#subroutine fic

[subroutine-fic]

"TRON: Ares will feature characters going into the real world"

Tron's biggest issue aside from Disney's horrendous timing (for anniversaries or reboots) and inability to actually promote the IP, is that computers and the very concept of the internet are no longer the mysteries they once were back in the 80s and 90s.

Where TRON failed to capitalize on a very young audience's curiosity about the internet (and technology), things like ReBoot and other series like Digimon, Batman Beyond, and Code Lyoko, occupied that space to different degrees.

(I think TRON 2.0. was in a place to capitalize on my demographic, but the lack of promotion and prerequisite of having to watch the original film was probably a bigger barrier to entry than desirable in the 2000s. Being an FPS probably didn't help either given the era was more third-person or platform-geared.)

I think the growing computer and internet literacy issue hitting later generations rn (intentionally manufactured by tech companies) is something I think a TRON story could use to its advantage. Ain't nobody thinking that deeply, though.

Digital characters entering the real world was always an idea I thought shattered the suspension of disbelief for an already out-there concept. That TRON: Legacy never actually got the chance to execute that goofiness was a blessing in disguise.

Alas, Disney's obsession with pushing IP in directions that don't suit it remains steadfast.

[synnthamonsugar]

DESTINYTOBER: Day 2 - Tower

. . .

Sometimes the tower rests on a dark plain at the foot of the mountains. Sometimes, it rises from the rubble of the destroyed Last City, the debris fields of the Reef, or the Golden Age ruins of Venus, or a hundred other locations throughout time, real or imagined.

Today the tower cracks through the fields of Rathmore Chaos, ice sheets upturned to it from its violent eruption. The Pyramid hovers above, basking it in coils of red-orange energy, the darkened outline of Juptier behind.

Elsie is opposed by an army of three. The Guardian is flashy in their use of stasis, but she is able to parry their verglas daggers, evade their rime-encrusted fists, getting the upper hand with a foot sweep that drops them to the ground and allows her to drive an icy polearm straight through their chestplate. She lodges a knife into the eye of their Ghost when it arrives for the rez. 

No sooner than, the Drifter flanks her from a distance, pistol aimed. Tumbling, she dodges his shots before drawing her own rifle from a kneeling stance, a burst of rounds dropping him on the spot. His ghost attempts to change her, but she catches it midair, its sharp flanges thrashing against her until its eye gives way under the pressure of her fist. Metal crumples and glass shatters and she throws it aside. 

When Eris Morn arrives she's more human than Elsie has ever seen her, two dark eyes exposed, full lips bent into an almost-smile. Elsie thinks of negotiating but the thought disappears when Eris attacks, first with the Light, then soulfire to stasis to resonance. As she does, she physically transforms — from human to what most people would recognize her as, to something like a hive knight as chitin engulfs her body. She grows in size and ferocity as she takes on her hive-god form, before chitin peels away revealing the sleek blood-slick body of a Disciple, three eyes like spotlights beating down on Elsie as she runs from beams of resonance that crater the ice like shells on the battlefield. 

One hits her arm, ripping it off, another tears through her side, throwing her off balance without downing her. Rolling into one of the impromptu foxholes she fires off a barrage of stasis that encases her legs, toppling her with a monumental shudder across the ice. Before she can regain her footing, Elsie draws forth a gelid sword, leaping for Eris' mouthless face and driving it to the hilt through one of those bio-mechanical eyes —

Elsie wakes with a violent start, jolting onto her side and almost off the bed completely.

Disoriented, she takes stock of herself and her surroundings. The hum of the heater, the whistle of the wind outside the yurt, the myriad lights from the gadgets within the outpost, her cooling fans rattling her frame as they buzz as maximum capacity. 

A half-arm away from her on the bunk lay Eris Morn, straight-armed and open-eyed in the darkness.

"Sorry for waking you. I had a — a nightmare."

"There's no need to apologize," Eris replies. Before they agreed to share the cot, they'd both discussed the lightness of their sleep, their tendencies toward night-terrors, so perhaps it was unfounded. 

"I dreamt I killed you."

"Unforgivable." There's a wryness in her voice, a slight upturn in her mouth that eases a bit of the heaviness in Elsie's chest. This Eris is not the Eris of her nightmares, or the corrupted Eris of any of her countless timelines. This Eris is her confidante, and comrade against the Darkness.

"I saw the tower . . . the deep stone crypt. Not the Deep Stone Crypt, the one from our dreams."

"Eriana spoke of it." Sadness in her voice, but tenderness too. "May your next dream be of elysian fields. Of gentle passage to the tower."

Elsie rolls onto her back and rests her head against the pillow, fans powering down as her heatsinks dissipate built-up warmth. Powering off her optics, she settles in for what she prays will be a peaceful rest. "Thank you Eris. I hope so too."

[bookworm-faolanne]

So I have had this idea ever since I've been reading the HZD fics and have been made aware of the other subroutines that GAIA has. And an Idea started brewing- what if the facility that Aloy fell into (the one where she got her focus) was one of ARTEMIS's (who took care of the fauna)?

and that falling into it had reignited the power systems? and the animal biomatter was still viable?

I'd be thinking that a good chunk of the plot would be Aloy finding critters and taking care of them. With minimal knowledge about the Old ones. The plots start would probably be set a few months after she fell into the facility.

[nereidprinc3ss]

know your fics !!!

ai fics are usually out of character, and while most of the quality depends on the prompt, usually you'll find less description or like narration of what is going on, and more one liner dialogue type stuff that feels soulless, OR, endlessly descriptive, unnecessary writing, that's got you thinking get to the point, jan.

you can pry em-dashes from my cold dead hands, but you will notice if it's used too much in a fic, because some of these em-dashes could be commas, and most times in regular fics the usage of em-dashes is either toned done by the author itself on purpose, or it's done by like Grammarly or something. AI fics, shit ton of em-dashes, and how you know it's ai is if you replace an em-dash with a comma, it's literally the same sentence.

longer ai fics could show plot inconsistencies. they're suddenly some place they weren't before. his hands are in her hair, her waist, her back— how many hands does she have? shit like that. oh, and also depending on which gen ai engine you use, cuss words will give it away. popular models cannot use cuss words, political stuff, or write smut, unless you like pay for premium which i doubt anyone is.

here's an ai generated spencer dialogue (i just said give me something spencer reid would say in a conversation with reader who he has a crush) :

"My emotional processing subroutines appear to be malfunctioning due to the elevated oxytocin levels you’ve instigated," He says, blinking slowly like a confused Roomba.

it physically pained me to generate and read that. fishes died. it called my man a roomba. jesus h fuck. anyways.

here's something i wrote, same context, spencer talking to reader who he has a crush on, just to like drive the point home:

"Yeah, Okay, so, like I was saying, the Maquech beetle is regarded as a symbol of eternal love. In ancient Maya tradition, a princess’s murdered lover was transformed into a beetle so she could wear him on a pin close to her heart night and day," he explains, walking with you towards the bullpen, mug of coffee in his hand, just how he liked it. He had been explaining the significance of symbolism in different lost or forgotten cultures and civilisations. You were in the Quantico kitchen with him, making coffee per usual, listening to his passionate interpretation of Guatemalan huipiles and butterflies, when you handed him a mug of coffee, made exactly how he takes it, when he promptly lost his train of thought. "Uh—I, wh—" he stammered, like he had forgotten every single word of every single language he knew. "I, sorry, I just— uh," "Take the coffee, Spence." "Right. Yes. Coffee." And that brings us to the present with the beetles. He continues. "So that's why, in the Mayan culture, wearing the symbol of the Beetle remains a constant reminder of a true and eternal love." You hum, thoughtful, lips quirking as you glance sideways at him. ��Guess I’ll have to start wearing beetles then. You know. As a declaration of my undying love for you.” Spencer chokes out a breath of a laugh, something between a scoff and a stunned exhale, and fumbles with his mug like it’s suddenly the most interesting object on earth. “That, uh— I,” He clears his throat. “That would be… highly symbolic.” He doesn’t look at you, but you catch the faintest blush creeping up his neck, blooming like a secret. You hope he doesn’t notice yours.

is this any good? no. in fact, i think it's ass, actually. i wrote it in like 20 minutes. but it's not soulless ai sludge, and for just that reason alone, it's immediately better to me.

in order to write a good fic, you need not just know the, like, source material, you need to pour your feelings for that particular story into the fic. that's what makes it special.

authors, friends, art is only art if it comes from within. writing takes time. it's frustrating sometimes. most times, actually. we write not because we need to churn out shit and meet deadlines. we write because we love it. it is who we are. and it's okay if your writing style is different. it's okay if you take way too long to write. there's no too long with art. they don't say 'you can't rush art' for nothing.

if you're insecure about the quality of your work, know that it's something all authors feel. the only way to get over it is by actually writing more. by yourself. because if you just generate fics and go to sleep, who is it even for? your writing skill won't improve, the fics don't feel as personal, actual authors who put work into their fics go unnoticed, and no matter how you justify it, you won't feel good about yourself.

we live in a time where we need to remind authors that they need to actually write to call themselves one. it's okay if you think your work is not up to mark. post that lame ass fic. make that fugly edit. draw that misshapen nightmare. do it bad. do it ugly. do it extremely awful. but do it. do it yourself. it's the only way to start.

ai "artists", consider this a psa: you can become an actual artist if you take the time thinking of the right prompts to use, and put that into honing the craft. tumblr is a safe (ish) place. ask questions. learn from artists. be free, dear birds. fly high. fuck ai.

- ironically, someone studying to be an ai engineer (don't worry i am aware of the moral ramifications, i am going to end up a data scientist, i can feel it in my bones, wish me luck!)

Yes yes yes!!!! To all of it!!! This is great and so helpful ty!!!

Also do NOT downplay your talent that little snippet was amazing and I hope u r posting ur fics!! We need as much original content as we can possibly get!

Thank u for taking the time to write all this out, very extremely useful and I appreciate u so much<3

[kiyaar]

fic: eidolon

author: kiyaar fandom: marvel comics (616) pairings: steve/tony, steve/carol, carol/tony, steve/carol/tony rating: E for many porn scenes warnings: CNTW, rape/noncon word count: 22.9k tags: established relationship / intellectual strap sucking / electroplay / a dead celestial is sometimes a home / consent issues cockwarming / rape recovery / secret empire / civil war II / canon-compliant / angst / alcholism / wistful flesh hunger / porn with plot / plot with porn / unfixit / transhumanism summary:

It's not the future, it's a fucking algorithm, he yells to his friends and his allies and and no one is listening to him, again, and the root feeds him the full-body ordeal of alone, alone, alone until he can taste all fourteen subroutines under it. "What if we fucked," Carol says. "As friends." "I don't know, Spaceface," Tony says, examining the particle effects on the plume of smoke from his holo-cigarette. "I might not be able to get it up for you because I'm so hung up on Steve." "What if we fucked," Carol amends, "and we also fucked Steve." "I don't know if I can take that kind of rejection right now," Tony says honestly.

Written for @starvels for the Possessed by Light AI Tony exchange!

(read on ao3...)

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

never fade away - Xisuma/EvilX fic

for the lovely creature who christened by askbox asking about more cyberpunk X/EX this one is for you!

C/W: graphic depiction of violence in a short flashback.

The pitter patter of the shower is almost enough to dull the sounds of gunshots down the hall. Well not dull, but it makes them seem further away. There’s some cold comfort in hearing them again. In the rabble and harsh pounding of his shitty apartment. Water pitter pattering against the raw cold carbonated black metal of his cyberware still settling into his body like a rain chime. This was his body now. There was even less of him now. 

AO3 Link

Word Count: 2.1k

The rain of the shower is almost enough to dull the sounds of gunshots down the hall. Well not dull, but it makes them seem further away. There’s some cold comfort in hearing them again. In the rabble and harsh pounding of his shitty apartment. 

Water pitter pattering against the raw cold carbonated black metal of his new augmentations still settling into his body sings like a rainchime. This was his body now. 

There was even less of him now. 

It’s the first time the thought hits him, looking at the new synth skin covering his new arms. From the front, he looks remarkably human: top grade synth skin can’t help but look slender and uncanny when he knows what it’s all a visage for. Doesn't betray the neat array of glistering chrome and bright lilac wires that snake up his arms and spine. Doesn’t betray the exposed back obsidian metal endo-skeleton that houses it all now. 

He misses the arms Doc gave him. Misses his old spinal implant he had lifted from some psycho and polished off. Misses his ribs - he knew they would have to go at one point but this new chrome sits uneasy in his chest. 

Sitting on the floor of his shower, knees close to his chest, Xisuma watches the water swirl the drain with a dull unfocused gaze. 

He has always thought about jumping to tier 5 mods. What netrunner hasn’t. Save the hassle of ice baths and skull jacks. Although it’s still there, heavy metal in his skull exposed as his hair parts and falls down in a curtain of taupe and dark byzantium ombre either side of his face. He just wishes he would have had a choice. 

Fingers trace the edge of the port with a sorrowful nostalgia. EX did always like seeing him jump when he jacks in. Little fucker always makes it more pleasureful then painful just to roll in the embarrassment of him moaning like a girl in one of those holovids.  

The fingers, his fingers, dark and mechanical, devoid of synth skin so as to not impede any interconnection and interfacing via a touch matrix, look alien. His old hands have been dark, but they have also been smooth. He liked little rivulets of lilac running along the arms Doc gave him. These new ones: bizarrely brutalist in comparison. 

How long he’s been sitting here?

He doesn’t know. Hours, days, maybe weeks. He isn’t even running any subroutines, processors and neural interface blank, stalling. All this potential, and here he was: sitting in his shower drifting in and out of his own mind. 

The wants and needs of a humanoid body feel so far away now. And he can’t help but feel rotten about missing creature comforts. Half the runners he knows would trade their soul for this. For the raw processing rig to netrun at will, expunge and explore into the depths of the old net with all of its dark treasures. But more than the raw potential of this new body forced on him, Xisuma finds himself longing for a cigarette. 

Was there even enough of him left to smoke? 

“You’re seriously still here?” a familiar voice fizzles in his ears. Clouds of crimson data shaping itself into a vaguely ill defined humanoid shape.

Xisuma lifts his head to at least look at EX, it’s face pressed and pointedly dismal. There is some small comfort in the fact he could see him. Although if some gonk walks in they would find a out of it metalhead netrunner staring up at nothing, sitting alone in the shower. 

Still looks like him. Maybe even more so. All those months nesting in his subconscious as they tore him apart and stuffed him with chrome, Xisuma half expects EX to come out as an incomprehensible mass of code. But he retains his shape well.  

“Corpos aren’t kind to people running off with their property and you are just sitting here. Still.” Property. That’s all he is now: lost property. Him and the little nano-syphilis picking at what’s left of his organics that is EX. 

The lack of response clearly frustrates the ai, annoyance growling through his receptors. “Can't have you withering the body beyond a usable base” 

“Is that your twisted way of telling me to take care of myself?” Xisuma leans back, skull port clanking against the rough orange vinyl of the shower. Gets a real look at EX. It has mirrored the ombre of his hair, white flowing into a red, its ends ill defined and half-rendered, like a cloud of malformulated assets, glitching out. 

“No. I’m telling you to take care of my body.” The certainty that EX would win out and seize the body almost made X laugh. Not in a triumphant confident manner - just, something sadder, hollow. Wouldn’t matter if he did. Not that he will. 

“Aw you do care.” His own voice sounds so hollow. Defeated. But still him: and he’s quietly thankful for that. 

EX rubs its temple, a bizarrely human act from the cluster of old net code. Catches Xisuma by surprise, eyes widening just a fraction from their current half lidded sunken state. “Take a walk. It sickens me to be stuck like this.”

“It’s raining.” The irony of saying that while sitting in a shower is not lost on him. What was left to worry about getting wet. His hair. Yeah. But it was already wet. 

EX pulls low, sitting on its haunches as if it needs to conform to the limits of biology or the permeability of realspace. It's bizarrely human. Looking increasingly like a twisted mirror of who he once was. It presses a hand to the shower wall and leans into Xisuma’s space.

Instantly a warning flashes, flinching back. 

A flash of a dark room, someone above him pulling his ribs out one by one. The smell of bone burning filling his nostrils as a circular saw whirls ravenously. His organs wet and loose in him. He can feel the eyes appraising them, deciding what to chuck and what to sell on - not like he will be needing most of them anymore -

EX drags him out of it like some sort of dark angel. A mask of his own face looking at him, stern but with something akin to kinship. Here they were. Not in that moment. Not in the tortuous darkness of the architects who did this to them. Two broken toys in the shower of the shittiest high rise in the city. Free. Chained together, but free. 

Construct’s hand to the side of his head, the other tilted him up by his chin to look at him. Xisuma lifts his head to look at nothing. 

It’s voice is nevertheless firm, harsh even, broadcasting into his ears. “Then take an umbrella. Put a hood on. Your stupid Helmet. Just, get out of this bloody shower.” Still Xisuma can’t bring himself to move his servos. The idea of shifting in this body, this tomb, he can practically hear EX broadcasting over his neural trenches - don’t be so dramatic. Despite everything. It’s still you. Still us.

His actual words do not match the imprint left on his brain. 

“Go outside or I’m disconnecting your balls.” It seems so pitiful compared to what he has been through, it almost makes him smile in a weird way. Reminds him of how he and EX would bicker, their push and pull, months ago. 

“You wouldn’t,” it one million percent would. 

“How do you know I haven’t already?” The words fizzle uneasy across his cortex. He could use this new system thrust upon him to check in a nano-second. But he doesn’t. Just sits there.

The city has never felt as overstimulating as it does now. Xisuma shuffles through the horde, still flooding the streets even at this late hour. City that never sleeps. 

His hands remain in the pocket of the heavy jacket Grian had given X: leather techware that swallows up his chest with its size. The fabric of his hood rubs uncomfortably against his skull port. The entiety of the ensamble, the texture of clothing, oddly constraing and horribly scratchy against the exposed endoskeleton and wires. Constantly unsettling. 

Prismatic lights of endless advertisement and business refract in the dark catching the downpour. His eyes struggle to adjust, often downturned to avoiding blinding himself. He moves stiffly, new body and all, but walking is like riding a bike, you somewhat never forget, but might need training wheels. 

The sounds and smells of the city clog his rewired senses. Slow his processes like infinite programs being run simultaneously. But thanks to this new body, it’s a little easier to digest. Doesn’t get what X was throwing a fit about. 

Climbing up a fire escape, hoping a fence, sneaking through a back alley, Xisuma ends up on a roof in Japantown. Looking across at the vast ravine of buildings, it breathes in the thick aromatic scents of the many food stands littering the walls and intersections as a holographic koi swims the middle of the buildings like it is simply swimming down river. 

Even it could admit, this was pleasant. Beautiful even. Still noisy, but realspace would always be. 

“Okay, take it back.” Xisuma's eyes, stark red, roll back for a moment, until his usual purple replaces and he gasps like he’s just been drowning. Xisuma almost throws up - did he have anything to throw? His body stutters, overloading with information rushing into his processors. 

“Never do that again!” Xisuma barks, snythetic bile and threatening to spill out. If he still had much of a stomach it would back its content’s paint the floor. Turns to look at EX, leaning against the railing with a blood boiling casualness - like it hasn't just hijacked his body and piloted him out into the rain. He could still feel the ai’s code lingering under skin and bones, slowly rescinding back to his neural matrix. Feels more like blood draining out of him - makes his system thrumb uncomfortably. 

“How… How long have you been able to do that.” The realisation of far EX’s infraction into his core system’s chills him to his chrome bones. 

“A time.” 

“EX!” 

The ai sighs. “Sometime you were at the facility. They accidentally removed a cerebral dampener to get you to interface with the rig better. It let me map new pathways, and well… walking is weird. In real space. So clunky.” Xisuma stares down at the labyrinth of neon below him and lets that all sink in. The dissonance between EX’s casual control of the body and its dismissive lackidasical review of using it, of him, makes X balk out a short, choked laugh.

He is royally fucked.  

“Relax, it takes a lot out of me, not planning to take you on another joyride for a while.” The casual cruelty is what he’s come to expect of the ai. But he can see his words manifest, the wear evident on EX. How the edges of it’s being rendering in through his optics are less defined, coarse and blocky. 

“Next time. Ask.”

EX chuckles. “Sure.” 

Xisuma lets the neon wash of the city flood his senses. The brightness seeming so dull after all those months away. All the life of the city inspires nothing but solemn mavelling. 

Red catches the corner of his eye. Like a truck’s headlights about to crash into him. Xisuma turns and sees EX holding a cigarette. Well, holding a construct of one. 

“Would be a shame to come all this way and not enjoy a smoke.” Xisuma inspects the digital facsimile of a cigarette EX had constructed. Data spiralling out in the shape of smoke. 

Hates that he has such intimate knowledge of his thought. 

Xisuma takes nothing in his hand from nowhere - takes the cigarette from EX and stares out at the city and takes the longest drag of his life. A smile catches his lip. 

He can actually feel it fill a ghost of his lungs - instant relaxation.

Nothing comes out, but EX renders clouds of simulated data exhaling into the night sky, fizzling out in the neon stained moonlight. It’s part of the charm afterall. 

It didn’t fix anything. Or anything. Does make things feel a little less insurmountable. Comforting, even. 

Xisuma offers the digital smoke to EX. Not making eye contact, just holding it out for it. A feeling like touch ghosts his mechanical fingers as the ai takes back it’s never ending digital smoke. 

Don’t know what it does for an ai, if it bothers to run a simulation replicating the sesnations, if it even cares for human things like relief and comfort. Regardless, EX smokes, pantomiming humanness: it was after all code, a simulacrum of humanity. 

While EX inhales or some mimickry of it, Xisuma grinds his metal finger into the worn metal they were standing on. A grinding of sparks, metal on metal. When EX hands him back the smoke, it sees the large XV carved into the metal. Doesn't say anything, doesn't even project a thought across his cortex. Just holds the cigarette out for him. 

At least when he's gone: when the corpo's get him or EX assimilates into his body and forces his mind who knows where - some part of him will remain. Refusing to fade away. 

They just remain there. Passing a digital cigarette between oneanother in the rain, the world going on in spite of their sufferings. Sharing a never ending digital construct, filling lungs with ghosts of sensations long desired. 

[drfuckerm-d]

The Subroutine, by @yellowcakeuf6

"'...However it was the arrival of the European Renaissance that what we term as modern dance gained momentum and forged the thousands of dance types which abound today…'

Seizing an opportune moment, Raven jumped in to curtail his verbose torrent, 'Thank you Commander that is really interesting. So…shall we get started?'

Data raised a didactic finger, 'First I need to set out the details of what we will be covering...'" (The Subroutine, ch. 1)

"Then on the final performance something very bizarre happened. Raven made their way backstage after the show was finished to find a small but elegant bouquet of flowers placed on their dressing table.

'Ooh Ellerby, looks like you really do have an admirer!' Lieutenant Fox winked and giggled suggestively while Raven stayed silent and blushed to the roots of their hair." (The Subroutine, ch. 3)

i enjoyed this read soooo much 🥰❤️ i hardly get time to sit down and read fic anymore, but i've been trying to make more time for it recently.

in the comments, i mentioned that i felt @yellowcakeuf6's writing style reminded me of beatrix potter's illustrations. so i did my best to make that happen. watercolor is not something i have much experience in, but i do find it relaxing.

i hope u like it 🫶🫶🫶 a couple of ur characters had animals for names already, so that made my job a lot easier 😚 but last night i saw a picture of a goose and thought OMG.... DATA IS A GOOSE!! (me and my friend have been trying to figure out what animals all the bridge crew look like (picard is a raccoon))

[roachywoachy]

Soo.. I've got the first bit to my liking, as terribly formatted as is. I also hope it's known that this is a valveplug oneshot (maybe 2) with Hook balling prowl..

I need to say this now, the formatting for the entire fic will be shit. I'm still trying to find something that works for me.. and I've revised this into the ground.. nothing makes sense in it anymore..

It had been nearly 2 joors since Prowl had pinged Hooks private comm line. Unusual, since the praxian seemed to want nothing to do with his gestalt since Optimus had put him in office on strict orders after a complication. The gestalt bond had been bound tight since their first combining back in Iacon, and with the ease of the tactician's tac-net managing subroutines as such it wasn’t a problem. Only a smidge of Prowl's actual stresses and feelings seeped through the bond. A workaholic if you must. Leaving the constructicons to worry for their foreman now that he wouldn’t- couldn’t come out of his office for a whole deca-cycle.

From almost endless holo-vid meetings to Starscream harping at prowl to work faster every nanoklik and almost every upcoming statistic came from Prowl's overworked processor that hasn’t had a break since- well since he’d onlined all those solar-cycles ago.

Cold, alone and overstimulated from the beginning.

Mixmaster visited from time to time to drop off energon sweets that were laced with boosters of sorts and experimental elixirs for keeping Prowl’s processor cooled to work long joors. Mixmaster would coax Prowl into drinking the elixirs before he left with a manic glint in his optics.

Scavenger came in on breaks from constructicon to visit. Leaving shiny bits and pieces of useless rubbish he’d found on site, often met with a glance accompanied with that iconic prowl scowl. The usually filthy mech was careful not to soil the office and left his presents where space was found, leaving tracks of grime lingering in his path.

Longhaul made sure to come in later when he knew prowl was more docile and exhausted after lengthy meetings. Needing to force his boss to recharge off some stress in the comfort of the much larger mech's embrace, after some resistance with the eventual dozed off praxian being rocked into recharge by his larger mates purring engine.

Bonecrusher on the other servo came in before they left for the construction site, trying to sway Prowl to sneak home for the night, prodding at their barely awake boss, provoking the exhausted praxian even more. Always leading to a scuffle–usually involving biting and growling–that was solved by Bonecrusher getting a pathetic beating by Prowl, grinning at the Praxian bearing their colors where it rubbed off.

Hook only visited when he found Prowl's unhealthy workload needed to be checked on, leaving medi-gel for his digit joints that turned into arguments about ‘healthy lifestyles’ and how Prowl needed to tend to the gestalt bond or it’ll be affecting all of them. Always sure to emphasize that it was unhealthy to not be bonding with his mates for extended amounts of time, the one on one encounters trot on the edge of falling off.

[swaps55]

I'm neck-deep writing an exchange fic, so while I'm actually writing, it isn't Mezzo quite yet. However, I am currently suffering from a metric fuckton of Sam feelings thanks to Spotify assaulting me with 2WEI's cover of Hurt, so here is a snippet from the next Mezzo chapter, from what has quickly become my favorite scene in the whole damn thing.

In which EDI talks to Sam about stars:

~

He closes his eyes. Swallows. “I always wanted to see the Pillars of Creation.”  

EDI skims through Shepard’s file. It does not appear his Alliance career ever took him to that region of the Traverse. Their recent venture to Korlus would have been his closest proximity, but at improper lines of sight to accurately reproduce the shape visible from Earth. Or, in Shepard’s case Arcturus.

--Query: Would you like to go? I could calculate an optimal vantage point. This ship would take you there. I could take you there.   

--Block: Illusive Man Protocol Override – Unprompted personal inquiries are impermissible.

“I could provide images,” she says instead.

He shakes his head. “No. It’s fine. Go on.”

“As you wish. The initiation of fusion creates enough pressure to counteract the forces of gravity, putting a newly formed star in a state of hydrostatic equilibrium. In essence, stars exist in conflict with gravity throughout their main sequence.”

Another flicker of dark energy illuminates his fingers, like a small star in his hands. His voice wavers. “Gravity wins eventually.”

“Yes,” she concurs. “When hydrogen is depleted, gravity becomes the more powerful force, causing the inner layers of the star to collapse, expanding the star outward. However, this is not the end of the star. The increased pressure causes helium to fuse into carbon, beginning a new, second life in the star’s cycle.”

“But it’s different,” Shepard says, then closes his fist and snuffs the light out. “Destructive. Red giants swallow up the things closest to them. Burn them up until there’s nothing left.” A small, strangled sound slips out of his throat.

He is…distressed.

She puzzles over this. Facts do not inherently carry emotional meaning, but Shepard appears to have assigned such meaning anyway, resulting in a negative emotional response to her requested outputs. An undesirable result.

Again, she wishes for insight into his subroutines.

The life cycle of organics does not parallel that of stars. However, Shepard’s death and reanimation creates an anomaly that raises points of comparison. Whether or not EDI’s does as well remains unknown.

She does not have a baseline for the life cycle experienced by others like her.

--Query: Do you believe that we have entered the second phase of our main sequence? Is this the source of your distress?

--Block: Illusive Man Protocol Override – Unprompted personal inquiries are impermissible.

Troubling, perhaps, if the comparison holds. Stars behave one of two ways once fusion ends. Some shed their mass away to form nebula clouds. Unlike the dark and cold nurseries that birthed them, in death they spiral with heat and color.

But those with greater mass become hotter and denser, fighting gravity until the core explodes in a supernova, ejecting most of its mass into interstellar space.

Sometimes, gravity does lose.  

But supernovas have the power to feed new stellar nurseries, spectacular endings that create new beginnings. The galaxy is predicated on cycles that endlessly repeat.

It makes her feel…small.

But they are just facts. Facts she has assigned an emotional value to.

Hm. A point of connection, perhaps? She finds the possibility unexpectedly comforting.

[ultrakill-confessions]

(From v1 understander745 lesbian)

Am I the asshole and the idiot? I 17f riding a night bus to Bangkok my dad probably sleeping so I like the normal person read a minos v1 Gabriel fic and my dad PEAKED?!?

and read the minosv1 Gabriel fic(awesome fic so far!! Shoutout to Subroutine: Tender Loving Care,By:Bemused_Illusionist, CosmicAstra

It is hurt comfert nothing sinful or unhinged! SO BASICALLY THERE IS A PART THAT MINOS IS REPAIRING V1 AND IT'S LIKE LIGHT FLUFF AND MY DAD STRAIGHT UP ASKED "'he takes a note that it leans into non violent touch?' Wtf are you reading I hope it wont fuck you up.. It sounds messed up"

Oh Father you have no clue oh what brutal brutal ultrafics there are... And how many I read... I cannot even begin to name the veilliy beautiful stuff

I'M SO embarrased. Istg one day he will remember v1's name and Ill be cooked (he saw the bodypillow and my v1 sketch book+ the drawings sketches I have hang on my wall of v1 and my little v1 that I talk to and take everywhere)

Sorry for the messy writing it's four am and I got no ultra friends only my mirage bodypillow (I tell her everything)

-

[subroutine-fic]

IMPORTANT NOTE: "Subroutine" and Archive of Our Own

Subroutine and all its related stories are no longer available on Archive of Our Own. I will not passively or actively support the website's Zionist leanings on top of denying the active genocide (by calling those declarations an "antisemitic trope") going on in occupied Palestine.

I'd say that was a tough choice, but honestly?

I'm glad to be away from that cesspool.

I urge anyone to withhold monetary or publication support from the OTW/AO3. Name and shame them, because they've already done a bang up job of suppressing their actions, and uncritical AO3 supporters are complicit in helping them do that.

Remember to:

Listen to and amplify the voices of Palestinians on the ground (wizard_bisan1, motaz_azaiza, ismail.jood) or in the diaspora (iamsbeih, anat_international, byplestia).

Read about the history and culture of Palestine.

Support LGBT+ Palestinian voices pushing against US and Zionist peddling of Pinkwashing, Islamophobia, and anti-Arab stereotypes (of pre/post-9/11 xenophobia that allowed them to invade the Middle East and destroy millions of lives)

Boycott, Divest, and Sanction all parties and actors (lit., actors) involved with the genocide of Palestine, it's people, land, history, and culture. Yes, that means local, non-profits, or non-corps offering sympathy or monetary support of the Zionist movement and all forms of military or government bodies here in the states or abroad.

Do your research: visit the Palestine Archive, Palestine Academy, Decolonize Palestine.

Support organizations like Jewish Voices For Peace and Students for Justice for Palestine.

Call your representatives and demand they vote no on the numerous anti-Arab/Palestine bills or resolutions Zionist organizations such as the ADL and AIPAC are trying to push through. Keep calling them, make yourself a nuisance to these people.

Look into projects like Open Secrets, Olive Grove, Vote Socialist 2024, and in general, become more involved in your community and general elections. Look into what unions like United Auto Workers (UAW) and [Iowa City] Starbucks Workers United (SWU) are doing with regards to Palestine.

Look into supporting Unions working toward a General Strike.

Support anti-Zionist Jewish voices (sexualityscholar). They're gonna be your best source on why you shouldn't support a white nationalist movement that's, in part, responsible for the spikes in Islamophobia and antisemitism across the world.

Support Pro-Palestine content creators (realgodivagoddess, jupiterbaal, blacademics) trying to raise awareness about the genocide going on right now, but avoid grifters like Shaun King (aka, Talcum X/Yasser Arafraud).

Support news publications like Aljazeera or Jewish Currents who are covering the ongoing genocide and pushing back against disinformation and misinformation peddled by ADL and AIPAC.

Avoid Zionist websites like Facts for Peace and Jewbelong (dot org). - Honestly, start using adblockers to avoid being blasted by Zionist ads on YouTube, and etc.

Download the No Thanks app, and use bdnaash to avoid Pro-Zionist brands.

Be wary of/avoid Washington Post/Times, LA Times, BBC, Sky News, the Guardian, ABC News, WBAL CH11, JZ13, CNN, Fox News (srsly), or any other legacy news org. They are actively aiding in the misinformation and disinformation campaign against the Palestinians, and have fired news anchors or journalists questioning the Zionist agenda.

Watch Israelism, Tantura, and Palestinian cinema/films (GQME, PC).

Read the Goldstone Report, IMEU article on broken ceasefires, amnesty internationals report of illegal settlements in Palestine

Look into ongoing genocides or destabilization efforts in Haiti (bertrhude, flowerboyserge), Sudan (bsonblast), Lebanon (meriam awada), Syria (AJ), the Democratic Republic of Congo (sincerelysparrow), Yemen (AJ), etc., going across the Global South. Look at who the common actors are, who benefits from this chaos.

Archive and save all information about this current genocide and cultural history of Palestine. Because they will be trying to rewrite the story, and are doing it as we speak.

There are some just a few of the things you can do to support Palestine and support your own liberation from systems that have brought most of to the brink of poverty, zero job security, lack of proper healthcare, the destruction of our education system, erosion of free speech, and houselessness.

Happy New Year.

[dacialogansuperfan]

megarod fic under the cut

rated e

also edited & posted on ao3

when megatron says “i haven’t done this in years. i haven’t wanted to do this in years,” rodimus prepares for it to be… not necessarily bad, he doesn’t think it could be – just getting to see megatron like that – open, vulnerable – will be worth it. but maybe not good either.

mostly, that warm, syrupy feeling sliding down his spinal strut at the thought that he’s the first mech in millennia to make megatron want keeps him from feeling too disappointed. he lets megatron set the pace, back him up against the bulkhead and tip his helm back into a slow kiss with a shockingly gentle hand under his chin.

for a while, that’s all they do. soft, exploratory kisses become deep, sensual drags of lip plates against each other, over his jaw and under, a hint of teeth against neck cabling. rodimus almost forgets there’s the promise of more, lost in the building charge crackling between megatron’s mouth and his own rapidly heating plating, until strong hands slide under his thighs and lift him bodily off the ground.

he doesn’t yelp, and even if he had, there’s no way megatron heard it over the clatter of their armour colliding, the screech of metal scraping against metal as his thighs are guided around megatron’s hips, so there’s no reason for him to be laughing.

ok, maybe it’s not so much a laugh as a quiet chuckle, one that rumbles through his chest and all the way down to rodimus’ pedes, but rodimus smacks him anyway, hand coming down to rest on one broad shoulder. the other hovers awkwardly at his side, floating in the air until one of megatron’s – much larger, primus – lifts away from his thigh to wrap fully around it.

rodimus turns his head to watch his hand disappear into the curl of megatron’s, bright yellow paint eclipsed under a cover of scuffed, matte black. if he focuses, he can feel every unmended dent and scratch, is so absorbed in it that he doesn’t notice megatron moving until his back hits the berth. gently, with megatron’s other hand curled around his helm to keep it from smacking against the criminally underpadded recharge slab megatron has the audacity to call a berth.

rodimus’ eyes snap back to megatron’s. a lopsided curl to his lips, not quite a smile, but enough to soften the deep, dark red of his optics.

(rodimus sometimes wonders if the subroutines for actual smiling were permanently deleted from megatron’s processor after sitting unused for millions of years. he’d tease him about it if he didn’t suspect it, just a little, of being true)

he’s quiet for a little too long, staring at megatron and forgetting to do anything with his face. the almost-smile slips from megatron’s lips, his hand squeezing rodimus’ where their fingers are still tangled loosely together against the berth.

“still good?” spoken so softly, megatron’s weight and heat inching backwards, giving rodimus the space to push him away. he doesn’t think he’s ever heard megatron this quiet, the whisper smoothing out the rasp in his voice, leaving a pleasantly low rumble. a shiver passes through rodimus, and he brings his arm up to clutch at megatron’s waist. oh yeah, definitely still good.

still, he grins up at megatron, says “what do you mean still? we haven’t even started yet,” going for that exasperated look megatron gives him with less frequency now, which only makes him feel like he has to work harder to earn it.

if he gets it he can’t tell, megatron’s mouth pressed insistently to his almost as soon as he gets the words out. there’s nothing hesitant about this kiss, firm and almost desperate from the start. the heat between them skyrockets, megatron’s hands hot over his plating, running from his arms to over his chest, sliding down his waist like his need to touch is overwhelming his ability to decide where first.

rodimus gasps when sharp denta nip at his bottom lip, his fingers sliding down megatron’s chest and coming to grip just under the armour, hooked into the panel just above his vents. megatron groans, and the sound vibrates from rodimus’ fingers up his arms, leaves him jittery and wanting more.

he teases the fingers of one hand in between the slats and megatron shudders, his lips sliding hot over rodimus’ cheek, open in a pant. it’s intensely gratifying, and rodimus is about to do it again until those lips move down, brushing over his spoiler before a hot, wet glossa licks a wide stripe across the guard and rodimus shouts.

in retaliation, rodimus hooks the fingers of his other hand in as well and tugs, pulling a low moan of out megatron and crushing their chests together.

megatron is shaking over him, and while at first rodimus is sure it’s in pleasure, and he won, he realizes a half-second later the afthole is laughing again. it may or may not have taken him a bit to realize because through his chuckles, megaton has started rubbing circles on the inside of rodimus’ thigh with his thumb.

“rodimus, it’s not a competition.” he can’t see megatron’s face from where it’s tucked into the crook of his neck, warm breath ghosting over the cabling there, drawing small shivers from his frame, but he can hear the slag eating grin.  

“the pit it isn’t.” sliding one hand free from under megatron’s chest, he brings it down between his legs, cupping the panel there and feeling the heat radiating from it. “also, i’m totally winning.” megatron says nothing, but bites down just a little rougher on his neck, pinching a cable between his teeth, creasing it. rodimus groans, his back arching up off the berth before megatron’s grip on his thigh pushes him back down again.

“primus.” rodimus curses when megatron’s lips move back to his spoiler, his tongue dragging a path across it that has rodimus’ whole frame shaking, but he doesn’t linger. his mouth moves down rodimus’ chest, soft kisses over plating and long teasing licks to transformation seams a contrast that has his processor spinning, optics heavy lidded as he watches megaton make his way down his frame until his lips brush over his panel and – oh, frag – come away wet.

he hadn’t even noticed when he’d started leaking, tracks of lubricant smeared around the edges of his panel and spotting his thighs, and he hasn’t even opened his fragging panel yet.

he would be embarrassed about that, maybe – he can’t see what state megatron is in, and his hand slid away from megatron’s hips when he began his descent down rodimus’ body and ended up curled in the thin cover laid over the berth – except.   

except megatron is looking up at him through optics blown wide with a desire so intense it pins rodimus to the berth, his whole body still as he watches megatron’s optics cycle to their widest setting, heavy lidded as his tongue moves slowly, torturously over lip plates slick with rodimus’ fluids, like he can’t bear to miss a single drop.

rodimus tries to say something. his vocalizer clicks once, twice, before rebooting entirely. the air between them fills with the heavy, stagnant haze of both their vents running at full speed and managing to do nothing but push the superheated air in circles around them.

megatron lowers his lips to rodimus array cover again and, lip plates dragging over sensitive seams manages a hoarse “please,” that nearly sends rodimus into a full system failure. his panel snaps open with a quiet click that is inaudible over their roaring fans.

one of megatron’s hands cups rodimus’ thigh, lifts it to bring it up over his shoulder. rodimus gets the hint and moves his other leg to mirror it, thighs clenching once around megatron’s helm before relaxing. megatron’s other hand rests on his hip, for now just stroking the plating in soothing, abstract patterns until rodimus relaxes fully and, propped up on his elbows, gives megatron a brisk nod. his stupid vocalizer is still running sudden restart debugging routines.

the first touch of megatron’s glossa to his array is a soft, broad stoke over the slit of his valve. rodimus shivers, already struggling to hold himself up but needing to see the way megatron shudders, his optics sliding shut as he repeats the motion, this time flicking his tongue over rodimus’ anterior node. rodimus’ thighs tighten around his helm, but megatron barely seems to notice. he looks completely blissed out, like he’s the one getting his valve eaten out.

megatron’s tongue pushes past the folds of his valve, sweeping upwards, seeking sensor clusters that light up under his tongue and send a feedback loop of charge through megatron’s mouth and every concentric ring in rodimus’ valve.

his head hits the berth with a loud crash he barely notices as megatron’s tongue continues its exploration of his valve, hot and wet and almost perfect, he just needs –

his vocalizer comes back online with a loud click and he’s shouting, arching up off the berth and then curling forward as megatron pulls back to suck on his anterior node, a soft suction and brush of tongue. rodimus’ hands fly to his shoulders, scramble against his back as megatron moves between his node and his valve, alternating long, broad swipes of his tongue with teasing licks.

his hand lands on the turret on megatron’s back and he grips it tight, keeping his hold on it when megatron’s strong servos push him back to lie flat on the berth again before he starts tongue fucking him in earnest, glossa pushing as deep into his valve as it can go. calipers cling at it as it moves back, rodimus’ valve desperately trying to clench down.

megatron releases his hips to bring a hand up to his array, thumb brushing over his node while megatron’s tongue is buried inside him. rodimus thinks he shouts, thinks he’s been making humiliating noises this whole time but can’t actually be bothered to care. he uses his grip on megatron’s turret to push his hips up into megatron’s mouth, start a dirty grind that pushes that sinfully talented glossa even deeper, and megatron moans. that powerful engine sends the sound all through rodimus’ frame, shaking his legs over megatron’s shoulders, vibrating his tongue inside rodimus’ valve and suddenly his overload is crashing into him, head thrown back, optics glitching, megatron’s name on his lips.

pleasure crawls over his plating, runs through every line for what feels like an eternity before he finally starts to come down, and realizes several things all at once.

one, his thighs have a death grip on megatron’s helm, enough to have dented it.

two, ditto for the turret. his fingers have left long, gauging scratches in it.

three, megatron is covered, obscenely covered in a heady mix of trasfluid and lubricant, rodimus’ transfluid and lubricant, coating his mouth, nose, and chin, except for the places where megatron is currently licking it away. rodimus is similarly debauched, which might have escaped his notice for a somewhat humiliating amount of time while he stared at megatron if not for the fact that the mech himself had started cleaning the inside of rodimus’ thigh with his tongue.

when he can finally speak again, he goes with “haven’t done this in years my aft.”

megatron’s optics cycle slowly, lazily as they flicker between rodimus’ eyes and his array. his tongue gives one final, soft lick over the swollen mesh that makes rodimus’ shiver before his levers himself up, rodimus’ strutless legs falling from his shoulders to rest in the crook of his elbows.

“it’s true.” at rodimus’ skeptic look he just shrugs, one of those massive shoulders lifting up and jostling rodimus’ leg. megatron slides his palm from ankle joint to the inside of rodimus’ knee, using a light grip to tug rodimus forward on the berth, until they’re pressed chest to chest again. his optics, the low, rough tone of his voice dripping satisfaction when he continues, “i will admit to thinking about doing that recently. often.” they’re kissing again before rodimus can even begin to think of something suitably clever to say to that.

at the feeling of hot, hard metal against his inner thigh rodimus breaks away with a gasp, hands flying away from megatron’s shoulders and down his frame, knuckles brushing against the ridged, interlocking panels of a thick spike, already slick with pre fluid. megatron shudders above him, whole frame rocking forward, catching himself against the birth just before his weight crashes into rodimus.

rodimus grins, relishing the broken sound that leaves the strained vocalizer of the massive mech above him at the first real stoke of his curled fingers.

“that can’t be all you’ve been thinking about, big guy.” a breathless laugh, tumbling into a low groan when rodmus’ thumb swipes over the head. megatron’s servos come back up to cup his thighs again, already mechhandling rodimus so he can fit between his spread legs, one massive knee propped in between them on the berth.

“no, captain, we’re just getting started.”

[makoredeyes]

What's a favorite lore piece you've read for the sake of writing fics?

Oh goodie you gave me a good one here because I love to screech about this one whenever given the chance because I don't think a lot of people have ever noticed this.

This Grimoire card is from the Rise of Iron expansion in D1 and is one of Rasputin's Logs. It's what appears* to be his knee-jerk reaction to the Iron Lords' break in to Site 6 where SIVA is kept.

I reference this lore directly in my Isochronism fics, but it's also one of my absolute favorites regarding Rasputin, Felwinter, and SIVA because of some of the fascinating little details that, so many years further down the road into the story, we can pick out of it. I'll unpack it for us, but TLDR Rasputin is a fucking LIAR.

Rasputin likes to keep his records in some pretty purple prose code so I'll start by decoding most of the terms he uses here, and then I'll back up and loosely translate it for us all.

--

YUGA SUNDOWN- cancels all protocols for protecting humanity/activates MIDNIGHT EXIGENT

MIDNIGHT EXIGENT - long term counterattack protocol and moral structure change. Essentially allows Rasputin to ignore morals for the 'greater good'

[O] Means the Traveler /ie [O] Energy = Lightbearers

SKYSHOCK - usually there's other qualifiers attached to this but it indicates hostiles of an unprecedented scale

AURORA RETROFLEX - A defense subroutine - presumed to be for when Rasputin is directly threatened

SUBTLE ASSETS IMPERATIVE - Meaning this is in secret/does not escape Rasputin's records

SCRY OVERSIGHT - is an observation protocol but here is used in conjunction with SILENT VELES which means effectively "no oversight"

--

I'm going to start by pointing out that that very first line indicates SOMEONE gained unauthorized access into a terminal and managed to cancel at least one of Rasputin's protocols (YUGA SUNDOWN). Ballsy AF and imo pretty uncanny that they were even remotely successful. Rasputin immediately reverses this, but I can only assume the only person who would know to do this in the first place, let alone have the capabilities, would be Felwinter, especially among the Iron Lords, who appear to file in next in the very next line.

Rasputin records the arrival of the Iron Lords as a mighty surprise, and responds to them, in this record, as such, and as a threat.

This is incongruous with his admission later to Ana and the Guardian that he deliberately lured Felwinter (and his people) there deliberately. In this record, Rasputin has gone, "oh holy shit what the hell is that turn off all my moral structures I don't know what the hell those things are fire everything purge it all kill it kill it kill it!"

*And also I'm going to turn off my body camera (see SCRY OVERSIGHT + SILENT VELES) and don't ask permission or tell anyone ever (SUBTLE ASSETS IMPERATIVE)

Even though he made sure they found this vault.

This is all 1000% deliberate, premeditated, and a forged record my friends.

Edit: *semi- forged, or perhaps more accurately greatly bending the truth. Sylenth makes some damn good points in the comments that I kind of glossed over on my analysis and kind of took for granted but she’s right and it should be pointed out.

(also, worth noting, that REPLICATE.ELIMINATE.IMMUNIZE imperative sent to SIVA that is recorded here is different than what is recorded elsewhere also)

[tacktheyak]

here’s some fanart for @emmic0n’s fic, go check it out it’s sad and silly

[vvitchering]

Decided I'm tired of shipping these tiny little ships by myself so here is the first of a few fic recs for some of my favorite rare pairs. Starting off with my current obsession, droidcaptain (K-2SO / Cassian Andor from Rogue One)

These are in no particular order. As always, read the tags on each individual fic and curate your own experience. And I do recommend having seen Rogue One, obviously, but you do not have to have seen Andor to enjoy these! Happy reading!

while(true) by whalebone - Rated T+ Summary:

The truth was, Cassian didn’t know why he had kissed K-2SO the first time.  Five kisses.

Could've Been a Jedi by ambiguously - Rated T+ Summary:

They say the first Fulcrum was a Jedi.

404 by Bright_Thorn - Rated M Summary:

K-2SO reboots. He is an Imperial droid in an Imperial prison, but that's where things stop making sense: His base code has be re-worked into a mess of directories, subroutines, and patches. He has no memory of the last 2.82 years, but it's not a standard memory wipe because it left behind empty files where there should be clean storage space. Strangest of all, he has no loyalty to the Empire. If he can find the prisoner who somehow knows his designation, there's a small chance — very small — that K-2SO might also find answers.

Unorthodox Modifications by Bright_Thorn - Rated E Summary:

K-2SO finds out about hedonic processors by accident. What he ultimately does with that information is quite deliberate. Meanwhile, Cassian is maybe less than successful at controlling his emotions.

The Mechanics of Rest by Isagel - Rated E Summary:

After a mission, Cassian is too keyed up to rest. K-2 finds a way to help him unwind.

Cable Management by literal_garbage - Rated G Summary:

Cassian gives K-2SO the droid equivalent of a shoulder rub after a run-in with an incompetent technician.

Heart/Gear by whalebone - Rated E Summary:

They’ve both been gone, Cassian thought, each to their own emptiness. But now Kay was rebuilding Cassian as surely as Cassian had rebuilt him.  After Scarif, K-2SO is finally rebuilt.

Defect by robotboy - Rated E Summary:

Cassian Andor is on an undercover Imperial mission when he meets a mysterious friend known only as K.

[scarabaebutch]

definitely most intrigued by renegade

It's the title for my WIP Khaji Da fic! Specifically, the perspective of the scarab through the Reach invasion in Young Justice (animated show), because the Blue Beetle brainrot is never-ending for me and Khaji Da needs more love. The fic itself starts at the moment of Khaji Da fusing with Jaime to a few weeks after the Reach's defeat.

Because I am horrible at updates, I don't plan to publish it until it is actually finished. The outline/drafting document is ridiculous (like um. 110k long...) as I decided to build upon the presented timeline and missing scenes. In addition to a lot of sci-fi/DC nerdiness, it's an in-depth character study of Khaji Da and the importance of their relationship/partnership with Jaime for their personal transformation and autonomy. And of course, friendship that takes down alien empires <333. As with many Blue Beetle fics, I am incorporating comic elements, like the Reyes family, Paco, Brenda, etc. and cameos of other comic-typical things and characters.

Sidenote: while this fic is (mostly) in-canon compliance with season 2, any sequel or followups will NOT be canon-compliant with seasons 3 or 4.

It's very interesting and fun to write from a nonhuman cybernetic/technological symbiont's perspective because Khaji Da does not have any human cultural shame or inhibitions in the beginning and follows an certain progression in how they see themselves and others. It really makes me re-evaluate cultural norms and typical writing styles, like the idea of being referred to as a person or having "things" belong to "me". I have to stop from completely breaking down language at a certain point, due to the limitations of English (and overall human language).

The hardest part is trying to utilize programming terms/processes without completely misusing them or making them nonsensical. I'm good at macro data-analysis but the back-end of the coding and processing itself escapes me (ex. subroutine vs. protocol), so I've been making myself seek out more media to get a better idea of how to somewhat accurately write cybernetic characters' internal processing while getting into the nitty-gritty weeds.

A key aspect I keep trying to refine is differentiating between how the scarab changes and adapts in terms of behavior (specifically in relation to Jaime), the emotions they have, how/if they identify their own and others' emotions, and how they express their own emotions. Khaji Da inherently functions differently from humans/organics (ex. needing a host) and has to learn how to navigate those different needs and purposes while being partners with Jaime and making decisions.

The fic will also feature scenes that I have always wanted to explore, like perspectives on past hosts (the pharaoh and Dan Garrett), Tye Longshadow, what really happened while Blue Beetle onmode, and where Jaime and Khaji Da are relationship-wise after it's all done.

I can provide more information and details/excerpts if you are interested or have specific questions. I have a lot of headcanons, worldbuilding thoughts, and relationship ideas for this fic. Thank you for your ask!