Character Headcanons

Character headcanons

Send me the name of a character and I will tell you my:

1: sexuality headcanon

2: otp

3: brotp

4: notp

5: first headcanon that pops into my head

6: one way in which I relate to this character

7: thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character 8: cinnamon roll or problematic fave?

Who would win in a fight?

Tags

<- prev he is nearly invincible for reasons i cannot state soooooo he would win it’s true in my heart uhmmmmmmm nuh uh you can wish with all your heart it cannot replace facts oooooh woe be upon otus spare change and piercer oooooh woe be upon otus nailgun

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synthnetz

4 years ago

if it’s needed

22K notes View Post

synthnetz

1 year ago

PRELUDE OVERTURE 0-5: FANTASIE-IMPROMPTU

TIP OF THE DAY: Use your enhanced movement to gain the upper hand on your enemies!

The ballroom is bathed in gold. Chandeliers sparkle like stars from above, gowns and coattails swish like long grass in the wind. There is idle chatter in the air— so similar to the mechanical buzz of machinery but, obviously, containing more meaning. Not that V2 can understand any of it anyways. It was an old recording, and the audio was all washed out. What it can understand is the way the people are moving. They are cradling each other in their limbs and spinning in wide arcs and motions. Their feet sway like confetti and their hips swish like wind chimes. They look like dandelion seeds floating away in the wind— and V2 has the Wikipedia page for "Dandelion" saved in its files, so it would know— except that each move looked calculated. Precise in the way that the breeze couldn't be, yet free all the same. V2 had never paid this video much attention before. It rather preferred the noise of parties, or the stillness of sunsets, or the sparkle of laughter. But the more it found itself rending wretches apart, the more it discovered that fighting was much like dancing. And it found it fascinating.

The videos that the Terminal (he insisted that V2 call him that; TERMINALLISON was just too formal) sent over of V2's performance had been reviewed by the machine, of course— it is an Artificial Intelligence, after all. It learns on a group of samples and improves itself from there. But alongside its replays of gore-gushing, feverish massacres of HELL'S trenches, V2 seeks inspiration out from waltzing. Its master did implement a dancing program within its system, for the same reason that he gave V2 all these terabytes of humanity, and V2 decided that it would not let it go to waste.

Reframing all this fighting into choreography made it less probable for V2 to hesitate before sticking its fists into a demon, besides, so it was really for the best that it did this. That's what its algorithm leads it to conclude, anyways. The algorithm always did prioritize efficiency…

The music it plays as it drops onto this floor is another Chopin piece. Fantaisie-Impromptu. It's fast, but not over-exciting. Music always seemed to give machines a push. This piece in particular would give V2 the energy to push through with this level without driving it too trigger happy, and it wants to perform this dance perfectly. The Terminal had told V2 that this was the last room before entering HELL proper. If it wants to go any deeper, it has to go through the realm's guards. And does V2 want to go deeper?

>RUNNING SYSTEM DIAGNOSTIC…

>SYSTEM DIAGNOSIS:

FUEL LEVELS: 23%

REFUELING RECOMMENDED_

…V2 needs to.

The first piano notes sound as V2 exits the elevator shaft. The room it leads to is filled with lava, save for a bridge. V2 crosses it, a light lilt in its step as it ventures further into the hallway it's attached to. The path towards the entrance of HELL would have been lethal for a lesser machine. It is dark and cramped and suffocating. It can see the remnants of old robots jammed between the grinders, like bits of food through tooth gaps. Thankfully, V2 is intelligent enough to maneuver through the traps and crawl spaces. All in a ¾ time signature, no less.

The path opens up into a hallway with a large door standing at the end. V2 enters with light steps. The corridor is dark, lit up only by the statues that lined its sides. The light is golden, like a ballroom. It can't bring itself to appreciate it, however. There is a heaviness in the air that makes V2's joints shudder. Its sensory mechanisms pick up on nothing, but the machine can still sense the suffocating force of HELL through the other side of the door. It predicts that whatever is in the room between this door and the elevator entrance to HELL is going to be far more vicious than the Filths and Husks it had been wiping out so far.

V2 cracks its knuckles. That's alright— strangely, it had been starting to long for a challenge. Perhaps the monotony of its expulsion of HELL had gotten to its system. THIS FEELS WRONG, SOMEHOW.

V2 pushes the door open and walks in.

ABANDON ALL HOPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE.

These are the words carved into the gray concrete of the gate that greets the robot as it enters. It's a chilling inscription, meant as a warning for those who had made it this far. Two statues sit sentinel at its side, exact copies of the ones that had decorated the hallway before this. V2 stays still for a moment. Was this… it? It had been anticipating a fight. One with music and dancing and blood to inject into its wires.

V2 shrugs to itself and makes for the gate. As though scripted, one of the statues quickly rises from its podium. Its joints jerk it into first position. V2's wings flash a bright GREEN as it brings out its gun.

LET'S DANCE!

The statue launches its orb towards it. V2 leaps to dodge it, jetéing with all the grace of the ballerinas that lived in its memory. It immediately counterattacks, jumping towards the statue fist-forward. The Knuckleblaster connects with its stony torso. It cracks, as V2 expected it would. But where the rock splinters, BLOOD also spews forth like a spring— like dandelion seeds erupting from the stem. V2 marvels at the sight.

It can't stay distracted for too long, however. The statue is relentless in its attacks. It has a steady but brutal rhythm of lunging, throwing, punching and jabbing. But V2 is good at keeping its beat. It responds with its own dance— dodging and ducking and shooting. Eventually, the statue gets worn down. Its stone is rippling with cracks, and blood seeps out from each opening. The statue coils over, almost kneeling.

V2 buzzes in triumph. Until…

Reprise - (n.) a repeated passage in music.

The statue that remained seated by the door whirs into motion. Life breathes through it in the same janky, stiff movements as it did its twin. The first statue rises to its feet. The second goes to meet it. Their sculpted hands meet, and to the climax of Fantasie-Impromptu, they dance.

They actually dance. V2 is stunned at the sight, but forces itself to keep moving. Now that the pair were in sync, the steps that were once easy to dodge had quickly grown lethal. Still, it's a scene that V2 would keep in its memory for a while. The statues' movements melt into each other, each punch thrown in sweet coordination. When one of them launches an orb, the other swiftly lunges. They were covering for each others' attacks— they were together.

They look like dandelion seeds floating in the wind. Precise, yet free all the same.

V2's wings flash red. No, it would not do to linger on this scene. It had to fight. It had to kill. It had to WIN. Did they think they were the only ones on this ballroom floor?

LET'S! DANCE!

V2 is quick to learn. Oh, the wonders of machine learning! It memorizes their patterns and adjusts its own moves to respond to them. It is not dancing with them, per se. It acts more like an interloper to their twin stars, orbiting around them but never quite fitting into their rotation. But it is able to better maneuver around their technique. This gives it enough time to launch a counterattack. The best course of action, its algorithm dictates, is to take one down first before the other— preferably the one that was already at the brink of ruin. And so, V2 does just that. It slides and leaps through each orb thrown at it and puts its offensive focus on the first statue.

Not long after V2's adjustments does the first statue collapse. And it quite literally collapses — its stone body crumbles into chunks of gray and entrail. It's dandelion seeds again. The statue's partner is visibly unhappy with it. Its body turns into a bright red— similar to how V2's wings changed color based on its apparent mood. It can tell that it is angry. That it is pissed. And it is HELLBENT on taking out its vengeful rage on V2. Its movements grow aggressive, too quick for even V2; the machine feels the singe of the orb's afterburn when it fails to dodge it perfectly.

It's strange, V2 notes. The creatures it had slain so far didn't seem to care for one another to such an extent. NO ONE IN HELL SEEMED TO CARE ABOUT ANYONE. It had made them easy (easier) to mow down...

It takes a bit of adjustment, but V2's AI is blisteringly efficient. V2 is quick on the uptake and not soon after its partner had perished does the second statue take its final bow. It crumbles much in the same way the first one did, with all the dandelion seed gravity in its fall. V2 hovers over the remains of their bodies. Its heels are inches-deep in the maroon sludge of dust-thickened blood.

It very suddenly grows somber. Memory files suddenly play in its OS, a tidal wave of videos seeping into its theoretical mind. It sees people dancing off-beat. It sees dandelion seeds being ripped from the stem by a raging, howling wind. It sees rain and dark storm clouds. And it sees itself hunched over mangled corpses, listlessly draining the blood from their bodies. It is alone. It has no one. Not even a foe to dance with. All the while, Chopin continues to tickle his virtual ivories.

It very suddenly wonders if it is ready to go any deeper. All this is beginning to feel so… wrong . Those statues were partners. They had cared for each other. They were dandelion seeds. They were ballroom lights. They exemplified everything V2 had seen in its cache of humanity. MEANWHILE, IT HAD NOTHING BUT ITS TRIUMPHS, WHICH WERE BEGINNING TO FEEL HOLLOW. Not even the rationale it had developed about combat and dancing could spare it from this. V2 staggers a little. Its hand goes to clutch its chest, though not for any reason other than it feels mildly comforting— machines, of course, have no racing heartbeat to calm nor aching muscle to soothe, and so have little use for such soft gestures. But V2 was not coded like other machines. V2 was coded with humanity in its wires. It was always meant to be soft.

Yet here it is, standing before the mouth of HELL, crimson stains lining the machine shell that its creators made with love in mind, holding a gun that was won in blood.

WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN?

The ground shakes. The gate that the pair had so stalwartly guarded begins to rumble open, revealing an endlessly black maw. V2's wings turn yellow. No. It had to keep moving forward.

It absorbs whatever blood it can from the battlefield, filtering out whatever pumice and debris was mixed into it. Its body hums as it is charged to a decent 67%. Then it slides forward, into the opening, without looking back.

-#-

TIP OF THE DAY: IT'S MY MAN! MY DUDE! V-TWIZZLE! YOU MADE IT! WELCOME TO HELL!!!

The Terminal greets it with a cheerful buzz. Confetti (so THAT's how it looks like) bursts out from its gut. RAPTURE OF MIRTH. CELEBRATION. V2 should delight in this, like humans did whenever there was confetti. It doesn't. It can't. Instead, it silently flicks the statue dust off of its metal plates. Its terminal friend finds this strange— V2 was prone to doubt but it was never quite this… down. It didn't seem like a matter of fuel either. Something in its OS must have been rapidly coding and uncoding itself. The Terminal decides not to ask. V2's answer would probably be boring to it anyways.

TIP OF THE DAY: Woah, giving me the cold shoulder? What's wrong with you? You scared of HELL or something? Pffffft. It's alright. I've been there. Hey, maybe this'll rile you up:

V2's machine moping is interrupted by the transfer of a video file directly into its storage. It startles for a moment but quickly opens it.

>WHAT THE FUCK. WAIT.

The Terminal manages to sound smug over text.

TIP OF THE DAY: Well? What do you think?

>IS THIS ME? WHAT THE FUCK. I DON'T REMEMBER MOVING LIKE THIS. WHERE DID YOU GET THIS.

TIP OF THE DAY: Are you stupid? No, that's not you. It's blue. Keep up, man. Anyways. You remember when I said that there were more machines headed down HELL? This just so happens to be one of them. Meet V1.

>V1? WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK.

TIP OF THE DAY: Pretty cool, no? Some competition you've got there! At this rate, it'll speed right past ya. All the more reason to train, I say.

>WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. NO. WAIT.

If the Terminal had hoped to relieve V2's personal crisis, then it would be disappointed by the results. The video it had sent over isn't just ineffective, but inspires the completely opposite effect. V2 loops the .mov file, its system doing a full scan of each frame. V1. A MACHINE HEADED TO HELL. The first thing V2 notices is how V1's combat style was so much like its own— fluid, featherlight, free. Files begin rapidly opening in its video player.

SHIT. DANDELION SEEDS. DANCING. PARTNERS. THE STATUES. THE FIGHTING. WAIT. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. TOO MANY. WINDOWS ARE OPEN AT ONCE. WAIT. NO.

V2 should not be capable of generating images of its own. Whatever semblances of thought it has are derived from the materials it has in its memory bank. But watching this video while gigabytes of ballroom scenes and dandelion fuzz playing in other tabs inspires a new vision. Suddenly, it's the two of them cradling each other in their arms beneath ballroom lights. Suddenly, it's the two of them fighting side-by-side, dancing a choreography of gunshots and knuckles, turning red when one of them falls. Suddenly, it's the two of them being blown into the air, spinning and flying.

V2 feels a wire rupture from overheating.

>...HEY TERMINAL.

TIP OF THE DAY: What's up, babe?

>DON'T CALL ME THAT. DO YOU THINK V1 AND I COULD… GO DOWN HELL TOGETHER?

TIP OF THE DAY: Huh?

>LIKE. DO. DO YOU THINK. DO YOU THINK INSTEAD OF TRYING TO COMPETE WITH EACH OTHER WE COULD. JUST. 1-2-3, 1-2-3. YOU KNOW?

TIP OF THE DAY: No I don't. What the fuck are you even saying? Do you want to work together with it or something?

V2 nods slowly. The Terminal buzzes, as though humming in consideration. Then, its screen flashes a large green thumbs up.

TIP OF THE DAY: Hm. You know what? You may be acting a bit short circuited right now but sure! It's not the stupidest thing I've heard from you. If you think you can, then I say go for it. It'd make for some banger material if you could somehow fight alongside each other. Just think of the dynamics! It'd be some of the most thrilling shit to date. Then I could finally beat Jerminal984 in the VIDEO category.

>THANK YOU.

TIP OF THE DAY: Uh, you're welcome. Now get moving!!! It'd be a bad look for you if you got left behind. And my friends really wanna see you clear LIMBO, so...

The Terminal's screen turns dark. V2 lingers in front of it. It sees its reflection on the monitor. It wonders if this is what it would be like when it meets V1. If it meets V1. It's not so sure. It's never so damn sure. But if it can meet V1, it hopes it can find some answers. Maybe even a friend? Someone who would turn red and angry for it. Someone who was just as lost as it was.

Maybe with V1, things would feel close to right.

It doesn't know. But now, more than ever, it wanted to find out.

It turns and walks towards the elevator shaft in boxstep. Then it jumps and plunges downwards.

V1... LET'S DANCE.

23 notes View Post

synthnetz

11 months ago

V1/V2/MIRAGE <333333333

9 notes View Post

synthnetz

2 years ago

I’ll probably be going off of break soon bc I’m finally catching up with classes n stuff (and art block is getting beaten away)