Yet another smallish fandom I’m in that I hate seeing bad edits for: Tron.
sdjgkhfg that first one
/sobs into hypothetical vodka
Expo, 32, freelance film and video editor and professional nerd living in the Pacific northwest.
Whaaaaa! :D It is so cute!
“When I said I wanted something to read, this wasn’t what I had mind,” Sam said, looking up from the pile of books that Quorra had draped over him. Fuck, why did his leg have to be in a cast? It made his house-mates three hundred percent worse.
“Well, you didn’t specify,” Quorra said from the open kitchen, where she was mixing the egg wash for french toast with the precision of a chemist. Why were they having french toast? Because his painkiller had come with instructions to eat something when taking, and that happened to be Q’s favorite.
His protestations that it was two in the goddamn morning were met with a pat on the head. He had a feeling the books would be met with the same if she wasn’t distracted, even if the point had been to just have something to stare at until he could sleep.
“Do you want syrup or nutella?” Quorra called, a giggle in her voice as she snuck a glance over at him.
Sam looked sideways at Rinzler, who had taken custody of the prescription bottle when Sam had tried to take the damn pain pill earlier. Rinzler stared back, his chin resting on one hand, before he deliberately plucked a copy of The Martian Chronicles off the book pile.
“Someone has to keep you out of trouble,” Rinzler proclaimed. Sam groaned.
Kat, you are a national treasure. <3
That feeling you get when you’re working in photoshop and then your cat/dog/ferret/youngersibling jumps onto your desk and walks over your keyboard and causes your computer to FREEZE BEFORE YOU HAD A CHANCE TO SAVE YOUR WORK!!!!
A more perfect representation of the trademarked Tronzler Bitchface I have seldom seen.
To be honest I totally expected this eye-open shot (which was spoiled in the Lightbike Battle music video) to be the final shot of the episode. As cliffhangers go, I’d have been a lot happier with it if they’d actually gone that way :\
It took time for the unfinished repurpose to take hold.
He had been putting it off for so long, acknowledging it. The creeping dark orange sour tasting fever, it was crawling in him, aching in his head. He didn’t tell beck. Didn’t tell him about his aching fever dreams so clear so crisp so raw…
but the dreams came all the same. Sick twisting yearning nightmares, he killed beck so many times in them; killed him in his blazing white light borrowed image… The dreams, fantasies. Nightmares…. Whatever they were, he didn’t know what brought them on. One moment he’d be standing there, watching that younger slighter simpler mirror image training and he would be proud, so proud, of how he saw himself in beck’s eyes; in his gestures and his dedication, and then there would be crawling burning aching orange glowing anger and a taste like broken data on his tongue, sour in his throat and his skin itched under scars that were no longer there. And he would think, not in words, not in real understandable thoughts, but in a surging onslaught of images of broken pixels spilling spilling on the floor… He would think of killing. He thought of killing and all of the world would go dark, dark black and orange and so much yellow and he could taste the salty sweet of murder and he -loved it so very much—
and one day it happened that the nightmares turned to daydreams and the half finished infection spread . .. and beck heard a sound. He heard something and turned and found tron buckled against that sorry wall with his helmet down and his body buckled and all that came from him was some sick and wretched wordless glitching sound and beck said: “tron?” but the coiled twisted seething black clad creature before him only went from white to orange and corrected: “Rinzler”.
YES, THIS, GOOD
Bless you, Ridyr.
I expect an explosion of this sort of thing in the next week or two, fandom.
My brain needs to fucking STOP with the hijacking, I swear.
As the door shut behind Clu, Dyson faced the new program Clu had left for him to double-check the security routines on, to make sure his new enforcer functioned properly. The program had stepped forward, rattle emanating from the suit, grasped Dyson’s arm, and Dyson had futilely tried to scrabble back, to release himself from the program’s grip when it had demasked. Tron’s dead eye stared back at him, scelera hexed in red, and a smile that brought Clu’s last comment into full horrifying clarity.
“See ya around, man. End of Line.”
If the show doesn’t give me what I want, I know at least I have you guys <3
I couldn’t let it keep sucking, okay?
Lora skinned out of her coat, humming softly to herself.
…within my black heart lies the shriveled remains of a terrible sap, and one of the things I enjoy most about this series is watching how physically comfortable Rinzler is becoming with both Alan and Lora. ;_;
Tronzler, why does your life suck?
Rinzler tugged halfheartedly at the safety strap in the User-transport—car—and finally managed to get it into a position in which it was not cutting into his shoulder.
Also god help me but I really want a sidestory detailing the Incident With The Robots, now…
For an intelligence program, Jarvis never trusted curiosity. He had the Grid covered, sure enough, smoked out enough spies for Clu to elevate him to his personal guard, but that was plain being methodical. He knew where /not/ to tread as well as where to poke, so he never asked, for example, what ‘smoked out’ meant.
Not within Clu’s earshot.
He only broke his resolve once, when he was still a data pusher of a lowly rank; work had taken him to Rinzler’s chamber and because he /could/, he pushed the plates aside that kept the idling program suspended in his pod. Then, emboldened because nothing happened, he tapped the helmet to dissolve.
He never really sorted what happened next. His tablet clattered and his yelp was lost in the echo of the noise it made, sliding under some anonymous Blackguard’s pod. He made to retrieve it but first - or later? he must’ve done it at /some/ point, or he would’ve been found out - he drew the black glass of Rinzler’s helmet back to its place, and the plates, and the shackles that kept the program in when he wasn’t needed. That he did it without triggering alarms was a point of pride he’d never get to share.
Not that he minded, really, because he needed no reminders of the shattered eyes or the lurid, frozen grin.
…and finally someone writes it.
He slides on dead voxels, falling to his knees beside her. Her eyes are focused on something very far away, calm blue light of her circuits fading out as the cracks spread and merge and she falls apart. Destabilizing. Derezzing.
He does not know her designation. He does not know why she is worth the treason of derezzing the entire unit of Black Guard. He does not know… there is only the feeling that something infinitely precious is gone forever.
Too late, too late, always too late and he doesn’t have the voice to scream the denial that makes him tremble as he reaches for her. It’s slow. She’s too well-coded to die so quickly. He rests his fingers on the one undamaged circuit on her chest as gently as he can, overrides safety and restrictions alike to feed her power.
She is looking at him now, eyes glittering, and her lips move before she smiles wanly.
He leans down— he can’t hear her over the skipping, rattling noise. Her cooling subroutines are going, breath just the faintest tickle against his cheek, but her wavering hand finds the undamaged side of his face. He cannot remember derezzing the helmet. It doesn’t matter. He closes his eyes as he covers her hand with his own.
He can save her. He has to save her. He will bleed himself before he lets her go, even if he does not know why.
“Look at me,” she breathes.
He can’t. Even the rumbling hitches for a moment.
It is not his name. He opens his eyes anyway.
She smiles, even though it widens the hair-thin lines of light creeping now over her face.
“I love you.”
The energy transfer isn’t working, critical errors propagating faster than her self-repair can compensate, and he is brought up short when moments later his access is denied. She is derezzing and she is locking him out. The whirring has a horrible keening edge as he tries to re-open the connection.
She closes her eyes and sighs, her faint smile never wavering. Not even at the end.
When he can finally bring himself to leave the faded, darkened voxels behind, he is certain of something, new knowing that makes his circuits burn the same blue of hers.
They are all going to die.
I…hardly even know what to say.