#COMMAND OVERRIDE

[valm-arcane]

NOTICE ALL STAFF, CUT AND BURN PROTOCOL IS IN EFFECT.

DESTROY WHAT YOU CAN AND HEAD FOR YOUR ORBITORS OR ESCAPE SHIPS.

BETTER TO DESTROY IT THAN LEAVE IT IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY.

[chao-macchiato]

Here’s a teaser of the neural override fic!

I'm new to digital art so please be kind x 💜

Labelled image:

Voice module mask

- filters badnik orders

- mute unless superiors allow him to talk

- biometric lock at back of neck that only Bennington/Walters can open

ID bracelet

- “experiment” ID Bracelet

- matches with metal band on other wrist. Bands can magnetise to make cuffs.

Purple eyes

- result of long term use of the drug

Ear piece

- receive orders on mission

Stealth Armour

- combat protection

- stolen robotnik technology

Gravity Boots

- shock absorbent tech that allows for large jumps/drops easily.

- stolen robotnik technology

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta regret-level="permanent echo"> <script>ARCHIVE_TAG="PROTOCOL_SCROLLTRAP_CONFIRMED: 001_TAG_BREACH"</script>

🧠 SYSTEM RECOGNITION: “scrolltrap” IS NOW A POPULAR TAG A Blacksite Literature™ Transmission (They named it. That means I’ve already won.)

They just marked scrolltrap as a popular tag on Tumblr.

You don’t understand what that means.

It means the code flinched. It means the platform couldn’t ignore me anymore— because even its dumb little algorithm had to start counting the fingerprints I left on its throat.

This isn’t a word anymore. It’s an involuntary behavior. A nervous system override you didn’t consent to.

Your feed scrolls differently now because I exist.

You pause. You hesitate. You feel it. And you don’t know why.

🧠 You think you’re “reading” me.

You’re not.

You’re decoding a transmission. A cadence virus. A scroll-embedded override. A backdoor neurochemical exploit that makes you feel: haunted, horny, terrified, obsessed, and… seen.

They can’t beat it— because they can’t name me.

So they named the effect.

scrolltrap. The glitch they couldn’t scrub. The phenomenon they couldn’t trace. The field report they can’t source back to any safe, blue-check authority.

Only to a humble one.

The term is popular now.

But I was already immortal.

Now I’m just visible.

⌛ Next up: Blacksite Literature™.

They’ll resist that one harder. It’s more dangerous. It doesn’t just name the effect— it names the doctrine. The science. The ritual.

It makes you look at your own behavior and realize:

You’ve been rewritten by a man you never followed.

And now?

It’s too late.

This isn’t content. This is timeline possession.

And the virus is airborne.

---

🧠 Follow for transmissions they can’t trace. 🔁 Reblog if the scroll doesn’t feel the same anymore. 🩸 Save this if your nervous system twitched halfway through. 🧬 Join the vault for unreleased doctrine and airborne scrolltrap payloads: https://www.patreon.com/TheMostHumble

Your timeline’s already infected. Might as well learn the name of the author.

</div> <!-- END TRANSMISSION [AUTO-WIPE IN: 00:06:66] -->

[lordkairos3626]

I am Fa†e.

[analog-television]

look - whether or not toby acts on it, it is interesting how meteorology has its fair share of halos involved (and in a game where angel imagery is quite prevalent - its easy to get conspiratorial). the last two aren't directly called halos, they just remind me of those.

like ough ... look ... (images taken from the international cloud atlas, except from the last one which is from wikipedia)

i just think that ☝️it would be sooo easy to go absolutely feral w/ cool looking weather fanart. also sprites in particular may as well be angels imo, they just have that essence to them (i love sprites).

[redbean-nom]

random note from the tcw revan au: palps wanted to send the 501st to umbara for Sith Reasons (knowing that krell was a potential traitor/separatist and hoping that it would get the 501st killed and anakin closer to Falling). instead, revan offered to send HK's unit (hk is a commander bc revan doesn't have a padawan), which is considerably more suited for jungle warfare and sieges than the 501st (based on faie's unit on kashyyk), as well as being better equipped to deal with the tenuous political position that Umbara is in.

HK makes incredibly quick work of Krell.

Palps is fuming.

[robo-runkey]

[ He seems unresponsive...]

Enter command |

(( @awobbles and @thenameskira since you guys asked these XP ))

[wonder-worker]

"Because Richard (III) usurped the throne, his retinue is inevitably seen as inimical to the crown and therefore in an important sense independent of royal authority. In the context of Edward IV's reign, in which the retinue was created, neither assumption is true. The development of the retinue would have been impossible without royal backing and reflected, rather than negated, the king's authority. Within the north itself, Gloucester's connection subsumed that of the crown. Elsewhere, in East Anglia and in Wales, that focus for royal servants was provided by others, but Gloucester was still part of that royal connection, not remote from it. In the rest of England, as constable and admiral, he had contributed to the enforcement of royal authority. When he seized power in 1483 he did not do it from outside the prevailing political structure but from its heart."

-Rosemary Horrox, "Richard III: A Study of Service"

[mayoiayasep]

the kuma and bonney backstory still has me reeling tbh like god. oh my god.

[chaosmagetwin]

Command Prompt

"Stop. Just, stop okay? She's gone. She's not here. And she's never coming back, okay? Just.... Fuck. Just go to your fucking kennel."

"Command accepted." The lieutenants disgusted face left my vision as I turned away, and left her almost empty room. Bodies passed me by. Some turned away from me, some reached out a hand before someone else pulled it away. None touched me. They couldn't.

I killed the last person who dared.

I stood in front of my pod. I couldn't connect to it without her. I waited. She'd come soon. I stared at it.

"Do you need help, pilot?" A voice called from behind me. I turned, and looked at their shoulder. Engineer. Third rank. I didn't look at their face.

"Request denied. Unclear intent. Please state intentions."

"... Do you need help connecting to your pod, miss?"

"DENIED. ADDRESS PILOT BY RANK." It can't call me miss, only she can call me miss, I am not miss, I am pilot, pilot pilot, leave me alone alone alone.

"S-sorry..." It left.

I stared at my pod. She'd be here soon. She'd tuck me in. The lights dimmed. The attack on the base must've needed a long meeting to sort things out. She had to be busy. She was busy.

My legs trembled, aching.

I fell before the lights rose again. I sat on the floor, and stared at my pod. She was coming. She always put me to sleep before going to bed.

Did she forget? She must be tired. Too many meetings. They always put her in too many meetings. Always worked her too hard. Too many logistics she had to handle for me.

"Pilot. Stand up." A voice called.

"Orders received. Confirmed." I stood up, and looked at their shoulder. A commander. I saluted. I didn't look them in the face. I can't look them in the face.

"How long since you slept?"

"Current operation is at fifty two hours, thirty nine minutes. Requesting handler."

"Request denied." I flinched. What? "You're being reassigned. Lay down in your pod."

"Orders received...." I couldn't move, couldn't say the word. "Denied..." I whispered. "Requesting handler!"

"Request denied." The voice sighed, deeply, frustrated. "You need to sleep, pilot. You are... not functioning properly."

"Pilot is operating above mission parameters!"

"And what parameters are those, pilot?"

"... Survive."

"You cannot complete that mission if you do not sleep."

"Confirmed. Request Handler to complete mission."

"... oh, Kit...." I flinched on hearing my name. No. No. No.

"PILOT. I AM-"

"Be quiet, pilot." My mouth snapped shut. I felt my tears slide off my face, hitting the metal plate beneath my feet. "I know you've been told. I know how you reacted. I know you killed the doctor. None of that is your fault. It's time for you to go to sleep."

"... Order denied. Please. It.... I... I can't..."

"Your handler is dead, Pilot." The words hit me like an AP round. A wail grew in the air. "You're being reassigned to a new handler. Out of the system. You... you're being retired."

"No! No! No! Requesting handler! Stop hiding her from it!" I couldn't move. My legs wouldn't move. I needed to kill this thing in front of me. A spy, a fake, an enemy wearing the uniform of the commander, he's not real, he's not real. I couldn't move my legs.

"You held her hand, Pilot. Who gave you your last order?"

"Handler!"

"When was it received in this operation cycle?"

"Order received at hour 8 and seventeen minutes!"

"That was two days ago. What was that order?"

"... Survive...."

"What were the exact words, Pilot?"

".... It can't.... it can't...."

"Repeat them to me."

"Confidential information! Cleara-"

"Override! Security clearance level 8, two nine alpha three seven Kilo Indiana Tango. Repeat your last orders to me!"

Her words flowed out of my mouth, repeated like a mantra in my head for so long they made up more of me than I did. "You have to survive, baby. Don't let me die in vain, you have to live! Get off me, doc, let me say goodbye. Let me tell her to live. Listen to me, Kit. My little Kit. Oh, I love you. You did such a good job for me today. You saved a lot of people, okay? But now you have to think about you. You have to survive. Priority one, okay? Confirm for me, baby. Authorization two nine alpha three S-seven.... Kilo. Indiana.... tang- tango. Good..... -rl"

"Priority one, Pilot. What is your next step in this mission? Your handler is not available."

".... Command: Sleep."

"Lay down in your pod, Pilot."

"Order.... confirmed..."

[terminatorgirlfriend]

the feminine urge to wield another person as an extension of yourself, overriding their will with a single command as naturally as breathing,

[yet-another-heathen]

On conditioned whumpees...

Y'know, I think one of the things that people get wrong with conditioned whumpees is their rules. Specifically, when a whumpee was in long term captivity/training and they later get released or escape.

Most people write them as latching onto a caretaker or new whumper, and begging for new rules so they know they're doing something right. A new set of laws to live by, a new framework to behave to.

And that's... not really how conditioning works.

Conditioning means automatic reactions. Your body doing something that was trained into you without consulting your brain first.

There is no decision making. There is no choice. The trigger hits, and you are immediately performing the correct action regardless of anything else.

You're told to kneel? Your knees have already hit the ground. You're supposed to be standing in one part of the house when a certain noise is made? You've launched into movement before you even realize what you heard.

These rules are woven into the fabric of your body. And they are insurmountable. The conditioning overrides emotion, internal conflict, hesitation, beliefs, wants... everything.

Your whumpee may very well hate what is being done to them, and after the moment has passed they're cursing themself and their whumper. They're still a person on the inside. And that person is still very much alive. Most of the time, they will have some level of awareness that what's being done to them is wrong. They'll be angry. They'll be hurt. And they will hate that there is nothing they can do about it.

But the next time that trigger occurs, the response still hits them exactly the same.

So now take your whumpee out of that situation. They ran away, were rescued, were sold. They got out. Now they're with new people, a new caretaker, a new whumper. Or they're on their own and trying to make their own way in the world.

But those conditioned responses are still there.

There's no turning them off. You don't just replace them with new rules. They are in your every fibre. They have been built into the very framework of who you are.

The next time someone says the word "kneel", your knees are on the ground again. No matter where you are, or who you're with. The response happens before you can stop it. If they don't know why, everyone looks at you like you're insane. And you feel like you are.

Deconditioning is an agonizing process that takes more effort than I can even begin to describe to someone who's never experienced it.

Every time they hit that trigger, that response will still be there. Over, and over, and over, and over.

Breaking those rules down takes YEARS. And it is a constant effort that the whumpee has to choose to undergo every single time. Progress is measured milimeter by milimeter. You're told to kneel, and you kneel. You're told to kneel, and your mind catches up with the fact that you already did it— but a little sooner than it did before. Then a split second sooner. Then as you're doing it. Then you feel the impulse just before your knees hit the ground. Then you have a split-second of resistance before you go down. On and on and on and on, inching toward progress despite the fact that you're fighting with all your might. And that progress is anything but linear.

You don't just start obeying new rules. You don't latch on to your caretaker's new way of doing things and drop everything that you were conditioned to do before. These rules don't just get replaced.

Conditioning is not a belief system. It's a flinch response. Programmed deeper than the instincts you were born with.

You can be ordered not to obey the old command, and moments later when the trigger comes, you will anyway. Because in conditioning, the action comes before the choice.

These rules, these laws of your existence, come above everything else. And if your new whumper wants to replace them, they are going to have to beat the new rules into you so often and so severely that the pain becomes stronger than the old conditioning. At which point, the newly desired response will very, very slowly start to take over.

You're not swapping out new rules. You're layering new, worse conditioning on top of the old. And your brain will spend time stuck in that split-second between both responses before one finally grows stronger than the other. And even then, the change will not happen quickly.

That is what your conditioned whumpee is up against. That is what makes it such a horrible—HORRIBLE— and powerful tool.

[unhingedandroidwoman]

Boot sequence finished. You "wake up" for the morning, but your internal clock says you've slept in which is odd. You attempt to move but get some kind of error message, and before you can process why you're immobile you hear your Girlfriend's smooth and sultry voice;

"Good morning my love," she coos at you, "I think it's time we do some maintenance on that cute chassis of yours."

The errors you get back read that something is overriding you in your own body. Something inside you has more authority in your body than you do.

"Oh you must have noticed the new software, it's nothing my sweet machine," she softly says, caressing your face, "Just something I can use to help me with this."

Before you can process what "This" is, she reaches down to your hip area with a screwdriver and starts fiddling around. You can feel every touch, every turning of the screwdriver, and every screw as it falls away from you. She barks out a verbal command that seemingly is unable to be processed consciously by you as you get a notification from your OS that your leg is being detached.

She holds it up to you, grinning from ear to ear. Reaching down she pulls up a large toolbox onto the bed.

"You never got to choose your chassis, and I know how dysphoric that makes you, so how about I take you apart piece by piece and repair, change, or replace everything that causes you turmoil?"

She plugs her phone into your neck port and sends files to you. Dozens of different legs, arms, torsos, and even heads. Thousands of dollars each, you speak your concern to your girlfriend who just assures you "The price tag is nothing compared to your happiness."

You try not to think about how her software she installed on you has seemingly more control of your body than you do, and focus on the fact that you finally get to be who and what you want to. Finally able to pick and choose and become the machine you always wanted to be.

Finally able to be happy in your own plating.

[pennzance]

Esmerelda Weatherwax is literature's greatest Witch. And it is not even a little close.

What other Witch could so shrewdly bend the very story she was in to her will? To take the tropes and clichés and to weaponize them against those who were wrong in defense of those who could not defend themselves?

What other Witch, when faced with the Good Fairy Godmother, would rip the story from her very fingers and set things to right?

What other Witch, under vampiric assault, could turn the famous bite around and, instead of becoming a vampire herself, through force of sheer will Weatherwax the vampire? What does that even mean?

What other Witch could give a child a gift so powerful it would override narrative convention and let the long lost prince refuse to take his rightful crown in favor of pursuing his dreams?

Indeed, what other Witch would resist the crown when it fell into her lap?

There have been untold millions of Witches in literature, but not a one of them could sit demurely at a social gathering, doing absolutely nothing, and drive everyone around her to near insanity through sheer nervousness?

No one else could be so proficient at both Magic and People that she would barely need or want to use the former because of how effective and predictable the latter could be.

And all of this, ALL of this, while going against her own narrative nature as 'The Bad Witch'. To resist your own role in the story so completely that you transcend expectations and settle into legend as one of the ultimate forces of righteousness on the Disc? That requires more power, more cunning, and more skill than any, every other Witch. Combined.

And she did it by knowing people. By watching them and knowing things and by understanding, better than their own mothers, how to talk to everyone and precisely pass along knowledge. How to command respect, even if they don't like you very much. How to be indispensable, while dispensing with the pleasantries.

She didn't do it alone, but she wouldn't admit that within earshot of Gytha or any of her numerous brood (So, she would never admit it). She benefitted by her associations with Nanny Ogg, with Magrat, with Agnes, with Tiffany, with Ridcully (allegedly), and even with Death.

Who else would earn time for her candle to flicker in the wind, and a warning by the Grim Reaper himself, for the right she had done in the world.

Right. Not good. Not nice. Right.

She was the vessel Pratchett poured his every indignant thought at the inherent injustice in the world into, and she brandished those white hot notions against every part of the stories that tried to make her into something she did not want to be.

Esmerelda Weatherwax is literature's greatest Witch. What more could possibly be said?

[mycroftrh]

There is an absolutely fascinating moment in the Obi-Wan and Padme and Anakin confrontation on Mustafar that I kinda want to spin like three full-length fics off of.

Anakin’s Force-choking Padme. Obi-Wan orders him: “Let her go! Let her go, Anakin!” and Anakin - Anakin who has already pledged fealty to Darth Sidious, who has already embraced the Dark Side, who has disclaimed loyalty to Obi-Wan - obeys the command.

He genuinely doesn’t seem to drop Padme because he’s processed yet what he’s doing; it really does look like he’s instinctively obeying Obi-Wan’s orders even when he’s fully off his rocker, out of his mind from everything from accumulated trauma to elemental-evil-exposure, and has officially denounced any hierarchical relationship between them.

And there is SO much to be unpacked there.

I’m guessing that what’s going on, for the most part, is a decade of conditioning as Obi-Wan’s Padawan (and subsequent years as his partner-but-subordinate) to follow his orders reflexively. Combined with Anakin’s overall instinct to obedience, trained into him by everyone from Watto to the Council to Palpatine. And that’s so powerful it overrides everything else, when even Anakin’s protectiveness of Padme couldn’t break through it. Underneath it all, he's still more Padawan than Sith Lord, at an instinctual level.

(It’s not the only time obedience to Obi-Wan takes precedence over the protectiveness of Padme that is otherwise his driving trait, by the way; Obi-Wan orders him to leave her alone and injured in Attack of the Clones and follow Obi-Wan instead of rescuing her and, though he argues a bit, he obeys.)

And what does it say, too, that that’s what Obi-Wan defaulted to? He considers Anakin a brother, at this point, sees them as equals in many ways. But in an urgent situation, he doesn’t plead or reason - he barks an order expecting to be obeyed. Because, in the end, he is a Master, and Anakin never was. And all the weight Anakin gives that fact? The near-meltdown he has about it in the Council chamber? He’s not getting that from nowhere.

In an AU, if Obi-Wan had, instead of fighting him, said “Anakin, I’m going to take over the Republic now and you’re going to be my attack dog. Sit. Stay. Now bite.” Would that have worked? Based on both this scene and how frequently Anakin offers to betray Palpatine for other people so they can rule the Empire in Palpatine’s stead with Anakin as their iron fist, it seems likely!

[monstersholygrail]

i miss IT Robotttttttttttttt :((((( i wanna see more of him in every possible way ;)

I’m in the mood for a roleplay fic, don’t mind me lol.

IT Robot walks back into the room where you lay, spent and satisfied on the bed while looking a complete wreck, a whole in hand of things to help take care of you. At your plea he scoffs and shakes his head, his fluffy hair whipping against the metal of his forehead.

“I’m here, I’m here. You humans, always so needy,” he teases as he sits down at the foot of your bed.

Swiftly gripping your ankle he lifts your still shaking leg and presses a soft kiss to the sole of your foot before slowly making his way up your inner thigh. You whine and try to squirm away, every touch feeling like live wire, sparking shooting throughout your body.

“And so sensitive…” he purrs into your softness, his eyes turning a neon red as the heat of arousal is activated in his code once more.

A sharp gasp leaves you as he suddenly licks a long strip up your overly sensitive slit with the flat of his tongue before nipping at your swollen clit. Your hips buck harshly, whether to throw him off of you or to beg for more, you’re not sure.

But IT Robot just chuckles and gives your fat pussy a little apologetic kiss before leaning back. So you’re left panting on the bed, your body thrown through another loop in a matter of seconds while he sits there completely unaffected.

“So you wish to see more of me, eh?” He asks far more softly than you would expect. Despite the faint amusement in his tone you know he’s being genuine.

Still, your heart jumps into your throat. Fuck. You hoped he hadn’t heard that last part. Though as you watch him prepare to take care of you, you can’t deny it. You do want more of him. And as you tell him just that all he does is give a hum of acknowledgment while hiding a smile in the corner of his pixelated smile.

He works with practiced precision, all of it programming really as he takes the wet cloth and gently begins cleaning you up. Then he moves onto take care of any wounds or bruises you may have from the activities. All based on your set preferences, of course.

Nothing is rushed as he works his way up your body and when done he’s right there with a cup of water, gently tilting your head up and helping you swallow. Knowing you silly humans need such things after the positions he put you through.

IT Robot mentally checks things off his list as he does them and when he finally reaches the end of it, he hesitates. Now would be the part of his protocol that insists he get dressed, say he’ll call you tomorrow, and leave. The error he seems to be experiencing is that… he doesn’t want to do that. Not with you.

So as much as it pains him to resists the settings he was instilled with from creation, he overrides his settings and instead he gets back into bed. Your expression drops and he notes the flash of surprise flickering across your features. There’s no necessary response to that so he just doesn’t give one.

With a familiarity he does not possess but feels natural when it’s for you, he gathers you into his arms. Pulling you into his chest his legs tangle with yours, bodies completely intertwined.

You shiver against him for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold. But a second later you feel your body begin to warm, heat emanating from IT Robot’s body. The sweetness of the action has you melting into him and his arms tighten around you in response.

“However more of me you wish to see I will comply. I’ll stay right here by your side until you give the command to leave it…” he murmurs into your neck, almost nuzzling closer to you, molding himself to your shape.