Hyperlexia

Saturday night, shot rang out; add one to the body count

Ahaha so yeah remember those priorities I mentioned?

OTL

Round-robining off of Kat’s Pre-Evo Tronfic, here’s 1700 more words of pre-Evo Gridcop drama.  Less feels, more CSI action, guest starring these guys here:

A/N: Contains minor references to events seen in Tron: Uprising, and to my previous fic False Light.

One More Murder

One more murder in this town

Don’t mean a thing, you get accustomed to the sound

One more murder in this town

Just block off the street and wrap the crime scene tape around

——————————

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The Black Parade 03

tehkittykat:

After Some Other Beginning’s End and I Can’t Decide.

Sleepwalking

“Listen, you glitch-ridden malware, if you don’t get it together I will personally extract your subroutines through your nostrils. Get up,  you user-deleted bit-brain.”

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Hot damn that’s TWO IN THE SPACE OF FIVE MINUTES.  I love my dash today.

Fanfiction - TRON: Invasion, Chapter 1

numb3r5ev3n:

Title: TRON: INVASION
Rating: T for now, may or may not progress to M eventually.
Synopsis: TRON/Blade Runner Fanfic. It’s 2021, the Tyrell Corporation attempts a hostile takeover of Encom, and the Grid is caught in the crossfire.
Disclaimer: Neither Disney nor Ridley Scott are half as scary as the Tyrell Corporation; nevertheless, neither TRON nor Blade Runner belong to me.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: As with most of my fics, this was inspired by a dream I had; in this case, one that occurred the night after my second viewing of TRON: Legacy. It’s technically a crossover with Blade Runner; some of the characters in the dream were characters from my Blade Runner fic, which is still WIP (a little of it can be seen over on my LJ.) The two storylines got all caught up together to the point where I really couldn’t extricate them.

…

The Grid was free once again after Clu’s downfall. And for a while, everything was good.
The programs that populated the Grid knew little of the changes that were sweeping the real world, even as Sam Flynn enacted his own changes upon the Grid. Given new space to grow within the confines of the new system Sam imported it to, it did so exponentially. Whereas Tron City had once been the dominant settlement – and indeed, the only settlement after the fall of Arjia city and Bostrum Colony – new cityscapes sprang up to occupy this vast new territory, connected together by winding highways and deep channels of luminous data.

Sam and Quorra shared administration of the new Grid, Grid 3.0. And once Tron was recovered, he gladly took up his protective duties. The games were reinstated, restored to the conditions under which they’d functioned before Clu had corrupted them. Existence within the Grid began to settle into a peaceful rhythm as the cycles passed.

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…how on earth did I miss this.  Well done!

Can’t Decide

tehkittykat:

I have no idea where this might be going, but it’s definitely clutching a first-class ticket to crazytown.

This might be it or it might be a prologue, I can’t decide. Roughly in-universe with Some Other Beginning’s End.

I Can’t Decide

“Beck, this is suicide.”

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Yes sir I like it.

Oh Kat, how sorely I have missed your fic.  I know you’ve got like 3 other major series cooking, but I do hope you continue this one, too.

Fanfic: Snips and Snails and Puppy Dogs’ Tails

dw-t:

Read the fic on AO3

My (not so) secret Santa fic for userkaydee!

I’m very sorry it’s a day (and a half) late. :( Work and real life has been insane lately. But hopefully the fact that it’s been delivered by Christmas eve will help. \o/ Hope you enjoy, and happy holidays!

Summary:

“Unc’an?”

The blubbery sound was the only preface to the trespasser launching itself at Tron. This time, though, he did not attempt an attack, aborted or not - in fact, he was lucky his disc had not simply slipped from his fingers. As fresh sobs began to rise from the leg it had attached itself to, Tron stared down in mute horror and croaked, “SamFlynn?”

Oh god Tron you poor thing.  Also bitty!Sam sdfjhfks.  Also also GIBSON you troll.  Perfect system.

Secret Santa for Iceeyu!

gridholiday2012:

“The guards will see!” Tron hissed urgently, trying to stay quiet. His heuristics roared threat threat threat threat threat at him, even though he knew the little actuary was a friend; he’d never been designed to interface with anyone but Yori, and such close contact kept coming across as combat rather than pleasure. Ram just laughed, low and quiet, and placed a kiss on his shoulder which touched off another set of warning messages.

Then Ram licked his way down to the small of his back, and pleasure won out. Tron groaned, arching back against his friend, the stress of the Games suddenly forgotten. Even the ozone stink of the forcefield faded into the background, and the cold ones and zeros of the prisoner’s bench — images of happier times danced through his memory, each accompanied by the faint scratching sound of Disc access.

Yori. Always Yori, but Ram, too. This wasn’t the first time (he remembered the first time, all desperate fumbling, two pairs of interface subroutines which didn’t quite mesh), and he knew it wouldn’t be the last (he remembered the last time, too, a light-hearted encounter which had left them both giggling on the floor). He snapped back to reality to find Ram on his knees, smirking up at him from beneath his mop of hair. Such a clever program, really: Tron was sure he’d never been programmed for this, anymore than he’d been designed to beat Sark’s men at jai alai. But Ram’s knowing tongue ran along the circuits at his groin, enveloping each in wet heat, and Tron knew — he knew — that the Users had intended both of them for more than just the obvious.

He swallowed a groan, biting the inside of his mouth to keep from crying out. He doubted the rainbow-guards would do anything but laugh if they were caught… but this way it was another game, another small victory Tron could take from them. He lived for that, lived for every moment because there was nothing else to live for in the cells, and — he gasped as Ram paused to suckle at the circuits that burned low on his belly — and he wanted to live, not least because Alan-One asked it of him.

He dropped his hand, tugging it through Ram’s hair, and then slid it down the circuits at his neck. They were starting to run violet, just like Tron’s own, and for a long nano he felt nothing but their pulsing, living warmth beneath his hand. Then Ram gasped and pressed against him, heat against heat. Full interface. Tron’s body jerked against the bench, his knees folding beneath him. They fell back with an oath — was it “Roy” that Ram growled as they went? — and for an instant they shone far brighter than the forcefields, brighter than Sark, brighter than the MCP himself.

Then the light faded. Tron reached up to ruffle Roy’s hair, releasing a weary, happy chuckle. Ram just sighed and curled against him on the bench, as if for warmth.

“Thanks,” Ram murmured at last. “I needed that.”

“Me, too,” Tron said, and all the while he thought: one day I’m getting out of here… and when I do I want you with me, Ram.

Reblogging as a favor to Grey, who deserves mad props for giving Ram some violet-circuited love for once!

As the walls are closing in, and the colors fade to black…

Right, so, I totally have like 5 other things that should have been higher priority on my writing list than this thing.

God damn you, Uprising.

(MAJOR SPOILERS FOR TRON: UPRISING S1 E13 - THE STRANGER.  BE YE WARNED.)

Only What You Take With You

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And when our crazy-ass asses play, our crazy-ass asses tend ta leave a trail a mile wide

It’s 3:00 in the morning, and this is entirely Turk’s fault. 

(Read the original HERE.  Please.  For your own sanity and mine.)

And now fo’ some shiznit COMPLETELY DIFFERENT!

I know what tha fuck yo ass all is thankin.  Crack, muthafucka!  Fluff, muthafucka!  Fluff n’ crack, muthafucka!  By Exposizzle Fairy, muthafucka!  DOES NOT COMPUTE!, muthafucka!  But no, it’s real, guys.  Sweartogod. Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I can only hope yo ass all have as much funk readin these lil drabbletz as I had writin them.

I had ta do SOMETHING ta make up fo’ No Dope Deed (A/N 12/06/12: I CAN’T EVEN OH GOD).

(Lyrics quoted come from dis cold lil’ woo wop by Leslie Fish n’ tha Dehorn Crew.)

Banned From Argo

When our crazy-ass asses pulled tha fuck into Argo Port up in need of R&R

Our crew set up investigatin every last muthafuckin joint n’ bar

Our thugged-out asses had high expectationz of they hospizitizzleitizzle

But found, too late, it wasn’t geared ta spacers like fuckin we!

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In a Strange Land ch. 3

tehkittykat:

Hey, this fic still exists!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

 [statuscheck]

“’M fine, man. Stop fussing,” Kevin said, rolling his eyes as Anon did the thing at him again.

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Oh my god you’ve got Zuse nailed.  Also Flynn getting plastered and sulking about Tron railroading him.  Bless you and this ‘verse, Kat.

Domestic (take two) ch 4

tehkittykat:

Yup. Still horrible.

0100

For some time, things are calm. Rinzler learns the patterns of the house, the careful dance his Users execute to ensure that one of them is with him at all times. He learns Alan-One’s runs before light cracks the sky open. He learns Lora’s first cup of tea on the porch. Endless communiques. Weeding. RKleinburg—Ram—Roy and his sporadic visits, bearing some arcane device that immediately arrests all motion in favor of shutting away in Alan-One’s workspace and long discussions with Sam_Flynn over broadcast that can only imperfectly be overheard.

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I adored this chapter the first time around (for reasons that should have been obvious to everyone).  Seeing it from Tronzler’s POV this time just makes it that much better.  Your handling of his alien-in-a-strange-world situation continues to be fantastic, and as I said in chat, I loved the seamless transition into the dream sequence.  This made my day.

I will not fall, won’t let it go; we will be free when it ends…

Particularly savvy readers may be able to guess where I’m going with this one from the title alone.  (For those who were sadly deprived in your high-school literature classes, a link to the source that inspired this ficlet will be provided at the end of the story, because seriously, everyone should read it.)

For Grey_SW, even though she never asked for it.

An Occurrence

He’d been so close.

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How I hesitated, now I wonder why…

So yeah this is really terrible and I still completely hate it but if I don’t man up and post it now I never will.

Partially inspired by a conversation I had aaaaaages ago with TehKittyKat, to give credit where credit is due.  Can be read as the first part of a trilogy along with False Light and The Shape of Things to Come, but it stands perfectly well on its own.

Quote at the beginning of the fic is from The Last Unicorn, by Peter S. Beagle, lyrics are from “Brand New Day” by Joss Whedon and Neil Patrick Harris.

Event Horizon

This appeared as a moral dilemma
‘Cause at first, it was weird
Though I swore to eliminate
The worst of the plague that devoured humanity
It’s true: I was vague on the “how”
So how can it be that you
Have shown me the light?

——————————

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Sweet denial, take your leave, you must have others to decieve; I’m so tired of drifting backwards standing still

Ahh, posting fic at ass-thirty in the morning.  It’s like old times!

For Winzler, who wanted a look at Lora trying to deal with Flynn’s disappearance.  Set in the Symbiosis!verse, immediately following No Comment.

Unforgivable

1990

——————————

Alan is finally asleep, thank God for small favors.  Lora is not.

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And if you think you’ve won, you never saw me change the game that we have been playing…

/dons kevlar vest

Come on, you guys, you really ought to know what to expect from me by now. Put down the shotguns.

(Inspired by a chat conversation with my dear friend Smiley_Anon)

Warning: Rated S for SPOILERS!! of the Uprising variety, specifically for Scars II.

Samaritan

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Acting on impulse without any thought; ignoring the lessons our precursors sought

Bringing my spookiest fics back for the holiday while I write some new ones!  Happy Halloween, Tronblr <3

This Isn’t Happening

This isn’t happening.

The thought has been repeating itself in Clu’s mind ever since Flynn’s lightcycle first began to yaw and wobble as they drove back from the Sea, skipping and stuttering over and over in an endless loop as his User veers and finally crashes, voxels splashing against the rocks.  He clings to it like a mantra as he pulls his bike to a shrieking halt and rushes to Flynn’s side.

This isn’t happening.

The User—his User, his Creator—is screaming and writhing, and as badly as Clu wants to believe it’s only from injuries sustained in the crash, he knows what’s really causing it.  He can see the black slime on Flynn’s hands and clothes spreading, crawling, disintegrating fabric, eating into his flesh.

This isn’t happening.

He hadn’t even flinched when Flynn had waded into the contaminated water.  Flynn was a User, and he hadn’t created the virus to harm Users.  Only to prevent the Sea from spawning more ISOs—practically viroid in their own right, as far as Clu was concerned—and of course any ISO stupid enough to touch the water would probably meet a rather unpleasant end.  He’d been so careful, dammit, unwilling to accept anything less than perfection in his engineering before he’d released it into the Sea.

This isn’t happening.

He drops to his knees at Flynn’s side, tearing at the remains of his clothing, trying to get the contaminated fabric off of his User’s body, but it’s too late.  The virus is flowing up his neck with liquid, undisciplined speed, across his face, into his eyes.

“No…NO!”

Flynn screams again, a distorted, accusing howl, and Clu stumbles back, his face a mask of horror.  Flynn actually seems to be melting now, swirling flashes of yellow-green light twisting through the black like the sheen on an oil spill, and Clu can’t look anymore.

This isn’t happening.

Finally the screams die down into choked gurgles, and then silence altogether.  Clu remains frozen on his knees, back turned, shaking so hard he fears he’ll shake himself apart if it doesn’t stop soon.  Surely Flynn isn’t dead.  He can’t be.  Clu would never have created something that could concievably harm his creator.  This is a waking nightmare, brought on by the stress of trying to hold the Grid together and watching Flynn crash.  When he turns, Flynn will be there, scraped and banged up and possibly unconscious, but otherwise perfectly whole and alive.  If he could just get himself to turn…

Razor-sharp claws suddenly close around Clu’s calf, piercing and burning, and Clu screams.

This isn’t happening.

(Source: expositionfairy)