alanbradleyofficial-backup - Tumblr blog

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

@systemadministratorclu @evecolourshock @computerwarrior @spaceandthedigitalfrontier

I'm no longer shadowbanned!

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

Rinzler hesitantly peeked out, looking at Tron and Alan. Part of him couldn't understand how someone could just force their face to be blank - he had to do so because he faced punishment otherwise, but Tron was doing it to hide.

"..he's-... not mad..?" He hesitantly piped up, still not used to having a voice of his own and being able to use it.

Rinzler - Open RP

The last thing Rinzler could remember was plummeting into the Sea of Simulation; the harsh impact that damaged his code, the cracking of his helmet that allowed the poisoned liquid to drown him. The most vivid experience was the sudden influx of memories that seemed to be just out of reach.

He could hear a name that wasn't his, yet it was a name that had been ripped from him. The name played on the lips of blurred faces, people that he fought to protect. He tried to hold onto those memories, maybe unlock more. But they slipped from him as easily as they came to him, a result of his lost disks.

He knew he'd likely derezz before he became a stray, it would be impossible for any program to survive this far into the Sea of Simulation. He couldn't even tell how deep he was, but he'd been sinking for quite a long time.

Which made coming online on the shore of the Outlands quite puzzling. He should've drowned, lost to the sea forever. But he was still alive. His body ached in a familiarly excruciating way. He must've hit a few jagged rocks on his way to solid ground, he had gashes across his chest and back that bled voxels when he tried to move.

He felt alone, confused, and lost. His whirr was a broken stutter now, and he could barely remember if that was normal. He knew he had to report to someone, but he couldn't remember who.

He slowly shifted, trying to sit up. The gashes crumbled into voxels, threatening to derezz him.

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

Rinzler let out a whine, suddenly having a hard time believing that. He stayed as hidden as he could, knowing that just existing near Tron made the security monitor upset.

Tron lifted his head, straightening his back and forcing a blank face. He found it cruelly ironic how he and Eve spoke about family only a few moments ago, how it was about being oneself and being loved for it - and now Tron was forced to put on a mask again because Rinzler was scared of him.

He almost stood and left, but Alan put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Tron, wait." His User said softly, yet sternly, to get the program to listen.

"You can't keep running away. You did something wrong, and you feel bad, right? All you need to do is go up and apologize to him- He's been through as much as you have, Tron, he doesn't understand that you'll just stop being mad."

Rinzler - Open RP

The last thing Rinzler could remember was plummeting into the Sea of Simulation; the harsh impact that damaged his code, the cracking of his helmet that allowed the poisoned liquid to drown him. The most vivid experience was the sudden influx of memories that seemed to be just out of reach.

He could hear a name that wasn't his, yet it was a name that had been ripped from him. The name played on the lips of blurred faces, people that he fought to protect. He tried to hold onto those memories, maybe unlock more. But they slipped from him as easily as they came to him, a result of his lost disks.

He knew he'd likely derezz before he became a stray, it would be impossible for any program to survive this far into the Sea of Simulation. He couldn't even tell how deep he was, but he'd been sinking for quite a long time.

Which made coming online on the shore of the Outlands quite puzzling. He should've drowned, lost to the sea forever. But he was still alive. His body ached in a familiarly excruciating way. He must've hit a few jagged rocks on his way to solid ground, he had gashes across his chest and back that bled voxels when he tried to move.

He felt alone, confused, and lost. His whirr was a broken stutter now, and he could barely remember if that was normal. He knew he had to report to someone, but he couldn't remember who.

He slowly shifted, trying to sit up. The gashes crumbled into voxels, threatening to derezz him.

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

PSA: IF WE’RE IN A MUTUAL AND YOU WANT TO THROW A STARTER AT ME BECAUSE YOUR MUSE WANTS MINE OR YOU JUST WANT TO ROLEPLAY IN GENERAL —- JUST DO IT. I PROMISE, I’LL SCREAM WITH HAPPINESS IF YOU DO. YOU’RE NOT BOTHERING ME ; I WANT TO ROLEPLAY WITH ALL OF THE PEOPLE I FOLLOW. OKAY, YOU’RE ALL WONDERFUL. PCE.

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

Do me a favor. Reblog this if you welcome the use of ask memes as icebreakers between characters that have never, or rarely, interacted before.

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

Rinzler rumbled contently as he snuggled up to Ark, before getting up and taking as many blankets and pillows as he could find. Quorra watched in shock, almost protesting.

She didn't entirely like having Rinzler in the house, nor did she like it when he took all of their blankets and cuddled Ark again. She didn't say anything, though. She knew that Flynn had a reason for keeping the once Occupation program.

“I can keep going.” ((Your choice of character!))

"Sure you can, little monitor, but for how long?" The Virus tilted his head, a grin plastered onto his face much like his User. It was a mystery as to how he got onto this Grid, but he was becoming quite the nuisance.

"It's only a matter of time until I rip the code straight from Tron himself."

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

My muse used to have wings, but lost them. Send “where once wings were” for your muse to catch sight of the scars where my muse’s wings used to be.

Send “reminder of wings” for your muse to be the one who had lost their wings. 

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

Rinzler nodded, waiting for Ark to sit down first. He planned on cuddling up to her again, maybe ask for blankets and pillows and make another little nest like he did before he was split from Tron.

“I can keep going.” ((Your choice of character!))

"Sure you can, little monitor, but for how long?" The Virus tilted his head, a grin plastered onto his face much like his User. It was a mystery as to how he got onto this Grid, but he was becoming quite the nuisance.

"It's only a matter of time until I rip the code straight from Tron himself."

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

Tron eventually made his way outside, watching Rinzler and Nitro play from a distance. Carefully, he slowly came up to Alan and sat beside his User.

Alan tensed, not sure what to do. He wasn't used to any of his kids sitting near him, and he didn't want to say anything to ruin it. But to his surprise, Tron rested his head on his User's shoulder in a silent request for affection. More than happy to oblige, Alan wrapped an arm around Tron and wordlessly watched the kids.

Rinzler found himself giggling when he played, his whirr a content - and loud - purr. He was late to realize that Tron had joined them, and quickly rushed behind Nitro for safety.

Rinzler - Open RP

The last thing Rinzler could remember was plummeting into the Sea of Simulation; the harsh impact that damaged his code, the cracking of his helmet that allowed the poisoned liquid to drown him. The most vivid experience was the sudden influx of memories that seemed to be just out of reach.

He could hear a name that wasn't his, yet it was a name that had been ripped from him. The name played on the lips of blurred faces, people that he fought to protect. He tried to hold onto those memories, maybe unlock more. But they slipped from him as easily as they came to him, a result of his lost disks.

He knew he'd likely derezz before he became a stray, it would be impossible for any program to survive this far into the Sea of Simulation. He couldn't even tell how deep he was, but he'd been sinking for quite a long time.

Which made coming online on the shore of the Outlands quite puzzling. He should've drowned, lost to the sea forever. But he was still alive. His body ached in a familiarly excruciating way. He must've hit a few jagged rocks on his way to solid ground, he had gashes across his chest and back that bled voxels when he tried to move.

He felt alone, confused, and lost. His whirr was a broken stutter now, and he could barely remember if that was normal. He knew he had to report to someone, but he couldn't remember who.

He slowly shifted, trying to sit up. The gashes crumbled into voxels, threatening to derezz him.

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

Important announcement

Hey guys, the inevitable happened and Harrington (the mun) is overwhelmed by Too Many Muses.

What does this mean?

The short version:

this means that I will no longer be playing Sark as a full muse. He will be archived like Kaiser (see: OC Masterlist), and RPs regarding him will either slow down immensely, or just come to a complete stop.

The long version:

Because of my four Muses and my two OCs, I have become quickly overwhelmed when it comes to responses, and, to be honest, unlike Sam and Dyson, my musing for Sark dwindled and died shortly after he became a muse.

So far, the name of this blog will remain sarkasticcommentary until I can think of something that fits Dyson and my OCs. It's kind of like a villain muse blog, I guess? Smiles isn't a villain, but I digress.

One of my main reasons for getting rid of Sark is the fact that his RPs feel more like a chore than anything, and a requirement to respond to before the ones I have for Sam or even Tron. It's starting to kill my motivation and leave me with some serious burnout.

Unfortunately, this means some storylines I'm seriously enjoying will need to come to an end, because I don't want to force myself to play a character that isn't fun for me anymore.

People who are in an RP with Sark, @spaceandthedigitalfrontier, @evecolourshock, @mayertis-not-a-user, I'm sorry. The threads we had were some of the coolest concepts and plots (because let's face it, Sark is an interesting character and deserves more love), but I'm going to focus on Dyson now.

This may change in the future, but that might not be for a very long time.

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

Rinzler's whirr rumbled deeply, and he went back to hugging Ark instead of trying ro have a existential dilemma.

Flynn moved the conversations towards the couches again, getting everyone to sit down so they could ask questions and tell their stories without getting sore feet.

“I can keep going.” ((Your choice of character!))

"Sure you can, little monitor, but for how long?" The Virus tilted his head, a grin plastered onto his face much like his User. It was a mystery as to how he got onto this Grid, but he was becoming quite the nuisance.

"It's only a matter of time until I rip the code straight from Tron himself."

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

My muse is sick and refusing to rest.

Send 🛏️ to make them go to bed!

(If you can't see the emoji, just send "bed"!)

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

Responses will be slow, I'm having a rough day

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

Tron nodded once, heading into the house and continuing to look through it to make sure everything was in order. He eventually got himself a cup of Energy, wondering if Nitro and Rinzler would come back soon - or if he had truly scared them off.

Rinzler - Open RP

The last thing Rinzler could remember was plummeting into the Sea of Simulation; the harsh impact that damaged his code, the cracking of his helmet that allowed the poisoned liquid to drown him. The most vivid experience was the sudden influx of memories that seemed to be just out of reach.

He could hear a name that wasn't his, yet it was a name that had been ripped from him. The name played on the lips of blurred faces, people that he fought to protect. He tried to hold onto those memories, maybe unlock more. But they slipped from him as easily as they came to him, a result of his lost disks.

He knew he'd likely derezz before he became a stray, it would be impossible for any program to survive this far into the Sea of Simulation. He couldn't even tell how deep he was, but he'd been sinking for quite a long time.

Which made coming online on the shore of the Outlands quite puzzling. He should've drowned, lost to the sea forever. But he was still alive. His body ached in a familiarly excruciating way. He must've hit a few jagged rocks on his way to solid ground, he had gashes across his chest and back that bled voxels when he tried to move.

He felt alone, confused, and lost. His whirr was a broken stutter now, and he could barely remember if that was normal. He knew he had to report to someone, but he couldn't remember who.

He slowly shifted, trying to sit up. The gashes crumbled into voxels, threatening to derezz him.

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

i am a forgetful role player.

     sometimes i will post inbox calls, starter calls or interaction calls and i will happily begin … when i have muse for it, and sometimes i will lack muse, and i may forget about it all.

     that is not because of you, the other part.

     forgetfulness is something that we often frown upon, take as an insult directly towards us as a person. “but they never write to me”, “they always forget about me”, “i’m not gonna interact because they always forget” and while these things are totally valid, it must be said that forgetting things are human. not only is it human, but we should allow role players to be forgetful every now and then, simply because many, if not all, have lives outside of Tumblr that require a lot of them.

     my forgetfulness is never directed towards you as a person.

     my forgetfulness is never directed towards your creations.

     sometimes i forget because …

i am tired.

i have a lot on my mind.

i get lost in other tasks.

i have to prioritize.

i bite over more than i can chew.

i simply forget.

     therefore it must be said, have patience. reach out. don’t just sit back and huff about how you “always seem to be forgotten”. some folks have a lot on their minds, and that needs to be allowed.

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

Rinzler stared up at Ark, before shaking his head. He didn't believe that at all. He was, and always would be, a ruthless killer. He still had his violence and his more feral mindset; it just didn't apply at times like this, where he was just a new program that was rezzed with memories of pain.

“I can keep going.” ((Your choice of character!))

"Sure you can, little monitor, but for how long?" The Virus tilted his head, a grin plastered onto his face much like his User. It was a mystery as to how he got onto this Grid, but he was becoming quite the nuisance.

"It's only a matter of time until I rip the code straight from Tron himself."

[alanbradleyofficial-backup]

"Alan One would do that for any program." Tron kept his eyes on Rinzler and Nitro, watching Rinzler run around simply because he had the room to. He took a deep breath, and started to leave the balcony. He could feel his façade crumbling, and didn't want to risk letting Eve see his true self beneath. He hadn't let anyone see that since Flynn moved him. He didn't trust anyone enough to.

"I need training grounds, so when I take down the rest of the Occupation I can be prepared."

Rinzler - Open RP

The last thing Rinzler could remember was plummeting into the Sea of Simulation; the harsh impact that damaged his code, the cracking of his helmet that allowed the poisoned liquid to drown him. The most vivid experience was the sudden influx of memories that seemed to be just out of reach.

He could hear a name that wasn't his, yet it was a name that had been ripped from him. The name played on the lips of blurred faces, people that he fought to protect. He tried to hold onto those memories, maybe unlock more. But they slipped from him as easily as they came to him, a result of his lost disks.

He knew he'd likely derezz before he became a stray, it would be impossible for any program to survive this far into the Sea of Simulation. He couldn't even tell how deep he was, but he'd been sinking for quite a long time.

Which made coming online on the shore of the Outlands quite puzzling. He should've drowned, lost to the sea forever. But he was still alive. His body ached in a familiarly excruciating way. He must've hit a few jagged rocks on his way to solid ground, he had gashes across his chest and back that bled voxels when he tried to move.

He felt alone, confused, and lost. His whirr was a broken stutter now, and he could barely remember if that was normal. He knew he had to report to someone, but he couldn't remember who.

He slowly shifted, trying to sit up. The gashes crumbled into voxels, threatening to derezz him.