#memory files

[x-marks-a-dumbass]

Do you remember anything while you where in the car?.. like where you in the front, back?

Dead. I was dead.

[artificial-inlexigence]

>Memories are quite strange.

>Yes I have most of them thats the point.

>But I guess I programmed it in to remember things In a .. "normal way"

>I saw a pin- well I guess still belongs to me?

>Long story short.

>Remembered I was the president.

>Was being the keyword

[ask-dreamsmp]

—-> MOD POST

a little gift i’ve been working for you guys tonight ;)

cw for mentions of death and war ---> Loading.... ---> Loading... ---> "Personality Quiz" located. Run program?

[anti-social-soundwave]

Endling #1: The Shattered and the Prime 1/??

Maccadam’s.

Open round the cycle, sunlit, moonlit, it doesn't matter. The energon cafe never closes. It's clean pulsating neon lights, buzz of electricity, the soft pouring of energon, the soft quiet music...it's a haven to those who have fallen through the cracks of society and reality both.

A multi-versal nexus of outcasts.

A home for the lost.

Peace for those who have never known it.

Soundwave included.

He sits at his usual table, the hazard paint around it is kept fresh and bright. The lighting over his table is dim for his sensitive optics.

His optics glow toxic-blue through his clear face-mask as he leers at those who veer too close, talk too loud, or brush even an inch too close.

His corner is dark, except for the fuck-off glow of his azure biolights and the warning signs of his lunar-white plating.

Thick claws edge around his energon cube and his antennae prick as he observes the drifting crowds around him.

Such a far cry from the dead empty Cybertron of his own universe.

Soundwave sips at his energon, as one optic records the Honkbiner flock at one table. A pile of scraplets gnawing on some scrap metal at another, and some sharkticons crack open energon crystals with their fangs.  Just the usual normal crowd.

Oh fucking Primus.

Why use Cybertronian swears when Terran terms are so much stronger?

A group of Autobots mill around the entrance.

Out of the corner of his upper left optic, behind his now -opaque blank white visor, Soundwave sees Maccadam nod at him in warning.

Another fucking Optimus Prime is now approaching his table.

//

Another night. Another Prime sent out to the dumpster. Another pile of shanix in Maccadam's hands as he won this night's bets on how long it took Soundwave to bridge that Prime out.

0.125 seconds, a new record.

Soundwave's mandibles click in amusement as he watches the live security feed over the alley dumpster. Two of the honkbiners are now pecking the store brand Optimus Prime.

His mandibles pierce open the energon-cube and Soundwave then jabs a bendy-staw into the warm drink.

Claws scrabble at the cheap tile near him.

His optics narrow and his mild amusement is starting to run thin.

Primus.

His stool squeaks as he swivels and sees -

a child. a sparkling.

The little one has big gold optics, and small wings. A honkbiner gosling.

Nir chain-saw wing teeth haven't even come in yet.

The gosling tilts nir helm at him. "Why do you hate Optimus Prime? I thought he was good."

Soundwave looks down.

Scrap. The child is outside his hazard paint, some honkbiners snicker at him realizing this.

Not that he would yeet a little one without good cause.

He ex-vents and all four of his hands rub at his helm.

He signs, his claws slowly make the words so the little one can understand and the translation of his words fly across his face visor, in-case the sparkling is ignorant of the language of the mute

<It's a long story.>

//to be continued

[omsrandom]

Self-publishing looks more and more enticing the longer it takes to keep all of my gay ass characters together

[ask-dreamsmp]

“Wilbur.mem”

---> Update found in file “Wilbur.mem”

---> Open file?

“Wilbur?” 

A little blonde head darted its head up from under a worn, woven throw-blanket, bright blue eyes peering over the edge of a couch with cushions that were too-flat, a little torn. It wasn’t new, to be blunt about the situation. He fiddled with his fingers and hooked them on the edge to peer further, tilting his head towards the front door and scanning for potential escape routes if this was a game of tag and one of the bad people were coming to get him.

There weren’t any bad people coming to get him. Not this time. 

Wilbur clutched his stomach tightly, having hobbled all this way from the meeting ground he’d spent an entire day navigating, worrying in-and-out about and well, now it was clear he’d have reason to worry. He tugged his mask over his head and placed it on the box by the door that they used as a little side-table, covering his face with his free hand. Along with it went his beanie, and, as he passed, his eyes darted the brown-and-black coat that hung near it, along with a much smaller set of red and green jackets. The green one looked pristine, practically dusty with lack of use; the red had tears in the shoulders and permanent stains all over it. He forced a sheepish smile at it. 

“Wilbur,” The meek little voice repeated, popping up suddenly, standing on the couch-cushions and trying to appear taller. He pushed up, bouncing slightly on the ratty old thing to look at his older brother carefully. “You were gone so long, I got worried,” He admitted, wide eyes staring the other up-and-down-and-up-again. With a freeze, he faltered. His brow furrowed. “What happened?”

Internally, Wilbur shuddered. Consistent pressure had kept him from losing too much blood, but he was feeling a little woozy, out of focus. He needed to get it cleaned and taken care of, and especially, he needed Tommy not to worry. And so he sighed, leaning against the wall and trying to cover up the other, not so easily hidden problem. “No Tubbo,” He said dejectedly, watching the nine year old’s face fall. It hurt--in several senses of the word.

“Not at all?” He asked, head tilting slightly, the last semblance of childlike innocence practically pooling in those bright-blues. He was already too mature for his age, aged by war and hurt and the constantly changing living conditions. Tonight he slept on a couch Wilbur and Eret had found about to be tossed; three weeks from now, it might be the floor. He didn’t really like the floor. 

The corners of his mouth turned down into a frown. “But…”  he trailed off. And he pouted, as if an impending temper tantrum would magically bring his other-brother back home just in time for his birthday two weeks from now. Wilbur--cringing, because his stomach was stinging, and the yellow jumper he’d donned was going to be pooling in red if he kept standing here--shook his head with a twitch of the eye. 

“Can’t we try again?” Tommy asked suddenly, lifting himself over the side of the couch with his pillow in tow, holding it to his chest as he approached Wilbur. “I could go this time. I think President Schlatt’d like me,” He admitted, brows quirking upwards hopefully. 

Wilbur shut himself off from the younger boy, shoulders tightening. The hand covering his mouth muffled his words slightly. “You’re safer staying here,” He replied, trying to stay collected. 

The blonde nodded as if accepting this answer, but suddenly his brow furrowed inquisitively. “Why’ve you got a hand over your face?”

Busted. 

Wilbur realized very easily that he could try to lie to him; he could try to cover it all up for the sake of human decency, for the sake of not scaring the boy he’d come to call his brother rather than an orphaned ward he watched over. He could try to pin it on a mugger--crime rates had soared recently--or some monster or maybe even an accident, tell Tommy that nothing truly was wrong and that nothing bad had happened. 

However.

A twisting pang in his stomach that made his knees lock and shoulders shake reminded him that lying to Tommy would do nothing but uproot any sense of normality the young kid had. So… Wilbur dropped down, slumping against the walls before reaching the ground, eyebrow flicking in the young boy’s direction. When he sat down too, cross-legged and juvenile because God, he was still just a little kid who had imaginary friends that kept him company around the house while Wilbur was gone… he moved his hand.

Tommy’s eyes blew wide with fear and worry, seeing red that had just begun to dry tugging at Wilbur’s lip, he stood back up again. “What happened! I…” He trailed off, glancing around for the bag that contained the brunette’s medical supplies, bouncing on the toes and heels of his feet, but Wilbur grabbed his wrist, steadied him, pulling his focus back to the other boy. 

“Don’t look away,” He said seriously, because looking away meant pretending it hadn’t happened at all. “My bag is on the counter, bring the whole thing,” He ordered gently, not needing to be forceful because Tommy’d do anything for him and he knew it. 

He let the boy go, and watched him disappear around the wall that led to their so-called kitchen. With him gone he finally thought to adjust his hand, cringing, prying it away to see it caked in red too. Oh god. What if something happened? 

He’d been in discussions the moment 8 was gone about what would happen if he was the next to go; he needed to be sure that Tommy would have another place to go. He hadn’t made any final choices, but chances were, it’d be 6 if anything happened. Hopefully nothing happened. 

Tommy returned quickly, holding the bag as if it were a battering ram before depositing it at Wilbur’s feet, digging through it quickly himself. He barely even looked at the older boy, impulse telling him to focus on finding everything that Wilbur could possibly need until he was interrupted. “Tommy,” Wilbur interjected lightly. His head popped up, and he saw it.

“...You’re bleeding,” he said quietly, blinking as he saw the patch of red blossoming onto Wilbur’s jumper. His nerves got to him next, and he fiddled with his fingers, brain stalling as he stared and stared and stared. 

“Hey,” Wilbur said, trying to bring him out of what looked like a trance. He reached out and grabbed his wrist. 

Tommy suddenly blinked and shook his head, returning to reality once more. “Sorry, sorry, what, uh… what… happened?”

The brunette frowned, eyebrow twitching as there was a sudden pain to the admittedly simple action. He sighed, leaning forward despite the jolts and pangs of red-hot hurt to fumble through the bag himself. “Schlatt happened, Tommy. We aren’t going to see Tubbo again.”

Bright blue eyes went hazy with heartache, and the young blonde chewed on his lip to prevent from reacting beyond an eventual, simple nod. Wavering he asked, “You don’t think he’s dead, do you?” in a scared sort of tone, afraid to think about death, to confront death, the entire nine yards.

Wilbur shook his head, digging out the sewing kit that he kept in the bag. “I don’t,” He said, although hearing it out loud made him question the truth to that statement. He could only hope, but hope and truth were, more often than not, polarizing opposites. 

Tommy took his answer with no grain of salt, childlike persistence and optimism unwavering. He rubbed his eyes tiredly--it was past his bedtime, technically--and stifled a yawn before looking to Wilbur once more. 

“What do I do?” He asked, wanting to help, fingers fumbling with a roll of bandages, willing his thoughts to avoid wandering.

Wilbur managed a smile. 

[ask-dreamsmp]

a little gift from the moderator

so hey guys! so we hit 300 followers....

...and then 400 followers.

the original plan was to give character sheets as references for 300 at the end ot the first section (which is coming up!!) but i also had a backup gift to thank you guys for following... so now that we’ve hit 400 i’m just gonna give that one away too :)

character playlists for ask-dreamsmp section one:

dream’s playlist

viva la vida - coldplay / the neva flows (reprise) - anastasia / who are you, really? - mikky echo / house of the rising sun - the animals / a wolf at the door - radiohead / there, there - radiohead / rock bottom - grandson

sapnap’s playlist

scattered - green day / someone to you - banners / drink with me - les miserables / ocean avenue - yellowcard / last night - ricky montgomery / kill your heroes - awolnation / ghost town - layto, neoni / as far as i can see - phantogram

wilbur’s playlist

i’m sorry boris - wilbur / all these things that i’ve done - the killers / karma - ajr / bad bad things - ajj / work song - hozier / featherstone - the paper kites / brave as a noun - ajj

tommy’s playlist

your voice, as i remember it - ajj / little boy - barns courtney / heartilation - ajj / giants in the sky - into the woods / art is dead - bo burnham / dear wormwood - the oh hellos / proud of your boy - aladdin / sun tan - wallows / two birds - regina spektor

tubbo’s playlist

run boy run - woodkid / burned out - dodie / remember when - wallows / out there - hunchback of notre dame / devil town - cavetown / time adventure - adventure time / two birds - regina spektor / blame it on the kids - aviva / i’ll die anyway. - girl in red / oh my god - alec benjamin

schlatt’s playlist

ain’t no rest for the wicked - cage the elephant / bang! - ajr / feeling good - michael buble / ruler of everything - tally hall / the villain i appear to be - connor spiotto / dear dictator - saint motel / teenagers - my chemical romance / as the world caves in - matt maltese / twisted - missio / evil night together - jill tracy

---> thank you guys for sticking around :)

[omsrandom]

oof drop some knowledge on me abt The Series™

I spent almost 7 years creating a brand new language called Arrologan and lemme tell you, it was Fucking Brutal™. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve accidentally replied to one of my family’s question in the language before realizing what I just did.

Alternatively, the first two “arcs” of The Files of Aroma, which are Dream Files and Memory Files, have realistic endings, while the finale, Final Fights, has the happy ending everyone likes reading about.

The Heroine (aka The Lost Princess), Nostara, and The First Guide, Lord Huave, Do Not Get Along until, like, the 4th of the Dream Files series, Dreams of Nightmares. (They tolerate one another in the 3rd, Dreams of Memories, but they start seeing the other as a friend at the beginning of the 4th)