Shifting gears.
Maybe it's the upcoming combination of two finals in less than 9 hours plus the prospect of going home plus other aspects of RL that I really don't want to think about unless I want to start panicking but my brain's already shifting gears and laying off all that goddamn porn. It's a good thing I decided to stop claiming prompts because the list I have right now is ridiculous enough and it's not helping me prepare for any kind of sequel.
Jesus Christmas, the sequel. I'm actually writing a goddamn sequel to a goddamn story of a certain goddamn length with a goddamn plot. When was the last time I was in this situation? Oh, right, Kingdom Hearts. How well did that go? Not well at all. Then again I spent two years writing the original story so I guess it's understandable that I flamed out. Also the story sucks balls but that's for another time.
I'm still uneasy with the thought of claiming prompts just to write Pilots time stamps. Are the people who prompt them okay with that? I don't want to write something that makes them sadface and all, =(
And now for something completely different - (possible) tidbits of fic that my brain spit out at me during my second final that had me shaking my head constantly the last 20 minutes to get them out of my head because Jesus fuck, self, time and place.
The only thing with this prompt is that someone's already claimed it. Not sure if want to drop off the (mini)fill there if/when I write it.'>
They find out accidentally during a particularly rough session against the wall of an unfinished memory bank tower, when Sam bites his lip so hard trying not to shout that he breaks skin. The blood dribbles down his chin and Tron doesn't notice until it's too late and his tongue sweeps across Sam's split lip. His body shudders violently and his circuits brighten and suddenly Sam has an armful of trembling, oversensitive, and very confused program.
"Let it go. Ixion's a big boy; he can take care of it for a few millicycles-"
"We're talking about a major security breach. I need to be there-"
"You don't," Sam says firmly as the elevator slows to a stop at his floor. "Not while you're so stressed you didn't see the disk until I knocked it out of the way. You're trying to do everything all at once when it's not even your function, man. Not good for you."
"Well I don't see how bringing me here is going to help me relax," Tron mutters as they walk down the hall to Sam and Quorra's loft. "Too far away from the Grid; what if-"
Sam grabs his wrist and squeezes, says, "No what-ifs, okay? Let Ixion do his job; he's been dying to since I ported him in. Just...stop thinking about the Grid for once."
He fishes for his key ring with his free hand and clumsily goes through the keys for the right one, listens to Marvin scrambling across the floor to the door on the other side. Tron still feels tense under his hand, anxious about the situation but Sam's already checked, already made sure Ixion and Enyo and Shaddox and Io and Crystal had it all under control.
For now, the voice in his head whispers but he ignores it.
"I'm not sure sex is going to make me relax," Tron suddenly blurts out and Sam almost drops the keys.
Read at your own risk. Also, oh hey new POV.'>
"Look, son-"
Alan-1 - Alan stops short and frowns at himself. Tron frowns, too; he's never been called that before. He must be slipping. They all are. Tron looks at his knee and rubs the rough denim with the side of his thumb while Alan clears his throat and tries again.
"I must be losing it," he says slowly. "But I guess it's worse for you."
Users-humans-Sam has always been so strong and energetic, so full of life. The pale, bruised person lying in that bed, attached to a million strange machines and breathing only because of something covering his nose and mouth isn't Sam Flynn.
"Tron."
He looks up. Alan looks like he's about to cry, about to break down in the middle of the lobby. Instead he sighs heavily and adjusts his glasses, ignores his cell phone and then shoves his hand in his coat pocket to turn it off.
"Look. You can't-you and Sam can't do this forever. You can't keep crossing over to this world or him to the Grid and have it be okay with the both of you. It's wearing you out. The time difference, the-the fact that he's originally human and you're originally a program I wrote, that he's gonna grow old like me and Flynn and die while you'll live forever...sooner or later it's all gonna go to hell.You know this and he knows this, but you're not doing anything about it. Neither of you. And I can't just stand here and watch you two crash and burn." He walks up to Tron and crouches down in front of him, looks at him with too-familiar gray eyes. "You have to make a choice."
"What choice?"
Alan looks away and Tron leans forward, grabs him by the arm. "Alan, what choice?"
"Come over to our side, the User world. Or let him go."
Jesus Christmas, the sequel. I'm actually writing a goddamn sequel to a goddamn story of a certain goddamn length with a goddamn plot. When was the last time I was in this situation? Oh, right, Kingdom Hearts. How well did that go? Not well at all. Then again I spent two years writing the original story so I guess it's understandable that I flamed out. Also the story sucks balls but that's for another time.
I'm still uneasy with the thought of claiming prompts just to write Pilots time stamps. Are the people who prompt them okay with that? I don't want to write something that makes them sadface and all, =(
And now for something completely different - (possible) tidbits of fic that my brain spit out at me during my second final that had me shaking my head constantly the last 20 minutes to get them out of my head because Jesus fuck, self, time and place.
The only thing with this prompt is that someone's already claimed it. Not sure if want to drop off the (mini)fill there if/when I write it.'>
They find out accidentally during a particularly rough session against the wall of an unfinished memory bank tower, when Sam bites his lip so hard trying not to shout that he breaks skin. The blood dribbles down his chin and Tron doesn't notice until it's too late and his tongue sweeps across Sam's split lip. His body shudders violently and his circuits brighten and suddenly Sam has an armful of trembling, oversensitive, and very confused program.
"Let it go. Ixion's a big boy; he can take care of it for a few millicycles-"
"We're talking about a major security breach. I need to be there-"
"You don't," Sam says firmly as the elevator slows to a stop at his floor. "Not while you're so stressed you didn't see the disk until I knocked it out of the way. You're trying to do everything all at once when it's not even your function, man. Not good for you."
"Well I don't see how bringing me here is going to help me relax," Tron mutters as they walk down the hall to Sam and Quorra's loft. "Too far away from the Grid; what if-"
Sam grabs his wrist and squeezes, says, "No what-ifs, okay? Let Ixion do his job; he's been dying to since I ported him in. Just...stop thinking about the Grid for once."
He fishes for his key ring with his free hand and clumsily goes through the keys for the right one, listens to Marvin scrambling across the floor to the door on the other side. Tron still feels tense under his hand, anxious about the situation but Sam's already checked, already made sure Ixion and Enyo and Shaddox and Io and Crystal had it all under control.
For now, the voice in his head whispers but he ignores it.
"I'm not sure sex is going to make me relax," Tron suddenly blurts out and Sam almost drops the keys.
Read at your own risk. Also, oh hey new POV.'>
"Look, son-"
Alan-1 - Alan stops short and frowns at himself. Tron frowns, too; he's never been called that before. He must be slipping. They all are. Tron looks at his knee and rubs the rough denim with the side of his thumb while Alan clears his throat and tries again.
"I must be losing it," he says slowly. "But I guess it's worse for you."
Users-humans-Sam has always been so strong and energetic, so full of life. The pale, bruised person lying in that bed, attached to a million strange machines and breathing only because of something covering his nose and mouth isn't Sam Flynn.
"Tron."
He looks up. Alan looks like he's about to cry, about to break down in the middle of the lobby. Instead he sighs heavily and adjusts his glasses, ignores his cell phone and then shoves his hand in his coat pocket to turn it off.
"Look. You can't-you and Sam can't do this forever. You can't keep crossing over to this world or him to the Grid and have it be okay with the both of you. It's wearing you out. The time difference, the-the fact that he's originally human and you're originally a program I wrote, that he's gonna grow old like me and Flynn and die while you'll live forever...sooner or later it's all gonna go to hell.You know this and he knows this, but you're not doing anything about it. Neither of you. And I can't just stand here and watch you two crash and burn." He walks up to Tron and crouches down in front of him, looks at him with too-familiar gray eyes. "You have to make a choice."
"What choice?"
Alan looks away and Tron leans forward, grabs him by the arm. "Alan, what choice?"
"Come over to our side, the User world. Or let him go."