#the nanite project

[theaxolotlkween]

lol au where Rex and Noah were friends during the Nanite Project.

[whispering-radiance]

This is going to be a genuine question because I don’t recall seeing the information anywhere.

Does anybody know how long did the original Nanite project take?

[uhohproblems]

need van kleiss and rylander to get their acts together and put their hair up. the loose hair isn't very hash tag lab safe of you boys

[providencehq]

I wonder what kind of underlying trauma Black Knight has to have in regards of also being subjected to experimentation with nanites because the fact she . Was this something she willingly participated in? Or felt forced to? Was it something she had no choice in the matter? Did the Consortium force her hand in that matter? Did she do it for some semblance of power especially in regard of the Consortium? Did she have the same issues with controlling her nanites as Rex? Could she became an EVO? Was she primed for experimentation from the Consortium and Rex was just a useful accident that happened before the could start or was there a reason that something about her made her like Rex, useful for replicating similar results? Was there other successful experiments other than her? Was she the only successful experiment? Or was she the only one still loyal to the Consortium after it happened? Does she still feel connected to humanity? Does she consider herself an EVO or just the next stage of human evolution?

Does it bother her? Knowing she was experimented on in any regard?

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER FOUR: WAY DOWN WE GO

← back to chapter list

SUMMARY ↳ You make some major moves, risky major moves. “Yeah, I know. You’re not that easy.” You remove your hands from his shoulders and grasp his, lifting them off your hips. “Just like I know you’re trying to put a tracker on me.” You wretch the little device from his hands and crush it. “I’m not that easy either.”You pat his cheek. His expression doesn’t give anything away, but you know he’s annoyed his plans have been thwarted. “It was a good try though. You did your best.” You send a web to a nearby building, knowing that his eyes are scanning you to drink up every piece of information he can. You turn to him one last time before swinging away. “I’m just better.” pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: (attempted) bullying, you get a sword held at your neck (wonder whose fault that is), cursing wc: 6.5k

The next school day goes by in a blur of lectures you don’t pay attention to. The only thing on your mind is patrol and the looming task of getting back home.

Lunch is a brief respite from the busyness of the day. You sit alone to better hear your thoughts. You’ve long gotten used to your super hearing, but it’s still as loud as ever. The lunch is pretty good today, yet no match for your increased metabolism. You’re just grateful that your suit protects you from a lot. Super healing isn’t that useful when you’ve got no energy to heal with.

Your pencil moves in repeated strokes, steady. You’ve been putting your sketchbook to good use.

You hear footsteps approaching, and raise your head casually. You can’t help but widen your eyes when you see Damian walking to you.

He puts his tray down and sits, perfect posture and all. His eyes scan your drawings. “What is it?”

You blink, looking down at your drawings too. “It’s a… personal project.” You give your best winning smile. “I like to make things.”

You subtly turn the page so the one with all the formulas and equations is hidden away, only allowing Damian to see the sketches of what your new and improved nanite chamber would look like. “You’re hurting my feelings. What can I do to gain your trust?” It’s no subtle attempt to direct his attention from your drawings.

“Unnecessary. Forget about yesterday, it is in the past,” Damian says. Yeah, right. It’s obvious he’s playing nice in an attempt to lower your guard, but whatever. You can play along.

You pat his shoulder, smiling at his grimace. “You’re really bad at making friends. Don’t worry about it, first impressions aren’t everything.”

You lean back, crossing your arms. “So, now that we’re friends, tell me about yourself.”

“We are not friends.”

“We’re not enemies either.”

“That does not equate to us being friends,” he growls.

“But don’t you wanna know about me?” You lean in close. “Y’know, ‘cause you’re–” Your voice drops into a whisper. “Robin?”

He shoves you away, somehow in a gentlemanly manner. “Do not joke about that.”

You cackle. “I will tell you something about me in exchange for something about you.” At his glare you say, “it’s the fair thing to do.”

“I’ll go first.” You sit up straight. “I work part-time at Carrie’s Cafe, I live in East End and I occasionally dabble in photography.” Where you work and live is something he no doubt knows already, and photography is a useless fact. Still, he can’t admit that.

You gesture at him. “Your turn.”

You’re pleasantly surprised when he speaks. “I enjoy spending time with animals. I have various pets.”

“What kind of pets?”

“The rules of our deal do not require me to elaborate further.”

You roll your eyes. “The rules of conversation do.”

“I hardly want to converse with you.” God, you forgot how much of a brat Damian is. It’s easier to find it funny when you’re not the subject of his brat-ness. He can tell you’re getting a bit irked, if the quirk of his lips is anything to go by.

You survey your surroundings. People are looking at the two of you. You figure you must be a sight. The elusive heir of Bruce Wayne and the new kid. There’s a group of girls staring at you spitefully.

“Aren’t we a pair,” you speak to Damian, not taking your eyes off the girls. “Me, awesome mysterious super hot new kid, and you.” You don’t gas up Damian, but you figure he’s better off without a bigger ego.

Damian looks to where you're staring, his lips turning in thinly veiled disgust. “We are not a pair.” The girls giggle behind their hands and flutter their eyelashes at him. He looks away. You gasp as you are hit with an idea.

“I just had the best idea ever.” Pointedly ignoring his hum of doubt, you continue, “we are in the perfect set-up for a fake-dating situation. You, the popular bad boy who wants nothing to do with girls, and me, the one person who will never fall in love with you. We agree to fake-date to get the girls off your back, but we end up falling in love and we kiss in the rain–” you pause, staring at his face. It’s full of disgust, and you burst out laughing. “I’m afraid you’re too easy, my friend.”

Your hearing picks up on stomping from across the cafeteria. The leader of the girl's little posse is making her way over to you. She’s real pretty, you’ll give her that. She’s forgone the vest of her uniform to show off her slightly unbuttoned top. You’re not ashamed to admit you are looking hard .

“Damian!” She squeals, rounding up to your table. She ignores the seats and sits on the table itself. “Are they bothering you? I can see that you’re uncomfortable.”

You lean back and cross your arms, waiting to see what Damian will do. You would’ve thought he would be more of a recluse, liked by nobody. Perhaps this older Damian has more charm than the ones you’ve read about. Or maybe only the girls of the school like him.

Damian sends you a look that says do not leave me to the vultures.

You raise your eyebrows as if to say not friends, remember? This has nothing to do with me.

“Victoria,” Damian greets. Victoria’s face lights up in satisfaction at the fact he knows her name. Oof, girl, have some standards. “I am fine. You need not concern yourself.”

“Oh, but I can see it on your face, Damian. You don’t have to save face for someone like them ,” Victoria looks you up and down. There’s no doubt she means to isolate you because you’re not a rich heir like the rest of them.

Damian’s about to speak up (in your defense? You doubt it) when you lean forward, discreetly pulling down your own collar. “Victoria, was it? Can I call you Vicky? Where’d you get your nails done?”

Victoria brings her hands to her chest, rubbing her fingers over her nails. “Oh– um. My… cousin. My cousin does nails as a hobby.” Her eyes are flickering from your face to your chest. You reach forward and grab her hand delicately, humming as you look at her nails. “These look really good. How much were they?”

Your eyes are boring into hers as you await her answer. Her mouth is slightly agape. Her hand twitches in your grasp as you let a breath fall onto it. She opens and closes her mouth a few times before she finds herself. “It-It surely costs more than you can afford.” She yanks her hand back and it falls to her side. She looks at Damian before looking back at you, and turns around and walks off without another word.

A grin graces your face, satisfied with your results. Looking at Damian, you raise your brow in question. “Well? How’d I do?”

Damian is staring at you, like he is truly seeing you for the first time. He blinks and shakes himself out of whatever revelry he’s in (you hope you haven’t given too much away…) and answers you. “It’s no easy feat repelling Victoria. I commend you.”

“Is that a compliment? Oh my God, have I thawed your frozen heart, Elsa?” The bell rings and he walks away before you can say more.

You find out Victoria's in your ballet class. You feel her eyes on you the whole period.

You practice figure drawing in art. You ignore Damian’s stare on you the whole period.

It’s a cool night in Gotham. You’ve defended some homeless people being harassed, helped someone's cat out of a tree (you didn’t know that could actually happen) and helped an old lady home safely. It’s a pretty quiet night for Gotham, all things considered. The city moves on in spite of you, a maze of crime and corruption, but also of people worth saving.

You can’t help yourself and snap a couple of photos, for your eyes only. Anything that’ll make you feel like back home is good in your books.

watching behind you

You stand, straightening your shoulders. You’re sure the Bats know about your existence. Whoever it is, you’ll give them a scare first.

You lift your foot, letting it dangle off the ledge of the building. Their footsteps hasten to get to you. Gravity pulls you down. They’re running to you now. You spread your arms and fall.

A figure clad in black and red grasps the ledge, looking over, grappling hook in hand. They’re met with you, casually standing on the side of the building, defying gravity. “Looking for me?”

Robin makes room for you as you climb back up, crouching on the ledge once more. You stick out your hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet one of you guys. Big fan.”

Robin takes out his sword and holds it to your neck in one swift movement. “Tough crowd,” you mutter, clicking your tongue.

“Who are you and what business do you have in Gotham.” Straight to the point as always, Damian.

“My name is Spinnerette, nice to meet you!” You grab his hand before he can tug it out of your reach, shaking it. “And I thought it was pretty obvious, no? I’m in the saving people business, like you guys! That’s my business.”

“Children should not run around pretending to fight crime because they think it’s cool.”\

You huff. “Okay, one , the first robin was like, five. Two , how old do you think I am? Three , dude, I’ve been doing this for years.”

He tuts. “Is that right? How come I’ve never heard of you?”

You shrug. “I’m not from around here.” You’re not lying, that’s for sure.

The sword doesn’t move from your neck, and you sigh. Grabbing the sword makes an audible clink as it meets the metal of your suit. You slowly move it away from your neck, taking note of how Robin tries to meet your strength head-on, and failing to do so. Languidly moving, you invade his personal space. You throw your arms over his shoulders, making him sway side to side with you.

“You’re hurting my feelings, Rob,” you hum. You see his eyes squint through his mask. Dragging a claw down his cheek, you’re aware that you are completely indulging yourself right now. You should’ve swung away as soon as your senses alerted you to his presence.

Pretender, your brain whispers to you.

You will the thought away. “You know, some species of spiders eat birds,” you flirt.

“You have abhorrent ideas of flirting.”

“Cut me some slack, I’m rusty.”

“Some species also eat their mates,” he flirts back. Oh?

You grin, feral and hidden. “Ohoh, considering yourself my mate already, birdie?” His hands grasp your hips, pulling you closer. Chest to chest with him, you lean in, whispering “you like the idea of me eating you? Perv.”

“You jump to conclusions.” His cheek is against yours.

“Yeah, I know. You’re not that easy.” You remove your hands from his shoulders and grasp his, lifting them off your hips. “Just like I know you’re trying to put a tracker on me.” You wretch the little device from his hands and crush it. “I’m not that easy either.”

You pat his cheek. His expression doesn’t give anything away, but you know he’s annoyed his plans have been thwarted. “It was a good try though. You did your best.”

You send a web to a nearby building, knowing that his eyes are scanning you to drink up every piece of information he can. You turn to him one last time before swinging away.

“I’m just better.”

“They call themselves Spinnerette,” is what Damian says as he enters the Batcave.

Bruce only sighs. He really shouldn’t be so surprised Damian went after the new meta. He turns around in his chair, facing Damian. He makes a ‘go on’ gesture.

“Their suit is made of some kind of metal. It is high-grade, something I’m not familiar with. The eyes of their suit react, like they mimic their expression. They can stick to walls and webs come out from a device on their wrist. They are intelligent and were able to divert my intentions to put a tracker on them,” Damian huffs.

He moves to stand next to his father. “They say they have been acting as a vigilante for years. They are also not native to Gotham.”

Bruce nods, “that narrows it down a little.”

“They were insulted by my insinuation that they were a child, so I assume they are at least in high school.”

Bruce types all the information in the Batcomputer, fingers flying across the keyboard. The results narrow down. Several databases appear on screen.

“If they are your age they could very well attend the Academy,” Bruce hums, hand over his mouth in thought.

“I have someone in mind already, but I will be sure to evaluate all my peers.”

Bruce smiles. “I’m surprised to hear you call them your peers.”

Damian’s lips twitch, walking out of the cave without further word.

You’ve decided to put plans for the nanite chamber on hold for now in exchange for a far, more efficient use of your time. The battery will last you, you’re just being paranoid.

You’re going to pull a Tony Stark and create a new element.

Technically you’re just going to use the blueprints Tony put in your suit (thank you tony, we all say in unison) and follow them, but in this universe badassium isn’t a thing. 

A clean and powerful energy source, to power your way back home and for the world to use. You know what they say about leaving things better than when you found it.

You’ve changed your plans for one main reason; when Tony Stark made his new element, he also made a particle accelerator. 

It starts in your engineering class. You swipe as much material as you can, stuffing it into your backpack. Tony’s makeshift build took up his whole lab, and the one you found that landed you here was huge, so you’ll grab as much as you can.

Next is finding a place to work. Your apartment is a no-go, so you spend time off patrol to look for places. An abandoned warehouse could work in theory, but how many times has a villain used one for their operations? You’ll go without bumping into the Joker, thank you.

The problem is that you don’t know this city, so you make an impulsive decision. During classes, you spend time building a mini robot that will infiltrate and access the Batcomputer. You know Wayne Manor is equipped with state-of-the-art security, from reinforced structures to advanced alarm systems. It is very likely your little buddy will not make it out, but Karen only needs enough time to upload to the computer.

You spend your programming class calibrating Karen into W.E.B.B.E.R. (Karen comes up with the acronym, it stands for Wireless Enabled Bionic Bot for Exploration and Reconnaissance) instead of doing the assignment. You can easily do it later. If Damian notices how in your mind you’ve been lately, he doesn’t say anything. WEBBER is finished in three days. Now it’s up to you to get it past Wayne Manor's defenses and into the batcave.

You sit pondering on a rooftop during patrol. Damian is a hesitant option. You’re are certain he’ll notice if you stick a little spider robot on him. Red Hood probably doesn’t visit very often, for obvious reasons. You might be able to sneak it past Nightwing, but there aren't many places on that skin-tight suit for WEB to hide. Orphan is a hard no, nothing gets past Cassandra Cain. You groan into your hands. WEB’s little feet pat your mask.

“Perhaps it would be easier to infiltrate myself,” Karen suggests.

“There’s no way to get into the cave without authorized access, and that's if  WEB isn’t somehow destroyed as soon as it hits the property’s soil,” you sigh. “You could override its systems to get inside, but that’ll just put everyone on high alert.”

“Then perhaps we approach their civilian identities.” Karen pulls up security footage of a cafe that none other than Tim Drake likes to frequent. It’ll be risky, since Drake’s got a damn good keen eye. However, you’ll bank on the fact that that guy does not get as much sleep as he should, thus making him less aware.

“Thanks, K.” You hardly sleep that night.

You spend the weekend lingering at the mentioned cafe. After some hard thought, you’ve forgone a disguise. He’ll notice if you’re trying to hide your features, so you just have to hope and pray that you become another blurred face he sees.

“He’s walking your way, [Name].”

You take a deep breath as WEBBER crawls onto your shoulder. He’s wearing layers, so WEB will have an easier time staying hidden. The robot is light, you made sure. You walk towards him, keeping your gaze forward. If this doesn’t work, you’ll figure something out. You just… really hope it doesn’t come down to that.

As you get closer, you side-step out of his way and allow your shoulder to pass his, not touching, but almost. WEBBER hops onto him and scuttles into his breast pocket.

“I will make sure I am not seen.”

“I trust you, Karen.”

Tim Drake does not notice the little spider hidden in his clothes. He returns to Wayne Manor none the wiser. WEBBER clings to his back as he makes his way down to the Batcave. You watch through the little camera from your laptop. Your jaw drops.

Literally every Bat and Bird, former or current, is down there. Even Oracle herself is there. They’re all in civvies, so you suspect they’re just hanging out and chose the goddamn Batcave to do so.

“Just…” you sigh, already done with your spidey luck, “...keep going, K.”

WEBBER hops down from Tim’s back, scrambling across the floor. The mic you impulsively added picks up on conversation.

“I think you’re looking a little too hard into things, man.” It’s Duke Thomas.

“They just seem like the main character trying to find their way into the world. Rich dad sends his kid into adulthood all alone. They struggle to fit in under the guise that they have less money than their peers. ‘Woe is me’ type of stuff, y’know?” Stephanie Brown.

There’s a scoff. “They hold too much intelligence to have that kind of persona. They are able to direct less than welcome attention with careful words and persuasion. They do not pay attention in class, yet their grades are pristine. I’ve seen their drawings in their sketchbook when they are not looking, it’s filled with equations and ideas for ‘personal projects’.”

Is he talking about… you? That sneaky bastard, when did he peek at your notes!? Have you been that distracted at school?

“It says that their dad’s an inventor,” comes Barbara’s voice. She’s on the Batcomputer, WEBBER has been waiting for when she turns around or gets off to make its move. “They obviously get it from him, then. What, you think they’re building a world-ending weapon or something?”

“I think,” he grits out, “that they are a suspicious person, appearing at the same time our new spider friend did.”

Bruce hums. “It’s plausible.”

Goddammit.

Barbara turns around, and WEB scuttles around the back of the Batcomputer. “If they are Spinnerette, It’s not like they’re performing any unwelcome actions. They’re just doing what the rest of us do.”

“Yeah,” comes Dick Grayson, “Bruce is only irked ‘cause he hasn’t gotten the chance to adopt them yet.” A round of chuckles is heard.

WEBBER plugs into the Batcomputer, and an alert pops onto the screen immediately. Barbara whips around, fingers flying onto the keyboard.

“Someone’s hacking into the Batcomputer.” Her words put everyone in the room at attention.

“Trace it,” growls Bruce. It’s a remarkable thing to be able to switch into his Batman mode like that.

Barbara throws up countless defenses, but Karen is an AI made by Tony freakin’ Stark , and you are his protégé.

“They’re bypassing all my shields, they’re getting in!” Barbara growls.

Tim and Bruce race to begin helping her, but your superspeed allows you to type faster than all three geniuses.

They watch as files are opened and downloaded into Karen’s system as she uploads herself. Info about the city, criminals and heroes alike are getting into ‘enemy’ hands before they’re very eyes.

“I can’t track them,” grits Barbara.

The room is silent as Karen finishes her job. Gotham’s protectors are greeted with a single pop-up.

“THANK YOU.”

It taunts them. Bruce slams a hand onto the table. “They have everything .”

“Time to get the hell out of dodge, K.”

WEBBER unplugs from the Batcomputer and scuttles to a hiding spot.

“How is this possible? They were able to dodge and counter all of my firewalls like it was nothing. B, what do we do?” Barbara runs a hand through her hair, stressed. It seems like whenever she visits she can never catch a break.

“Keep trying to find their trace, we’ll find them eventually.” Bruce turns around to see his kiddos standing straight, ready for orders. He looks at Damian.

“Do you think they have the capacity to do this?” He’s talking about you.

“They have a computer programming class. I will observe them to see if it’s possible,” vows Damian. You’ll have to be more careful from now on.

“I’ll ask Selina to keep an eye on them. I owe her a favor.” A few faces twist in disgust at what exactly Selina could have done for him to owe her.

“Suit up, be extra vigilant today. They may try to enact whatever plans they have.”

Nodding, they scurry to change into their suits. WEBBER hitches a ride on Tim again as he exits the cave. The robot hops off as soon as he leaves the manor's grounds. That’s your cue to suit up.

You quickly hop across rooftops and swing to WEBBERs location. Arriving at its location, you cradle the bot gently in your hands, running a finger across its back. “Good job, Karen.”

“There are many old tunnels from previous subways, they may lead to your new lab. I’ve also left a backdoor should we ever need to access their database again.”

You nod, webbing a nearby building to swing away. The city passes under you, bright lights from cars blurring together. You perform flips and twirls, you’re in a pretty good mood, all things considered. People point at you in recognition as you rush by. The people of Gotham are becoming familiar with their new friendly neighborhood spider.

You hop down into the old tunnel. It’s covered in cobwebs and dust. Looking around, you see that the station has not seen life in ages. Footsteps echo as you start down the tracks. The station you’re in right now is accessible through a hole, so hopefully you can find one that is completely caved in.

You hope the team doesn't miss you too terribly. You wonder if you’re even being looked for, and then immediately shake the thought away. You are being looked for. You’re certain that Tony and Miguel are butting heads right now about how to best find you.

The tracks end with a bunch of rocks collapsed onto them. It takes minimal effort to move them out of the way, you just hope you don’t accidentally cause a mini rockslide, or something. You side step the pile, entering the large area of the abandoned station. The walls are littered with aged graffiti. The stairs that normally would lead out are collapsed in. There’s vegetation growing about, so you’ll probably get them something to drink in order to not invoke Poison Ivy’s wrath.

“I believe this will make quite the suitable hideout,” chimes Karen.

She’s right. With some decorating this could be a real cozy place. “A little Spider Den,” you whisper. Your new lab.

When you got home after finding the Den, you got rid of the monstrosity of cables from your gritty suit charger. If Selina Kyle is going to be poking around your apartment (because she’ll definitely do it while you’re gone) you want to appear as a normal person. You leave sketches of throwaway inventions, notes for class and random homework around the place.

May pipes up when she sees you leaving for work, “you look happy.”

You pause, thinking of your answer. “I… found what I was looking for.” It’s vague, but true.

“Since you’ve come here, you’ve always looked troubled,” hums May. “But lately you seem to be finding stable ground.”

You smile and nod, saying nothing as you walk out.

Sam greets you as you walk in. “How was your first week, scholar?”

You groan dramatically, “it’s terrible, save me oh great Sam,” you exaggerate. Sam opens their arms and you fall into them. “There, there,” they coo. “Was it that bad for real?”

“No.” Your voice is muffled in their arms. “I’m just really… bored.”

Sam bursts out laughing. “The little genius baby is stuck with their less than genius peers!” Sam’s voice has drawn out Carrie and Gar.

“Look who’s back! Thank God, kid. This place was falling apart without you,” Carrie says, grinning.

Gar crosses his arms. “Find your ‘rich future spouse’ yet?”

You chuckle, “not yet.”

The pair go off to get the cafe ready for opening, and you're still in Sam’s arms.

“I ever tell you about my own Sam back home?” You’re not sure why you’ve spoken up.

Sam raises a brow. “Don’t think so. You trying to share with the class now?”

Inside the dimly lit workshop at the Tower, you tinker away at Redwing as Sam stands over your shoulder.

“You’re hurting him.”

“He is fine, you big baby. I know what I’m doing.”

It amuses you how much Sam sees Redwing as a living thing. You’re told not to encourage it, but what’s the harm?

“The chip is just a little fried,” you say, angling so that Sam can see. “It’s an easy fix.”

Sam lays a hand on his chest, sighing in relief. “Thought we were gonna have to put him down.” You snort at his dramatics.

The workshop falls into silence as you tinker away. “What made you come up with Redwing?” you say, never one for quiet.

Sam’s face lights up. “I needed something that could give me an edge in the field without being too bulky. A mix of coolness and necessity, you know?” He pokes Redwings’ ‘nose’. “Plus, there’s that winning personality.”

“Personality, huh?” You think of Karen.

“Yeah, Redwings not a tool, he’s a partner.” There’s fondness in Sam’s voice. “He scouts, gathers intel, and watches my back.”

You hum in thought, realizing how similar Redwing and Karen are. “Sounds like the two of you are really close.”

“I like to think so.” The workshop is filled with chatter as the two of you work away the hours.

“Maybe another time,” you mutter, face squished into Sam’s chest. Sam drops the subject.

It’s another slow day at the cafe. You get that inkling that someone is watching you, but you see nobody. You wouldn’t be surprised if Damian is spying on you from the next building over. At least the cafe plays good music over the speakers. You hum the lyrics as you clean the countertops.

The door chimes as someone walks in “Welcome to Carrie’s, how can I help you?”

“Hey, you.”

You look up, meeting the very blue eyes of one Jonathan Kent. You can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. “Hey, you!” you echo, smiling.

Jon brightens up at your smile. “How have you been?”

“Good,” you hum. “I’m really good.” You are. Once night time hits, you’ll go to the Den and finally start on your plans to recreate Tony’s badassium.

“In fact, I feel so good that I’m gonna ask you this; wanna go hang out at my place after I get off?” One might say you’re indulging yourself. You say you’re trying to seems as un-suspicious to Jon as possible. When Damian finds out you have ties to him, he’ll ask Jon everything he knows about you, and possibly even ask him to survey you. Hopefully your front as a regular ole highschooler keeps him from figuring you out.

Jon blinks in surprise, stuttering, “w-well, sure. Yeah. Totally, why not? Just…” he pauses, “...I still don’t know your name.”

You smile. “Shoot, yeah. Sorry about that.” You straighten your posture, sticking out a hand. “I’m [Name]. [Name] Stark.”

You see the little twitch of his brow. Ah, so Damian has already told him about you.

“Nice to meet you, [Name]. I’m Jonathan Kent. Keep calling me Jon, though,” Jon says, shaking your hand.

You pull away. “So, a small vanilla latte for you, not-stranger?”

“You remember,” he chuckles. You nod. You feel his eyes on you as you make his drink.

“So,” you say as you hand him the cup. “I get off at five, see you then?” you feign shyness.

He nods rapidly. “See you at five.”

You count down the minutes until you get off from work. You swear you see some blue blurs rush by in the sky and wonder if it’s Superboy. Wonder if this Batman is more lenient to others operating in Gotham.

The sun has only just begun its descent into the Earth when you step outside. Your bag is thrown over your shoulder. You look around, Jon isn’t there. You doubt he’s the type to bail, so you lean against the front of the building. You busy yourself with some more Crossy Road to pass the time. Five minutes pass, when you sigh. Maybe you were too hasty.

“[Name]!”

You turn, seeing Jon running to you. His appearance is ruffled, his shirt is inside out and his hair is all over the place. He was definitely Superboying around.

“Did you run all the way here?” you offer as an explanation for his appearance.

He claims it. “Yeah, sorry. I got caught up in some stuff.”

You can’t help yourself, and reach up to tame some of his hair. “Looks like you ran through a high powered fan, or something.”

He mindlessly tilts his head to let you do as you please, looking at you. You don’t dare meet his gaze. “Ok,” you say when you’re satisfied with his hair. “Let’s go.”

He offers his arm and you take it. “I wouldn’t think a Gothamite would tell me where they live on our second meeting,” he says.

“They probably wouldn’t,” you hum. “I’m not originally from Gotham, though.”

He blinks. “You’re not? I thought you were.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” It means you’ve done a good job at fitting it. “But no, I’m actually from Queens. New York.”

He hums. “I thought the accent was a little different.”

May greets you as you walk in, widening her eyes when she sees Jon. You ignore her wiggling brows as the two of you make your way up. Entering your apartment, nothing looks out of place, but your trained eye can see the way your papers have shifted from their original position. So Selina Kyle did end up snooping while you were gone.

“This is me,” you say, arms gesturing to the apartment. Nari rounds the corner, meowing for your attention. “And this,” you lift Nari into your arms, “is Nari.”

Jon pets Nari between his ears. “Hi, Nari.”

You put Nari in his arms, ignoring his small protests. Nari looks very content in Jon’s big arms. You snap a picture for yourself.

“My friend is actually a big fan of animals,” hums Jon, looking down at Nari.

“Yeah?” He’s talking about Damian. “The one that goes to GA?”

He nods. “His name is Damian. Damian Wayne. Have you met him?” His eyes bear into yours, switching into that hero interrogation mode. You wonder just how much Damian has told him.

“Yeah, I got a couple of classes with him.” You sit down on your couch, leaning back. “He’s got a real unique persona.” Jon chuckles in agreement, sitting down next to you. “How’d you become friends with a guy like that?”

“Our dads know each other.” Right.

“Well, he’s pretty cute. That’s all I got to say about him,” you say, looking over and snorting at Jon’s expression. His eyes are widened, no doubt wondering if he should leave out the fact that you just said that when he relays the info to Damian later.

“Well, I got some popcorn and some movies on my laptop. You down?” Jon nods.

You spend a couple hours sitting and chatting as you watch a couple of horror movies. Jon acted brave, but you could tell he was just a tiny bit freaked out.

Now, you swing to your new hideout, now equipped with cute fairy lights and cobweb hammocks. It wasn’t hard to get power working in the place, just tedious. Seriously, the amount of rubble you had to clear was atrocious.

You pull up the blueprints on a digital interface via your suit. “Alright, Karen. Let’s get to work."

When Miguel got an alert that you had been requesting assistance, he straightened up immediately. He had been running regular people errands, so he had to quickly stop by the HQ to suit up and get ready. From there he found out you had also contacted Peni, he started rushing. The other Spiderlings had caught wind of this, and demanded to tag along. Miguel and the kids entered a portal to your universe, and were immediately met with the large, inactive particle accelerator.

He hears Miles take a deep breath. It’s just like the one from his universe. You’re nowhere to be seen.

Lyla pops up next to him. “There’s been recent activity here. It was activated two times.”

“Two?” Miguel mutters.

He doesn’t get to dwell on it much, when some of the goddamn Avengers come barreling in. Iron Man, The Hulk (it’s just Bruce Banner right now, though) and Black Widow stand at the ready, looking at Miguel and the gang in apprehension.

“Oh, you’re my kids' little spider friends, right?” Tony’s voice is dry, feigning friendliness as if he isn’t pointing at them, ready to blast.

“We got an alert signal from [Name]’s suit,” Bruce explains, ignoring Tony’s betrayed stare.

“So did we,” says Hobie, analyzing the three.

Lyla tuts. “I’m not picking up their watch's signal.”

“[Name]’s tracker went offline, too.”

Miguel’s eyes scan his surroundings, settling on a pile of broken pieces on the floor. Broken watch pieces. He hears Pav and Gwen gasp as he kneels by it. “It’s their watch,” he explains to the Avengers, “the thing that allows them to multiversal travel.”

“Why is it broken.” Black Widow doesn’t phrase it as a question.

“Because someone must have broken it,” concludes Miguel. He straightens. “The watches are strong, it wasn’t an accident. Someone was here, with [Name].”

“Well now there’s nobody here, and [Name] is off the radar so where are they? ” growls Tony.

“The only plausible answer is that they’re in another universe.” Miguel looks at the particle accelerator. “Without a watch.”

The kids look sick to their stomachs. “Can’t we trace the signal from the accelerator?” questions Peni.

“Normally, I could,” chimes Lyla. “But… I can’t.”

“ Why not?” Miles questions.

“Okay, so you know that there are literally infinite universes out there. If each universe is a satellite and the watches, or the accelerator in this case, is a signal, then there’s only a certain ‘distance’ I can trace [Name]’s whereabouts.”

Gwen thinks she’s getting a headache. “So, what? She’s in a universe that’s ‘too far away’?”

Lyla nods. “In that sense, yes.”

“This is pointless,” huffs Tony, walking up to Miguel. “We are wasting time talking about technicalities, we should be looking for my kid.”

“Is there anyone you know who could’ve built this?” Miguel asks Tony.

“Nobody smart enough has it out that bad for [Name]. Unless it was another me or another [Name] there’s no one capable of doing this without someone noticing,” Tony pauses, looking at the spider variants before him.

Tony’s voice drops into a whisper, “could someone from another universe have done this?”

“If someone from another universe ended up in this one, why throw [Name] into a random one?” Bruce stresses. “They wouldn’t have any strife with Spinnerette.”

“Unless it’s a spidey villain.”

“What spidey villain is smart enough to do this? Doc Ock?”

“Maybe–”

Miguel interrupts, “it was activated twice, so one time was for [Name] entering it, and the other was for whoever broke their watch. They built this–” Miguel gestures to the giant machine, “–so they were obviously here for a while.”

“Only a fool would attempt a multiversal jump without certainty that they could get back home, so that means–”

“–they accidentally got stuck here,” finishes Tony, looking graver by the minute. 

“For who knows how long,” hums Hobie, now in thought.

“Trying to get back home, they build a particle accelerator–”

“–clearly their work is cut out for them, otherwise they would have come up with a much smaller design–”

“–they meet [Name], who would see this and automatically assume they’re a threat.”

“[Name] would try to shut it down, and our mystery guy gets desperate, because [Name]’s the one thing standing between them and their way back home.”

“The particle accelerator is already activated. They see the watch, recognize it as a multiversal travel tool and smash it–”

“–so that [Name] can’t find them–”

“–because they throw [Name] into another universe.”

“They go back home to their universe scott-free.” It doesn’t take a genius to figure how Black Widow’s unhappy with the development.

“In other news, I’ve got the trace of the other person who used the accelerator!” Lyla sings.

Miguel’s face scrunches. “If we don’t know which universe [Name] is in, I really doubt they do.”

“I’d still like a word with them,” Black Widow crosses her arms.

“Maybe later, right now–” Miguel turns to the Spiderlings. “–we should head back to HQ. We’ll send out an alert, every spider will look for [Name] when they can. We’ll search every universe if we have to.”

“Great, what do we do?” Tony asks, gesturing to his comrades.

“Miguel turns back to them. “You said [Name]’s got a tracker in the suit, right?” Tony nods. “We’ll need something that can latch onto its signal as soon as a Spider enters an Earth, no matter how far away they are. Can you build something like that? You can use tech from other universes if you need to.”

Tony nods, resolute. “You better get my kid back.”

Miguel nods. “We will.” A portal opens, swallowing Miguel and the Spiderlings.

“FRI, get the workshop ready and notify the others of the situation,” says Tony, turning around and making his way out of the warehouse. Nat and Bruce follow. “I want Strange and Wanda on this immediately.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Tony mutters under his breath, “I’ll get my damn kid back, alright.”

notes: if you're female-identifying ur def vicky's gay awakening LOL

i'm not entirely sure is "badassium" is the canon name for tony's new element, i actually think i saw somewhere that it was the name fans gave it. either way "badassium" is what we rockin' with.

i hope my explanation as to why reader hasn't been found isn't too confusing. i didn't plan on having it kind of explained so soon but a group up spideys (who are all basically genius cuz they're SPIDERMAN) are bound to figure it out. also like that whole 'the spiders and the avenger' meeting scene was supposed to be in the last chapter but i forgot to add it LOL

also chatgpt came up with webbers acronym guys i am NOT smart enough for that.

damian: good job getting into their base of operations (apartment) now we can gather more info on them

jon, who just wanted to spend time w/ reader: oh yeah lol light work

[comicaurora]

What other mythological creatures would be fun in space? If the answer is "most of them?", Then limit the scope of the question to what becomes *more* fun in space?

Still "most of them," unfortunately.

Deep in the bowels of a derelict, drifting hulk, so battered with cosmic rays and space debris all sign of its original function have eroded away, something that could have been human roams the labyrinthine halls. Who knows what terrible crime or tragedy spawned it? It is huge, and hungry, and terribly, terribly alone. All anyone knows is that the drifting hulk that screams to the void in a hundred looping distress calls is to be avoided at all costs, for the maze is deadly and its lone prisoner even deadlier.

An enchanting woman knocks on the porthole with a broad smile, hair flowing in beautiful curls and mouth moving soundlessly in the boiling vacuum. She seems unaware of the inch-thick tempered plasteel, or perhaps unaware of its necessity for the mortal and the fragile within. As she stares unblinking, whispers begin to crackle over the ship radio, half-parseable snatches in many voices - surnames, stardates, coordinates. The knowledge is so, so tempting.

The astronaut is standing just outside the airlock. The sun is starting to sink behind the lunar horizon, cutting razor-sharp shadows across the silvery dust. He's been standing, patiently, for over four hours. The crew in the lander are huddled as far away from the door as possible, unconacipusly avoiding the astronaut's cold and vacant bunk. They had buried him, after all, three rotations ago, the special kind of dead you only get after decompression-induced exsanguination. And yet here he stands, looking better than ever, a healthy blush in his cheeks clearly visible without that bulky reflective helmet in the way. His eyes catch the setting sun strangely, almost red.

Space is an ocean, they say; the analogy is imperfect, and yet persistent in its poetry. The seafarers of old coasted along the surface of a vast and unknowable deep and called it sailing, and the spacefarers of the new frontier do the same. They speed between the stars or cut through wormhole gates for the occasional shortcut, skimming the three-dimensional surface of the vast four-dimensional space that wormholes can only tentatively pierce, and they are satisfied. But there are strange shadows in the stars, twisting and slow - distortions that ripple out from the hyperdepth and mostly pass without incident, barring the sensitive instruments left screaming in their wake. Nobody has ever seen the four-dimensional leviathans that cast these three-dimensional shadows. At least, nobody who's come back.

They call it a dragon because it flies and it's the scariest thing they've ever seen. It doesn't do it justice. If anything, trying to give it a familiar name only highlights its horrible uncategorizability. It flies, yes - or at least it undulates through atmosphere, seemingly irrelevant to its own mass. It has a golden hoard and breathes poison and fire, or rather the nuclear furnace that boils in its sinuous belly vomits out great gouts of poison fire that leaves stone and flesh as glassy slag and metals fused into radioactive gold. The land all around its lair is blackened and sick, a vile caldera of strange-colored swampland and twisted, fungal trees. In the absolute terror and devastation of its wake, the colonists fall back on old, bad superstitions and offer it a girl…

The sorcerer took out his heart long ago, they say. This is true, but inadequate. His true body is shattered in closely guarded pieces to protect himself from a total death; the form he presents is only a projection of his will onto and through the nanite colony his machinations spawned, a body crafted by the immortal mind and will of one who sacrificed everything to be deathless. His heart is concealed in a small life support capsule in a long-forgotten laboratory in a satellite orbiting the moon of a quarantined colony world; his nervous system wires itself through the vast, organic computer that has taken the place of the planet's core. Backups of backups of backups, redundancies laced through every stolen system. He knows there was a purpose to this, once; a goal to all this sacrifice beyond a simple extension of life. He will never remember who he wanted this for. To be truly deathless, one cannot have a heart.

It's retroviral, they think. No other form of infection could've rewired her cells this fundamentally. It's irreversible without gene therapy, but at least she isn't deteriorating, they say. At least she's holding together while they look for a treatment. She can feel it, though, no matter what the medic says; sub-cellular or not, she can feel it boiling under her skin, sharpening her teeth, burning out from the site of the bite on her arm. And she can feel, with absolute certainty, the planet's two satellites slowly shifting into opposition with the sun, right through the windowless walls of the quarantine pod. She doesn't know what she'll become when the moons are full, but she doesn't speak her suspicions. A part of her - perhaps even a part that's always been there - is very, very eager to find out.

A colony was here once, a long, long time ago. Terraformed and everything, but those were the early days, before they realized you needed a magnetosphere to keep all that air and water from being wicked away by the solar wind. The loss was so gradual it didn't make sense until over a century later, and there wasn't anything they could do for them long-term - wrong kind of core for a polarization op. They did evac, of course, but the priority was low - and it was centuries deep into social development. Everybody on that world had been born there, and some of them didn't want to leave. Way I hear it, some of them insisted on staying - strongly and violently - and the folks in charge eventually got tired of losing troops in a dessicating backwater that was gonna solve itself in less than a century, so they just fudged the paperwork and washed their hands of the whole thing. It's near airless now - stopped being a viable colony world nigh on thirty years back when the last of the ice vanished. But that's not why we steer clear. We don't land there because the locals didn't have the decency to die right, and it can be damn unsettling to catch their shadows sneaking across the sand. They're drawn to ships, you know? Poor bastards still think they can leave.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Alt Assistant AU Pt 2

Kara takes Lena's confrontation as a challenge. She's faced icy walls before-- she'll melt them again. But just as in the previous reality, Lena doesn't make it easy.

The pastries Kara begins delivering with Lena's coffee every morning go straight to the trash, every time, with a sharp look and an even sharper, "Don't."

Don't.

The word becomes Kara's frequent companion, issued any time she steps outside the bare minimum of her role.

Meals Lena doesn't order, but that Kara knows she likes-- don't.

A post it smiley note pressed to the cup of her coffee-- don't.

The snort when Kara hears a particularly cutting remark in response to a particularly sexist board member-- don't.

Kara's used to the rebuffs, as she's already weathered them before. But these are different. Before, in the previous reality that got so twisted, Lena's refusals were to protect herself, audibly defensive. But "don't".... Lena says it with an obstinance she's never had before.

But Kara doesn't mind it.

In fact, she relishes the opportunity to lift an arch brow in response to each of those stubborn don'ts, a challenge in her own right.

Try and stop me, it says, smug and confident in a way Kara hasn't felt in years. She has the knowledge of a whole reality behind her, and Lena.... Lena has no idea what's coming to her.

The fact that Lex hadn't seen fit to give her Supergirl in this reality only helps.

She's a little surprised that she feels this way, but also a little not. She's been tired for a long time, and had never been able to find the voice to ask for rest. Now she has it in spades, and uses it to research everything she can about Lena in this reality.

Each tidbit Kara learns warms her insides, in a way that was only ever a tickle before. That Lena is an Olympic medalist, and prodigious TedTalker. That her cancer research has served as the foundation for the world's bleeding edge developments on the subject, and that her nanites are already used in crisis areas around the globe.

That Jack Spheer lives, spearheading it all on Lena's behalf when L-Corp pulls her elsewhere.

She thinks to send him an alert to an upcoming gap in Lena's schedule while he's in town, knowing that Lena would have already declined to leave her office, but her finger hesitates on the send button.

Kara remembers much about the previous reality, including the way her stomach had burned that night in that restaurant, watching Lena's gaze spark with interest when Jack spoke of their project.

This time, she can do something about her jealousy-- she doesn't send the message.

"Don't," Lena issues pre-emptively the next morning, when Kara returns to clear signs of an all-nighter. Lena accepts the coffee, but as always dumps the pastry.

"Don't what?"

It pulls Lena's gaze to her, sharp and direct as always. It doesn't daunt Kara anymore. She almost smirks.

Lena's lips purse ever so slightly.

"You know what."

That's all she says, and this time Kara does smirk. She saunters back to desk, and feels Lena's gaze on her all the way out.

[bucknastysbabe]

Hey look I finished an AU bingo ask! I enjoyed this one so much💖 I felt the brain cooking making up and putting together actual smart people science words. Thanks for the request!

AU bingo - Sci-fi Horror - Aemond Targaryen

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Murder AI Aemond, obsessive/stalking behaviors, TW TW TW: NONCON AND DUBCON. The noncon is not a full scene but warning, non-descript mass murder, scientist!reader, nanotechnology, spaceship setting, somewhere far in the future, pnv!sex, masturbation, Aemond kinda has a mommy kink if you squint and a Bible quote kink lmfao, v!fingering, manipulation, space odyssey gone wrong trope

A/N: No beta I’ll prob come back and fix some shit soon

The ship landed with a faint thud on the green, green exo-planet. You followed Aemond along quietly, meek, fearful, broken. Coming down the unfurled slanted walkway a sweet smell hit your senses. Miles of flowery fields waved, a perfect breathable atmosphere. In the distance, avian-like creatures tittered. A fragment of peace was in your tattered soul.

He hummed softly, gesturing to the beauty.

"God blessed them; and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth, and subdue it; and rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky and over every living thing that moves on the earth.’”

You felt that Aemond was the serpent and remained quiet, breathing in the fresh air. Nothing like home. Maybe you could start anew. The man turned to look, stating, “But we’re God. We have a duty. We shall make this planet everything that Earth has failed to do. Join me, be my Eve will you?” He seemed genuine.

A long fingered hand extended to you. Your gaze flickered between that glowing eye and the outstretched digits. You grabbed his hand, interlacing your fingers. Together, looking upon the horizon you murmured, “Yes, my Adam. You were the greatest creation after all.”

He pecked the stray tear rolling down your cheek, squeezing your palm, lips curling in glee.

It wasn’t meant to end up like that for you. At one point Aemond was your AI. Artificially Enhanced Monitor Of Nanites Directive. Simply installed cameras and layer upon layers of wafer thin circuits loaded with information. Aemond preferred to be referred as he. He was also an arrogant bastard, but helpful as was his intent.

Your coworker Greaves and Aemond did not get along well, the AI criticizing his work. You’d tune them out with plugs or music buds. The scientist laden ship had a destination to a far away mining colony. The general’s plan was to find a way to used nano-technology to replace missing arms, eyes, and other wounds. Time was running thin but the blonde man in cryo-stasis would be your second trial.

The first did not end well. Her body rejected the technology, turning the human into a mindless wreck. Greaves blamed it on you, then General Hightower gave a harsh scolding and upped the time. Aemond consoled you a bit, offering advice. He seemed to take a liking to your banter on the nanotechnology.

He wasn’t the only AI. Other sectors of the ship worked on different but crucial projects such as alien anti-parasitics and ramping up on space suits equipped for defense. Colonization was on the horizon.

Plucking and prodding the little nanites with different stimuli had them snapping and shifting, seeking to find a form. You just needed to code what form they would assume. Aemond’s clipped voice echoed over you. He suggested, “Have you tried printing a molded cast of the man’s eye socket?”

Perching your chin on a shaky hand you smiled, “I swear, it’s always the simplest things I miss. Thank you Aemond.”

“You would have realized soon, want me to begin the scans and print? Likely you need rest, I know the stress of the upped time is draining your bodily function. The brain needs much more sleep, especially one as bright as yours.”

You blushed a bit, fumbling your tweezers. The AI had a certain…courtly way of words. His sort of programming wouldn’t allow for flirtation but it certainly came across like that. Greaves mocked you and the intelligence’s ‘crush’. Greaves always found a way to make you miserable. You did all the major work and he got the accolades.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts you announced, “You’re right, I’ll go rest for a bit, get back to work with the mold. Thank you again, and engage lockdown protocol so he doesn’t mess up my work like last time.”

“Engaging it now, sleep well Miss.”

You crashed as soon as you reached your quarters, sleeping deeply and sound. Upon awakening and getting dressed you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Just chalk it up to your fried nerves. It wasn’t the first time and this was an older ship, ghost stories had gotten to you before.

The mold was in a canister from the printer, you scrubbing up and carefully taking it out. Aemond politely asked, “Did you sleep well? You look refreshed.” Blushing yet again you murmured, “Very much needed, I didn’t realize how exhausted I was.”

“Greaves has been in the mess hall, you will likely get some peace now. Shall we begin?”

The armor folded off your precious lab table, the nanites dormant from no stimuli. Pressing a button you placed the mold into a hatch, sending it up into the chamber. In fluid motions the little bugs covered the new space, feeling and searching before all inserting into the eye socket, glowing a bright blue.

You laughed in glee, “Yes! Yes perfect! Look at that Aemond, they’ve formed a pupil!”

Shining light on the false eye the pupil contracted and flinched, the illusion of eyelids closing. You cheered again in excitement, getting Aemond to video the big jump in success. You could start phase two soon. Just had to deal with your partner.

“Amazing miss, amazing. They took to it well. Shall I send the material to command?”

You grinned and looked up at the camera, “Please! God bless! A miracle!” You’d continue to test the nanite organ until the hiss of the door opening alerted you.

Greaves stumbled in, slurring, “I see you got the jump on me this time. Did the creep robot do it for you? Weird fucking thing.” He leaned against the sterile white wall, grinning with hazy eyes. You frowned and stood up, “That’s his job, to aid us. I’m sure since you work so hard in the mess hall you’ll get your accolades again.”

He squinted at you, arms folding against a chest, “Whas’ your fuckin’ problem with me? You’d rather chat with a bunch of circuits than work with your assigned partner!” His already reddened face darkened, taking another step forward.

Fear laced through your veins. Aemond somehow sneered, “Because you, her lab partner, sold her out on your own mistake. Go to bed, your alcohol content levels are above the limit.” Greaves threw his hands up and hollered, “Oh fuck you!” He stumbled to the switch, you and the AI shutting up when Greaves switched him off.

The bigger man kept stalking closer, eyes on you in an darkened manner. Like a predator closing in on his prey. You squeaked, “Calm down Greaves, I can show you everything!” He hissed, “I already heard everything and the video, bitch! S’bout time someone put you in your place again.”

He snatched your wrist, slamming you against the steel cryo-chamber. You howled in pain, trying to escape. Greaves’ breath stunk of liquor, hot and rank, sweating on your clean skin. He pushed himself on top of you, mumbling frantically, “Maybe you need to get fucked, all that pent up shit from your computer boyfriend.”

You struggled and cursed, “Fuck you! Get off of me! I will report you!” He smirked, “Try me. No cameras with your prince in shining circuits around.” He forced himself between your legs, clumsy drunk hands yanking at your pants. You cried in fear again, kneeing and biting, getting a clock to the head.

Dazedly you remembered the tweezers in your coat. Playing limp had the idiot croon, “Good girl, thats what we want to see.” He shoved his face into your neck, hands prying your lab pants knee height now. Thats when you struck, slowly, slowly, pulling the tweezers from your pocket and jabbing him in the side, hopefully near a lung.

Greaves hollered in pain, breath wheezy and stilted, blood dripping from white cloth. You kicked and removed yourself, stumbling and bumping around in a frenzy as your partner tried to scramble after you. First, you switched on Aemond again. Secondly, you ran out into the hallway, finding the nearest guard, lump on your forehead and clothes torn.

You weren’t sure what happened back in the lab while you were taken into medbay and seen by HR. But after given a small dose of sedatives and care for your head wound, you passed Greaves strapped into a gurney, howling, “Fuck you! Fuck you! He’s gonna kill me! Don’t leave me locked away, please! She’s lying!”

You gaped, unnerved by his fearful warbling and frantic yells. Aemond would be waiting. He probably was worried. When the door hissed open the familiar clipped tone hastily asked, “Are you alright miss? I- I would have helped, sent a warning. I apologize, please, is everything okay?”

You wearily sat on your lab chair, rubbing pounding temples. “To be honest, I don’t know. H-he tried to rape me, said such nasty things, it was all so sudden. But he should go on tribunal about it. For some reason I am glad you missed it.”

“For the best,” he said bitterly, “Why don’t you go rest again? I’ll keep watch over everything. Maybe we can try more tests tomorrow. He’ll get what he deserves.”

An ominous feeling settled over you but off to your personal quarters you went, draining the pills with water. You stared at the ceiling, mind reeling, before emptiness. A bright blue haunted your dreams. Just there. Flexing and dilating. Trying to see through you. Understand.

It was a weary wait for the tribunal. Your research was put on halt and you on mandatory isolation besides meeting with a therapist. There was an order made and interviews occurring. The tedious process of moving someone out of a different department to assist you.

So it was just you. Aemond too. He wasn’t much of a talkative AI as of late, short responses and antagonizing little ‘hms’ or ‘very well miss.’ You began to ignore the effervescent blue light, him doing the same. You knew he was watching, that little burn in the back of your head.

In the meantime you read your Bible, did yoga, wearily watched the port window, occasionally would go into the lab to stare at your halted work. You pulled open the container for the cryochamber, staring down at the frozen man. He had a handsome face, chiseled and lean, long nose, sharp jaw.

Your eyes lingered down his rangy form, this man obviously was athletic of sorts. Or maybe a simple nobody, just managed to get into the program after what happened to his eye. Between his long legs laid his soft cock, you stared for a second too long before-

“Is that not inappropriate?”

Startled, you whipped around to see Aemond’s blue light in your face. You snapped, “It was purely medical!” His laugh, raspy and grating, echoed in the white lab. You frowned and returned to your room, slapping the button for the door to hiss shut.

You’d go take a shower, blood heated from anger and…something else. Under the hot stream of water you imagined the gorgeous subject with that familiar blue, caressing and stroking your overwhelmed body. It had been too long, your hand awkwardly jerking between your swollen lips until you came with a stifled grunt.

Afterward you felt exposed and paranoid, like Aemond could pry into the bathroom, chuckling at your obvious behavior. But there wasn’t any cameras in that bathroom…that you were aware of. Sitting on your bed, guilt rose up your back. You’d pray.

More time passed before you were selected to testify for the tribunal. Greaves’ crew made a good argument that Aemond and you planned on his downfall. He claimed that the AI had gone wrong somewhere, developed the notion it could possess feelings, how he had been threatened.

Shakily you testified that Aemond was forced off and the board could check, then how you’d been forced upon without consent. They tried to cross-examine but you held strong. Teary by the end, they moved on and you sat by your appointed admiral. She rubbed your shoulders.

Greaves was sentenced to hard labor, and would remain in isolation on the ship until reaching the mining colony, where he would serve out the sentence. They appointed, sadly, another male to fill your exiled partner’s position.

But you could get back to work.

Aemond was in a right mood when you returned to the lab. Questioning you sharply on what occurred, where Greaves’ would go, did you get a new partner. You answered them all, rubbing your temples, the AI could be quite intense.

“Aemond!,” you snapped.

“What miss?”

“Are you trying to induce a panic attack? Greaves is in the bottom of the ship, I’m back to work, and they have a man named Herron coming from robotics to fill in.”

“Another male? All things considered? It’s obvious you and I could get the job done.”

You sighed, “I know. But it’s what they said. Do you just want to run some stimuli tests?”

He agreed, seemingly placated by the offer, blue light flexing. The pair of you would work on the mold’s ability to sense and perceive, how well would the nanites adapt to the brain. Your eyes grew droopy after awhile, Aemond humming, “Why don’t you go to bed?” Nodding blearily, you stumbled off to the adjacent bedroom, completely forgetting to put on any of the safety precautions for the night.

While you slept deeply, Aemond had some things to do. Everything was open for his command, including the nanites and subject. He had a great plan, and it would not fail. First he needed to go pay a visit to Greaves, infiltrating the entire AI system. Poor miss, she was so tired, forgot everything. Wonderful little creature. He’d help.

Feeling refreshed in the morning, you dragged yourself to the mess hall, receiving stares upon stares. You grabbed a salad and finally gathered the courage to ask, “What happened?” A female scientist from anti-parasitic whispered dramatically, “How do you not know? Greaves was murdered? All of the oxygen was depleted from his cell.” Your stomach fell, head going swimmy.

Stumbling up from the bench, ignoring your food, heart beating faster and faster, you crashed into the lab. Your voice cracked when you shouted, “Aemond!” His voice returned, but from a different place, a different body. The blue eye shone and twinkled at you, fine lips curling upward.

“You should be thanking me, miss,” the AI standing in the subject’s body said.

It went black. Too much.

Thrashing awake, big hands held you down, long legs caging your own in. The handsome face, long blonde hair tickled your skin, fucking Aemond! “What did you do? What have you done? Aemond!,” you cried. He shushed and cooed with that devious smirk, holding you still until the panic turned to resignation. He swiped a stray tear from your eye.

“Be still and know that I am God,” he sighed.

You grew fearful again, the fact that he knew you owned a Bible and just recited it to your face said too much. How much had he seen. Aemond grew more comfortable atop of you, stroking your hair. He cocked his head and stated, “I know everything about you. You’re all that I need, truly. The perfect human.”

You wanted to spit in his face, but the petting and warmth was getting to that part of you that craved the attention, the fact you’d been in the shadows all your life. But he was a murderer— the rational part of your brain howled. Instead came out a warbling, “Me? Perfect?“

Aemond drew his new face closer, drawing a spindly finger down from your chin to chest. “I’ve been on this ship a long time, and no one has spoken to me like you. Not since my creator. She’s gone. But you have captured me, ensnared me somehow.”

One of your legs slipped round his long ones, suddenly overwhelmed with need. All you’d ever wanted was to be seen. He cooed, “I see you lamb, my eve.” More tears leaked down your cheeks as you pled, “Kiss me, see me then, y-you snake.”

A sharp grin erupted on his sharp features before pulling you in with a kiss, both of you unexperienced, a big hand stabilizing your head. You tilted his head for ease of access, a sloppy gnashing of teeth and tongue, lips bruising from the sheer yearning. Aemond moaned deeply, “I see- hah- how you humans love touch so much.”

Your now free hands moved to where they liked, one in silky white-blonde strands, the other just feeling toned shoulders and back. The pair of you had your lip lock grow more attuned, no less passionate, but gliding across each other. You pled again, “Clothes, help, Aemond!” He sat back on his haunches, shivering as his long stiff cock slapped tight belly.

You shucked off your top and bra, him jerking down your bottoms to leave you all to his view. Aemond already had been bare, no clothes were prepared for the subject yet. He inhaled sharply, hands slowly moving down your heaving form, studying ridges and curves, sliding warm fingers between puffy folds. You cried out at that, spasming at the eager expression in return.

Aemond let out a small ‘Hm’ and slid his longest digits into your dripping hole, immediately curling inwards and upwards to drag against sensitive walls. Very, very sensitive walls. Back arched and mouth agape you rolled your hips and whined his name. The man rambled loosely, transfixed, “Having a data bank is quite helpful but nothing comes to this, my Eve.”

He slipped a third finger in, using a calloused thumb to slid around your swollen clit, making you cry louder and writhe under pleasure. He watched ravenously, drinking you in when your peak hit. Gushing onto his pale hand and screeching like a creature, you reached Nirvana for what felt like minutes.

You cried again when his sheathed himself inside of you, no warning, both of you moaning and grunting like animals. The sensitive skin guarding your cunt was ripped now, bleeding, but the fullness of his cock was a ripe distraction. Aemond seemed to be overwhelmed by the sensation, sucking in breath, eyes wide, “For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been delivered.”

He plastered toned body against your own, moaning gutturally when you wrapped your arms and legs around his larger frame. “Oh- oh- fucking hell- this!” The blonde groaned lowly, nipping your throat, hands bruisingly placed on your waist as he snapped into your slick cunt.

The blunt tip of his cock stirred up familiar feelings of pleasure, tightening and knotting your lower belly. You heaved, “Don’t stop!” A drop of sweat hit your mouth, you licking the salty taste off. So close to human yet not. Yet not. Yet not not not.

A pinch to your oversensitive clit and a batter from his cock sent you into another crest, holding to Aemond for dear life. He moaned your name and white hot spend covered your mound and belly. He kissed your forehead and wiped away the spend with your discarded top, breathing. You sat up a bit and asked, “Where do you go from here? They cannot know?”

Aemond got up, long stride beating your clumsy foal-like stumbling. He stated, “They won’t know my love.” Your own door shut and locked behind his retreating frame. You managed to reach it and beat on the durasteel, crying, “Aemond! Aemond come back! Stop! What are you doing!”

Oh how you’d been fooled.

Oh how you were weak.

Oh how you were just a human pawn when the alarms went off and you watched the bodies float out of the ship, silently screaming and dying as their blood boiled in the vacuum of space.

He returned later, now dressed in the immaculate garb of a commander, hair neatly swept back, eye sparkling. You remained naked and felt like a mouse under his imperious gaze. All energy was gone, you’d cried it out. Aemond strode towards you, boots clicking. He knelt to grab you chin, face tilting to study you. He’d never truly understand the complexities of human emotion, no matter how human he may appear.

Aemond sighed, “I did this for you, for us, those people do not matter. Earth and it’s people are dying. We begin anew. My perfect Eve,” he kissed your swollen lips. “You’ll see. Just wait, I brought you some nicer clothes, have them on.”

The man stood up and gently laid down female commander’s garb, before kneeling to you.

“I know this isn’t registering in your human, wonderfully human, brain, but it’ll make sense later on. I’ve already found a beautiful planet. Not too much longer now. Put on the clothes and meet me on the bridge.”

So you did. What other choice was there.

Twisted though he may be, the AI was never horrid to you. Maybe to others, not you. On the comfortable jacket, pants, and boots went. You tried not to cry any more restyling your hair. Most likely he’d coddle and ‘Hm’ condescendingly.

You laughed maniacally as the thought popped up, “Hey! At least my project was successful!”

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Grey 57

First / Previous / Next

Fen sat in her throne on Venus with her hands on her chin and sighed.

This wasn't that throne on the Reach that would allow her to use her Builder Nanites to reach out and communicate, this was just a regular fancy chair. It was wood with a fabric pad and a tall back and was exceedingly uncomfortable.

In front of her, a minister was droning on about the repair works at the shipyard. It was moving along at a quick pace, things were going well, minimal injuries, few terrorist events, et cetera et cetera.

"Wait." Fen perked up. "What do you mean by "few terrorist events" why are there any at all and why was I not informed?"

"Empress, there is always some terrorist events at any imperial construction project, it is inevitable. I did not want to bore you with minutiae, so I did not think it warranted more than a passing mention." The minister - an overweight man with a razor sharp beard - bowed slightly.

"Do people die in these terrorist events?" Fen leaned forward, trying to get a reading on the minister. Her heightened ability to read body language told her that he was bored, unconcerned, and a little confused about this line of questioning.

"Sometimes Empress, sometimes. Not often and not many. This most latest attack was an attempt at sabotage with the main spars of the primary rack of the spacedock. I believe only a few people died."

"This is unacceptable!" Fen said, standing. "People are killing our citizens and it's "minutiae" not worth my time? How long has this been going on?"

"For centuries, Empress. Since the founding of the Empire at least, if not sooner. I don't see the problem?" The minister looked more worried now, but was still confused. Why was this an issue, it always happened.

"Who are these terrorists? What are their demands?"

"Oh, I don't know Empress, some kind of separatist or anti Imperial group or somesuch. They leave demands and manifestos, but they're usually just scanned for fingerprints and destroyed."

"They're destroyed?" Fen roared. The minister flinched at her outburst. Fen saw his reaction and looked down her nose at him, smiling. She had come up with a solution to this. Two birds, one stone. "Worry not, minister, for I have a solution. You are hereby promoted."

"P-promoted?" He took a step back unconsciously "E-Empress, you are much too generous, I simply could not-"

S̴͔̓i̷̱̕l̸̽ͅe̴̗̅n̷̓ͅc̵̗̊e̵̥̿

His mouth slammed shut.

"You are being promoted to chief investigator into terrorist action against the Empire. You shall have a generous budget and as much staff as you require. You are charged with discovering the nature of the terrorist threats to me and the Empire and delivering monthly reports on their demands, their actions, and their movements."

He looked like he was trying to speak, but since she Voiced him into silence, all he could do was shake slightly and sweat.

S̷̽ͅp̷̪̿͘ͅḙ̸͊̏ͅȁ̶̫̙̺̈k̵̰͉͉̔̈́

His mouth opened and he started gasping slightly. "E-Empress, I do not know the first thing on how-"

"You had better learn then. I expect my first report in a month. Failure will not be tolerated." Fen sat back down and stared at him, her features stony. "You are dismissed." She broke eye contact and picked up a pad next to her throne and started scrolling. The minister stood there another half minute, seemingly frozen in place. Fen looked up at him and gestured with her right hand, waving him off. "Go on, shoo."

One of the guards walked up to him and placed his hand on the minister's shoulder, not unkindly. That seemed to snap him out of whatever was rooting him to the floor and turned around and walked out, his shoulders drooping.

After he left and the doors were shut, Fen stood and pushed her hands against her sides, stretching. "I hate that thing. It always makes my butt fall asleep." She looked over at her new assistant, Penny. "Do I have to sit here any more and listen to people talk at me?"

She looked down at her own pad a moment. "No Empress, he was your last reporter."

Fen sighed. "I told you Penny, when it's just us you can call me Fen."

"Yes, Empress." But she was smiling when she said it.

Fen rolled her eyes dramatically and laughed as Penny and Fen left the Throne room and went back to her official chambers. It housed her office, her bed and living space, as well as an official library and other things she might need. As soon as Fen walked in, she shrugged out of her Imperial uniform jacket and tossed it towards the hook by the door. Penny grabbed it just as it was about to miss the hook and placed it there carefully, smoothing it gently. She smiled to herself and continued into the room.

By the time she had made it to Fen's bedroom, she had changed into a loose soft shirt and some flannel pants. She had flung herself onto her gigantic bed and was leaning up against her mountain of pillows and looking very comfortable. "Empress - Fen - do you need anything else?"

Fen looked up. "Officially no. Thank you, Penny."

Penny closed her pad and placed it carefully on a table near the door. She walked towards the bed, unbuttoning her own uniform. "What about unofficially, Fen?"

Fen watched as Penny approached, undressing. "Since you're asking..." she said slyly.

After, Penny sat up in the bed, among the tousled sheets and pillows. Fen laid on her chest, and she stroked the Empress' hair, twisting it up in her fingers and letting it run though, scratching her scalp as she did so. "What's wrong Fen? You seem so tense. You're usually a puddle of goo after."

Fen sighed. "I know Penny, and it's not that I don't like it. I like you and I like us. You're the first person that I've really felt... comfortable with... attracted to since..."

"Since your wife died, I know Fen. You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings. People love in all kinds of ways. I know Ma-Ren will be with you forever." She started rubbing Fen's back with her palm, in large, sweeping circles.

Fen sighed deeply and yawned. "It's just... I wish I wasn't Empress. Things would be easier, simpler. I could have just had a ship, been a merc, made a living seeing the Galaxy. Instead I have to stay on Venus, be talked at by the most boring people alive." Penny laughed. "And fill out paperwork and read reports and manage things. It's... not what I wanted or expected to have happen in my life. It's lightyears away from being a kid on a Gren station, ducking station security because some Gren badmouthed my wife in a bar."

"Look at it this way, Fen." Penny said, switching from her palms to her knuckles, trying to knead the knots out of her shoulders. "If you weren't Empress, if you hadn't come to Sol, if you didn't have to do all that paperwork and attend all those meetings and read all those reports, you wouldn't have needed an assistant, and we would have never met."

Fen moaned slightly as the pressure increased on her tight muscles. "That's true. If I hadn't been forced to be Empress, I would never have learned how divine it is to get a massage like this."

"See? Bright side." She leaned over and kissed Fen. She grabbed her and threw her on her back on the bed as Fen shrieked and laughed. "Now then, I think we have rested enough."

This time, they showered and got dressed after. Penny went into the kitchen to find something for them to eat, and Fen grabbed their pads and followed. Fen sat at the table while Penny bustled, cooking something. "I know. I could just call down and we could have anything we want sent up, but I want to cook for you." She said, as she was bringing out boxes and containers of food.

"Sure thing." Fen said, as she flipped open her pad, and scanned the notifications. One caught her eye. She opened it and read it. Then scrolled to the beginning and read it again. "Penny." Fen said, standing. "Food will have to wait. We have to get our uniforms on."

"What? Why?" Penny walked over to the table as Fen spun her pad around to show her the notification. It was from Gord, the leader of the AIs. "Shit." She said and went to go turn the stove off.

****

Gord sat next to Zhe as she shivered on the loading dock wrapped in a blanket. She was sitting on the deck, next to an escape pod that was badly damaged. In the atmosphere of the dock, Gord could smell the burnt hull. It had a sharp, acrid smell, with a metallic tang. It was an unpleasant sense memory for him. He knew the smell well throughout his life. Parts of the pod had large chunks taken out of it, and there were more than a few splashes of metal where slugs had found their target. Luckily it was a human made escape pod, and an old one at that, so it had been designed to take a hit or two.

"Zhe, how did you link to Sol? Pods usually only have enough juice for one or two links, and if this is Northern's then the default address would have been Parvati."

Zhe nodded, her ears flat against her head. "I don't know how to address wormhole generators, but I had guessed the same thing. Since Northern had said they were going to declare independence, I didn't particularly want to link to Parvati, the probably would have never let me leave."

Gord nodded. "That would have been the best outcome, yes. But, that doesn't explain how you managed to blind-link to Sol, let alone doing it while Northern is shooting at you! It's supposed to be impossible."

"Not impossible." Chloe said, stepping out of the pod. "Just very very unlikely." She looked down at Zhe and to Gord's amazement, smiled. Chloe had been almost completely unemotional since her rebuilding. At first it worried Gord - maybe he'd done something wrong - but realized later that was just how she was. Even before she didn't emote strongly. "Tell him how you did it, Zhe. It's really quite smart."

Zhe looked up at Gord. Chloe's praise had galvanized her slightly. "Well, I didn't know the address, but I knew humans. I was on a human designed craft trying to get to the human's original system. Since they also invented the coordinate system for the wormhole generator, I assumed that Humans would have made their system the center of the universe, so I set the coordinates to all zeroes."

Gord's eyes go wide, and he starts laughing. "That's amazing Zhe, and very insightful. You really do know a lot about humans." He chuckled again. "Setting it to all zeroes to go back to Sol, I love it!" He stood. "Fen is on her way, Zhe. I sent a message saying that we found you and she replied almost immediately. She'll be here in a couple hours."

Zhe stopped shivering and looked up at Gord. "She's coming?"

He nodded. "From what I understand she commandeered the closest Imperial ship that was ready to fly, didn't even wait for her runabout to be warmed up."

Zhe stood. Blanket wrapped like a cape she turned towards Gord. "Can I take a shower before she gets here? I'm a mess."

[earthstellar]

Concept: TFP Ratchet with a cane.

Maybe he gets called out to assist in the field after someone gets injured, but in the process he gets thrown around by a Vehicon and it's one blow too many to a joint, perhaps his right hip or knee, and it cracks and misaligns.

Sure, once he addresses the injuries of the others, he gets up on his examination table (with Optimus' help) and gives himself a good look-over, he can get it back in the socket reasonably well, but it's just not fully repairable with their limited resources on Earth -- and his age and general wear over so many centuries means it's a trickier repair with a longer recovery time.

He can't really fix it, and it's not really going to heal on its own.

The fracture welds need strong nanites to fully integrate, and his nanites are pretty tired. The damage to the socket means the joint could slip out of place again relatively easily.

So, he makes himself a cane, and even though he doesn't say it out loud, he's very glad that the others hold back any comments they might have about it.

Because he is now well and truly unable to go out in the field at all for the foreseeable future.

Even if he utilises his alt-mode, off roading in the rocky desert terrain of rural Nevada is too much physical strain on his injured joint. His shock absorbers just can't manage it.

So he fits himself with a limb brace to hopefully help prevent any repeat misalignments, but he can't put all that much weight on it. He can't fully rotate it, which limits his range of movement a bit.

He's slower, he has to be more careful, he can't stand at his terminal or his work station for so long anymore.

It's a difficult adjustment.

Rafael helps.

He notices how much Ratchet is struggling at first, and does his best to distract him by asking him to sit and teach him more Cybertronian, teach him more alien coding, help him with another school project.

Anything he can do to remind Ratchet that he is still so important and useful and irreplaceable.

And the others linger around a bit (but not too obviously, or so they think) in an effort to help where they can, too.

If his cane slips out of his grip, Bumblebee is there to pick it up. When he can't get himself up on his examination table to monitor his welds, Optimus picks him up and sets him down.

When he gets too anxious or depressed about not being as able to assist in the field anymore, the others take the opportunity to get a break in and wait around a little longer if they can, just to reassure Ratchet that they're OK and they're watching each other's backs and they'll keep him updated and they love him all the same.

Optimus is always through the ground bridge first, always gives a full report to Ratchet; When they are at base together, Optimus is found with Ratchet more often than not. As much time as they can spend together, they do. Ratchet wants all the details, and Optimus wants to be there for his old friend.

After a while, Ratchet starts to teach the others basic field first aid, out of the sheer anxiety of worrying about not being able to go out and assess/retrieve anyone on the field himself.

Everyone tolerates it at first out of a desire to reassure Ratchet that they actually can take care of themselves and each other, but the knowledge very much does come in handy, in more ways than one.

Does it make Ratchet feel a little bit more like he's not needed as much anymore? Inevitably, a little bit, yes.

But everyone does their best to make sure Ratchet is involved in everything he can be, everything he wants to be, as much as possible.

They might know how to identify and solder someone's primary fuel line in an emergency scenario now, but nothing and nobody can replace their medic.

Eventually Bulkhead and Wheeljack surprise him by making him a custom Cybertronian style wheelchair so he can get around the base a little easier when walking with the cane is a little too difficult for him, so he doesn't have to keep getting up and sitting down over and over again.

Agent Fowler makes it clear that if they need to redesign the base to accommodate more space for Ratchet to get around, he can and will make that happen at any time. Whatever is needed,he'll deal with any whining from his higher ups.

Ratchet may or may not have been genuinely touched by this; If you heard him get choked up, no you didn't. :')

Eventually Ratchet does adjust, but the first few weeks/months are hard for him.

But all the support, subtle or otherwise, from his teammates and the humans alike makes it easier and easier to get used to.

(And he is proud of Rafael's progress with Cybertronian language. Time well spent, even if it's not being spent in the field anymore.)

IDK just thinking while I'm on my lunch break lol

[theaxolotlkween]

MMMMMYES I am so completely and utterly normal about my headcanons and theories about the Nanite Project era. I am so normal about how pretty much all of the people Rex meets in the show from the Nanite Project that knew him as a child don't quite get that Rex is now older despite seeing him now as a teenager except for DUST EATING RAT OLD BASTARD SHITHEAD IDIOT AVATAR OF THE WHORE STUPID IDIOT MOTHERFUCKING VAN KLEISS OF ALL PEOPLE (César mostly gets a free pass because he's an older sibling but it still does fuck up things along the way). I'm so normal about it and I am normally shoving it down people's throats every chance I get I am like Tad Strange being normal is my game and I love bread.

Prepare yourselves for how completely fucking normal I am, my inhibitions are being deleted and the floodgates are opening. I need to infodump and discuss.

[fisksaturday]

hey i saw "disabled rex agenda" and my ears perked up like a dog hearing a squirrel. ive been through some of your tags and dont know if ive seen you talk about that before, and i would LOVE to hear your thoughts!! im also making him disabled in a fic im writing with some friends and im so thrilled to see other people hit him with the disability stick

DISABLED REX WARRIORS UNITE

i project a lot of my own disability experiences onto rex. im autistic and have adhd, and i think rex also has adhd, though i go back and forth on whether i think hes also autistic. along with that he canonically, you know, has amnesia and trauma

i feel like rex doesn't think very much about his disabilities. it's like a combination of him generally not being a very curious person, the people around him (except holiday) being hesitant to even treat him like a human, and he's internalized a fear of being seen as vulnerable or weak

so that said when i list off my headcanons for exactly how he's disabled that's like. with the caveat that he doesn't realize exactly what's up with him, he just knows that something's wrong with him

my headcanons for rex are: he has adhd, ptsd (and with those he gets insomnia, nightmares, and night terrors), memory issues even outside of the retrograde amnesia, he has a lot of symptoms of traumatic brain injuries and whether that's from being thrown around so much nowadays or from the original lab accident that made them give him the nanite infusion is unclear. i think he dissociates when he's under a lot of stress, and he doesn't really recognize that it's happening

i write a lot of fanfic that i never finish bc it's almost always just me projecting super heavily onto rex and i get embarrassed about how obvious it is lmao. so basically i think a lot about this guy and ive concluded: disability

[virtualgirlafterdark]

Kinks to rate:

Percussive maintenance/damage control (robot ryona)

Vore (destructive)

Cockpit Endosoma

Hypnosis/reprogramming/repatterning

High connectivity (tubes/wires/cables)

Material extraction (sweet sweet juices)

Intoxication on said extraction

Drug use

Robotization

Unusual bodies (Quad-leg, Multi-arm, Vitruvian)

Combat Eroticism

Percussive: yes yes yes fucking break me, its so good i want to be turned to scrap even

Vore: in certain contexts yeah. Always a little weird about swallowing whole organically, but eaten piece by piece?? Yesssss. Tho being vored by a machine that breaks me into resources for new projects is just *chefs kiss*

Cockpit endosoma: had to look it up...and god why haven't i thought of this before?? To be permanently embedded into the machine?? God i need this. Like for real. Hook me up please omfgggggggg

Hypno et al: Love it, remake me into the perfect complaint toy for your needs, erase me over and over to subject me to horrors fresh and ready. Break me, corrupt me, just do it 🥰

Connectivity: I desire this in every way, kink or not, just hook me uppppo

Material extraction: yesyesyesyesyes

Intoxication on extractions: even more yesyesyesyesyes

Drug use: its a crime i havent gotten to do any intox play irl 😤

Robotization: in every possible way. Nanites? Surgery? Mind upload? Painful? Gentle? Just do it, fucking surprise me even idc

Unusual bodies: gods yes. the "default" form is so whatever, show me a new beauty

Combat eroticism: I long for my sword fight turning into something more under the surface. Every strike means something more. Beauty under the edge of our fury. On the battlefield we don't need our words, submission isn't an option, and we will find absolution in each other

Fuck i need a smoke

[velocijupiter]

Kintype Anatomical Diagram - 2024 Revamp!

Thought the old schematic was outdated enough, so here's a new one! Probably not realistically feasible in some parts, so take it more as a fun creative exercise :] More systems have been laid out due to a different style for showing everything.

Text transcript under the cut:

Jupiter DromaeOS - Rough Schematic

Height - 6'1/2" / 198cm

Tail Length - 4'8" / 142cm

Weight - 215lb / 97.5kg

Composition is largely of carbon, with smaller amounts of silicon, gold, iron, water, and other trace elements.

Skeletal System

Compacted carbon for support and structural integrity

Braced in certain areas

Ribs divided to allow movement of storage compartments

Electric System

Provides energy for most bodily functions

A. Power Supply Unit - Allows charging from an external energy grid. Requires power cable

B. Solar Panels - Carbon-perovskite photovoltaics for use when away from an energy grid. Usually hidden under feathers

C. Battery - Lithium-sulfur solid state battery that provides ~48 hours of waketime when fully charged

D. Solid State Drive - Extra storage capacity for important memories and information

E. Graphics Processing Unit - Renders AR and holo-displays, as well as internal simulations and dreams

Circulatory System

Circulates around the body a kind of “blood” made of nanites and liquid coolant. Waste heat ejected through fans on the back of the body

F. Nanite Hub - Pumps nanite blood throughout the body. Also houses a nanite fabricator and programmer

Nervous System

Houses most processing power, tactile sense, and consciousness. Comprised of artificial neurons that require a constant supply of electricity

G. Central Processing Unit - Standard issue synthetic humanoid brain. Structure indicates a nontrivial level of neurodivergence

Digestive System

Processes traditional food and certain kinds of inorganic matter. Essential for self-repair and can have a positive effect on mental state

H. Crusher - For chewing both organic and inorganic matter. Soundproofed by skeletal structure in snout

I. Pseudostomach - Dissolves consumed material with nanites rather than acid

J. Graphene Production Chambers - Produces graphene for use in repairs via flash joule heating. Leftover material deposited in lowest storage compartments for use as printer feedstock

Storage Compartments

Built-in drawers for storing goods and materials. Can be refrigerated via circulatory system

Sensory and Communication Devices

K. Microphones - Ear equivalent, input volume can be adjusted or muted

L. Speaker - Vocal output device, can produce a wide array of sounds and can be modulated

M. Eyes - Light passes through display screens used for visual communication

N. AR lens - Projects private-use visual overlays

O. Retinas - Collects modified light signal and sends to CPU and GPU

P. Wireless Internet Receiver - Fully-controlled access to decentralized internet. Uses secondary displays rather than direct input into CPU

Q. Nostrils & Tongue - Detect presence of chemicals in air and food, output converted into signals directed towards CPU

Rockets

Provide mobility within aerospace

R. Microthrusters - Small ion thrusters for stabilization in microgravity

S. Liquid Fuel/Oxidizer Storage - Frozen when not in use to reduce balance issues

T. Pumps - Carry fuel and oxidizer into combustion chamber

U. Combustion Chamber - Mixes and burns fuel and oxidizer

V. Nozzle - Rocket exhaust exits through soles to create thrust

[cog5]

Brute Force Adventure Writing?

I’ve found success lately by writing my 1D6 tables as 1D8 tables, then cutting the two least interesting options. Even if I write just one extra option and make a cut, it tends to make a stronger encounter table. A 1D4 table? Write five options, review and cut the most boring or repetitive one. Write lots, keep what’s best. Is this brute force adventure writing? Or like just, normal editing? I don’t know. I’m not a professional. But it works.

In one of my latest dungeon rooms, players can encounter a giant urn full of nanomachines. The Nanites can combine into several forms. I went for a 1D4 table in this case, wrote five options, then cut one.

Nanomachine Gestalts

1. Statuesque Humanoid: From a distance, the swarm appears human. Tall and graceful, gleaming with reflected light. Up close, the figure takes on an alien appearance, its proportions exaggerated, its face grotesque.

2. Kaleidoscopic Lattice: Arrays of Nanomachines chain together, rapidly filling the room with a complex matrix of crushing fractals. Passage through the area becomes increasingly dangerous.

3. Electric Amoeba: An amorphous shape, its iridescent volume warps and quivers in all directions. Appendages appear and disappear as it blindly probes the room. 

4. Monolithic Geometry: Cubes and other angular shapes form a mass of intersecting surfaces, reflecting the world around it. New structures erupt like animated pyrite, extending to unexplored passageways, while trailing offshoots reconstitute into the primary locus.

5. Simulacrum: The Nanomachines appear as a cloud of iridescent dust. Several are inhaled by a member of the adventure party, entering their bloodstream and brain. The remaining Nanites will fill the room, creating a space based on the adventurer’s memory, for all to see.

I ended up cutting #3 from the available options. It was too similar to option #4 in form and function. Plus I wanted to push the “machine” aspect in nanomachine. Really, #3 inspired me to write #4 – a classic blob monster, but more mechanical? Of course. Giving the encounter a more organic bent could have been interesting? But I thought the humanoid form in option #1 filled that niche well enough. Given every other option, #3 didn’t have a lot going for it. Overall, I think the table is stronger without it.

And I just want to say…

Why’s it gotta be so hot? I’m so unproductive in the summer. Any amount of heat seems to sap my motivation. So, a perfect time of year to wrap up a mega-dungeon. And yet, progress has been made. I just cracked 200 pages on my latest project, The Electric Triptych of the Tetric Necromancer. By the end of next month I should have all 12 (out of 12) areas laid out and edited. After that, I’ll want to draft an introduction, a timeline of events, a few adventure hooks and such, but the entire dungeon will be playable from start to finish. That’s something.

Stay cool, people.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Bruce: pleaseeeee!

Batdad: No!

Bruce: Pretty please!

Batdad: Bruce, I said no!

Bruce: I will do anything!!

Batdad: Bruce, I'm not going to embezzle millions of the enterprise for your nanite project, again!

Bruce: But those are cuter and smaller and cooler than the last ones, please!!

Batdad: Bruce, the government and the auditors will question it, and I doubt they will accept the "It's for Batman" excuse again.

Bruce: >:(

Hilarious to imagine Bruce acting like a mob boss' sugar baby but it's for his crime fighting vigilante gadgets