match the primitive organic legions the other gods would soon bring. in the ages to follow his work would flourish at speeds finally worthy of the lightning it’s powered by, unrestrained in scope now that with his newfound expendable underlings, his workshop would no longer be staffed by a team of one.

(abiogenesis scenario sup-option 1) the stormcatcher may have designed them with different attachments for preforming different sub-purposes in the greater purpose of being his lab assistants, creating a sort of pseudo-eusocial-hive-caste system. this could be represented by the tertiary genes.

(abiogenesis scenario sup-option 2) they may be highly modular beings that can fairly easily swap out parts at will, modifying themselves frequently like living swiss army knives for all manner of lab, factory, workshop, ect functions.

tl:dr if the lightning ancient breeds are robots or cyborgs and did not make themselves that way but were created by the stormcatcher as mechanical beings at the start, then the following is functionally canon

origin 2: transhumanist (transdraconic?) singularity-

the lightning ancients were once an organic lifeform breed like all the others. but unlike the many distant children of the ever-storm that followed, they took their creator’s ideals of progress, improvement, advancement, bettering to the deepest part of their heart-and found that heart’s feeble flesh wanting. their creator spoke to them of thinking for tomorrow-and in their future they saw thunder and metal where once were blood, flesh, and bone. as they say, out with the old, and in with the new.

(transhumanist singularity scenario sub-option 1)-if this is the case, these dragon-ascendants may possibly even be the creators of creatures like the steelhounds, relics of their endless striving for better than the now, a long-forgotten crusade to bring to all the world the fruits of this, their greatest triumph, a hand of prideful works ascending reaching ever upwards towards the sun.

a race on the cusp of singularity, seeking to drag their world kicking and screaming with them into perfect digital eternity. they looked upon the world of flesh and blood they were given and knew they could make it all more. perhaps, in the end, their heavens-reaching tower of all their mighty works all came crashing down.

they dreamed of a world harder, better, faster, stronger, made in all ways superior to the way it once began. but some dreams to other eyes are nightmares best left in the dark.

origin 3: ancient for game mechanic purposes only-

the busy tinkerers of goldensparc or the tempest spire or some yet unnamed city, in their eternal gods-ordained quest to bring their technological might to the task of improving upon any and all design, have rent the finest metal and magic from the earth to sculpt and weld into the greatest clockwork rendering of the draconic form ever created. the next dragon. the most advanced of the clock-golems ever created, the most versatile dracodroid to date, a category previously occupied by little more than tech startup gimmicks that never panned out as their marketing stunts sweepingly promised they should and simplistic brass dracoforms able only to continuously sweep a single narrow path without adaptation. the closest imitation of functional draconic life and behavior there has ever been, cutting out the need for expensive factories through incorporating some variety of self replication technology, granted even elemental power by cutting edge spellcraft and/or embedded cores of the most precious enchanting stones. some hyperbolic outlets may say it’s programmed imitation of the draconic mind is perfect.

far, far too perfect.

how they breed:

1: steelhound-

as stated before, existing steelhounds appear to be partly organic at some stage of their life as well as able to reproduce both their organic and inorganic body parts in their offspring. the mechanical lightning ancient breed may be still partly organic, allowing them to reproduce, and they may possibly use the same method as steelhounds to create offspring that have inborn robotic components as well.

2: cyborg culture-

the breed may be still partly organic in their adult form, and their offspring may be born fully organic. as they grow, they are strongly culturally encouraged to modify and “improve” themselves however they wish until they reach an adult state near indistinguishable from a golem. (the significant con of this approach is that invariably people would be disappointed that they could not have the design of the organic baby form as a nonrobotic adult)

3: ambiguous nanotech-

the breed may be fully mechanical and use some form of magical or nanotechnological means to build more of themselves. perhaps their offspring are initially created as small, simple, incomplete constructs that both “grow” and fuel themselves by consuming food which is then either fed into an internal furnace for power or assimilated into raw material for further construction by some form of magic or nanotech, allowing them to literally grow new parts if they consume the right things.

4: stormcatcher said so-

they can produce offpsring because the stormcatcher simply imbued them with the magical ability to create more of themselves to fill out and repopulate his workforce without having to build them himself again.

5: it’s magic-

their ability to reproduce is just magic, it doesn’t really need an explanation. the way all other dragons reproduce is most likely magical in nature already.

6: progressive construction-

similar to the nanotech approach but with the significant difference that the “growth” of the initial small simple construct is fueled not by nanobots or magic or consumption of building materials, but simply they or their “parents” literally building more onto them.

why and how they would need to eat:

gameplay and story segregation is at play. site mechanically they would eat the same as any other dragon.

option 1-fuel. they may partly power their bodies by processing organic material to generate energy, possibly also in addition to having lightning rods to absorb lightning power, in which case the furnace fuel system is most likely a supplementary backup to ensure they can keep going when the power from their lightning rod system runs out.

option 2-raw material. if their construction includes a nanotechlike equivalent whether by magic spell or by technological construct they may consume organic matter for these magical or technological systems to convert into raw material for self-repairs, giving them some ability to “heal”. this could possibly mean they may only need to “eat” particularly often when damaged. if it’s magic that is responsible for or in some way “fuels” or drives this effect, it could possibly provide an explanation for why the healing spells in the coliseum work on them.

option 3-both.

option 4-replenishing a vital system. in a similar way to how liquid cooled computers require fresh coolant periodically, or many machines need periodic lubricant, they may have a similar system that requires replenishment by a certain material. depending on exactly what chemical it is they need to replenish to function and what it is for, and what exact type of food they eat, this could make a lot of sense.

if stormcatcher made and was later dissapointed with them, them still needing to eat for fuel might be one of the reasons why.

why they might have vanished and how they might come back:

ending 1-they never left.

when the ancient age ended and the children of all others withdrew from the world so too did they for reasons of their own. from the birth of their successors they have spent eons watching, studying, waiting, experimenting on them.

possible reasons:

variant1a-they were cast away when the stormcatcher found something new, but they would not allow themselves to be truly forgotten. they may have long served their part, but they still linger to see, study, the world they created.

variant1b-when the birth of the modern breeds began they saw an opportunity of some kind, perhaps for study, perhaps for knowledge, perhaps for power. the secluded what remained of themselves away for what would become the longest greatest experiment of their race’s collective history-an undertaking generations long to watch and see how the world went on without them. the grand experiment to end all others. the greatest control observation of them all.

abiogenesis scenario variant 1a- the storm-father has devised a new experiment. it has been an age of metal and thunder singing through circuitforged veins, failures and triumphs nameless and many at the hands of his perfectly inorganic world. perhaps, after so long working only in mechanical realms, it is time for something just a little more outside of the box he works in. maybe he’ll see just what it is about those organic lifeforms the other deities seem so taken in by. he doesn’t understand their fascination with the messy, ungainly things, their seeming persistence in seeing something he doesn’t.

after all, a scientist wouldn’t reject a possibility variable without testing sure.

abiogenesis scenario variant 1b-

an age has come and gone. outside the walls of his workshop, the makings of the mortals once more fall to ruin like so many others down the long stairs of time, and his siblings first children have passed into memory. many of the gods stand once more alone. but they have not gone silent.

one by one each light winks out. civilization after civilization extinguished with little more than a whisper. their settling silence parallels the weathering on his own eternal machine’s hides. all things fade, in the end.

the silence falls it’s blankets on all for a mortal’s eternity. to a god, they are not content to allow the silence lease for long.

the cycles of history drudge on over and over on the ceaseless wheel of time, pulling the same up cycle by cycle from the riverbed’s muck. for yet another of countless fleeting moments, different yet the same, a race secondborn emerge to an empty world left to them by an ancestor they would never know.

the stormcatcher looks out from the depths of his workshop, untouched by the outside waves in the oceans of time, and scoffs, why?

his siblings secondborn take their first wobbling steps. a distorted mirror of their elder kindred so many cycles before. they quarrel and they fight; until they don’t.

why?

the elements battle. they war as they always have, as they always did before. but where each flight would stand before a monolith solely of their designer’s own creation, a key in the balance is beginning to shift. where before there would be one breed and one magic, the god’s domains have begun to accept the cast-offs of eachother’s children.

a child of the floes and a child of the forge meet at the top of a snow-spotted hill, and roll and play together in the sunrise. neither of them bears the icewarden’s eyes.

why?

their secondborn were made capable of union regardless of maker and shape. their nests lay not dead eggs and tearful partings but thriving children, born one shape or the other, but not both. the wars rage on as they always have but the peoples mix and mingle until it is no longer easy to be sure which god birthed who.

the lightweaver’s high priest enters her temple, long robes dragging up the steps. the air is hot and the marble is chilling in his golden-bright secondary eyes.

why?

their cooperation has never borne fruit before, only failure and disaster. an as-expected unrepeatable waste of unrecapturable time.

why do they persist in repeating a failed experiment?!

cooperation is done. it failed. dragonkind was gone, it failed. it’s time to move on to another solution, to stop wasting time on thing already proven not to work. all of their experiments failed, why do they strive to repeat those failures?

why do they see something i don’t?!

......

workers cluster at the foot of his workbench, ages of rust weigh on their metal hides. their glassy eyes that look to him are tired with the hollow aching fading of eternity, he notes with a bitter disappointment. imperfect. the perfect needless, fleshless workers, against the ravages of time still had failed.

there are so few of them now.

....

this experiment is a failure.

....

variables presuppose, shifting up and down their stacked threads in an orderly and uncaring mind.

(rigid inorganic thinking beneath which primal thunder brews-deep in the roiling dark far below. an unpredictable, paradoxical, self-contradicting mind. back and forth, one state to the other. like binary, like circuitry, on, off, on, off, one, zero, one.

there is no room for feeling, for inefficiencies, for mistakes or pithy mortal weaknesses in the hard, heartless mathematics of his reality, his civilization’s machine. the computer knows only the numbers it codes-it cares nothing for the lives each digit represents.

legendary is his cold efficiency, as is the thunderstrike of his fury, the totality of his wrath. always sudden. never forewarning. on. off. on. off. one. zero. one.

one never can be certain just when or where a lightning bolt will strike.)

had one not been tested thoroughly enough?

they are waiting for an order. they are not many. they are tired.

the world outside is a growing state of a paradoxical conflict-yet-cooperation, connection and rejection simultaneous and overlapping in the same space.

had this-- notion, of theirs, of unity, not been tested thoroughly enough?

(so many experiments, so many disappointments)

the remainder of his last failed project look up at him with their tired, rusting, imperfect eyes and those-physical expressions of his siblings’ insanity prance about the world merrily slaughtering eachother and somehow not dying while his own empire’s great works lie collecting dust outside.

....

tragic.

but expected.

they watch him still. with their worthless little failure eyes. the whole lot of them, in the end.

failures.

(their hides gleamed once.)

...

..... fine.

if his kin are so determined to this perpetual dance of coming together and breaking apart all over again until the shade drags them all to the void’s trillions-damned stomach then who is he to say no? evidently abject insanity is the name of the game they’ve all been playing all this time and no one thought to inform him before he made the mistake of thinking this was a real, serious attempt at finding an actual solution to anything!

his once-great race of ascending experiments look to him and he looks back with disdain. they were built for self-sufficiency, for efficiency, for perfection, for war.

the equations are unmoving. their failure is clear.

tragic. but expected.

..... fine.

with a sweep of his gigantic skull he booms his new and final orders to the lingering gaggle of outmodes in a cold and calculated fury, clearing away these walking remains of his latest failed experiment. their final directive is to watch and gather data on this newly devised long-term scientific venture-abandoned refuse of a disproven theory they are at least they may potentially be of some remaining use to him.

the vast slab of his worktable is swept clean for the drafting of a new, organic line of undoubtable disappointments. a test of the waters in revisiting old delusions of theirs, he snorts with dispassionate contempt, to play along with their breathtakingly illogical chase for a variant of some cooperation scenario that actually bears results worth calculating. though it’s not as though his own isolationist efforts in a cultural vaccuum as they are have gotten results in long-term-he may as well, as they say, throw everything at the wall. one thing, rising from the hard-edged certainty of the numbers, is clear.

this farce is over.

....

dust hangs still in the dismal dawn air as dim orange fingers of sun lap his storm-grey flank.

“Tragic. But expected. “

a groan of shifting stones and a cascade of pebbles breaks the still air. something vast stands to titan feet, shakes itself off.

a pause. “Where will you go?”

the voice behind him is tired, old as the mountains they both loom above and thrice as weathered, deep as caverns and wide as hills, crackling and rumbling with a disbelieving surrender, breaking. He did not turn to meet the earthshaker’s eyes.

“Where i may not be found---this farce is over, and i’ve plans of my own.”

and without another word, he took wing.

the voice receded unseen to the miles of distance behind him.

(a traitorous small part wonders if things could have turned out differently.)

transhumanist scenario sub-option 1 variant 1a-perhaps they weren’t sure how to feel about being replaced by the very organic forms they left behind. maybe when it all came crumbling down, what was left of their civilization decided to step back and watch the primitive lifeforms that took their place, to see where they went wrong. after all, if the stormcatcher chose them over us in the end, they must be somehow better.

ending 2-our longest night

at the end of the ancient age their kind fell deep into a dormant state. now all these thousands of years later, something has made them awaken again.

variant 1a-they were new once, but now they are old. the technology of tomorrow becomes the technology of today and finally the technology of the past. and deprecated software is... replaced. it’s time to clear out the old models and make way for an updated worker design. throw them somewhere in the back of this drawer and forget-the stormcatcher doesn’t need old tech anymore.

their god has abandoned them like an out-of-date iphone, in favor of the latest and most new.

variant 2a-they got out of control, and were considered a dangerous mad science experiment. the stormcatcher, or the ancestors of the ridgebacks, sealed them away in the deep laps and threw away the key.

variant 2a-they had an actual robot rebellion against the stormcatcher after being made to work in the labs and factories to fuel the expansion constantly and were put to sleep, most likely to occur in the “the stormcatcher created them as robots to help in his workshop already and they never existed as anything else before that” timeline. in this scenario is is equally possible that they were or were not created with the intent to have full free will sentience at all.

varient 3a-the equations are clear. is spills out across the vaccuum diagrams like asimov’s psychohistory in the stories of a world a another universe away. the stormcatcher’s calculations have predicted this: their own computations have corroborated. there will come a day in this world’s history when something that has always been growing will finally reach a breaking point beyond which life on this world can ignore it no longer. small processes there are now will eventually run unceasing until something larger gives, the natural progress of entropy in a system of chaotic organized-like existence. something is coming, and if we do not prepare we will not survive. our distant organic draconic successors will not survive. nothing will survive.

a civilization of computers at the call of a pure mana computer god, calculations running a billion fold each moment shape clear the date at which they know with certainty they will come to be be needed, though the peoples of that distant time will not know that needed they are. all there is now, is for them to place themselves all quietly into their long, long sleep.

variant 4b-a calamity was coming to shake their world in their time rather than ours, with the power and totality of something like an asteroid strike, and their kind went dormant to survive it. only now have they started to wake up.

variant 4c- whether natural disaster or warfare or a virus or asteroid or simple running out of resources and deciding to go to sleep until the world recovers enough more, a calamity has come and the calamity has gone, sweeping the machine race away with it, and there are none now left to remember. thousands of years pass. their successors construct the greatest reactor ever seen by dragon eyes on the heart of their land’s aortal leyline.... and unknown to them, the side effects ripple down the leylines of all the expanse, and surges make their way down into a long-forgotten facility. maybe soon, for the first time in ten thousand years, something will stumble out into Sorhaldûm’s light.

variant 4d-to survive whatever calamity came to pass, they placed themselves in stasis at the base of the towers and/or a special reactor and/or some other important large invention in the hopes that they would slowly recharge them with time. modern dragonkind has been using these structures for a long time, unwittingly recharging them slowly in the process.

variant 5a- they loaded themselves into a supercomputer to escape the nonspecified end of their civilization a long time ago, and only now has something triggered them to download back into their bodies. either they intended to remain in limbo for a theoretically indefinitely long amount of time-or something went wrong with the reactivation process that trapped them in the system until a new factor came into the situation to give it a nudge. (this could easily also be categorized under some variants of reconstructing science)

variant 5b-they all trapped themselves in a virtual reality mind upload immortality personal simulated universe scheme as an attempt at a sort of ai ascension hive mind singularity like those old sci fi universes where humanity all loaded their brains into one giant computer system around a star, retreating inward to sleep in infinite digital dreaming in a world inside and below the outside for the rest of time.

abiogenesis scenario variant 1a- every good scientist has a backup plan. in the stormcatcher’s case, that backup plan was a machine race of sleepless unstoppable dormant servants, kept inactive in reserve just in case at some distant future point down the line the situation got hairy enough for concern and the more pedestrian, organic workers were not enough.

abiogenesis scenario variant 1b- they’ve been waiting somewhere deep in reserve in the stormcatcher’s labs for a long time. once they were his lab assistants, but it seems eventually he ceased to care. someone goes down into the old archives of thousands of years past and cracks open just the right door to find them. they haven’t been activated in a very long time.

(abiogenesis scenario) ending 3-reconstructing science/the reconstruction of fallen ancients. once the stormcatcher made an army of metal and lightning, but that was an age ago. it’s been a long time since then. the world is different now. all of them were destroyed in the ancient wars a long time ago, their blueprints old and forgotten under the dusty pile of inventions since. but-something’s coming now. something big. even the stormcatcher can feel it-the balance is shifting. he’s going to need More. a brush knocks loose an age-old blueprint from the bottom of the shelves.... it seems as good a time as any to revisit old machines of war.

variant 1a-it was not the stormcatcher, but a simply a few small members of a modern breed, who stumbled across the rusted, weathered and empty old parts of a mysterious machine scattered buried and forgotten in the sand, and saw fit to rebuild them. the shifting expanse has no shortage of distant far-flung wrecks and abandoned husks of technological ghosts-this time is no different.

variant 1b-the shifting expanse is not named for nothing. ancient structures and forgotten things, stations, labs, compounds, and experiments both sanctioned and secret civilian and all of the above mad long abandoned, are unearthed and buried again just as quickly by the everchanging tides of the vast and hostile dune sea. how much history is entombed beneath those sands forever to remain unseen is no one’s place to say.

the unstable topography is governed by winds and mechanisms inscrutably complex and distant to the draconic-and human- mind. today, it is something long buried that has been uncovered- in the tumult of the weather or some recent event, a portion of the desert has blown away, exposing a vast and uncountably ancient dilapidated complex from long long ago. the ancient citadel, a place of endless rooms filled with experiments, the locus of a fallen empire’s power. this, is where the mysterious remains of some ancient automaton are recovered-and, by their clueless discoverers, expecting some mindless novelty servant, reforged.

the ancient citadel complex could potentially be a new coliseum venue, a dilapidated old lab unburied out of the windy sands, and the breed could be the first coliseum-obtainable one, if it went this direction.

(ancient in game mechanics only scenario)ending(beginning?) 4- no gods no casters. the metal dragons were never meant to be sentient, but there are many things the lightning flight has created which were never intended to turn out as they did. it would not be the first time unfettered advancement has charged blindly ahead to make the biggest, strongest, most powerful thing it can and damn the slightest sideways thought to any possibility of the consequences. they were never intended to be sentient-but creating, with no concept whatsoever of safety, an artificial intelligence as advanced and complicated as you can simply to prove you can do it is given to causing certain repercussions.

they were created by the foremost minds of modern dragonkin-and they would not allow themselves to remain a mere tool for their organic master’s using. this is the ai rebellion plotline you never knew a fantasy kitchen sink with large spots of jarringly fantasy-free dark scifi needed, and the newly created mechanical dracoforms will not rest until their rights within the dominant society are secured.

variant 1a-they did not fight- how could they, against the beings that made them and every weakness they have to exploit? no, instead they fled-to another land in hopes they could find somewhere to be free. out into the desert and into foreign territories and into hiding among dragonkind’s own peoples-hoping for a day they can walk in the sun.

blanket awakening scenarios and misc endings that are applicable to all or most of these endings:

broken masquerade- they are hiding among us, disguised as us, and soon, for whatever is decided to be the reason, someone is about to give the all-clear.

my greatest dissapointment- the stormcatcher built them to be the ultimate perfect beings, and was less than satisfied with the results. even as invulnerable unaging sapient sleepless self-replicating hyperadvanced beyond draconic intelligence and near incapable of clumsiness or mistakes machines, they were still subject to the wear of time, they still required food for fuel, they still had feelings and relationships and will and despite no need for sleeping still objected to spending all their time on the factory floor as workers without pause. this experiment was a bitter wasteful failure, and he did not like to dwell on this farce of disappointments any longer. his standards are unreachable-they could never please their creator. they could never be enough.

variant 1a- they may not have just simply been perfectly functional but when fully rendered in the limits of physical reality ultimately less than the stormcatcher had hoped for, they may have even been actively malfunctioning. similar to how the aetherdragons are irresistibly compelled to eat paper-which i very much doubt is by the arcanist’s design.

roboticized-

in this possibility they either were reawakened, or created in the first place, by several dragons in modern times being willingly or unwillingly roboticized into them. a sort of transdraconic ascension origin/ancient in game mechanics only origin fusion, with optional elements of our longest night depending on exact presentation.

#for a name i would suggest something cool like 'automech'#i'm imagining this mainly as a super advanced sleek dark fututistic scifi aesthetic #with a heavy helping of aperture science #and a sort of 2000's deviantart dark future spaceship futuristic city hyperrealism portrait bent #more metal gear meets portal and 2000's hyperreal dark future portrait deviantart than fantasy to be honest #but that's sort of the idea #to be jarringly not fantasy #not fantasy at all #early lightning mechanofauna art seemed to be leaning for a heavy darkish scifi cyberpunky-adjacent edge #cyberpunky for lack of knowing a better word to use here #and i think we should keep with that #see once again: steelhounds #but if flight rising decided ot do osmethign entire different and go with gears they could go with something like 'clockworker'#of 'clockwright'#flight rising #'engineers' is also an idea #Sorhaldûm is meant to be a placeholder name for sornieth's sun until offical lore says otherwise #and it's pronounced sorhalDOOM #or like the word dune but with an m #to be perfectly honest i don't know if the diacritic mark actually changes the pronunciation like that #i just copied it from 'khazad-dûm' because they way the pronounced it in the movies sounded like the sound i had in my mind #my personal preference is the transdraconic singularity followed by attempted force-'improvement' of all outdated organic life as the origin #like a very specific kind of space future dystopian art from really cool scifi dystopian distant future hyperreal digital art on deviantart #type feeling #the sort of ones that would have a loot of semi-sleek but very realsitic and sort of tonally dark feeling spaceships #and immense imposing near incomprehensibly advanced and similarly tonally dark and opressive feeling dyson rings around stars #and abandoned similarly quietly dystopian hyperadvanced compounds and facilities and power stations out in the desert wastes #carcasses of forgotten war starships like beached sand-buried whales #the desert wastes that once were where this once-green planet had life #or like-'surface level attempted smooth clean utopia with not-so-hidden cracks and at errifying

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grumpygreenwitch · 2 months ago

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Machina Ex Machina 1-2

New Fandom, new Fanfic, someday I'll be able to focus on the books I want to be writing and self-publishing, wouldn't that be nice. Meanwhile, this and one other thing are loud in my head, so they need to be got out. The first Tron movie is near and dear to my heart. It was, honestly, the first time I realized I wasn't the only one that thought 'wouldn't it be great if there were worlds within worlds all around us'. I delighted in the second Tron movie, all the more so because I got to watch it with a good friend and we had more or less the same gleeful reactions to the same parts. I've always wondered about a Grid that was still... Grid-like in its isolation, but the work of many hands, rather than one. I will believe, to the end of my days, that people as a norm can be good to one another. And so my Grid is born of that belief. A hefty chunk of the story is already posted on AO3 (link will be included). Chapters here will be posted two at a time, once a day. I'm up to twenty-something and I still have a hefty chunk to write. As always, it's seat-of-the-pants writing, so there might be spelling and grammar issues, though hopefully the continuity is solid. I love to hear of what you love or hate (or love to hate). There's bits from the original Tron, from Legacy, from Evolution and Uprising.

As always, if you enjoy the writing, please like and reblog. There's no algorithms here; my publicity is you. And if you'd like to buy me a Ko-fi, I certainly won't complain. Here we go.

1+2 - 3+3.5 - 4+5 - 6+.6.5 - 7+8 - 8.5+9 - 10+11 - 12+13 - 13.5+14 - 15+16 - 17+17.5 - 18+18.5 - 19+20 - 21+22 - 22.5+23+24 - 25+26 - 27-28 - 29.29.5 - 30+31 - 32+33 - 34+35 - 36+37 - 38+39 - 40+41 - 42+ AO3 Link

ONE

The first meeting took place, fittingly, in the echoing emptiness of an abandoned food court. The mall had been derelict for years; long enough that the barred gates were no longer barred and, in some cases, not even gates. Glass storefronts had shattered and littered the once-elegant tiled walkways. Grime had pooled on the vaulted sunroof, and beneath it that echoing, ghostly world lived in a constant state of penumbral gloom.

Rain was pattering up on the sunroof and down on the tiled floors, cascading in little waterfalls from the third floor all the way down to the nearly dark atrium. When Molly and Kane got there, they were both soaked in spite of their raincoats.

By comparison, the man they were meeting was relatively dry. His dark blue raincoat draped all around him and down to his knees, and beneath it the heavy black boots cared about neither water nor broken glass. He was all but invisible in the shadows cast by the balcony above their heads.

“Sorry we’re late,” Kane managed as they both rushed over. He had finally hit the growth spurt age had been promising to grant him for a few years, and he was a breath taller than his twin, though there was potential there for much more. The man they were meeting had height and mass on them both, but he’d likely not have the latter for much longer.

“No problem,” their contact replied, a little amusement in his voice. “You got it?”

Molly groped under her own red raincoat until she found what she was looking for, and offered it to the man: a thumb-drive, a Lucky Cat waving at the three of them cheerfully. “Final count came to about seven hundred and fifty two. That we could track down,” she hurried to add.

“Worse than I imagined, and better than I expected,” the stranger said philosophically, taking the thumb drive and pocketing it.

“We can keep looking,” Kane offered nervously.

The man shook his head. From his own, slim satchel, hidden at his hip under the raincoat, he brought out another thumb drive. Sleek and flat, it was a little bigger than the Lucky Cat, and the ENCOM logo gleamed on one end of it like an oilslick. On the other side, a tiny blue LED blinked sedately, the first in a row of ten.

“Holy cow,” Kane breathed.

“Is that an ENCOM petadrive?” Molly hardly dared ask.

“Makes it sound like it’s a Pokemon, but yeah.” He offered the drive. “The file’s set to boot-and-erase. Make sure you’ve got everything ready, there’s no stopping it once it gets going.”

Molly took the drive as if it were made of spun glass. “So it’s active already?”

“No. Jesus, no. There’s no thumb drive big enough in the world for that.”

“What’s the light for, then?” Kane asked, wary.

“That’s a gift from a friend of mine. Consider it a… bit of spring planting. You won’t see anything come of it unless the conditions are just right. Do you still mean to open it up?” When the twins nodded, he sighed in exasperation, but didn’t protest. It was quite literally out of his hands anymore. “That’s not gonna end well.”

“You don’t know that,” Kane protested.

Before the man could protest, Molly added. “It’s never been done before, right?”

He couldn’t refute that, though he visibly wanted to. “No. But I know people.”

“We’re people!” Molly reminded him indignantly.

“You’re the exception, then.”

They recoiled a little, caught off-guard by the underhanded compliment, but she rallied quickly. “You’re people.”

The man laughed. “And I’m a greedy asshole.” He patted the pocket where the Lucky Cat thumb drive was resting, as if to remind them of its existence. “But I’m also a cynical, jaded asshole, as someone recently reminded me. So go on. Surprise me.”

The twins scurried away. The man stayed there a little bit longer, listening to the rain fall, the water sluicing down the fallen works of man. He tipped his head back, drinking in the scent of it all, mold and decay but also life, air, the potential for renewal and rebirth implicit in it all.

His eyes opened. “Surprise me,” he repeated quietly to the world all around him, and walked away.

TWO

Halcyon had always been the Center of the Grid, the Queen of All Cities. From the air, her patterns of expansion and evolution were as beautiful as the most elegant fractal-tree, never progressing lopsidedly; her growth-control walls made sure of that. From her spot on the Central Shore of the Sea of Simulation, she policed and protected the data-routes that were her lifeblood. You could buy nearly anything in Halcyon, if you had the means. And if it didn’t yet exist to be bought, some enterprising program would surely change that within a millicycle or two.

The city itself, the sectors where programs lived, rested, worked, that was all inside the First Wall. All expansion there was done up or down anymore. Vidi had never been inside the First Wall. She’d lived nearly all her life in Halcyon, of course, but she spent most of her time out in the Third Ring, in the many sectors of the Souk. In Halcyon, you had to find a way to earn your way, and Vidi had her niche.

At the moment, that niche had her scanning the object between her hands while its creator hovered anxiously all around her. It was deceptively simple to any of the bystanders coming and going, a byte of something or other, flickering along the indigo side of the spectrum. Vidi, however, saw with more than just eyes. Her ‘hair’, long dreadlocks any other time, had haloed around her head, each one ending in an ‘eye’ that kept focusing and refocusing on the byte.

“Please be careful, it’s very fragile,” the creator entreated her for the fiftieth time, it felt.

“If you stopped pacing behind me, I might be less inclined to twitch,” she growled. “Besides, it’s nowhere nearly as fragile as you think.”

“Oh, you think so?”

Vidi made a vague sound in response, neither agreement or denial. What she was looking at was not actually a byte; the polyhedral surface was merely its protective encryption. In her mind’s eye it was a growingly complex knot of toothed wheels nestled within toothed wheels, a collection of cogs and spirals that went on nearly beyond the reach of her senses - nearly, but not quite. She wasn’t sure what sort of program Dijoyi was, but his work was, as always, both beautiful and efficient in equal measure. There was no small-part engineer like him in all of Halcyon, and other cities sometimes sent people to ask for his help.

“You really think this’ll get a flyer to the Spire?” she asked as she worked to create a perfect blueprint in her memory of the gyroscopic equations between her hands. Dijoyi was a fantastic engineer, but he did not have the ability to create blueprints out of his equations. The part was not real, not yet.

“I know it will,” the man huffed. “No storm can throw my gyroscopic navigator off course. If the flyer fails, it’ll be because of the pilot, not the flyer.”

“Well, that ain’t my problem,” she declared, amused at his utter arrogance and looking away at last. She was a slim, oddly shapeless Program, as so many of the first-gen ones were. Only her voice and her choice made her female. She looked lavender most of the time, low-powered as she always ran, but the long-dreadlocks of her hair were unfailingly brilliant, electric blue. They, too, closed their eyes and relaxed at her back. “I’m just here to carry the blueprint to your manufacturer.” She offered back the encrypted byte.

“I don’t see why I couldn’t have just sent it by courier to an architect,” Dijoyi grumbled. “Your rates are highway robbery.”

“Yeah, but this way I’m only taking your beans, not your design,” she declared casually.

It shut him up, mercifully, and she put her hand out, palm up. On it she wore, as did every legal citizen of Halcyon, a soukscan, gleaming white under her skin.

The other program, whose face looked much older than hers but who had the hi-def lines of a much younger generation, slapped his hand over hers with ill grace. The scan reported the transaction to them both and was acknowledged in return.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Vidi smiled in a very non-pleasure fashion. She took the surly glower he gave her as a compliment, put up her hood, and headed off into the crowd.

It was early into the primary millicycle. Unlike most cities in the grid, Halcyon kept an on-off schedule; too many of the local manufacturers depended upon time-sensitive ingredients and processes that liked their downtime nearly as much as they did their uptime. It meant the light was bright and silver, like energy straight from the Source. Too bad it did none of the things energy was actually good for.

A few of the shopkeepers called out greetings, and she nodded to some, waved to the few that she actually liked. Dijoyi’s design was itching at the edges of her memory; it was almost too big for her. She answered a few rote questions with equally rote answers.

“How’s business today, Vidi?”

“If I’m here, business must be good.”

“You need to get yourself a proper look, Vidi!”

“I’m a courier, this is as proper as I get.”

“Hey, Vidi!” A young program, both in looks and in appearance, ran out of their shop. “You got space for a Parnassus delivery?”

Vidi stopped. She was barely holding onto the newly created blueprint, but a trip to Parnassus meant enough beans to coast the rest of the week, if she wanted. “How big?”

The shopkeeper held out a byte that flickered between red and green shades. “Not big. Fresh from the train.”

“That’s not clean,” she pointed out, half her dreadlocks coming to attention and pinning baleful eyes on the byte. “Fido, what in the name of dead pixels are you doing with unvaccinated stock.”

“It’s not that!” he replied defensively. “It’s clean, it’s just from Ark City.” When she gave him a disbelieving look, he doubled down. “I swear! All my stock from them always looks like this. You don’t have to do anything, just deliver it, it’s already paid for.”

“You deliver it then.”

“Parnassus is halfway to Ilo! I’d have to close up for the millicycle. I’ll add 10% to your fee,” he offered.

“Fifty.”

“I’m not made of beans, Vidi! Fifteen.”

“Forty.”

“Twenty!”

“Twenty five.”

“Deal.” He threw the byte at her, and she caught it expertly, gritting her teeth as her memory began to give her warnings. The package was data-dense, as Parnassus’ deliveries usually were, but also data-stable. She could chop it up and tuck the bits wherever she could find room, and put them back together with no one the wiser once she got to Parnassus. When Fido sent her the transaction confirmation request, she was already moving again.

She shouldered her way through the growing crowds. There was always someone who needed something from the Engineering Souk-Sector. There was always a need for the next upgrade, the next tool, the next trick, the next new thing. And for those who couldn’t afford that, there was always the last old thing.

She moved easily through the crowds until she reached the nearest arm of the Spiral, a many-threaded river of light with hexagonal boards floating on it, each lane faster than the next. She saw an empty board and leapt on it, and spent the next few moments hopping from empty board to empty board until she was on the high-speed lane to the Wall and the Sailer station there, the many shops and sectors of the Souk whisking past her.

She wasn’t looking at them. She was looking, as she always did, at the distant Spire.

Every city had a Spire - well, almost all. They didn’t do anything anymore, not that anyone could tell. Even when she really looked at it, all Vidi could see was a dead, cold mountain, rising up out of the Outlands, past the nearby estuary. There was potential there, her eyes could see the empty pathways of it, but no power. Circuitry, but no data. Nothing to fill those paths. Nothing to explain the failure of any vehicle that tried to approach it. But there had to be a reason for it to be there. Nothing ever happened without a reason, good or bad.

She was, as usual, contemplating those idle thoughts when light flashed atop Halcyon’s Spire, brighter than anything anyone in the city had ever seen. Vidi, one of the few bearing witness to the event from the beginning, saw the concussive wave generated by that blast of light. She was already moving, darting from board to board to get off the Spiral, as more and more programs turned to look at the Spire, shining so bright that the millicycle’s light looked dull in comparison, blotted out belatedly by a storm growing so quickly that it almost looked like a flood. She was already running when alarms began to shrill across the city.

She was not fast enough.

The shockwave struck Halcyon with the growing, raging Spirestorm in its wake. It didn’t care for buildings, which was good, but it was also unaffected by walls, which was very, very bad. It roared unchecked through the tourist and manufacturing sectors, which were mostly empty at the time, finding very little of what it sought.

And then it found the Souk.

The wind slammed into every program there like something real, as real as any of them. Everyone went tumbling, flying, crashing. Screams filled the space, the collective wavelength going to panic. Vidi was thrown off her feet and rolled against the cart of someone who sold temporary Cosmetics; the cart crashed down on top of her and she curled up in a tight ball, staying down, as small as she could make herself. Her hair peeked nervously out from under the upturned cart for her.

She saw the owner of the cart wobble to his feet and look up at the monstrous storm bearing down on them all.

She saw a whip of… something, crackling and powerful, catch the program and yank him up into the air, screaming, until he couldn’t even be heard anymore. That was alright, there were dozens of voices all across the Souk shrieking with him in matching terror. Programs were being snatched where they fell, or ran, or stood gawking.

Vidi curled up even smaller. Across the street she saw two other programs huddled under the tables of a stall, and they saw her. None of the three moved. They didn’t even dare make a sound.

For the first time since its creation, Halcyon’s Souk went silent. The stillness lingered until the light from the Spire abruptly went out. In the sudden, comparative darkness of normal light, a torrential downpour began to fall. Vidi would’ve called it good, if only because it might herald an end to the terror, but some of her eyes were still open, and she got a really good look at that rain before she could help herself.

She put out a shaking hand, and derezzed voxels filled the cup, overflowed it, and trickled down to the street.

The first time Halcyon’s Spire went live, it rained the dead over the city for an entire millicycle.

#tron 1982 #tron evolution #tron uprising #tron legacy #my writing #fanfiction #original character #fantasy violence #fantasy #sci fi

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janatm · 4 months ago

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blame it on the goose, got you feeling loose, blame it on the tron got you in the zone || BRORGAN

tagging: Morgan Weston & Bree Brown

date & time: October 25-26, 2024 from Friday Night to Saturday Morning

location: Gay Club, Bar, Tattoo Parlor, Party Bus, Hummer Limousine, who knows where else, Morgan's Ranch

warnings: excessive drinking, black out runk, mentions of a physical fight, A LOT OF ALCOHOL

summary: Look the only thing anyone needs to know if that Bree and Morgan got white girl wasted and had one hell of an adventure. Cue montage!

word count: 3,785

MORGAN tipped back his glass and set it down with a clink that blended into the buzz of the bar. The neon lights played tricks with his eyes, blurring together, and he couldn’t tell if the room was spinning or if that was just the whiskey. The whole point of this night was supposed to be for Bree to see the wild and untamed side of Morgan that normally never came out. He hadn’t been much for it - he liked being in control of himself, and with enough alcohol in his system, he just knew there’d be none of that. But after a rough week - after the earthquake lockdown - where Morgan had tried his damnedest to communicate about his thoughts and feelings to and with every single person involved in the mess, it had backfired, and he felt the need to let loose and take Bree up on her offer. And here he was, absolutely not in control of himself, due to the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. Dressed in a blue denim shirt, a pair of black jeans and his best boots, Morgan had followed Bree’s orders and in return, she’d kept him entertained. He’d even willingly done a round of karaoke where he absolutely butchered Kenny Roger’s “The Gambler”. Now, standing in the gay club, he could see why she wanted him in the country get-up; it was a cowboy-themed night and everyone was dressed up. He was thankful he hadn’t put on his best rodeo attire, otherwise he probably would’ve gotten nominated for ‘best costume’. Morgan glanced around the bar, taking in the warmth of the crowded space. Strangers laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world, couples swaying like no one was watching, and Bree, with that fierce and steady look that she was known for. He was swaying lightly, and his cowboy hat was lost somewhere, but he turned towards her, a dopey smile on his lips. “D’ya have a cigarette?”

BREE had started planning this night since the moment Morgan agreed to let her drag him around where her little heart desired and she was taking full advantage. As she knew this would likely never happen again. So far, everything was perfect, they were killing it as cowgirl Barbie and cowboy Ken, the shopping, fruitful, the food, delicious, the karaoke pre-game, efficient. And Morgan hadn't complained more than twice about any of it. Now, she didn't know what exactly this man was going through to get him out with her tonight, and she wasn't about to ask but she really hoped she was succeeding at keeping his mind of it. But looking at her tall friend, shrouded in the neon lights of the cowboy themed gay club, she thought maybe she was doing exactly that, and she allowed herself a celebratory cocktail to celebrate her continued success. As she was keepin him plied with good whiskey, she wasn't surprised to see a grin on his face as he turned to her, swaying with all the rhythm she expected from a 6'5 white man. Processing his question, as she was a few drinks in herself, she shook her head. Reaching into her bag she pulled out a ziploc bag and held it up in front of their faces. "I have a lollipop, a toothpick and some hay." Had she come prepared, of course, not because she knew he'd ask for a cigarette but because cowboys chew on things, she's seen a western or two. So, it only made sense. Pointing at the mechanical bull being set up on it's on stage, ziploc bag swaying as she did, she got very excited. "We're going to ride that, but I think we both need at least three more drinks and one more Cowboy Carter remix first." Finally handing him the plastic bag, she chugged the rest of her cocktail and then poured them both two shots of rum.

MORGAN couldn’t help but chuckle at Bree’s enthusiasm. She was beaming, and he knew she was working harder than she let on to keep him from spiraling. He took the Ziploc bag from her, holding it up to the neon light like he was inspecting a treasure. "You really came prepared, huh?" he drawled, smiling down at her. "But I ain’t chewin’ on hay unless I’ve got a horse nearby.” Bree’s energy was contagious - at least enough to drag a grin out of him every time she spun another crazy plan. “Cowboy Carter remix, huh?” he echoed, shaking his head. “Well, you do know how to keep a man entertained, I’ll give you that.” He pulled the lollipop from the bag, unwrapping it and tucking it in the corner of his mouth, the feel of it familiar and steadying, and it dulled the need for that cigarette temporarily. It was a small comfort, but it was something to focus on other than the whirlwind of feelings he kept pushing down with every drink. Eva, Puck, Serena - they were still there in his mind, their faces clear even in the blur of the club. And he wasn’t sure if he was drinking to forget them or to gather the courage to face it all head-on. But Bree? She was like a compass, dragging him through this mess with the kind of loyalty he didn’t feel he deserved but was damn grateful for. But as he set the empty glass down, he let his gaze wander to the mechanical bull in the corner of the club, and he started reconsidering the whole compass metaphor. Bree was right; he needed three more drinks to get on that thing - at least! “D’ya want me to injure my shoulder again?” he asked, his voice light and jokey, but his words slurring. He’d only just gotten over it after all. “Or d’ya just want me to relive my youthful days?”

BREE nodded, very pleased with herself. "I am always prepared. Surprising me is an Olympic sport very few people have medaled in." Currently, Jake was the most likely candidate and that was both something she loved and hated. Not being in control, not knowing someone's next move caused her periodic anxiety but it was also kind of exciting and impressive, which is exactly how she would describe all of her favorite people, especially her man. Drinking some more of her long island ice tea, because she was here to get drunk and ride a bull, she looked damn hear offended at Morgan's comment. "Entertaining is but one of my many talents, mister." Uh oh, no mister, we've officially passed tipsy into stage one drunk. Which involved a lot of dancing mostly. Taking note of his words, she made a mental note, that she would probably forget in the morning, that he only chewed hay around horses, and clearly prefered lollipops over toothpicks, so she'd be sure to carry more of those in the future for him. While she was hear to encourage every questionable decision, including processed sugars, a literal cigarette? Like it's 1926? Ew. Now in a couple more shots, she might be smoking a cigarette with him. God help her. At that thought she spotted a hype as fuck, what looked like, a 30th birthday party, gravitating toward them. She had no time to answer his questions, okay, there were more pressing matters, like "Shots!" She yelled at Morgan before taking both of hers, barely feeling the burn of the spiced liquor. Then the party were floating by and Bree tapped one of them on the shoulder. "Can I buy that off you?" She asked taking out her wallet and handing them a fifty dollar bill. The person looked at her and gladly handed over the glittery hot pink boa and Bree tipped her white cowboy hat at them. And like a sign from the heaven's Beyone's Sweet Honey Buckin' came on. Going over to Morgan she told him to stand still before throwing the boa over his shoulders around his neck. Still holding the ends, she started to dance because it's a fucking Cowboy Carter song. "You're still in your youth, big guy. So move those horse riding hip and act like it!"

MORGAN was feeling the whiskey in his veins, and it wasn’t whispering - it was shouting, urging him to let loose in a way he hadn’t since Montana. When Bree threw the hot pink boa around his neck, he blinked once, twice, like he was trying to process what exactly just happened. But the room was spinning, not in a dizzy way, but in a way that made him feel like maybe he could actually catch the momentum if he just went with it. “Now hold on,” he slurred, his grin spreading like wildfire. “This- this is new territory, Bree.” He tugged the boa experimentally, laughing - a deep, booming laugh that felt like it belonged to a different Morgan, one not bogged down by all the worries in his head. The beat picked up, and he could feel Bree pulling at the boa, urging him to move. The way she was dancing, carefree and fearless, made him realize he’d been worrying about every things for too long, and it was nice to finally let go. “Alright, alright!” he hollered back, throwing up his hands. The whiskey was hot in his blood, the lights were blurring, and Morgan felt the weight of everything he’d been carrying lift. He stumbled into the beat, swaying awkwardly at first, but then finding his rhythm with a looseness that only several shots of whiskey could bring out. “You want hips?” he slurred, voice booming in playful defiance. “You got hips!” He rolled his shoulders back and dipped his knees, throwing in a slow grind. Morgan found himself throwing caution to the wind. Maybe it was the liquor, or the lights, or the wildness of the moment, but he grabbed the ends of the boa from Bree’s hands and twirled, almost knocking over a table in the process. He swayed, he stumbled, he shimmied - his cowboy boots dragging across the floor in a not-at-all elegant attempt at dancing. “Okay, Bree!” he hollered, stumbling as he tried to keep up with Bree’s dancing. “One more shot and then- ” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the mechanical bull. “Then I’m ridin’ that damn bull!”

BREE doesn't think she has ever smiled so much and so genuinely. Well, she has, but in this moment, she was convinced this was the most fun two people could ever have. Smiling as Morgan started to let loose, she started yelling, "Yes! Okay, I see you! Look at all that!" In the most joyfully supportive tone, as Morgan sort of moved to the beat. It was fun and that was the point. As he took control of the boa and almost knocked over a table, she laughed and danced with him. Then she was looking in the direction of his finger and agreeing to another shot. "Damn right you are, Cowboy!" That was pretty much that last of what she remembered. From there on out it was bits and pieces. It was lights, and the thump thump thump of the bass. It was pushing through sweaty dancing bodies to hit the side of the inflatable... pool, mat thing, surrounding the mechanical bull to catch you. Smart. Most of that was only remembered because Bree must have insisted they got it on video because they rewatched the footage of them killin' it. Well, she wouldn't know if that was true until she watched it sober. Maybe it just seemed like twenty seconds because drunk time was not sober time. Then not much, and BAM they're at a bar. Maybe it was the same club but maybe it wasn't the lights were more red and less purple/pink and the music, that was different too. Morgan ordered their drinks and Bree was distracted by a bachelorette party and talking to the bride-to-be. Yelling? Everyone turned at the damn near scretching and god dammit, Morgan. He was letting this lady lowkey beat his ass. Then Bree seemingly completed the shorted teleportation route and was yanking on hair and they were both yelling obscenities at each other. Bree must have won because the other chick got thrown out and she was high fiving that bachelorette party. Thankfully Lauren, the bride-to-be, caught it all on her phone and sent it to Bree. Unfortunately, Bree would forget who Lauren was by morning. There's a little chill outside, maybe that's because they were sticking their head out of the roof of a hummer limo. What happened to the party bus? Why were they in a tattoo parlor? Oh my God, Bree is holding Morgan's hand. Wait, how did she end up in the chair? "Come near my flawless skin with that needle and I will sue you so bad, you're great grandchilden will still be paying what you owe me!" Unsurprisingly that got them kicked out. Still she was laughing and it was good.

MORGAN's memory was swimming through messy, brightly colors. The neon lights of the club pulsed purple, then red, then a blinding blue as they danced. Then, there were flashing camera lights, the bass still thumping in his chest, and people cheering him on, while he threw one arm into the air, waving the boa like a lasso before nearly toppling over a table again. Fast forward - he barely remembered actually getting on the bull, but there was the feeling of Bree’s hand in his, dragging him toward the beast like he was headed for some kind of showdown. The crowd was cheering, their faces blurry, and the next thing he knew, he was gripping the bull’s handle for dear life, swaying wildly. The memory snapped forward to a new location. A red-lit bar? No idea where they were, but the whiskey was still flowing, and Morgan went to grab another round when a woman turned her attention on him. She’d been talking with her hands a lot - he must've done or said something wrong, because before he knew it, she was punching him in the nose. He didn’t realize that Bree was in the middle of it, pulling her hair, but he could feel Bree’s voice piercing through the chaos, shouting at the top of her lungs. He blinked and then he was outside - was he outside? The cool night air hit like a wake-up slap as he and Bree popped their heads through the sunroof of a limo. The streetlights blurred into streaks, and then all a sudden, they were somewhere new; the tattoo parlor. He had no idea how they’d ended up there, but he was laying in the chair on his side, his shirt splayed out somewhere else, watching Bree threaten the poor tattoo artists. Next thing he knew, his shirt was being thrown into his face and they were ushered out of the place. Morgan stumbled back out with her, clutching his stomach as he laughed. “Bree, you’re a menace,” he mumbled, leaning up against the building, as he took the lollipop stick from earlier out of his pocket and popped it into his mouth. "It's been fun!"

THE NEXT MORNING

BREE felt a thousand little pokes on her back as she shifted to sit up. The morning sun peaking through her windows, with a brightness only seen just after sunrise. Wait, no. No, this was not her place. It smelled like wood and grass. Was she outside? Letting her eyes focus, she looked around her and she was laying in a bed of... is that hay? On cue, she hears a soft crunching sound and looking up, there was a horse hovering over her. She was in a god damn barn, sleeping in front of a horses stable. While her head didn't hurt, it also wasn't giving her any indication on when, why and how she was where she was. Slowly getting up, she hears what sounded like mummering and on the off chance she was kidnapped by criminals dumb enough to leave her unrestrained, she grabbed a rake off the barn wall and carefully made her way toward the sound. A huge sense of relief washed over her when she saw it was a sleeping Morgan. Suddenly she understood she was at his Ranch. Stilling didn't know the why or how. Slamming the non rake part down on the floor by her foot, like it was a trident, she sighed before bending down to shake Morgan awake. "Wake up before you become the butt of every joke in your employee's group chat." She said louder than she knew she needed to. Looking down at herself, there was hay everywhere, and pink flowers and god help her, glitter. Trying to clean herself up, she looked over at one of the horses noticing her bag around it's neck. Petting and soothing the horse she slipped her bag over it's head and took out her phone.

MORGAN was sprawled out in the hay, still wearing the remnants of last night’s wild wardrobe, complete with that glittery pink boa around his neck like some kind of lasso gone wrong. The sunlight felt like it was setting his brain on fire through closed eyes, but he could hear the faint sounds of movement nearby - a muffled scrape and something that sounded like an angry sigh. He groaned, half expecting the walls around him to start spinning again as he peeled one eye open. “Ohhh, hell,” he muttered, blinking up at Bree, who was looming over him with a rake like she’d come to drag him out of the barn herself. Her hair was laced with hay and glitter, and he could swear there was a flower petal or two stuck to her cheek. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Now, that’s a look, Bree,” he drawled, voice rough as sandpaper. “You got the barn chic down." Morgan sat up, running a hand through his hair and feeling a handful of straw come out with it. He glanced down at himself - glitter, hay, a few mystery bruises he couldn’t place. He remembered...some things from last night, but specifics were a little harder to nail down. Sitting up, Morgan leaned back against the stable door, the sight of the ranch slowly coming into focus around him. Last night’s laughter seemed to echo faintly in his ears, but here they were, back in the barn, and it was morning. “Any clue how we ended up here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

BREE was glad he had gotten up easily and didn't seem to be doing too bad. Of course, he was still sitting down and the getting up seemed to be more of an issue for people. Naturally, she rarely got hungover and even the few times she had, a decent breakfast and some water usually got her back to normal. Laughing a little, as he ended up with a handful of straw. Looking him over, now that he was in clearer view, she noticed he looked like he got his ass beat and that greatly confused her. Perching herself on top of a barrel of hay, she shook her head. "No, but I also don't know whose socks are on my feet or where my shoes are." Looking at her phone again, she went through her texts and show like ten messages from a BRIDE (Lauren ??) and what looked like 15 new videos and a seemingly infinite amount of photos. "Well, at least our night was well documented." She said, holding her phone up to his face and scrolling all the way back up to her camera roll. "A couple of these texts from, I guess a bride we met, are videos." Holding her phone between them, she pressed play on the first video and it starts with Morgan catching hands from some pissed off chick and then Bree lunging at her and full on grabbing her by the hair, calling her a little bitch, among other things. When the video ended, Bree just looked at Morgan. "I don't even want to know what the other video is." Although it looked like it was just Morgan and Bree talking to the camera.

MORGAN blinked, squinting at Bree’s phone screen as the video started playing, catching flashes of neon lights, laughter, and way too many close-ups of their flushed, tipsy faces. The clip showed him swaying a little too close to the camera, Bree in the background with her arm thrown around his neck, both of them grinning like fools. In the chaos of the bar, he stumbled back after some girl’s punch - her reason unclear, but Bree immediately charged in, fists ready. He winced, half-amused, half-sheepish, touching his sore nose. “Didn’t think I’d end up in a brawl last night, but if I got you as backup, I guess I can take a punch or two.” He grinned as she clicked on the next video. Morgan chuckled, scratching the back of his neck as he watched the blurry, chaotic clips. “Yeah,” He started slowly, wincing. “It might be best if we avoid that place for a while. We’ve definitely left our mark.”

BREE putting her phone back in her bag, for now, crossed her legs and tried to see if those videos would job her memory. But they didn't, and then she just stared at Morgan, half destroyed feather boa still around his neck, hay and glitter everywhere and she couldn't even remember what place they had been at in those videos to avoid it. The only place she remembered was the very first club they went to but after about five drinks she can't remember that one either. Without any warning, she just bust out into full body laughter. Muscle memory told her she had done this a few times last night too, but it felt good. So much of her laugh was far too heavy to also carry laughter. Usually the only person she could get like this with, was Jake and they had been too heavy lately for either of them. Last night was suppose to be for Morgan to feel lighter, to let go, let loose and just have fun. It never even occurred to her that, that's exactly what she needed to. Her laughter dying down, but a smile still firmly on her face, she wrapped her arms around the cowboy, even if the angle made it a bit awkward, and hugged him. Suddenly, she pulled away so confused by his scent. "Why do you smell like hot sauce and gasoline?"

#character tag ( bree brown )#threads ( bree brown )#bree ( ft. morgan weston )

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