#project mainframe

[projectmainframe]

Apologies if the entries seem kinda random by the way! I’m just writing down what I already have and I was just going with my flow of thoughts to be honest :3

[yourcrazyboyokris]

Hello! I’d just like to say I’m currently working on a sort of Daszombes region / campaign concept thingy called Project Mainframe!

So if you wanna see 1: Goobie woobie smort scug 2: Iterators! (Soon) 3: SRS finding a possible affirmative 4: Occasional arty things 5: Oooo massive ecosystem simulation! 6: Oooo scug that came from said massive ecosystem simulation! 57: I was never good at counting don’t judge me 7: Me somehow making creatures that are more terrifying than miros vultures 8: Seven Red Suns’ city and ancient civilization headcanons

Then come on down to the Rain World official Discord server, click on stories-forums, and find Project Mainframe! :3

[ragdollartwork]

As I wrap up the semester, I'm also wrapping up on my game dev class project, Mainframe!

Mainframe is a fighting game about giant mech pilots duking it out in sci-fi sports that defy the square-cube law, inspired by games like Pokken Tournament, BlazBlue, and Street Fighter. It's a game I've been wanting to make for years, and I'm glad to finally have a working prototype of the idea!

This project was created with some HEAVY lifting from Universal Fighting Engine in Unity. While I won't be distributing any playable versions of this for a long time (in part due to the Maya student license), I think this works as a solid proof of concept.

[tired-loverboy]

I’m excited for Nikki to finally come back! AND get an outfit change?!😭💚💕

I’m assuming she’ll have this new outfit for Teresa’s movie if I’m not mistaken!💖

[agentdoubleasks]

BASIC OVERVIEW OF OUR PROJECTS

Hello, it is now Percy. I feel like Peter was making too many posts. Anyway, I wanted to give you a rundown of the projects we’re doing, just in case there’s any confusion.

Agent Double- A show about a secret agent in the 80s, but I’m not gonna spare any other details until we get asked more stuff

Space Pattersons- Me and Peter characterized in space. That’s it. Well, apart from some other things….I’ll just say you can ask away

Inside the Mainframe- A reincarnation of a previous (finished) project. It was bad.

That’s all we have goin right now, because Agent Double has taken us like 4 years and we’re still working on it. ‘:]

…

ok bye

[arabaka]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ miguel x spidey!fem!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! NO SPOILERS !!!! splashes of angst. unprotected sex. creampie. cervix fucking. WORD COUNT: 1.8K PSD CREDIT!!! MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI !!!!!!!（ ꐦꉺωꉺ)つ @miguelism @pompomegranate come get ya mans !!!!! PART TWO HERE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You can still see him here.

It’s not real and it never will be– not again, anyways.

“March 13th.” 

How long are you going to keep doing this? Your jaw tenses. Here we go again.

The argument is a solo act; there’s no one to talk to here but you. So naturally, you run the same trite script until it comes to the same inevitable conclusion: giving in to the self-indulgence.

The bad thing’s already happened. You lost Miguel– well, more like he lost you. You’re the one trapped in this purgatorial vortex. The space that lies between every what if, the border of every possibility.

And it’s so fucking lonely.

So it’s ironic that your multiverse jumping wristband is good for anything but its intended use. It mocks you, its amber projections burning red when you even so much as try to go home. Not to your original timeline– to HQ.

To him.

But you know that will never happen so you make do with what you have: the memories stored on your gadget, the device looking worse for wear with jagged claw marks running down its sides, disappearing into the scarred flesh that lies beneath it. 

He didn’t mean to hurt you. You know that.

You wish you could tell him.

You (metaphorically) furiously fan away that cloud of remembrance. You’re already stuck, no need to dwell on the last time your heart was ripped out. You lie back, resting against nothing but floating amongst everything. Limbo sure is weird.

Arm resting over your stomach, you train your eyes on the happier time playing out from the screen on your wrist. It’s not perfect; the vision cracks, sometimes glitches in reds and greens before going back to normal. It’s getting worse. 

There you go again! We’re trying to have a good time here. 

Right. Right.

Sorry.

Focus.

You take a deep breath, chest rising and falling steadily.

Focus.

You close your eyes and when you reopen them, fix them on the screen that shows you strutting in Miguel’s domain, it’s like you’re there.

It’s like you’re back home.

“You gotta eat, you know.” Tossing a paper bag way up high, it doesn’t surprise you that he catches it with lightning fast reflexes, even with his back turned to you. “And if you don’t, I’ll make ‘em take empanadas off the menu.” 

He’s still. Only sound coming from him is the rustling of the bag. At least there’s that, you think as you approach the floating platform. “Don’t make me come up there!” You holler, though you only get your own echo in return. 

Shit. He’s in a mood.

Throat flexing with a thick swallow, you decide to go up anyways– you sure don’t want to wait for him to come to you. Thing’s slow as hell.  

Webs whipping from your wrist, you fashion a slingshot apparatus to propel you yards into the air. Nothing beats the rush of a flight, even now as you descend into what could be a particularly thorny situation with a particularly grumpy man. 

But he’s your particularly grumpy man. 

“Hey,” Your voice starts softly, “Everything–”

He turns around, stopping you in the middle of what was going to be your magnum opus of pep talks to show he’s got a mouthful of doughy goodness that keeps him from talking. And when he swallows, there’s a damn smirk waiting for you to kiss.

You don’t fall for it, at least not now but god do you want to. But first…

“Asshole!” 

“You just jumped to conclusions.” Another bite of the savory empanada just to tick you off. You’re so cute when you’re annoyed, even if it’s all in good fun. Your cheeks puff up and your nose scrunches when your eyebrows furrow. He’ll kiss you if you won’t.

“Oh, real mature. Hiding behind–” 

In a flash, the empanada goes back in the bag and in red glowing binds gets fastened to the side of his computer mainframe, freeing up his hands to pull you close. A little too roughly, but you melt into his big frame regardless, lips pursing against his and giggling when you can taste meat and spice.

“How romantic.” You mutter and he laughs.

God, his laugh. Nobody heard it too often– nobody but you, that is.

When Miguel was with you, it’s as if you two were in a world of your own. A timeline of your own. Where past transgressions and terrible happenings were nonexistent. Where he could be him, the man he was supposed to be: sweet, charming, and kind. And where you could love him like he deserved.

Is someone else filling that role now? 

Great! You’re thinking too much again. Stop fucking this up!

“June 27th!” You blurt, warped back to reality when your thoughts strayed too far from the projection. 

The picture’s changed now. You’re home, your residence littered with reminders of Miguel. It’s empty, but not for long. The front door slams open and you and Miguel come pouring in, him taking the lead as the two of you blindly navigate the foyer with your lips locked and hands gripping each other for dear life.

Your cheeks in real time burn. Maybe you shouldn’t stay for this memory.

Oh, don’t be such a prude. It’s literally you! The little voice in your head chastises and honestly… You can’t argue with that.

“M-Miguel, I don’t– I don’t have– I’m not on–”

“Shut up.” A tempered hiss is pressed to your lips, thick digits coming to frame your face as he pushes you further into the space you’ve come to share together. “Or I’ll change my mind about filling you up.”

You can’t argue with that.

“Say it.” His growling crests your ears, breath hot and fangs out just moments later when his pelvis is flush against yours, cock buried to the base in your sopping wet pussy. You swear he’ll drip drool on you at this point, the man driven to the brink of his sanity by the way your cunt hugs him so tight. It’s like you want to milk him for all he’s worth. 

Your hands paw helplessly at his chest, all your energy zapped as your eyes roll back under the curtain of fluttering fluffy eyelashes. “F-Fuck Miguel– f-fill me up!” 

“Keep going.” His voice is low, rich and dark.

The fat head of his cock presses up against your sensitive bundle of clitoral nerves, slamming hard when you whimper and cry for him, “Right there, right there!” You start to babble, the words freely flowing from your kiss-bruised lips because your brain is long gone, “F-Fuck me, need your cum– need you, need you, Miguel! Please don’t stop, please!” 

“Yeah? Can’t feel whole without my cock? Need it?” His tone seeped in pride, he loves seeing you unravel for him like this. “I’m givin’ it to you baby, right where you need it. You feel that? Your little pussy crying for me, so fucking wet. Fuck, you’re so good. Good for me.” He’s kissing you now, sloppy and panting into your mouth before his tongue ravishes yours and swallows every moan you give him.

Your legs locked around his waist still bounce, hips raised off the bed by Miguel’s brutish clutch so he can bully more of himself into you, harder and faster. Your lower body limply follows his every move, takes every slam and thrust all the while wet squelches fill the room. Your vision finally coming back, you see his nostrils flare and his eyes glazed over with a beastly kind of lust. It’s enough to make your bones shiver.

You can’t help but let your gaze rest there, even as he fucks you within an inch of your life, always so fervent with his thrusting as he stuffs you full, but you just can’t get over this view: his pectoral muscles flexing when you tighten up around him in just the right way, the way sweat gathers on his brow before trickling down his sharp jawline, and the way his lips stay agape because if he’s not groaning, he’s growling.

“That’s it, mi vida. Doin’ so good. Pussy takin’ me all the way in. Shit– I’m addicted. Might just fuck you raw every time. Want that?” One hand comes to your face, thumb just barely squishing your cheek and making you pout. “Say it.” 

“Y-Yes, yes! Please Miguel!” Tear drops glimmering in the corners of your eyes, you plead for him, “C-Cum inside me, I’m getting close!” Every sense of yours is on fire, everything burning bright for him and only him. Always for him.

And you see a similar inferno explode in his narrowed eyes just then and it’s immediate, the way he unhooks your legs from his waist and bends them aaaalllllll the way back until your knees are violently knocking against the mattress, his lumbering body taking yours in the mating press he so adores.

Because he gets to fill you to the brim. Bump and grind against your cervix until even that soft nodule is his. He’s staking his claim, making you his as the soles of his feet dig deep into the sheets, his toned limbs caging your bouncing body until you’re nothing but a squealing little mess for him to clean up.

His balls slap firmly and roughly against your folds, sticky webs of cum starting and breaking each time he snaps his hips. Your walls tremble around him, gushing out more of your essence every time. You’re just about undone. He can feel it.

But so is he, his already thick cock pulsating with another rush of blood as the coil in his stomach heats up. He puts all his weight into you, onto you the last couple thrusts – he knows you can take it – so he can kiss you. So he can taste you.

“‘M cumming, c-cumming…” Your words are muffled and tired, eyes wheeling back as your orgasm hits you hard and heavy, Miguel following soon after with plenty of cum to fill your pretty pussy up with and an animalistic series of grunts as his cock twitches and throbs inside you. It’s thick and so much, too much so that the opaque matter starts to pool out when his hard shaft finally leaves you, giving your featherlight folds another heaping layer of viscosity.

“‘Tch– it’s comin’ out already.” He huffs, though with a bit of a laugh. “Can’t have that.” So his fingers gather what’s remaining and slip into your cunt before he pops another kiss to your parted lips, nipping just a teeny bit on the bottom half to get you to squeal one last time for him.

And that’s how the video ends. That’s how you finish, having followed along with lithe fingers rubbing your aching clit and one or two at any time plunged and crooked inside you, but it’s not the same. 

It’ll never be the same.

[the-cat-ara]

My fandesign portal 2

GlaDos

She is connected to the mainframe, but she can be separated from it thanks to cables that serve as extensions, but they are not so long that she can take a walk around the facility (not that she needs to leave her room or is interested in doing so) the only thing that would prevent her from being able to move freely away from her mainframe is having cores connected to it or when a core transfer occurs, either of these situations activates a latch that is on her back, taking away her mobility at the same time, in case she is separated from the mainframe the cables will start to retract pulling her back to the mainframe (recommendation, do not force or you will cause damage to the circuits). She is equipped with Long Fall Boots

Her hands and arms have the ability to project holograms, usually small (although the size of the hologram can also increase if she projects with two or more hands) she uses them to view important information and files. also to monitor test subjects, she can also record herself but it's not a function she uses

(as an added bonus I was thinking that where the projectors would be on her arms I was thinking of making it where they connect to the personality cores, but it would be too easy for her to rip them out from there so I discarded the idea completely).

Intelligence Dampening Core (Wheatley)

on him back him panel with the Aterture Science logo can be opened to connect to panels or transfer rails, but also cables can be connected to him back at the bottom, but it is mostly for battery recharging or simple data transfers, in case you want to transmit more complex data or check the core database you will need to open her back panel, you can also connect pendrives XD

him hands and feet have emergency connectors and magnets, in case when connected to the glados mainframe she tries to reject them or remove them by shaking, but him main connector as personality core is the one near the neck on her sword

he is very light, surprisingly light, which makes it easy to be connected to her rail and to move on it quickly (also to be carried by a person). He is is equipped with Long Fall Boots

normally cores have the serial number engraved on the side of their chest but wheatley and Rick seem to be one of the few cores with a proper name, maybe it was just a whim of one of the researchers who let them keep a proper name or simply gave them those names.

in their deteriorated state, their arms fall off or stop working for short periods of time (along with his tik in the eye, it was all caused by the microbot Jerry).

his exposed wires are a constant risk of an explosion or his circuits melting, so he may just be a bit more nervous than usual when he remember this

he still has his flashlight function in his eye, his head (and that of all the cores) can be detached from his body (that's how his head ends up in GlaDos' body XD) if his head isn't connected to anything he can still continue to have control over his body

Adventure Core (Rick)

to begin with, as in the game all the cores are the same in terms of design…. More or less, the variations are in the location or number of handles, and their characteristic color, in Rick's case he has an extra crank on his neck.

Some scientist thought it was funny to simply give him a cowboy hat (I also leave a drawing without his hat just in case).

apart from that, all the cores have the same functions as mentioned above with Wheatley

Fact Core

the data core has a unique crank on its hips, unlike the other cores that have a crank on each side of the hip, it also has a little bow that someone from the staff put on it, he likes it, he says it goes with his intellectual tone, his serial number was erased with time and the wear and tear of his paint.

Space Core

the space core has a glass helmet, he thinks it is a space helmet but it is just a noise muffler as he always seems to talk shouting which annoyed some people, I think at this point the scientist who stuck all those decals on him was fired or maybe something worse? either way it doesn't seem to bother him, he is capable of sticking more on if he could find more decals of course, his serial number was also erased by the wear of the paint

What also differentiates it from the other cores is that it has more battery than the rest, due to its restlessness, its battery is usually consumed faster, if it had the same amount of battery as the others it would have to be recharged several times.

Chell

she still has the same design, I just added some scars on her arms; some are from burns, scrapes, and bullet impacts from turrets.

WheatDOS or Wheatle in the body of glados

He still has the same functions as GLaDOS, only he doesn't know how to use them properly. I can only imagine him as a dad trying to use a phone for the first time, just clicking on the first thing he sees without bothering to read. The only function he learned to use was recording himself, and he loves to have that omnipresent villain vibe.

He has difficulty walking due to GLaDOS's high heels (he pretends to know how to walk gracefully in them, but his heels have bent in so many ways that if he were human, he would need surgery to walk again)

Just like with the Aperture Laboratories logo, which he replaces with his name, he crosses out GLaDOS's name on his chest and simply writes his name with a blue marker. When GLaDOS sees this, she scolds him for daring to vandalize her body.

He also changes his lab coat to one that is more fitting for a villain, so he decides to dye it a dark color (this also annoys GLaDOS; he just keeps adding reasons to her list of "reasons to kill him")

statures

all cores have the same size, so just add Wheatley to the size comparison picture

I wouldn't know how to express their heights with numbers so I'll just leave you with the guys standing side by side.

statures but with wheatle in the body of glados

here wheatley is still smaller than glados despite being on his body XD

Well, I think that would be all the information on these designs; more than data, they were like random ideas, haha.

I apologize for the bombardment of information and the excess of text and thoughts I had for each design.

I don't know if the Portal/Portal 2 fandom is still alive (from 2011 to 2024, that's a long time💀💀💀), I have the bad habit of getting into fandoms too late, haha, but I hope you like it.

In the future, I plan to make humanized versions (well, I already have Wheatley's ready, but it needs some touch-ups, XD).

If you have any other questions you want to know about them, feel free to ask; I will gladly answer your questions! :D!!

[sleepymccoy]

Please choose your favourite of my (imo) niche star trek headcanons

Now that I'm writing these, I wonder if any of them are straight up canon that I've forgotten lol

I'm gonna further defend my headcanons under a readmore, but it's up to you if you want to read that or just vote on the summary 😘

Scotty's actor is Canadian. Also he's so Scottish? Like, he's called Scotty, he drinks scotch, he is Scottish, so on. Too much. I think he has Scottish heritage, maybe his mum is Scottish, so he knows the phrases and his accent work is comedic but solid. But he himself was born in like Quebec

I have a whole post on McCoy's ex wife being Vulcan, it rules, give it a read here

The way America crumbles in trek history I think opens them up to invasion. I don't think Russia is still in charge, I think they've moved on from that and country borders are less political more cultural in TOS times. But I think briefly Russia had everything and Chekhov is joking about that when he says shit like that saying is Russian. We know, Chekhov, everything was Russian once, get over it. His joke is less about things being Russian and more like someone making the same joke about how everything was Roman once

TOS writers had a little cheat sheet of characterisation rules I saw here once and one said that Sulu has many varying interests, so if you need an info dump that's not one of the other main guys things, use him. So I've taken that and gone with he isn't actually into plants, it was just a six month project to better learn how to take care of them. He spent a lot of time complaining about them to Chekhov. Basically a hyper fixation and once he figured it out he lost interest, but retained all the knowledge

Cos Rand has that trick of heating up the coffee with a phaser on low. That's resourceful with ship technology that uses batteries, not mainframe power. I think she knows what matters when a ship breaks, and food and comfort need prioritising cos she grew up on a ship that was always broken. Broken ships are easier to tolerate if the coffee is served hot

I think Chapel's fiance kinda sucks in that ep, even if it was just a robot copy, and I think she loves being in space. I think she feels both relieved and guilty about it all, it's bad

[kathaynesart]

wait, what happened to the side of donnies face that gave him that scar/need for a hearing aid?

It happened years ago while he was trying to hack into the Technodrome. This was done via a Krangified army helicopter they had managed to take down without completely destroying (and the only known way since the Technodrome itself is completely organic).

However, the attempt failed and his old headphones/visor burst from a power surge. It lead to some nasty burns/scarring on the side of his face and he is practically deaf in that one ear. It was also the incident that made him realize that he couldn't just depend on electronics and his usual tech to try and tap into the enemy's mainframe. That's when he decided to reach out to Barry to try and find more... "Krang applicable" methods of infiltration, eventually leading to the Project Shield and Spear we know today. Thanks for asking! I have way too much backstory that is probably never going to be touched upon in the main storyline, so always happy to talk about it when it's brought up

[oldguydoesstuff]

Paper weight with ECL gate array chip designed for the VAX8800 (code name: "Nautilus") embedded within.

I was given this when I started at DEC as swag since this product had just shipped. In a lot of ways this machine was the apex of DECs attempts to capture mainframe market share from IBM.

Projects that followed were all either cancelled or should have been, (looking at you, VAX9000)

[projectmainframe]

Welcome!

This is a blog for my custom Rain World AU, Project Mainframe! This story dives into the city of Seven Red Suns and what happened to the city after the ancients left it behind, as well as a simulated reality and the mysteries it holds within. The story follows Scholar, a lost, resourceful slugcat traversing the boiling grounds of a city preserved in time, searching for a pearl at the request of their creator. The contents of the pearl? Scholar doesn’t know. But if they did, this story likely wouldn’t happen. Unfortunately, art will be rare since I’m… not the greatest :3 Mainly, it will be a writing project. Any fanart or mainly questions in the ask box are greatly appreciated, as your questions or suggestions may change the story! Happy reading!

[phantom-0-writer]

short 3: operation mousetrap

table of contents ao3

Nightwing’s eyes glazed over the case file he had already memorized as they made their way to the scene of their mission. Superboy fidgeted in the seat next to him, untempered. It had taken Nightwing and Robin (mostly Nightwing), and M’gaan almost the whole pre-mission briefing to convince Superboy to not just fly there, and actually take the bio-ship with them. He could empathize though. When Young Justice had first formed unofficially on their unsanctioned mission to CADMUS to, eventually, break Superboy out of his cloning pod the Justice League along with the bandit of misfits the Young Justice team was at the time had done everything they could and expended every resource to track and shut down anymore similar projects. Unfortunately and fortunately, Konner had been the only one to be stable enough to survive outside of the cloning pod, and since CADMUS had been permanently shut down there would be no more cloning projects (from them at least).  

Or so they thought. 

A mission that the Teen Titans were on almost a month ago had given them a tip off that there were still more CADMUS research operations happening. According to the files and research they had gathered, which, granted, wasn't as much as they would've liked, it seemed like there was something about this specific branch that had been different than the ones they had been tracking down after finding Konner. That had been the explanation to why they were only finding out about them now, years after they had thought they’d seen the last of them. Batman wasn't happy to be blindsided like that. And neither were they. Konner, naturally, had taken it the worst. Practically begged to be on the mission even though it’s not his usual modus operandi. Nightwing suspected that he felt some kind of responsibility to see it through, which as illogical as it may be, he understood where Konner was coming from.  

So here they were, Nightwing (Since Batman couldn't oversee it himself), Superboy (As previously stated), Robin (Teen Titan representative of choice) and Miss Martian headed towards the new CADMUS location in an intense silence. The mission was sanctioned as a recon mission, the objective was to not to be seen so they could bug their systems and find out just how much of CADMUS they had overlooked. Hence the two bats and a martian that could go intangible. Cyborg was on standby at the Watchtower in case his expertise was required, Robin could put him through. CADMUS dabbled in a lot more than just clones, so the team was surely in for a surprise. 

Nightwing was confident it was nothing they couldn’t handle. 

They kept in the shadows, Miss Martian connecting them telepathically as they split up. She headed off with Robin to the main control room, Nightwing stuck with Superboy as they got eyes on whatever was afoot here. Superboy easily fell into Nightwing’s lead, leaving minimal traces of their presence. 

‘We’re clear.’ Robin informed them that he and Miss Martian had successfully reached the control room, ‘I’m tapping into the mainframe; downloading and in process.’ 

‘Were you seen?’ Nightwing asked back, hotwiring the security panel for one of the doors marked Authorized Access Only (that translates to “you should probably check this out” in vigilante speak). 

‘Negative.’ Miss Martian echoed back. 

‘It tell you what we're up for?’ Superboy asked, as the door silently opened. Nightwing stopped him from entering so he could scan the area for laser, boobie (heh) traps and other such sensors. All clear.

‘Systems scanning. Will update. Over.’ Robin said curtly, likely busy getting past the security without ringing any alarms. 

‘Heading into an access point. Still clear. Over.’ Nightwing reported, as their communication line went quiet but the light buzz the connection gave still echoed in his scalp. 

The lack of guards was concerning to say the least. The building wasn’t abandoned, there were still people going about. But they had all been in lab coats doing things that people that wore lab coats in shady underground operations did, not security going around securing the place. Even the access point hadn’t had any sensors that hotwiring couldn’t dismantle. Nightwing knew enough about CADMAS operations to know that this wasn’t how CADMUS operated. Knowing better than to hope for the best he told Superboy to keep his guard up, trusting Robin to come to the same conclusion as him. 

They surveyed the access point. They had managed to get pretty deep into the building so there was sure to be something juicy in here. Weapons of mass destruction, an unnamed virus that could kill on impact, neo-Armegedon. All in previous case files stored under CADMUS along with superhero cloning. Nightwing was relatively certain he wouldn’t be finding any more cloning attempts, which had been the core of what they had been searching for during the first CADMUS eradication operations. Looked into all the big pharmas connects and everything. Crazy how far a name like “Wayne” could take you. 

So imagine Nightwing’s surprise when Superboy calls him over while he’s snooping through the on hand files in the large room to see what all the freaky green bio-substance in the rows and rows of mason jars were supposed to be for and he sees an all to familiar pod. A pod that might even be referred to as a cloning pod. There was a kid inside, male, estimated age 7-10. It was always hard to tell ages with clones. Skin tone was hard to tell in the green of the liquid he was basking in, but it looked tan - melatonin tan, kid probably never got a lick of Vitamin D in his life. His hair was white in some parts and black in others, kinda like a zebra. Or was dalmatian a better reference? His umbilical cord was still attached- or something that served as one, if he were to guess. Nightwing couldn’t see where it led to as it disappeared into the ceiling. 

“We gotta get him out.” Superboy said through clenched teeth. Nightwing couldn’t imagine the memories going through his head. His hand went for the control panel before Nightwing stopped him. 

Superboy looked like he wanted to put up a fight so Nightwing was quick to explain, “We don’t know if he’s stable enough to not be in there. If you open it, or wake him or whatever- you could kill him. You need to think about this objectively, Superboy.” The anger didn’t dissipate but Nightwing trusted the nod of understanding he received and released his arm. “Clones don’t usually have an umbilical cord.” Nightwing noted, “They must’ve tried a new recipe.” Tuning back into Miss Martian's mental link, ‘Rob. You find anything yet?’ 

‘The information’s coded, Cyborg and I are working on it. But all I’ve found so far is not looking good.’ There was a beat of silence, and Nightwing’s chest twisted in anticipation. ‘They have a project Grayson.’ 

‘What?’ Nightwing ‘Are you sure it’s not just a coincidence.’ Superboy’s eyes snapped to Nightwing who turned to look at the boy in the cloning tube and wondered if his eyes would be blue when (if) he opened them. The memory of his own parents telling him the trails of his birth flashed in his head. His mother couldn’t conceive, so they’d found a doctor to help. He’d been a test-tube baby. At Least until he was old enough to be in a womb. He knew how it worked. And he knew that both his parents had to get harvested for it. Considering who they were dealing with, it wasn’t impossible their samples weren’t stolen. 

‘Codename: P40-N10; Attempt 16: Project Grayson.’ Robin recited ‘That’s all I got so far.’ 

‘Robin, we're getting company.’ Miss Martian's voice said, alarmed. 

With a curse Robin ended the conversation. If they found Red Robin and Miss Martian then it wouldn’t be long until guards came by their alley either. Quickly Nightwing tapped the computer screen that most likely connected to the kid’s suspension chamber. Superboy made himself useful looking through the paper trail stored in the shelves, since he could read faster than the average human. Robin was right about the coded information, trying to bypass whatever software they were using a pinprick he hadn’t been expecting poked through Nightwing’s glove drawing only a drop of blood. 

That can’t be good.

The computer screen shifted to the loading sign, force-freezing any other on going processing for whatever just popped up. Instinctively, Nightwing backed up from the screen, bracing for some kind of explosion or attack to come from somewhere. But the screen finished loading and a present icon popped up, deceptively colorful. Despite not touching the mouse, the cursor moved to the icon with an exaggerated click and the present opened with a light fanfare of digital confetti. 

Operation MouseTrap: Activated. 

Nightwing didn’t know what that meant, but it couldn’t be good. Before he could process what course of action he should take- optimally a self-extraction, they’d been sniffed- the glass dome encasing the kid retracts with a loud sound and the substance is drained only just fast enough to not spill over the glass. 

They had been expecting them. 

MouseTrap. They were mice. 

Crap. Crap. Crap. 

‘Rob, MM. We need to leave. Now.’ Nightwing ordered urgently. Superboy was on his feet, catching the kid from hitting the floor with a speed Nightwing couldn’t match. 

“I got him. We need to cut the wire.” Superboy said, checking the boy for a pulse. Approaching them quickly, Nightwing sliced through the umbilical cord with a batarang. 

‘What’s the situation?’ Robin asked, 

‘We’ve got them handled on our end.’ Miss Martian reported. 

‘We’ve been set-up. I’ll explain later. We need to go.’ Nightwing snapped, just as the overhead alarms started blaring. He should’ve seen this coming a mile away.  

Superboy picked the boy up. “Pulse is there, but barley. He needs medical attention, fast.” He used his jacket to cover the boy, holding him to his chest as he made his way to the door they had come in from. 

“It’s too risky to take him with us. They wanted us to find him, there had to have been a reason.” Nightwing stepped in his path, staying aware of potentially being approached from behind. The containers he had been looking into earlier were forgotten in their corner of the room. 

“So what?” Superboy asked venomously, “We leave him here? ‘Cause he's dangerous?” A took a threatening step closer, “A threat?” Cloning projects were always a sensitive topic for all the Supers, Konner specifically. Reasons obvious. 

Nightwing sighed, “No.” He looked at the child and he couldn’t help but notice the similarities. Both with himself(phenotypically) and with Konner(in every other way). “No, we can’t leave him here. But we can’t go into this headfirst.” There was a volley of footsteps approaching. 

‘Nightwing. Superboy. ETA?’ Robin asked through the link. 

“We could take him to Mt. Justice?” Superboy tried to offer. “Titan’s Tower?” 

“Mt. Justice is a secure location, we shouldn’t risk them being able to track the kid. We’d be risking everyone that stays there.” Nightwing explained, he could hear footsteps approaching. There was a crowd of them. “And the tower wouldn’t have the proper equipment to monitor or take care of him, medically.” The option of the Bat Cave filtered through Nightwing's mind, but he didn’t offer.

‘Guys.’ Miss Martian, called. ‘Do you copy?’

“Watchtower’s the safest bet, then.” Superboy pressed, “It’s crawling with heroes. Batman will be there. And Superman. What’s the worst one kid can do?” A lot. But Konner wouldn’t take that answer. Nightwing caught the kid’s hand twitch from under Superboy’s leather jacket. 

‘Nightwing. Superboy.’ Robin called again, urgency in his tone. ‘Do you copy?’ 

“Why can’t our recons never actually be recons?” Nightwing sighed dramatically reaching for his batons as the door opened to reveal a folly of security guards. If they were meant to get in and get the kid, then they would sure as hell leave with him. Batman’s lecture be damned. 

‘A few friends dropped by. We’ll catch you in five.’ Nightwing finally responded, ‘Get the medkits ready, we have a stowaway.’ 

Superboy let out a breath and his shoulder’s visibly relaxed, as he pulled the kid closer in his arms. He looked tiny next to Superboy's wide shoulders. Even if he was 7 he was small for it. Nightwing didn’t have much time to take in the kid, locked into a fight he could’ve taken in his formative Robin days, with a Super as back up. The two hurried down the corridor they had entered from, not bothering to take to the shadows when the loud red buzzer and alarms had exposed them. With Superboy’s enhanced strength the boy in his hands barely caused a dent in their escape plans. Though he was so small and skinny, Nightwing was confident their roles could’ve been reversed with minimal disadvantage.

The bioship took off the second the two landed both feet on board. Robin took one look at the heap of a child in Superboy’s arms and domino shifted in what Nightwing knew to be a questioning eyebrow. 

“Heading back to Mt. Justice.” M'gann said as they steadied in the sky.  

“Drop us off at the Watchtower on your way.” Dick called, following behind Konner to where Tim had set up their makeshift Medbay. 

“B’s gonna flip.” Tim said approaching the stretcher the ship formed for them, as Konner laid the kid down gingerly. Dick shrugged, watching the monitors Tim hooked the kid up to. They were low, but they were steady. “He looks like you.” Tim commented again, stepping back to examine his work. 

His hair had strips of white in that Dick never had the displeasure of dealing with, but Dick had never been in a cloning pod and he couldn’t be sure if the white hair was a genetic thing or a side effect of whatever the green stuff was. He should’ve gotten a sample of the vials when he had a chance. Have something to show for himself at the lecture he was no doubtably going to have to sit through with B. His skin wasn’t as tan as Dick’s but Dick spent excess hours in the sun and the kid got his umbilical cord cut only minutes ago. He had a dust of freckles, like Dick did. His nose bridge had a crick in it like Dick’s mom’s in the pictures, but Dick’s nose didn’t have one. His jaw was slim and angled like Dick’s had been before he hit puberty, and his skin was clear of any of the acne Dick had fought hard and long in his middle-teens. His shoulder’s didn’t have the muscles Dick had been trained into since before he could remember, making his entire body slimmer and smaller than Dick’s had been at that age. 

It was like looking into a funhouse mirror of himself.

---

“Nightwing.” Batman called in a tone that Dick had become, unfortunately, very used to over the years. “Explain.” 

“We were reconn-ing, like planned. Found the kid, alarms went off. It was no longer a recon.” He slumped into the empty chair with the Big Blue’s emblem etched into the leather of it. A bored look on his face to hopefully deter the length of the incoming lecture. 

“You were team leader and as team leader you should know better than to not notice things. Clues that aren’t there are tells as much as clues that are there, and you led your team-” The lecture was cut off by a color-clad man Nightwing hadn’t had the pleasure of knowing the name of, his hurried eyes filtering between the duo and landing pointedly on Nightwing, hesitant to say anything in the presence of The Almighty Batman. But Nightwing knew. There was only one reason anyone would be looking for him right now. 

“The kid’s-”

“Awake. Yeah, I got it.” Nightwing said pushing past him and hurrying in the direction of the Medbay Konner had refused to leave. Batman was on his tail, never one to leave a child vulnerable or unattended, regardless of the potential threat levels. Or maybe it was because he was a threat. 

Nightwing entered before Batman, but he could feel him falter at the sight of the kid that sat in the bed with a posture Alfred had taken years to instill in Dick. His hair was still a patchwork of black and white, Dick wondered if he was wrong to think there was more white than there had been before. But as he stepped through the door, large blue eyes locked with Dick’s own. His Father had blue eyes. And his mother had a hooked nose. He’d seen the pictures. He’s memorized them. The slim jaw, the large eyes, and the lush lips. He looked like Dick, but not identical. 

“He just woke up.” Konner told Dick quietly, but still loud enough for the kid to hear. Dick took off his domino, Batman left his on. The only people in the room were the three of them, the kid, and the doctor who was looking after him. The kid eyed them all wearily nonetheless. 

“Hi,” Dick started with a smile, making sure to keep his hands in view and move them slowly, “I’m Richard Grayson, most people call me Dick.” He wondered if the joke would make him laugh or cringe. The kid just watched him and gave no reaction. Dick cleared his throat and continued, “I was one of the people that helped you get out of your pod.” he informed him. Still no reaction, but he could tell the kid was listening. 

Batman stepped to speak, “Do you know who you are?” A clear question, classic Bat. 

“P-four-zero-dash-N-ten.” He recited in almost a robotic way. When Konner had been broken out of his pod, he had memories, an objective. 

“What he means is do you have a name?” Dick said even though he knew that’s not what Batman had meant. 

“Project Grayson. Attempt 16, variation B-7.” He said in the same tone. His eyes moved fast and widely and he took in Dick and Batman’s reactions. Without prompt he continued, “Subject A-1 of operation MouseTrap. To be released from confinement under circumstances of acceptance of preliminary requirements.” 

There was a beat of silence, “What are the preliminary requirements?” Batman asked his voice hesitant in the way that Batman never hesitated. 

“Requirement 1: Suitable requirements of sustainability. Requirement 2: Overridden entry granted,” When Nightwing hotwired the security to get in, “Requirement 3: DNA match Richard Grayson.” 

“What do you know about Richard Grayson?” Batman questioned again. The doctor stepped closer to the kid, but waited for Batman’s question to be answered. 

“Richard Grayson, son of Mary Grayson and John Grayson. Recognized as the Flying Graysons, a well known international circus act. Orphaned at age 8, adopted by Bruce Wayne at age 8. First notable appearance as Robin estimated age 9. First notable Nightwing appearance estimated age 19 to 20. Noted weapon of choice: dual escrima sticks. Proficient in martial arts, with emphasis in aerial maneuvers. Threat level: 9.” He paused again, eyes not leaving the whites of Batman’s cowl. “Do you require more details?” 

“No.” He said quietly. He took a small step back as silent permission for the doctor to go ahead. 

The kid’s eyes went to the doctor, taking in the lab coat before the doctor herself. “I’m going to draw some blood for testing. Is that okay?” The doctor displayed the empty syringe in her hands, not bringing the potential threat closer. The kid eyed the medical device. 

“Understood.” He offered up his still bare forearm. The doctor seemed hesitant at that, but proceeded regardless. The boy’s features that had stayed a daring still during the entire not-really-a-conversation-probably-more-of-an-interrogation, made the light twitch of his left eye as the syringe penetrated his skin only more apparent. 

Dick considered the interaction they had so far. The kid was definitely a kid. Presumably human considered the resemblance they seemed to share, but you could never be too sure with CADMUS. The tests would prove that once the results were back. But he seemed sentient, picking up on (the lack of) social cues and trying to correct (in his perspective) the mistakes he had made. He reacted to pain, maybe not in the way most kids would, but he wasn’t most kids. He had blood, so he wasn’t a cyborg. There was probably some brainwashing they needed to tap into, but nothing the League hadn’t dealt with before. 

The doctor asked him whether he preferred a Superman bandaid or Wonder Woman. His head tilted to the side just a bit, as he examined both bandaids. Then stared at the doctor in silence. The doctor retreated to grab one of the boring brown ones they gave you when you weren’t allowed to have choices anymore. Konner watched the whole interaction from the corner of the room. 

When Dick moved in wide steps, the kid watched him carefully with more curiosity than fight. He brought Konner close, but not so much that they were crowding the boy. They still didn’t know what he was capable of, and this would be the worst way to find out. “This is Konner.” Dick gave his shoulder a dramatic clap that he knew wouldn’t hurt the man, “He’s from CADMUS too, long story.” Curiosity took the better of him, “Do you know about project KR?” The kid tilted his head the way he had done with the doctor, which Dick took to mean he was confused and decided not to press the topic, “Well, anyway. Konner here can help you out with anything we can’t. Isn’t that right, Kon?” Dick spoke animatedly, pointedly being overly friendly in his demure with Konner. 

Konner gave a nervous nod. Given the fight he’d put up to make sure they brought the kid with them, he was being awfully shy. 

The kid looked between them, expression calculating. “Konner.” He echoed Dick’s cadence at the name, but it sounded strange in the monotone. Then he seemed to take a moment to process the name, eyebrows bunching up. He turned to Dick head tilted again. Dick was starting to find it quite endearing. “Konner here.” He echoed Dick’s voice again, but Dick gave him the space to try to find his next words that were brewing on his face, “Kon?” It had the slightest tilt of a question.  

“Kon is a nickname.” Konner was quick to explain, his voice was gentle and placating in the way Superman’s often was. “My real name is Kon-el, but most people call me Konner, and my friends call me Kon.” 

“Kon is a nickname.” The kid repeated, looking point blank into Konner’s eyes. Then he turned to Dick, “Most people call me Dick.” He repeated Dick’s introduction from before. 

Dick gave him a large grin, “Yeah, Dick is a nickname, too. People only call me Richard if they’re mad at me. You picked that up pretty quick kid. You’re a smart one aren’t ‘cha.” 

“Pretty quick.” He echoed. 

“Do you want to pick out some clothes?” Konner asked. They kept a reserve of all sizes in the room across from the MedBay, they came in handy and also reminded people that Batman designed this place because who else would think to have a gift-shop themed store in the middle of space. 

“Pick out? Some clothes.”

“Oh yeah, we got a bunch.” Dick nods.

Surprisingly it was Batman that spoke up next, “Would you like to go see?” 

“You’re a smart one aren’t ‘cha.” He says in the same praising manner Dick had, the musculature of his face still steady. Konner hid his laughter much better than Dick, who doubled over in hysterics. Batman didn’t laugh, he never did, but there was a wisp of a smile on his face and that was as close to a cackle you could get out of the cowl.

Dick decided to save the Nightwing merchandise indoctrination for when the kid knew how to say no and mean it. They’d gone through and shown him a handful of options that were his size, because there were a lot of options. In the end he’d picked a hoodie with patchwork of Wonder Woman’s logo on it, that he wore over an equally vibrant Green Lantern t-shirt, and bright red Flash pajama pants. A lot of color, not that Dick’s original Robin costume had been much better in that aspect. The kid could use a bit of color in his life after whatever insanity he’d been put through. 

Dick saw the way Batman’s eyes trailed after the kid’s every movement, and hands ready to pick out wherever his eyes landed on. He’d definitely be seeing more of the kid. Pulling the clothes on to replace the hospital gown, the kid looked at himself in the mirror, pulling at the clothes that were still a little big on him and examining them under the gaze of the mirror. When he was satisfied with the ensemble, he turned back to them. 

Dick’s phone buzzed with a text. 

Timbers: Updates?

It’d probably be best if Dick called him to explain. Which he’d have to do later. “Are you hungry, buddy?” 

The kid looked at him curiously, head dipping to the side. The oversized hoodie only added to the look. “I like mac’n’cheese. Do you want to try that?” 

“Pretty quick.” He said, in what Dick would deduce to be a yes. 

“There’s going to be a lot of people there.” Batman explained, voice slow and enunciated, “We can bring you the mac’n’cheese or you can come with us to get it.”

The Watchtower wasn’t too crowded today, most of the heroes with other bases were there, but even today’s small number might be overwhelming for the kid. “Lot of people there.” he echoed, wide eyes looking up to meet the Caped Crusader’s. 

“They’re other heroes. Like Wonder Woman,” Konner pointed to his hoodie, “Green Lantern,” the shirt peeked out from under the hoodie, “and Flash.” 

“Superman. Aquman. And this is the Martian Manhunter.” The kid quoted from their quick explanation earlier. 

Dick nodded, “Yeah like them, and they’re our friends so they’re not going to hurt you. But they might not be there because uh-” Dick hesitated about what he should say, “they’re at work.” he settled. 

After a lot of consideration the kid seemed willing to head to the cafeteria, and they picked a seat in the corner where they could see the whole room but be out of the way enough so the kid didn’t get spooked. Batman and Konner took the kid to pick out which of the meals he thought looked most appetizing while Dick called Tim. 

The phone rang a few times, “How screwed are you?” Tim said in lue of a greeting. 

Dick laughed, “You should come by and meet your new brother.” 

“What! It’s been like four hours?” 

“He’s known him for like thirty minutes.” Dick watched as Batman and Konner did their best at explaining what each of the foods were. 

“Seriously?” Tim exclaimed before sighing, “Kid got a name?” 

“We’re working on it.” 

“Is he gonna stay at the Manor?” 

“Probably not for a while. What did you find on him?”

Another sigh, more frustrated. “It’s taking a while. But I should have it done in an hour.” 

“Personal delivery?” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” A pause, some of the other hero’s gave the kid curious looks. But fortunately no one approached since Batman was his shadow. “You know who he is, yet?” Tim meant in relation to Dick. Because there was some relation, people don’t just look alike. Not the way they did. 

Brother. Son. Duplicate. Dick hadn’t really given himself the chance to think about it. Like really think about it. He has a family, sure, Bruce, Alfred, Barbra, Jason and Tim. But he had a family. The ones who told him Romani folktales and helped him feed the circus animals even though they weren’t allowed. He was the last of the Graysons, but that could only happen if there had been Graysons before. And there had been. Until they had fallen from grace, and the show light stopped shining upon them. But there was another Grayson now, in whatever way he had been made, and whoever he was supposed to be. Dick wasn’t the last Grayson anymore, and he hoped he would never have to be again. “We did some tests. They haven’t come back yet.” 

“Hm. I’ll stop by when I can.” 

“‘Kay. Toodles.” Dick could hear him snort at that before the line disconnected. 

When Dick finally made it to the table, the kid looked up at him. He put a singular cheesy gnocchi in his mouth that took him a few tries to get on the end of his fork. The kid tried for another bite, hair flopping around as he tried to work the fork. Batman watched him as he managed to fill his fork with more than he would be able to fit in his mouth, then toppled and fell into the bowl. Confused, he tried again. This time Batman took the fork from him demonstrating how to use the utensil with a silent patience, and handed it back to the boy loaded with a bite. 

Flash, ever the conversationalist, caught sight of them and made his way to the table. “Cool pants, kid.” he commented jovially sitting in the empty space next to Konner. 

The kid looked down at his pants, cheese smeared around his mouth that Dick could tell Batman was seriously contemplating whipping. But neither of them were ready to push the kid’s boundaries yet, if he even had any. The kid examined the Flash emblem that patterned his pants, then up at the matching and much more meticulously designed on the speedster’s chest. His eyes went wide with recognition, but his face didn’t move to smile. The kid pointed to Flash’s chest, “Cool pants, kid!” He exclaimed excitement was easily laced into the Flash’s cadence of speech. 

“Hey! That’s what I said!” Flash was easy to laugh, despite the whisper of confusion in his eyes.

The cheer Flash displayed was matched easily, “Hey! That’s what I said!” There was a laugh in his voice like he was trying to say a joke that reached his eyes but not his cheeks. “And Flash!” he exclaimed. 

“That's right, I’m the Flash.” He gave a quick lap around the table to show off his speed, both the kid’s and Dick’s hair tousled in the show. 

“Pretty quick.” Danny cheered. 

“I’d like to think so.” Flash puffed his chest out, a prideful smile on his face. Dick rolled his eyes. Speedsters. 

“You should eat your food before it gets cold.” Konner nudged the kid gently. Reminded of the earlier mystery of the fork and mac'n'cheese, his attention was quickly diverted. 

“Kinda young for the family business, don’t you think, Batsy?” Flash questioned, “He didn’t even earn his colors yet.” Flash alluded to the Robin suit. 

“He’ll be staying at the Watchtower for a period.” Batman said, and whatever other additional explanation he was about to give was forgotten when the kid placed his forkless hand on the table to aim at the pasta from overhead, like he’d been doing earlier. Except unlike all the other times, his hand went straight through the hard material of the table, causing him to topple over. A surprised gasp escaped him. 

Flash caught his head before it hit anything, the other’s on their feet. “Oh, dear.” Flash commented lightly, trying to disperse any tension the kid may have had. Like all the other times, he didn’t cry or seem alarmed in any way. He tried to pull his hand out but it seemed stuck, and he turned to Dick for an explanation. Not that Dick had one to give. He wasn’t a meta, untapped or otherwise. His parent’s weren't either. And even if the tests hadn’t come back Dick had had his suspicions of who the kid was supposed to be to him. And meta didn’t fit anywhere into the bill. 

“Can you get him out?” Batman asked Flash, when it was clear the kid didn’t know how to. It took him a while to phase his hand out, and it was obvious he didn’t like the idea of using the speed force on the kid, but they didn’t have that many options. The kid, to his credit, seemed only mildly put off by the experience and went back to his goal of finishing his mac’n’cheese. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of them. 

Batman gave Dick a look. “Tim says he should be done in an hour. Stop by if he can.” Batman didn’t look pleased, but there wasn’t much else for him to do. 

“Are you ok?” Konner asked, trying for a gentle hand on his shoulder. The kid didn’t protest. 

“Pretty quick.” He said pointing his fork to Flash, as a final comment.

me: has a prompt idea me: i can write a short little exerpt abt this lol. it' be fun. maybe like 2k?? me four days later pulls put this monstrosity:

for your convince I only have the "original amount" i was planning. the rest will be on ao3

[cyberwhumper]

Something’s off.

…1.82km/h. Visibility: 3.21km. Good looks, Hotshot.H̸o̶t̴s̸h̵o̴t̶.Ḧ̴́ͅo̴̙̕t̷̢͐s̸̳̾h̵̬̊ǫ̸̕t̵̥͌…

Vic presses knuckles to aching eyes, rubbing until he sees technicolor in the blackness, blotting out the constant flicker of information in his heads-up display just for a second. It’s been making him lowkey disoriented all day—like, it’s like it’s one of those optical illusion things where he swears there’s a pattern in the data, but it disappears the second he looks directly at it. Christ. Leave it to him to code himself into a migraine.

You good? Despite being right next to him, Rex’s voice comes over their private comm channel instead, low and steady into his brain. He breathes out, willing his heart rate to regulate.

Yeah, he sends back. Just need to defrag or somethin’. Tired.

Rex grunts, but doesn’t press it. He’s unnaturally still, posture ramrod straight thanks to the steel alloy drilled into his spine and the discipline drilled into his soul, the metronome twitch of his bladed tail-tip the only giveaway that something’s alive in that hulking body. He’s telegraphing, Vic realizes, projecting his stable vitals across their connection, trying to coax Vic’s deep-fried nervous system back into the green like one of those dogs they make hang out with cheetahs in the zoo.

It’s very sweet. And it’s very not working.

He absently chews at a fingernail as the display chatters away in his periphery. Coordinates, wind speed, adrenal output, H̴̩̔Ę̶̏L̵͈̍L̶͎̚O̸͇͗ ̴̪͊T̸̗͒H̶̥́E̸̤̽Ȑ̴̙E̵̞͘, ammo load—hold the fuck up.

His eye twitches.

…Hey, jack in here with me for a sec. Seein’ ghosts.

Rex doesn’t respond, digital or analog.

Big Dog. Yoo-hoo. Read me?

Nothing. For the first time in months, Vic’s alone in his head. He’s suddenly very aware of the eerie stillness of the oven-hot desert air, of the beads of sweat sliding down his back under his flak vest, of the silent ringing building in his ears.

“Rex, something’s…” He trails off as the display begins to expand, filling more of his vision, error messages stacking up. CONNECTION UNSTABLE. CONNECTION LOST. RECALIBRATING. H̴̩̔Ę̶̏L̵͈̍L̶͎̚O̸͇͗ .

No. Fuck. God. No. This can’t be happening. His stomach clenches, mouth going dry. Their chrome is clean, he wiped everything himself, rebuilt their mainframes from the ground up with Vargas and Bjornsson’s help. Mal’s gone, he can’t hurt them anymore he can’t he can’t he—

CONNECTION LOST. H̴̢̃e̶͎͛l̴̬͌l̷̗̐ơ̷ͅ. H̶̼̑ę̴̓llo. Hello, Montez. He can’t hear you. It’s just you and me.

Instinct sends him to the ground a millisecond before the gunfire does. He doesn’t even hear the shots ring out—his fucking audio is offline—and his field of vision is compromised, errors on glitches on errors, but not enough to save him from seeing Rex’s back arch unnaturally, arterial spray vivid against the acid-blue sky as his body spins, then falls, bare meters away from Vic. It might as well be miles.

He’s alone. And he can’t even scream.

[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]

[OC INDEX]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

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[siremasterlawrence]

My Personal Virtual Transition

I won a weird competition to use a Spiralistix virtual reality A+ glasses at the laboratory I am assigned to go to and I pack my bags to head to London when I am greeted by a the limo driver.

The limo is rather bare all that I see is a less then twin like bed I lay down in when a pair of the goggles pop down and I place them on my head instantly a light flashes in my eyes.

I fall deep a sleep as my mind transfers over to the mainframe of the device leaving me in a pitch black room and I am left in darkness until a ball of light appears filing up the whole space.

The ball projects a image of a blank virtual male leaving me at a loss except I saw Tom Hardy in the ball showcasing him at some major celebrity event in a dashing suit I can only imagine.

Next thing I know suddenly I am falling in to a deep sleep body, mind and soul are soon transferring in to the ball all of sudden I am hit with a shock appearing at the event and I see it.

Crowds screaming as they are surrounding me, more hands reaching out to grabbing me too and pulling left, right, up, down and center until my eyes land on the glass door and window.

I am now literally in control of actors super sexy and hot ass mother fuckers body in the midst of the spectacle and I decide to play along with it taking his finger licking it and messing his hair up.

I flash a bright smoke showcasing my teeth then make my way down the red carpet my hands are in air and waving it to the sea of massive amounts crowds who are lusting after me.

I slap my ass hard while making a hot sizzle sounds, then make gun signal in my hand and shoot upward and make a weird facial expression as I ditch my wife to have some old fun.

Taking a second I sneak off to the private bathroom of the hotel locking the door a bit and start to undress my self slowly as I lay my cell on to the counter as it records my every movement.

Doing a sexy dance routine just live stream for everyone to see declaring that I am hot ass mess and I need to give myself to some one and he has no idea I am about to make him mine.

I grab my cock starting to pump it creating a heavy undulating movements as I I scream, howl, and shout in pain and pleasure before I cum and I feel the horror of Tom from inside of my body.

“Time to clean up this mess!”

“God! Look at this face “

“I am about to hit some pussy and ass”

“Yeah! I am talking about you bitch”

“Oh Stop! You are embracing this “

“I can feel your heart racing “

“Do not ignore me”

“Or deny my”

“This is my body now “

“Anyone let’s go “

“Hello everyone!”

“Let’s fucking party “

“Hey babe”

“Let’s dance “

“Are you ok Tom?”

“Yeah? By the way”

“Huh?”

“I want a divorce! Sorry babe! Bye”

I call for my limo, calls hotel to set up a room for me and we are off as they park and I am heading in to my hotel room disrobing me of my clothes stripping till my underpants as it all leaves me naked.

I stand in the mirror soon enough I see his reflection looking back at me with anger is ranging on and waving his fist at me so he is getting closer to me as close as the mirror gets closer to me.

He stood stronger in a super height equal to mine, his arms are wide across from me now padding his arms to his body and I love it I can feel the panic in his throat and the pure surge of energy.

“This is impossible! You cannot do this.”

“I am allowed to do anything I want.”

“I chose you “

“I am in control “

“This is my will”

“I will you to obey “

“FUCK You!”

“You will be fucking “

“Some ass”

“You evil creep”

“Evil? Creep? No! No!”

“Oh Tommy! Tom…Tom”

“I am Tom Hardy”

“I am Eddie Brock”

“Asswipe”

“On a deeper level “

“I understand you “

“I am suffering with mental health too”

“I am not as confident as I should be”

“We have to exude it”

“That’s a life”

“Stop falling it “

“Enough fueling it”

“I am your Master now”

“I consume you “

“There is no freedom”

“No free will”

“I love you Tom”

The end

[gunsandspaceships]

MCU Timeline: Iron Man. Part 4 (May 2008, after Afghanistan)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

May 4:

10 am - Pepper helps Tony change the reactor.

~12:30 - Tony goes to Edwards Air Force Base to offer Rhodey the chance to become the armor test pilot. Having been refused to be heard, he decides to become the pilot himself.

May 5 - Tony begins the Mark II project.

May 14 - Board of Directors meeting in New York. Stane came back with pizza to inform that "they" are filing an injunction against Tony. Pepper brought the "Proof that Tony Stark has a Heart" reactor to Tony's lab along with a mug of coffee.

May 15 (Day 11 of "Mark II" project):

Morning/afternoon - after 36 tests, Tony has a successful 37th. However, he does not immediately go on a full test flight.

Evening - he puts together Mark II and goes for a full flight test in LA.

Night - Tony finally notices that poor coffee mug and Pepper's gift.

May 15/16 - photos of the Jericho and other SI weapons in the hands of the Ten Rings were taken. Which means that Obadiah supplied the terrorists with a new batch of weapons, including this missile system, sometime between April and May 15. Around this time, the Ten Rings attacked Gulmira.

May 16:

Before 22:09 - Tony rests from the test flight and his injuries, makes notes for suit upgrades, gives Jarvis instructions for Mark III.

Night (May 16-17), (2 weeks after the press conference) - 3rd Annual Charity Ball. Tony is there after 11:00 pm, May 16 (his watch shows 10:09 pm, add the time it takes him to get ready and change, plus the drive from his house to Disney Concert Hall takes about an hour, but this time he's driving, so the drive takes less time). Coulson is there and asks him for an appointment on May 24th. Tony spends some time with Pepper.

May 17:

~12 am - Christine Everhart informs Tony of a new arms shipment to terrorists from SI. Tony asks Stane about the under the table deals, and Stane tells him that he's behind the attempts to lock Tony out.

3 am - Mark III is ready. Tony returns from the Charity Ball, takes off his jacket and shirt, and while finishing his glove watches the report from Gulmira.

Evening/Night (~8 pm) - Tony gets into Mark III and flies to Afghanistan. It probably takes him about 3-4 hours to get there with his speed of about 2000 mph.

May 18:

~10:30 am (Afghanistan) - he attacks the Ten Rings in Gulmira, saves the villagers, and destroys the Jericho.

~11 am (Afghanistan)/11:30 pm (LA) - Air Force spots him in the no-fly zone and tries to shoot him down. Tony saves the pilot and escapes.

~6 am (LA) - Tony is back home. Pepper finds out about his adventures.

Marvel forgot about the time difference and forced Rhodes and Major Allen to work at night.

Afternoon/Evening - Rhodey gives a press conference about the "unfortunate training exercise involving F-22 Raptor". Stane watches this on tv.

May 19 - Stane in Afghanistan. He meets with Raza, takes Mark I and kills the terrorists. He orders SI engineers to begin work on the Iron Monger suit.

May 19-24 - Tony repairs his armor and recovers from his injuries. Stane and SI engineers build the Iron Monger suit.

May 24:

~4 pm - Tony sends Pepper to retrieve the shipping manifests from the SI mainframe.

~6 pm - Pepper at SI. She gets the data and learns that Stane was behind the assassination attempt on Tony. Stane finds out about this.

On the computer in Tony's office we see the time 13:46. But throughout the whole scene with Pepper it remains the same. It also doesn't make much sense if Coulson just sat there all day knowing his appointment at 7 pm. Thus I assume this time is incorrect.

7 pm - time of Coulson's appointment with Tony at SI. He and Pepper go to the S.H.I.E.L.D. office. Stane rushes to his engineers, demanding an update on the arc reactor. After receiving bad news, he decides to take it from Tony.

Coulson tried to catch Tony for a debriefing from May 2nd to May 16th, and then waited for his scheduled appointment on May 24. He wasn't hanging around there for 6 months (until October 24th), as stated in some timelines. It's simply ridiculous.

~9 pm - Pepper calls Tony from the S.H.I.E.L.D. office. Stane paralyzes Tony and pulls the reactor out of his chest, leaving him to die.

In 10-15 minutes - the paralysis begins to subside and Tony goes to get his first reactor. He barely makes it in time due to arrhythmia (but Dum-E saves him) and loses consciousness after inserting it.

~ 10 pm - Pepper calls Rhodey and he rushes to Tony's house.

~10:30-11 pm - back at SI Stane inserts Tony's reactor into his armor. Rhodes finds Tony unconscious in his lab.

~11:30 pm-12 am - The Battle with Iron Monger.

Remember that the time required to get from Malibu to the SI headquarters by car is approximately 1.5 hours, and from Malibu to Edwards AFB is almost 2 hours. Let's make allowance for the fact that Rhodey had to drive like crazy in Tony's Audi to get there ASAP, so it took him about an hour to get there.

May 25:

Afternoon - "I am Iron Man" press conference.

Evening/Night - Tony meets Fury, who broke into his house.

Captain America: The First Avenger Timeline

The Avengers (2012) Timeline

[trans-femme-fag-dyke]

T4T sEggs Cracking

Sex changes when you transition as a t-girl. New realities come into focus. New turn-ons emerge. A world of novel psychological and physiological experiences are added to the mix, or replace it entirely. Hormones and their impact terraform the ecology into a mycelial divine feminine, replete with new pleasure pathways. In short, it is wild and beautiful, feral and oozing with potential.

What I wasn’t prepared for, though, was how transfiguring the experience of T4T sex would be. Not by a mile.

Degrading Glorification

(What follows is a dual narrative, embellished and made whole by my lover’s own description of our tryst, which may I tell you is really fucking hot. Anyone who finds discovery and meaning in the process of writing has my attention and, most likely, my lust).

Just another day on Grindr receiving unsolicited dick pic after dick pic from people who ignore my profile’s clear insistence on T4T only.

While I don’t avail myself of these opportunities, there is something to be said for the euphoria that comes from being seen by cishets as a girl. Even seeing me as an attractive t-girl, if they’re purely fetishizing that tribal identifier, doesn’t hurt. Having spent too many years in the closet as a boy-modular gay, I am immune to the aggression of those advances and treat it more like a research project, tagging each new appendage into its relevant mental taxonomy: thick, thin, black, white, clean, cum-covered, veiny, etc. Back in the day, these advances were perfectly acceptable — direct, to the point, like the hawking of wares in a saturated meat market. I was less interested in what they were attached to as I was in their function. Emotion and personality were cast aside.

As a t-girl, though, there is a crossing of the privilege divide into an East Berlin of fear and insecurity. Too often, and too unpublicized, are the examples of anti-trans violence that it’s simply not the same fuck economy that it used to be. And anyway, my orientation has changed.

Orientation shift in transition is a topic that could command an entire thesis, so I won’t go into it here. Suffice it to say that almost overnight, as the estrogen moved through my body, I lost my interest in gay or straight men. Perhaps because being with a gay guy, although still on the table before secondary sex characteristics set in and I could stealthily navigate those penetrations, would send a dysphoric signal deep into my programming.

I find myself attracted to trans energy mostly.

Grindr is a numbers game in Los Angeles. There’s so much flakiness you become accustomed to being ignored or conversations end abruptly. Not to mention that hooking up here is so governed by travel times which fluctuate wildly throughout the days asymmetrical commuting times, that the whole affair can be a non-started at the outset.

But she responded. Glorious brunette, with long wavy hair, small pursed lips and an aloofness that immediately activated my pathological desire of the emotionally unavailable. What can I say, my mother fucked me up.

She — let’s call her Adeline — lived about 10 minutes away, so in an abundance of well-heeled politeness cut with impatient lust, I went to pick her up.

Cue the usual slightly coy banter as we both worked each other out during the ride. The dissipation of fear which comes with these Grindr “dates” for traps, which always carry a soupçon of terror to them and see us scrambling to etch a last will and testament into our iPhone notes app and share location with friends as it plays out.

I emerged from the bathroom topless.

Oh fuck, she thought, nipple piercings. The most physical symbol of deviance there is.

We started making out on the sofa and immediately some force took a hold of me. I felt like our bodies were fusing inside a blacksmith’s forge. We were glitching like a hacked mainframe, opening up its secrets to Snowden’s deft digital lock-picking. We were like people who hadn’t eaten in days set loose on a Vegas buffet.

I ran my hands over her back and through her hair, interlocking my teeth around her neck and ears. Almost epileptic in spasms of uncontrollable, uncensored I searched for my frontal cortex and managed to articulate that we should move to the bedroom.

My friend S had told me to expect fireworks in my first T4T experience. Their look of both shock and empathetic excitement registered on their FaceTime framed face.

They hinted at the dynamic’s incendiary force with an elliptical smile, leaving me hanging like a teaser trailer.

“I can’t explain it, but there’s just something to that energy, that vibe. I’m so excited for you. Like fucking excited!”

And Jesus fucking christ, they were right. I can see why they held off on the detail. Language fails.

We made our way to the bedroom where I revealed my kink drawer. There’s a cornucopia of debauchery in this unassuming pine wood piece of furniture: masks, paddles, leashes, collars, nipple clamps and floggers.

We negotiated our limits, settling on consensual non-consent. In short, anything goes.

We couldn’t have been more perfectly matched. When she initially shared photos with me on the app she gave a trigger warning around the bruises I’d see. It just so happened that impact play and relishing in the blues, browns, yellows and purples of corporeal graffiti aftermath was something we shared.

“I don’t care if you draw blood,” I assured her.

“Well ok then, you pathetic little slut,” she hissed, “lay the fuck down.”

I hadn’t fully anticipated how rapidly she would turn on the sadistic domme energy and I didn’t question it. I couldn’t.

Mmmmmmmmm, mama’s hungry, I thought as my crotch began to throb.

I don’t need to pull my punches, she thought, I can really indulge this deeper cruelty in me.

“Yes, mistress!” I responded, getting into role as the slut spit dump I’d soon become.

I lay down.

“Open wide, slut,” she ordered as she spat on my face, all the while positioning her mouth over mine and dribbling long translucent threads of drool onto my tongue and down my throat. She lunged for my neck with lupine grace and hunger, digging her teeth in and unleashing eddies of dopamine and oxytocin. I could feel the fledgling bruises on my neck and knew they’d be difficult to hide but at this point she could have pushed a blade into my lungs and I’d have kissed her while the blood bubbled out of my mouth.

These were feelings I had never felt before.

It was like all my shame, low self-esteem, trauma, alienation, anxiety and isolation channeled a lightning strike turning sand into clear shards of luminescent glass.

It felt both individual and collective, all ruptures and salvation of minority stressed gender fuckery, raining down and being soaked up. An effervescent tribal alchemy of ecstatic release.

The power of consensual degradation cannot be underestimated. I took years of being trodden down by things beyond my control. The abuse of my mother, the deprivation of affection, the laundering of all currencies of love through a front of cold calculation. All of this turned to steam through the act of my submitting to it with someone who also made me vibrate with light. All of those times when I had no fucking say in what happened to me, as humanity depriving as it was and violently unfair, I now took back. I resignified it, reclaimed it, decolonized and liberated it.

She attached the leash to my collar and yanked me onto the floor.

“If you’re a good girl, you’ll get a treat.” She said sternly, with the consummate control of a well-etched domme.

Up until now, she’d only really experimented with this role but now, she leapt up into the saddle ready for battle. From where I crouched, lapping up her girl dick with such an eagerness to please, it felt like she’d been doing this all her life.

In the dawn of her 20s, this girl came with a level of sexual confidence and experience that can only be found in trans circles. It’s like our bodies are always searching for each other with odyssean ardor. Simultaneous electrons suspended in tandem states.

I clambered back onto the bed like a dog and she straddled me, our girl dicks entwined in her hand with a vibrator in between. Edging, foreplay, the beautiful mirage of the female orgasm which rises and falls, ebbs and flows, coming into focus then going blurry as the mind and the body speaks in foreign tongues.

It was the kind of sex you never want to end. Constant punishment, submission, bratty deliberate misbehavior, retaliation, good behavior and treats.

“You told me you were going to cum you fucking whore. Well, are you?!” she cursed.

“Fuck my pussy, mistress. I need something in me so I can cum for you.”

One, two, then three fingers entered me as she celebrated my gaping hole.

“I love how loose you are.”

Ugh, I felt so seen. I’ve been trying to make my ass loose for years. It’s been one of my sexual north stars. I want to be able to get entire cities inside me. Until my neo-puzzy arrives, my ass has been my pussy substitute and I’ve wanted her to stretch until my bud becomes labia and turns from circle into that canal like corridor of floral ingress.

It didn’t take long, with my ass full of her hand, and I reached that liquidless trap climax and lay there panting, dripping in spit, sweat, and a sense of sexed gender euphoria I had waited 39 years to feel.

Who knew that in order to feel my most beautiful, it would take this level of degradation.

We languished, dripping in sweat and overtaken by an exhaustion which was held in abeyance by the relentless motor of sex.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to do that again,” I said, with the last remaining energy and breath left in me.

“We might not be able to. I’m probably moving to Berlin in a few weeks,” she responded with a signature level of matter-of-factness and regret.

Afterword

This is a post from Threads that resonated with me.

@aspirationaltea I think this post is me realizing T4T lesbian is the full explanation of my sexuality at least?

That’s how I walked away from the experience with Adeline. Literally and figuratively changed forever. In one fell swoop a single lover had the power to make me feel seen for the first time in my life.

Now of course any first time has the potential to carry the hyperbole of its impact. But the water that slacks the thirst of the desert stranded is the exact same water we all drink. The difference, however, is life saving.

I would usually chalk up an experience without more penetration as fun but not fulfilling. In this scene I had a few fingers inside me for a few minutes. And yet I lost all sense of time and place, sinking into the experience like feet in clittoral sand.

It was pure T4T lesbian sex, as much connection, edging and build as it was a wham bam teleology. The purpose was communion and connection.

T4T sex transfigures and transubstantiates the entire experience into a physical act. Inside every bite, kiss, spit, yank, finger and curse, was a microcosm of the entire experience of trans identity. Eucharist anointed trap fantasy.

Our shared struggles, estrogen shortages, dirty glances turned our way, rejections. Our alignments, the joyful tears t-girls shed over the smallest things as their emotional synapses reinitiate, our first sports bra. Everything is there, unspoken but enacted ritualistically like the world is burning all around us and we carry on regardless. Which is, alas, what it feels like a lot of the time.

At the core of the experience was the abiding sense of safety which comes from being intimate with someone who knows how important it is to cultivate that in as many spaces, few though they may be, as possible.

In addition, the dimension of kink/BDSM brings its own magnetic locus of individuation and resignification. We find submission, abjectification, degradation, and pain paired up with consent, control, compassion, negotiation, communication, and transcendence. We recontextualize experiences which in every other life domain are precursors or consequences of socially aberrant behavior or undesirable hierarchical role playing.

Whether the sub is in control or the dom is, just as with tops and bottoms, is a question for the ages. The person under the thumb, in so allowing it, arguably possesses some power over the person they artificially and consensually elevate to that position. When you have nothing to lose because you have relinquished it, you can only be net positive existentially.

The point is the horizontal socialism of the trans lesbian experience. No one person controls. All are equal and the roleplay is merely an enactment of the end of dominion by external forces.

For what baits the enemy like getting back on your feet or smiling in their face? As blood streams out of your nostrils and you turn to face your captor ready for another beating, you demonstrate an unwavering faith in the ultimate form of the Golden Rule: if your enemy strikes you, turn the other cheek and ask, “Have I been a good girl, Mistress?”