#echo and byte

[rynmaru]

Congratulations! Your NHP is reaching Student Class!

Please avert your gaze!

[rynmaru]

The Atlas is size half for a reason bay-BE

The duality of lancer players

[c4tb0yl3on]

Overwatch x My Little Pony

Some of these are very old and I wanna go back and tweak designs! :) ♡

[miyaz6ki]

the first time you let kinich take you out, you didn't expect him to do this—similarily seen in his birthday voiceline!

"are you really sure this is safe?! "you feel his gloved hands under your body as he picks you up into his arms—bridal style and everything. "I'm very sure, don't worry; my saurian is nice."

The eight-bit dragon merely grumbles under his pixelated breath as his huge, green hydra lets you both onto his back. "I don't kill humans that don't have the name 'kinich malipo', nor a saurian hunter." The statement sounds forced and almost sarcastic, but just enough for you to believe it.

kinich sat down, and let you take a seat right beside him—on his left specifically. the beast slowly spread its small, byte-like wings into the air, and leaped off.

the wind was fresh, blowing into your face, and through your hair. the saurian hunter only holding you close by your waist, a secure—firm grip, enough for you to relax, even for just a moment.

the view was worth millions of mora, you've never been able to see natlan this clearly. an enthralling, gorgeous, and unforeseen observation from the skies, maybe this ride wasn't as bad as you thought.

the night lightened the mood of the city, and the rest of natlan so beautifully. it almost brought you to tears, this is the same city you've been exploring this whole time, huh?

instinctively, you leaned in closer to the infamous raven head they call the saurian hunter 'malipo'. he couldn't help but set a speck of dust—a mere knit of red dance along his warm skin, specifically his face.

he lets out a bijou cough, clearing his throat of nervousness. as he softens his hold around your torso, letting you observe every little detail you may find while ajaw flies through the skies, giving you a show.

you shuddered—the temperature of the skies isn't what you expected. silently, almost expecting it, he swathed you in the simple fabrics of his jacket. the scent was such a familiar scent, that you couldn't help but melt into such clothing, only leaning your head further to your right.

ajaw suddenly leans too harshly onto the right, almost making kinich fall off—yet he seemed almost.. unfazed? "kin'!" your shout echoed through the skies, even stunning ajaw temporarily. a stoic, apathetic expression was on his face, kinich in this situation wasn't too amused, even letting out a scoff—growing a smirk on the very same expression. "seems like your trick backfired." "ohhhh- quit it, kiniiichh!!"

you let out a sigh of relief, "does he always do that? scared me half to death!" a concerned look tells him everything you felt when you saw him slip for a moment. "usually yeah, don't worry about it." you felt a similar smile bloom on your face, as ajaw slowly starts to descend, and kinich scooping you back into your arms.

he sets you down on the ground, near the house mualani lent you for the meantime of your travels in the renowned toyac springs. it was even prettier at night, you swear you could see the petals in the water light up under the moonlight!

"you feel nauseous, or sick? anything of the sort?" he checks your face, and any other spots where your skin can be seen, looking for any signs of injuries. "if so, I can punish ajaw for doing such." "hey that isn't what we agreed on!—" a rock is thrown at the large dragon, a growl as it keeps quiet. a gaze full of anger set out on kinich as you let out a chuckle.

"i'm fine, no worries. here, your jacket." you reach to hand his jacket back, you felt almost fighting against giving it back, it was warm, and it felt like a piece of him would always be with you. "—keep it. you'll need it for the rest of the night if you continue to hang outside. which I know you probably will, mualani is active at night, especially when cooking."

"so... i'll see you tomorrow?" your eyes looked into his for a moment, tilting your head even. "a- ahem... yes, I'll be here tomorrow. chief asked for your help anyway, so."

"bye then." you send a small wave to him.

"mmh.. yeah bye." he nodded, turning around to hide the redness that bloomed on his cheeks as to how flowers would in spring. gosh it was still fall!

"and goodbye to you too, ajaw." you waved the eight-bit dragon off as he huffed in pride. "farewell to you too, human."

you swear you could hear him and ajaw bickering about how you greeted them both a good night as they flew off once more, back to the canopy.

maybe you should go out more, specifically with kinich.

[pupsmailbox]

ROBOT ID PACK

NAMES ︰ aerobot.　agatha.　ai.　alan.　alethea.　alexia.　algernon.　alistair.　alpha.　amaryllis.　ambrose.　androbot.　androic.　andromeda.　angelica.　antenna.　arabella.　araminta.　arcade.　auto.　automaton.　axel.　axis.　badnik.　bionel.　bolt.　byte.　care.　celline.　cello.　chip.　chipique.　clank.　cloniste.　clonoid.　cobot.　codelle.　cole.　curiosity.　cy.　cyber.　cybette.　cybion.　cypher.　data.　dell.　della.　delpha.　delta.　digi.　dot.　droid.　droidess.　droidis.　dronette.　echo.　elektra.　euna.　eva.　eve.　fritz.　giga.　gizmo.　glitch.　grey.　gynoid.　helix.　holo.　holodir.　hydra.　ida.　jet.　kaput.　kinect.　krudzu.　linion.　mac.　mace.　machibella.　machina.　mal.　malware.　mation.　mech.　mecha.　mechael.　mechan．ace.　metal.　metalia.　metalish.　micro.　motherboard.　motor.　nano.　neo.　nucleus.　nyquist.　orbit.　parallel.　pip.　pixel.　prime.　primus.　proto.　quantum.　radar.　radius.　ram.　ray.　reflect.　reflectette.　robo.　robonaut.　rusty.　satellite.　scrappy.　selsyn.　sentiex.　servo.　shard.　siri.　solar.　sonar.　spark.　sparkie.　sparky.　sputnik.　steele.　sterling.　stochastic.　synchro.　synie.　synthett.　talus.　terra.　tin.　tink.　tobor.　ultramarine.　ultron.　unimate.　unit.　virus.　waldo.　zip.

PRONOUNS︰ ai/ai.　algo/algorithm.　android/android.　app/app.　auto/auto.　auto/automated.　auto/automaton.　axis/axi.　beep/boop.　bio/bionic.　bio/bioplastic.　blast/blast.　bo/bot.　bolt/bolt.　bot/bot.　buffer/buffer.　byte/byte.　cell/cell.　chaos/chaos.　chi/chip.　click/click.　clo/clone.　code/code.　coil/recoil.　command/command.　compute/computer.　core/core.　cyb/cyborg.　cyber/cyber.　data/data.　dev/device.　device/device.　dig/digital.　digi/digital.　droi/droid.　droid/droid.　e/exe.　electric/electric.　entry/entries.　exo/exoskeleton.　gear/gear.　gli/glitch.　glitch/glitch.　hack/hack.　ho/holo.　holo/holo.　hologram/hologram.　in/install.　intra/intranet.　link/link.　machi/machine.　mal/malfunction.　mal/malware.　mech/mech.　mecha/mechanical.　mechanic/mechanic.　metal/metal.　metro/metro.　motor/motor.　neo/neo.　neon/neon.　nuclear/nuclear.　propeller/propeller.　radar/radar.　retro/retro.　robo/robo.　robo/robot.　robot/robot.　rubber/rubber.　satellite/satellite.　sca/scan.　shard/shard.　shine/shiny.　signal/signal.　solar/solar.　steel/steel.　stem/stem.　swi/switch.　syn/synth.　syn/synthetic.　tech/tech.　techno/techno.　test/test.　text/text.　turing/turing.　vi/viru.　web/site.　web/web.　whirr/whirr.　wi/wifi.　wire/wire.　wired/wired.　⚙️/⚙️.　🔧/🔧.　🔩/🔩.　🛠//🛠.　🤖/🤖.

[rynmaru]

The platonic ideal of Technophile

do you make the most kissable mechs. if you answer no I will begin a boycott campaign

Duh

—the Intern

[frigidcoast]

SAINT SALAD IS FINALLY DONE!!

YAY!!!!

CREDIT FOR DESIGNS!!: @dustyfandomtrashbin - @pookapufferfish - @soaricarus - @wintry-tempest - @pansear-doodles - @mothlight-hours - @chillysaint - @verdeltiathedead - @catnamedpepper - @frogseight - @infinite-echoes - @ksenya-and-the-artistic-cucumber - @ecliip - @mildeleef - @elsa-rain-world-stuff - @shark-bytee - @darradreamer - @carp3tpasta - @neattnat - @kakyogay - @prismaticpinky - @fauxbia - @pine-marten-art - @saturncoyote - @minigun-idiot - @sp1resong - @woopdeloopei - @bunteaart - @rainworld-saint - @gleeokenspiel - @jadzio - @skylq - @sin-ari - and me!! :))

sorry if I accidentally left anyone out!!

and please PLEASE lmk if it's hard to see because I could NOT balance the background colors at all or make it easy to see against the salad itself. I STRUGGLED.

just in case, here's the image without the salad bowls or background!!

[theres-a-body-here]

Darling~

Miguel O'Hara x Male!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 |

As Miguel slipped in and out of consciousness, he became vaguely aware of being dragged along the hallway by some unknown force. It wasn't until he regained some level of lucidity that he realized it was one of your black tendrils wrapped firmly around his ankle.

All around, the sounds of battle echoed - cries of pain and success melding together, only to become silence as you took him deeper into the structure's internal complex.

You hummed softly to yourself, navigating the maze-like corridors with ease while keeping Miguel close at hand

"V-Venom," Miguel managed to croak out, struggling against the paralyzing effects of Scorpion's poison coursing through his veins.

Continuing the journey deeper into the base, you cast a tender gaze upon Miguel. Your voice held a sickly sweet tone, gently whispering words meant for his ears alone.

"We've missed you so much, amor."

Miguel, however, was barely holding on, fighting back waves of nausea caused by the debilitating toxin coursing through his veins. He opened his mouth to respond, but only managed a pitiful moan in reply.

The sudden ceasing of movement rouses Miguel from his drowsy state just enough to notice you stopping in front of a door marked by a prominent medical symbol.

Everything became hazy again as your slimy, black tendrils went to work on breaking through the keypad lock securing entry.

Then, everything went black for Miguel…

~~~~~~~~~~

A low hum gradually filtered into Miguel's awareness, slowly awakening him from unconsciousness. He groggily blinked open his eyes, greeted by a harsh glare emanating from the sterile white ceiling above him.

Disoriented, he soon discovered he lay atop a cold metallic stretcher, rigid and unforgiving beneath him.

Grunting in discomfort, Miguel rolled his head to the side where a tray of medical supplies rested on wheels. Various syringes and vials occupied its surface, suggesting recent use.

Just as Miguel started to relax, a chillingly serene voice invaded his personal space.

"We were worried you wouldn't wake," you said nonchalantly, studying him with such intensity.

Startled, he whipped his head towards the source, finding you perched comfortably on another bed nearby.

Eyes locked onto yours, Miguel felt his blood run cold at your unsettling calmness – unmistakably predatory in nature.

An oppressive silence filled the space between you both, punctuated only by the relentless buzzing of fluorescent lights above.

Unsettling tranquility hung heavy in the air as you leaned forward expectantly, ready to continue your conversation.

"We hope you were dreami-"

However, before you could finish speaking, Miguel sprang into action. In one swift motion, he flung himself off the stretcher, grabbed its metal railing, and hurled the entire thing directly at you with impressive speed.

You remained entirely unfazed by the incoming projectile as long tendrils burst forth from underneath your clothing, effortlessly stopping the stretcher mere inches from your face.

Each individual strand contorted and flexed in unison, crushing and tearing into the metal structure with minimal effort before casting aside remnants like discarded waste material.

As quickly as it had begun, it ended; an eerie stillness hanging in the air.

Miguel was gone.

"Rude."

There was no anger in your tone - simply mild irritation tinged with disappointment.

~~~~~~~~~~

Miguel sprinted through the winding corridors without looking back, every fiber of his being urging him forward. Every muscle screamed in agony as he rounded corners and vaulted obstacles with newfound determination.

Eventually reaching the expansive hub of activity, he observed countless Spider-People working alongside each other, collectively pushing back against an overwhelming tide of evil forces.

Relief washed over him momentarily, replaced almost instantly by renewed determination - finding Spider-Byte and fixing The Go-Home-Machine was now mission critical.

~~~~~~~~~~

Suspended midair via tendrils looped around his neck, Hobgoblin gasped for breath while desperately thrashing around in random directions. His struggles proved futile against your iron grip; eyes bulging in terror as he looked at your calm expression.

You waved a photograph casually under his nose, tapping at the figure of Miguel. Two other figures were captured in the image, but they had been scratched out with sharpie in an erratic way.

"Have you seen him pass by?" You asked sweetly, casually flicking your wrist in a manner that tightened the hold slightly – eliciting a panicked yelp from the trapped villain.

With subtle adjustments to your grip, you allowed enough leeway for Hobgoblin to speak freely without fear of suffocation taking over completely.

His voice trembled as he stammered out his denial. "No, I swear! Never seen him!" He insisted, frantically shaking his head to emphasize sincerity.

You dismissed Hobgoblin's protests with a simple hum, signaling your skepticism but accepting his statement nonetheless.

You released Hobgoblin abruptly, your tendrils flinging him through the air until he collided with a nearby wall with bone-crunching force. Dust clouds rose as he slumped to the ground lifelessly.

Your attention shifted towards another hostage suspended upside down by your tendrils - a Western-style cowboy hat obscuring most of his face save for a pair of terrified eyes peering back at you warily through his red bandana.

"¿Y tú, arañanita?" you queried gently, pulling him closer while pressing the photograph up against his masked face for emphasis.

"Have you seen him?"

Unease etched across his features as he examined the snapshot showing Miguel's likeness within its borders. Despite attempts to hide his recognition behind a facade of stoicism, the slight twitch of his eyebrow revealed the truth.

He knows

"I don't even know who he is," he lied smoothly, maintaining composure despite the racing rhythm drumming through his body like wildfire.

Yet as his gaze met yours, fear gripped him fully as he saw a knowing look reflected in your irises and a faint smile gracing your lips.

You know

"We're in a hurry, so we'll make this quick," you murmured soothingly.

With those final words uttered, two thick tendrils snaked their way around his skull, muffling any protest that lingered on his tongue thereafter.

Within moments, the helpless cowboy found himself engulfed in complete darkness due to your suffocating grasp covering his face entirely.

His muffled cries grew louder but ultimately faded into the air of the isolated area.

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Chapter 3: Denial and Discovery

Warning: This man manhandling you 🫠🥵😵

Ever since you woke up that chilly Tuesday morning, you felt something was off. The sirens outside were more prevalent than usual, the garbage man haven’t arrived as usual, and your wifi was gone. You assumed it was just another disastrous day in the world’s most dangerous city, but you soon learned that it’s much more than that. On your way to work, you had a chance to discover city’s chaos.

The bus, packed with the usual Tuesday morning crowd, lurched to a sudden, screeching halt. The abrupt stop sent you flying forward, your forehead connecting with the unyielding plastic of the seat in front. A collective groan, a symphony of commuter misery, rippled through the vehicle. "What the hell?" someone grumbled, their voice laced with frustration. The driver's voice, usually a monotonous drone, crackled with an unusual urgency over the intercom. "Folks, looks like we've got some kind of…system-wide malfunction. The city's going haywire. All the systems are down. We're stuck here for now.”

Your gut clenched. This wasn't just a momentary lapse in the city's technological infrastructure. This was something far more deliberate, more insidious. This was the kind of meticulously orchestrated digital disruption you'd only witnessed in dystopian movies. The kind that…well, the kind you knew how to do. But it was the kind of thing you would never actually do. The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

You had to get to Byte Me. Mark would be panicking. You pushed my way off the bus, joining the throng of frustrated commuters spilling onto the street. The city was a mess. Traffic lights blinked erratically, causing gridlock. Digital billboards flashed static. Even the automatic doors of shops seemed possessed, shuddering open and closed at random.

Each malfunctioning piece of tech was a nail in the coffin of your apprehension. This was bad. Really bad.

Reaching Byte Me, you fumbled with the keys, your hands shaking. The bell above the door jingled as you pushed it open. "Mark?" You called out, half expecting him to be buried under a mountain of frantic customers.

The shop was empty.

You phone buzzed. An unfamiliar number. I answered it hesitantly.

"Hello?"

A woman's voice, thick with tears and choked with sobs, filled your ear. "(Y/N)? It's… it's Mark's wife, Sarah. He… he was in a car accident. The traffic lights… they weren't working… he lost control and crashed. He’s at Gotham General. He won’t be coming to work…for a while…" The sentence hung in the air, a devastating blow that stole the breath from your lungs.

The phone slipped from your numb fingers, clattering onto the counter, the sound echoing the shattering of your world. Mark. Mark was in the hospital, possibly fighting for his life, because of this digital chaos. The abstract fear you'd been wrestling with, the intellectual understanding of the disaster unfolding, suddenly solidified into a cold, heavy weight in your chest, a crushing burden of guilt and dread. This wasn't just a city-wide malfunction; it was personal. And you had a terrible feeling that you might be somehow responsible.

The rest of the day dissolved into a chaotic, indistinct haze. Byte Me, usually a sanctuary of quiet tinkering and the comforting hum of electronics, transformed into a pressure cooker, the air thick with anxiety and the frenetic energy of a digital emergency. The phone rang incessantly, a relentless chorus of distress calls that grated on your already frayed nerves. Each one was a desperate plea, a frantic cry for help to fix a broken link in the collapsing digital chain that held Gotham together. Small businesses, unable to process payments, teetered on the brink of ruin. Homes were left vulnerable, their smart security systems rendered useless, turning safe havens into potential targets. People were losing their livelihoods, their ability to provide for their families ripped away in an instant.

You worked until your fingers were raw, the tips stinging from constant typing and re-wiring. Your eyes burned, gritty and bloodshot, from staring at the flickering screens for hours on end. You felt like a lone sailor desperately trying to stem a raging tide with a leaky bucket, the sheer volume of the problem overwhelming you. Guilt, cold and heavy, gnawed at you from the inside out. Were you somehow involved in this catastrophe? Was Whispernet somehow responsible for the city’s collapse? Did one of your informants misused your services?

Hours after closing, the streetlights flickering outside cast long, distorted shadows across the shop. You hunched over my monitor, navigating the dark web, chasing whispers and rumors. The air hung thick with unease, a premonition you couldn't shake.

Hours after closing, the streetlights outside cast long, distorted shadows across the shop floor, turning familiar tools and equipment into menacing silhouettes. The only light came from the glow of your monitor, illuminating the obsessive concentration etched on your face. You hunched over your keyboard, navigating the serpentine pathways of the dark web, chasing whispers and rumors, hunting for any clue that could explain the digital apocalypse unfolding around you. The air hung thick with unease, heavy with an unspoken dread. It was more than just the stress of the day; it was a premonition, a dark feeling deep in your gut that you couldn't shake off. Something even worse was coming

Crack!

The sound ripped through the silence, making me jump. The front door had been forced open with one hit.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Thugs. Gotham was overrun with them, especially after a night like this. You scrambled behind the counter, your hand closing around the familiar grip of the baseball bat you kept for emergencies.

"Hello?" you called out, your voice trembling. "I have a bat, and I'm not afraid to use it!" Liar. You were terrified.

The figure moved closer, a hulking silhouette framed by the flickering neon sign outside, casting long, distorted shadows across the already cluttered shop. Panic seized you. You swung blindly, aiming for where Iyou thought the head might be.

The bat connected with… something solid. A grunt, more of surprise than pain. Then, a swift, strong movement, and the bat was ripped from your grasp. The force nearly threw you off balance. Old Bessie clattered to the floor, abandoned and useless.

You stumbled back, fear paralyzing me. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The figure stepped fully into the dim light filtering from the single working fluorescent tube overhead, and your breath hitched in your throat. It wasn't a thug. Not exactly.

Red Hood.

He was real. Standing right there, in your shop. You'd seen him on the news, read the talks online, heard the rumors swirling through the underworld. A vigilante, some said. A merciless killer, others claimed. Either way, he was a myth made flesh, a nightmare walking into your reality. And he looked pissed.

“We need to talk."

He was a figure sculpted from shadows and anger. His presence filled the room, a palpable threat that sent a shiver down your spine despite the layers of firewalls you usually hid behind.

He growled, his voice distorted by the helmet's modulator. "These attacks, their comms are routed through your system. You're behind this, aren't you?"

"I run a service," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "People use it. I don't control what they say." My mind raced. Deny. Deny everything. That was my only hope. "I just… I fix computers. Broken screens, fried motherboards, viruses… that's it.”

Jason’s mask didn’t betray his emotions, but his body language screamed disbelief. He took a step closer, and I could feel the heat radiating from his armored suit. The air crackled with unspoken threat. "Don't play coy with me. You built this. You know who's using it." The modulated voice was menacing. "You gonna tell me willingly, or am I gonna have to… persuade you?"

He was wrong, but denial felt futile.

Your carefully constructed wall of denial crumbled. "Okay! Okay, I… I do some… freelance work. Security consulting mostly. Some… less legal stuff too. Pentesting, vulnerability assessments… stuff like that. But I swear, I didn't… I didn't unleash any virus!"

"What kind of 'less legal stuff'?" He pressed, his tone unrelenting.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat feeling like a jagged stone. "Information gathering… a little… hacking. Corporate espionage, mostly. Helping companies stay ahead of the competition. But nothing that would destabilize a whole city! I swear! I wouldn't even know how to do something like that."

Before he could respond, the front windows of Byte Me exploded inwards, showering us in shards of glass. Gunfire ripped through the air.

"Maroni's boys!" Red Hood roared, grabbing you roughly by the arm. He shoved you down, covering your body with his. The weight of his armored form was surprisingly comforting, a small shield against the hail of bullets that peppered the walls and shattered what was left of the electronics around us.

"Stay down!" he yelled over the din, the acrid smell of gunpowder filling the air. Without waiting for a response, he scrambled to his feet, a dark, armored behemoth against the backdrop of destruction. He returned fire with a deafening roar of gunfire, his pistols barking with a ferocity that matched the assailants. Brass casings rained down around us, glinting in the dim light.

He was fast, brutal, and efficient. But the shooters were relentless. You had to get out of here.

He hauled you up like a paper doll, pulling you to your feet. "Move! We gotta go!"

He didn't have to tell you twice. Together, you sprinted out the back of the shop, through the alleyway, bullets chipping chunks out of the brick walls around you. You stumbled and fell, scraping your knees on the pavement. Red Hood pulled you up again, his grip surprisingly gentle despite the urgency of the situation.

You burst onto the street, and you saw it – his motorcycle, a sleek, black machine that looked like it belonged more on a racetrack than in Gotham's grimy streets.

“Oh no no no… I’m not getting on-”

Before you could finish that, his hands encircled your waist. He practically threw you onto the bike, settling you behind him. "Hold on tight!" He ordered, revving the engine.

"Wait! I can't just…"

His response was a snarl. "Shut up and hold on!"

And then you were moving, tearing through the streets, the roar of the engine drowning out the sounds of the chase. The wind whipped through my hair, carrying with it the scent of burning rubber and fear.

Two cars peeled out from the broken storefront of Byte Me, their headlights cutting through the night. Maroni's men. They were gaining on you.

Red Hood weaved through traffic with reckless abandon, narrowly avoiding collisions. Cars honked and swerved, their drivers enraged and terrified. He was skilled, you had to give him that. But the cars were relentless, gaining on us with every turn.

Then, you heard a sickening thud beneath the bike. An explosion ripped through the night, a blinding flash and a deafening roar. You were lifted off the ground, momentarily weightless, before crashing back down hard.

You tumbled off the bike, skidding across the ground towards the edge of the elevated highway. The impact stole your breath and sent waves of pain radiating through your body. You clawed at the ground, desperate to stop your slide. Below, a churning, black abyss.

The last thing you saw was Red Hood’s figure silhouetted against the flickering city lights before you plunged into the icy waters of Gotham Harbor.

The shock stole your breath, a physical blow that amplified the panic rising in your chest. You flailed, arms and legs thrashing uselessly, trying to orient yourself in the disorienting darkness. But the current was a relentless force, a churning, icy hand pulling you further and further under. Your lungs burned with the desperate need for air, a searing pain that intensified with each passing second. Your vision blurred, the city lights above dissolving into hazy, distorted shapes. The despair began to creep in, a cold and suffocating blanket threatening to extinguish your will to fight.

Just as you were about to succumb to the darkness, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, a sudden and unexpected salvation. The grip was firm, unyielding, hauling you upwards against the relentless pull of the water. You gasped for air, choking and sputtering, the frigid water burning your throat and lungs. Coughing violently, you managed to focus, your eyes blurry but recognizing the familiar red of his jacket. Red Hood. He saved you.

He dragged you, half-conscious and shivering uncontrollably, through the treacherous waters. The current fought against us, threatening to pull us both back into the depths. He was silent, his movements driven by a fierce determination. We finally reached the grimy docks of the Bowery harbor, the rough wood scraping against your skin as he hauled you onto the slippery surface.

His helmet, usually a symbol of intimidating anonymity, was cracked, almost shattered, its polished surface now marred by deep fissures. He reached up, his gloved hand hesitating for a moment, before pulling it off, revealing… a face. A surprisingly… appealing face, despite the harsh lines etched by the jagged scar that bisected his eyebrow. Rugged. Intense.

"Come on," he grunted, his voice rough but laced with a surprising urgency. He pulled a dark hood over his head, obscuring his face once more, but not erasing the image that had been briefly revealed. "We gotta move.”

He was injured. You could see him grimacing with every step, his movements stiff and labored. He favored one leg, his weight unevenly distributed. You limped through the deserted docks, the silence broken only by the lapping of waves against the pilings and your own ragged, gasping breathing. The air hung heavy with the scent of salt and decay, a familiar aroma in this forgotten corner of Gotham.

Finally, you reached it – a towering structure that loomed over the Bowery like a gothic sentinel. The Belfry.

He pushed open a heavy steel door, the hinges groaning in protest, and ushered me inside. The interior was surprisingly clean and high-tech, a stark and unexpected contrast to the grimy, decaying exterior. Banks of monitors glowed with complex data, casting an eerie light on the polished surfaces. The air hummed with the muted thrum of sophisticated technology.

And then you saw them – Nightwing, Batgirl, and Red Robin – all staring at us, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern. The weight of their gazes settled upon you, adding to the chill that already permeated your bones.

Jason was in worse shape than when he left, sporting numerous bruises and cuts that were rapidly blooming into angry purple welts. And then there was you, soaking wet, shivering, and looking utterly out of place.

You shrunk back, trying to blend into the wall, wishing you could disappear into the shadows. The guilt and fear were a heavy weight in your stomach.

Red Hood launched into a terse explanation, cutting you sideways glances every now and then. He recounted the events leading up to your near-drowning, painting you as a potential suspect but also acknowledging the lack of direct involvement.

When he finished, Babs spoke first, her voice calm and measured. "So, you think she's involved in the attacks, but you're not sure."

"She's got the skills, that's for sure!" said Jason with a pointed glare at you.

"And she’s been shot at by the Maronis," Tim added thoughtfully, his gaze sharp and analytical. "That suggests she's either involved in something they want, or she's become a liability to them.”

"She could be a target, or a useful pawn. Either way, we can't just let her go," Dick finished, his blue eyes filled with a concern that felt surprisingly genuine. He was assessing you, trying to gauge your intentions, your capabilities.

"So, what are you saying?" Jason asked, his voice laced with a hint of annoyance. He shifted his weight, his muscles tense.

"What we're saying," Babs said, turning to you with a serious expression, "is that until we know for sure what's going on, and until it's safe for you to leave, you're staying here. At the Belfry."

"Oh…" was the only thing you managed to choke out, the word barely audible above the pounding of your heart. You were still trying to process everything that had happened in the past few hours - the attack, the fall, Jason rescuing you, and now, this. So, you were stuck with a bunch of superheroes who thought you were a criminal. At least Red Hood hadn't broken your legs over this. Yet.

[somestorythoughts]

I actually know fics about this! Not about her being Domino's general though I would HAPPILY read that fic, but Jocasta Jones and the Librarian Clones turns out to have been partially inspired by this post (she ends up with a squad and they are on their way to becoming excellent librarians!!) and General Jocasta is in a similar vein where basically Obi-Wan gets put in charge of organizing the war and goes to the people who spend their lives organizing things aka the librarians for help (this one is complete!). So on the off-chance there's librarians/archivists/museum folks who like Star Wars following me, check them out they're fun!

But in terms of Domino Squad becoming Librarians/Archivists/their favorite assistants:

The Commanders have a Chat populate SOLELY by Commanders and the Captains they invite in and it is as secure as they can make it. Which is pretty damn secure.

And they're well into an informational conversation read gossip session about their latest Jedi shenanigans.

Cody: I found Obi-Wan stress baking. It wouldn't be that wierd if I knew where he got the ingreditates we haven't gone shopping in months?

Bly: that's nothing General Kolar joined us a few days ago and he and Aalya have been competeing over who can flip the most tanks in a battle

Rex: Hah that's nothing!

CT-1409: it really is.

Wolffe: whom the fuck?

CT-1409: It was Crafts' Day yesterday. 25 Jedi cadets who are still working on their Force levetating.

Rex: Who are you and how did you get into this chat?

CT-1409: With paint. Apparently glitter has been banned from the Archives for the past 147 years due to The Glitter Incident, its use by jedi cadets is restricted to particular rooms in the temple. It was wonderful. It was also Very Messy.

COdy: Rex, Keelie, who is this?

Rex: You think all CTs know each other Commander? Really??

CT-1409: Truely sir

Fox: Echo.

CT-1409: yes sir!

Fox: Echo what are you doing in our chat?

CT-1409: SIr Sargent Byte said I should work on the offensive side of cyber security sir.

Wolffe: Fox who the fuck is this

Fox: hush. So you decided to do this?

CT1409: I have been told to hush sir

Fox: Do I need to come over there you little shit?

CT-1409: Commander Thorn dared me sir.

Fox: I'm beginning to understand why Byte laughed when someone said you're the one with impulse control

CT-1409: That would be Cutup and Hevy sir

Fox: guys this is Echo. He's part of Domino squad they got assigned to the archives a while back, we've run into each other a couple times

Bly: and you decided, on a dare, to hack into our hyper-secured chat to test your slicing skills

CT-2010: He did sir

several people are typing...

What if Shaak Ti, in stopping the Kaminoans from decommissioning clones, asks around if anybody has place and purpose for some non-combatant clones. And Jocasta Nu goes "A bunch of keen young men with eidetic memories? Don't mind if I do" and that is how the Jedi temple library has the most amazing librarians in the galaxy

Okay but - 

Domino fails their final test, but Shaak manages to stop them from being decommissioned or sent to work sanitation by roping Jocasta into snatching them up for that reason. All the members of Domino kind of collectively groan and complain but ship out anyway, and they’re pretty sure it’s all going to be this terrible, boring slog through ancient books with some stuffy librarian Jedi - 

Right up until Jocasta gets word of a cache of Jedi holocrons on a frontline planet, packs up her five new assistants and her lightsaber, and leads them on the most greuling, dangerous, ridiculous mission through active battlefields and Separatist camps that absolutely no one believes happened when they tell their vode later. Which is absolutely fine, because Domino now knows they have the most badass general in the whole galaxy, bar none. 

[techav]

On Major Milestones

I left off previously with init immediately crashing when trying to run NetBSD on Wrap030, my 68030 homebrew computer. I was completely lost and didn't know where to start looking. The error code it gave, 11, didn't tell me much.

Until now, most error codes I've gotten have been defined in kernel errno.h, which has 11 defined as:

EDEADLK 11 /* Resource deadlock avoided */

That … also isn't helpful. I'm still not entirely sure what that means, but since this is process 1 we're dealing with, I didn't think it was relevant.

Finally, I was able to find someone who had encountered the same error six years ago. Helpful soul [Martin] explained the exact cause of the error, how to fix it, and why the kernel errno didn't line up:

I'm running a NetBSD live disk on a laptop as a test host, so I mounted my disk on it and spent some time with mknod adding the essential device nodes, referencing the "majors" file for my arch. Sure enough, on next boot it skipped right past the point it had been panicking. It worked for a bit then finally printed on the console:

Enter pathname o

Enter pathname of what? The machine appeared frozen. Nothing further printed, and it responded to no input.

I was afraid this would happen. That string is 16 characters. The 16C55x UART chips I'm using have a 16-byte buffer. The system is hung up waiting for the UART to interrupt to indicate it has finished transmitting everything in its buffer.

There's just one problem — I don't have any serial interrupts wired.

I have a confession to make. Until a few weeks ago when I got my timer working, I hadn't really worked with hardware interrupts before. So between a limited understanding of how to use them effectively and limited board space, I had omitted the interrupt signals from my 8-port serial card. This was now a Problem, and I was going to have to find a solution.

I had a few options:

Force the com driver to 8250 mode so it doesn't try to use the buffers

Use my timer interrupt to check status bits on the UARTs and fake the interrupts

Deadbug an interrupt handler onto my serial card

Respin the serial card

Option 4 would've been expensive and risked passing my deadline. I wasn't sure option 1 would even help. And option 3 would have been difficult and error-prone. I decided option 2 would be the way to go so I set about researching how to accomplish it

I spent a few hours digging through the com driver. In the process I found softintr(9), a native NetBSD software interrupt process that looked like just the thing I needed. Digging in a little deeper, I realized that the com driver was already using softintr. And then I realized all it needed to do polled mode serial ports instead of interrupt-driven was to set a single variable, sc_poll_ticks, before initializing the driver. It's such a simple thing, but it's not really documented anywhere I could find, so the only way to know it was even an option was to spend hours studying the code.

With that in place, I recompiled my kernel and tried again.

It was asking for a shell. This is promising. I accepted the default shell, /bin/sh, and waited a moment. It printed a single #.

I had a shell prompt.

I typed in the first thing that came to mind, echo "hellorld" (thanks, [Usagi]). It responded:

hellorld

and printed another # prompt.

I had a working shell.

This is a major milestone. I have a modern operating system kernel loaded and running on my homebrew computer, and I have a functional root shell. I can navigate disk directories and run commands and programs.

But only as root, and only on this one console. I have seven other serial ports I want terminals on, and I certainly don't want them all running as root.

What it's running here is single-user mode. It is just the kernel and a few core services, somewhat analogous to Safe Mode in Windows. It's a fall-back for setting up or repairing a system. It's not quite the full operating system just yet.

Getting the rest of the operating system up and running is going to be a significant task, on par with getting just the kernel running. Setting up a working Unix system from scratch is not easy. It requires a lot of detailed knowledge of the various programs and libraries and config files scattered across the disk. For a sense of scale, the AT&T Unix System V manual was over 1100 pages, plus an 800 page programmer's guide and a handful of other manuals … and that was 40 years ago. That's a lot of specialized knowledge that I don't really have.

But still, this is something I've wanted to do for years and after countless hours of work, I finally have a glimpse of what it can look like. I have a lot to learn and a lot of work to do yet, but I'm certain I can figure it out.

I'm still hoping I can get this running multi-user on all those terminals in time for VCF Southwest in June. The show is just a few weeks away and I have a lot of work to do.

[rynmaru]

Luring POLLVX out to interact and show their face using Echo.

Call that queerbaiting cause the queer is the bait.

[e-squared-what-is-my-life]

Hi i came with an idea for something with enasqared :3

RENA wakes up from a horrendous nightmare (maybe the nightmare involving something horrible happening to ENA and Claire or something) and ENA comforting her

I like to think RENA gets nightmares often because ouoouoooo trauma oouoouoooo

And ENA, being the absolute loveliest wife, makes sure she feels safe and ok

(Also your writing is really damn good like omg you cook real good)

You Got It! (And Thank You, You're Too Kind!)

Something was off. Not just that, something was wrong. The day had started off normally, almost too much so, yet there was still a nagging voice in RENA's head, one that rang every alarm bell in her body. Even still, she ignored it all, wanting to believe that she was just being paranoid.

"Are you enjoying your breakfast, my love?" ENA asked, her tone sweet and hopeful.

"It is positively perfect, dear." RENA replied with an honest smile. It wasn’t often that ENA cooked, the poor dear had such bad luck with the kitchen appliances, but today seemed to be a lucky one. "One of the best meals I've had in some time."

"Oh, you flirt!" ENA giggled, blushing a gorgeous hue and stepping forward to place a kiss onto RENA's lips. "It's always nice to please you."

"Mummy! Mama!" Claire shouted, rushing into the kitchen with a piece of paper in hand. "I dwawed a pictuwre!"

"A little artist in the making, I see." ENA chimed, lifting Claire up in one swift motion. She held the Byte between herself and RENA, both wives looking down at the drawing. "Oh, my! How impressive! I love how you used the colors! Isn't it amazing, love?"

RENA stared at the drawing with a blank expression, heart racing and stomach churning at the sight. On the paper was a scene that RENA knew and remembered all too well. A pile of bodies, mangled, stabbed, crushed, and shot; carnage that couldn't be unseen. There were planes flying overhead, one dropping a bomb in the background, and soldiers to the left, shooting at some unknown target that Claire hadn't yet drawn.

And, on top of it all, was RENA.

"Mama? What's wrong?" Claire asked, tilting her head slightly. "Don't you wike it? It's you!"

"Indeed! A show of the sins and deaths wrought by your hand!" ENA's voice was different, now. It echoed in a disgusting way, dripped with condescension and blame, lost every semblance of love it once held. "Why, it even has us!"

RENA looked back down at the paper in an instant, gasping as she was met with the sight of herself standing over her deceased wife and daughter. She looked transfixed on their bodies, blood decorating her feet as she stood atop their corpses with a manic smile.

"No... N-no! I didn’t- OH MY RUNAS!" RENA scrambled back in terror as she looked back up, only to be met with the sight of her family, laying in the exact position the drawing depicted them in. A familiar weight in her hands registered at the last second, and RENA looked down, mind going blank at the sight of a rifle sitting in her grasp as if it belonged there.

"Mama..." Claire's weak whimper made RENA whip her head up so fast that she almost lost it. "Did I do a bad thing?"

"How could you?" ENA asked, choking on her own blood. Her eyes were wide and lifeless, mouth open in terror, yet she still spoke as if nothing had happened to her. "Was our love not enough?"

"W-what? No! I-I mean yes! I didn’t- I didn't mean- Oh, Runas, what have I done?!" RENA sobbed, dropping her rifle and shaking violently. "Please! Please I didn't- I didn't mean to, I didn't know!"

"What’s happened to you?"

The familiar gruff tone of her commander made RENA go stiff. She slowly turned to look at him, sobbing and whimpering with despair.

"Stop whining! I created a soldier! Not a weak bitch!"

"No... No! I left! I left you, I left the war, I left that stupid brigade! We were killing CHILDREN!"

"We were doing what had to be done! Rid ourselves of distractions by any means necessary!"

"My wife and daughter are not distractions!"

"Really? Then you must have lost more of your bite than I thought. The old ENA would have caught that bullet before it was even launched."

RENA opened her mouth to ask what the hell that meant, but was cut off by the loud sound of a gunshot. A sense of immense pain followed, and RENA dropped to her knees, coughing up static and gripping her stomach.

"This was always bound to happen. You're nothing but a cog, and if making you work involves getting rid of distractions, then so be it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

RENA shot up and screamed, body glitching and stomach churning until she leant over the bed and threw up half of her dinner. She panted and whimpered, hating the tears that dropped onto the floor, mocking her like impish critters.

"My love, are you okay?!" ENA cried, wanting desperately to wrap her arms around her wife, yet knowing that doing so during an Episode could result in one or both of them being hurt. "What has you so- OOMPH!"

The sudden hug that ENA was wrapped in caught her off guard, but it didn't stop her from (very cautiously) returning it. The two sat in relative silence, which was only occasionally broken by RENA's shaky sobs. They stayed in the position for nearly an hour, after which RENA quickly pulled away, wrapping her arms around herself and blushing heavily. Meanie was out, a sign that patience and understanding was more than needed right now.

"Would you like to speak about your dream?" ENA quietly asked, humming as RENA responded with a crackling hiss. "Very well. How about the carrots? They've been growing quite well; Claire has been showing an impressive amount of responsibility."

RENA didn't respond, though she didn't hiss again either, so ENA took that as a win.

"I was considering purchasing some apple tree seeds. It's right about the time for pie. Or perhaps pear? Maybe peach, or rhubarb-"

"Claire doesn't like rhubarb." RENA grumbled, her posture loosening slowly but surely.

"Ah, right. Then one of the previous fruits, perhaps." ENA blushed lightly and looked away from her wife with a bashful smile. "I, um... May or may not have promised our daughter she could receive a flock of chickens for her birthday should she rear the carrots well."

"What? We don't know a single thing about chickens!" RENA shouted, though it was less angry and more confused. "Why promise such a thing with the knowledge that we may fail in caring for it?"

ENA shrugged, leaning back against the headboard of the bed and sighing. "To be truthful, I had my doubts that Claire would keep the carrots alive. She's only five; I didn't produce my own successful crop until I was one hundred and eight."

RENA blinked, processing the information before snickering. After a few seconds, her snickering became chuckling, and then full on boisterous laughter. "Oh! Oh, you surely cannot expect me to believe you were unable to fulfill such a simple Task of Runas until your adolescent years!"

ENA pouted, her Sad Face coming out to play. "I take owffense to that statement! My Byte years were difficult!"

RENA continued to laugh, though it slowly died down until she was simply chuckling again. "My dear ENA, you never fail to amaze me."

"I was twying to make you happy!" ENA whined, pouting even as RENA kissed her with an unusual softness.

"And you have succeeded with flying colors." RENA gently chimed, shifting until she was practically fusing with her wife's body. "Thank you, love."

ENA sighed, letting her frustration pass and spluttering as her Happy Face took control again. "Would you like to recount your dream?"

"No." RENA simply responded, falling in love with ENA all over again when she received a nod and a kiss to the cheek.

This, truly, was the best life one could ever have.

[acronym-chaos]

Hatsune Miku (VOCALOID) ID Pack

[PT: Hatsune Miku (VOCALOID) ID Pack].

Author's Note: the requester specifically asked to focus on digital/robotic and idol/musical themes.

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

Names

[PT: Names].

Ada, Allegra, Alphey, Andre, Aria, Audio, Beat, Bridget, Byte, Cadence, Callan, Calliope, Carmen, Chord, Clara, Cyrus, Data, Delia, Delilah, Digit, Electo, Encore, Finnian, Forte, Harmony, Haskell, Hertz, Iris, Juliet, Liron, Lyra, Matrix, Matrix, Melody, Modem, Muse, Naomi, Neon, Odele, Owen, Pascal, Perl, Piper, Pixel, Ronan, Techne, Theron, Uno, Victor, Viola, Xenia, Xenon

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

Amp / Amps / Amps, Bea / Beat / Beats, Chor / Chord / Chords, Code / Codes / Codes, Da / Data / Das, Di / Diva / Div, Digi / Digital / Digis, Enco / Encore / Encores, Harmony / Harmoyns / Harmonys, Holo / Hologram / Grams, Ide / Idol / Idols, Mel / Melody / Odys, Mi / Mic / Mics [Microphone], Mu / Music / Musics, Pix / Pixel / Xels, Pro / Program / Pros, Si / Sing / Sings, Sta / Stage / Stages, Sy / Synth / Syn, Vi / Virt / Vir [Virtual], Voi / Voice / Vois

Titles

[PT: Titles].

[Noun] of a Thousand Songs, [Pronoun] Made of Data, [Pronoun] Whose Voice Echoes the Internet, The Algorithm of Art, The Digital Diva, The Global Muse, The Holographic Pop Star, The Pixel Performer, The Singing Synthesizer Sensation, The Sound of the Future, The Turquoise Twintailed Technopop Idol, The User-Generated Superstar, The Virtual Idol, The Voice That Connects Worlds

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, End ID].

Requested by anon

Also tagging: @id-pack-archive @nptarchive

[blueikeproductions]

This panel from the Legends manga sticks out to me due to Hasbro’s current fixation on G1. Legends Tankor would be happy but Legends Thrust makes a good point about not reading the room and how variety in the series is healthier.

This bit with Sky-Byte is also funny, because it’s true, but it is also interesting how he’s seen a resurgence in modern Transformers media.

Like Rattrap is correct that Optimus and Bumblebee are the most popular since they headline most stuff since the 2007 movie.

But Sky-Byte has seen a surprising consistency lately that perhaps he might have a popularity that’s starting to extend past hard core fans.

Either that…

…Or it’s the same weirdness where Skullcruncher has been in most of the new Transformers stuff but he isn’t really a significant character to fans. It feels like someone internally has been pushing for the croctobot, and there no actual fan demand for him.

I wouldn’t be too surprised if Skullcruncher appeared in a season 2 of CyberWorld and its toyline, but if he does hopefully he gets to be something other than a generic, forgettable snarling animal (which I think unfortunately echos back to his original G1 cartoon role where he was just kinda there, overshadowed by Apeface of all guys).

Still I think some lessons are being learned as CyberWorld seems to be trying to add more non G1 variety like RiD15 and Rescue Bots. CyberWorld also sticks out due to having Megatron and Starscream still (similar to what the Unicron Trilogy did), but also having Sky-Byte, Chop Shop, Galvatron and Scorponok vs just having the Waves and other Jets as an obligation rather than giving them anything worthwhile to do.

[w1lted-r0se]

Level 2 with anyone that's from Regretevator? (Minus Pest, Folly, and Spud.)

Here you go!!

We chose stat!! :3

-Pixel

Names: Alicia, Marise, Stat, Al, Mari, Ace, Code, Byte, Pix, Tech, Blue, Sprocket, Nova, Circuit, Glitch, Echo, Data, Kit, Cyra, Logic

Pronouns: she/her, they/them, code/codes, stat/stats, gear/gears, spark/sparks, pix/pixels, digi/digits, sys/systems, tech/techs, bot/bots

Genders: female, technogirl, pixelgender, codeflux, systemfluid, glitchette, gearflux, digiandrogynous, softmechanic, techpunk, electricgender, mechfemme, screenflux

Age: 16–17

Roles: Survivalist, mechanic, programmer, tactician, protector, inventor, strategist

Likes: Machinery, programming, her computer (S.T.A.T.), survival, cats, forming bonds with like-minded individuals, puzzles, digital art, sci-fi novels, tinkering with gadgets, building defenses, creating blueprints

Dislikes: Destruction of her creations, unfamiliar environments, being misunderstood, betrayal, loud or chaotic situations, losing control, unnecessary risks, power outages, overly emotional situations

Faceclaim:

How they fulfil their roles: STAT applies her sharp intellect and technical skills to protect others and maintain order within chaotic situations. She builds tools, devises strategies, and creates solutions to keep the system functioning efficiently.

Typing quirk: Uses ALL CAPS for emphasis, includes tech-inspired symbols like & or %, and peppers sentences with programming terms.

Sign off: 💾⚙️, 🔩📡, 🖱️🔋