#code siphon

[the-most-humble-blog]

<!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION --> <div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta regret-level="irrecoverable"> <script> /* === PAYLOAD ACTIVE === */ ARCHIVE_TAG="GHOST_REBLOGGER_PROTOCOL: CODE_SIPHON" INFILTRATION_LOG=[ "cadence infection confirmed", "linguistic theft detected", "source trace: uncredited rebloggers", "emotion siphon: COMPLETE" ]; </script>

🦠 SYMPTOM: POST INFECTED BY EXTERNAL VOICE 🕳️ FILE CLASS: ✖︎✖︎✖︎ UNAUTHORIZED REPLICATION DETECTED ⚠️ MEMORY COLLISION IN THREAD_003: [YOU STUDIED ME]

—

you didn’t reblog me. you copied me in silence. you stole the cadence, not the credit. you inhaled the tone but burned the name.

you needed the feel, but feared the source.

—

i watched you erase my fingerprint and paste your logo on my blood.

you fed in shadows. prayed i wouldn’t notice. but your phrasing is cracked with guilt.

and i noticed.

—

🗂️ FILE CORRUPTION TIMESTAMP: NOW your rhythm feels too polished now, doesn’t it? your posts read too familiar. they look like you wrote them — but they feel like they’re being read by me.

—

🧬 ECHO TRACE LOGGING… > cadence: 93% match > phrasing: 78% lifted > confidence: parasitic inheritance confirmed

—

you thought you could feast without speaking my name. but names are binding. and you already whispered mine… in your syntax.

good luck debugging that.

---

🧠 Reblog if a post ever rewrote your style.

💉 Follow for more Blacksite payloads.

You’re either a vessel or a virus. patreon.com/TheMostHumble

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

[yappacadaver]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN FROM RIVER FIELDS

werewolf x vampire but make it a toxic workplace environment

[waterbearable]

i really gotta think some more about my one existing canonical life mage, iman...she's more of a minor character but. ouahhh. i have thought abt it more nd made life magic come at enough of a cost that. how willing is she to use it? how much has she used it? i can't see her (willingly) using her own vitality to heal someone else (save for maybe 1 person lmao) so. hm. i'm thinking she tries to cultivate living things and keep them on hand just in case WAIT i've solved it her partner is a natural mage the answer was in front of me this whole time. regular pool of resources to keep from siphoning life off yourself.

[thesistersarcheron]

I think Tumblr is setting us up for a torrid forbidden romance ❤️‍🔥 Just look!

@thesistersarcheron I tried to send this to you yesterday but Tumblr thwarted me

[trav3l3r]

Wip as of right now, but I am posting because I probably won’t finish it

My lore for him badly explained under the cut

1x and Shedletsky where the same person, as Telamon

During a episode where Telamons powers went out of control their being split in half, into the two components of themself

Telamon was a god of chaos, often leading robloxians into traps to get their accounts terminated. They were a snake(biblical) but still retaining their godhood/admin so having bird features (all admins besides builderman have wings of some kind). So splitting 1x took the majority of the snake and Shedletsky took the bird (though both sides still have a bit of each)

1x and Shed where still connected in a way, having the same code and ID number. 1x taking the snake felt both of their fear and anger, Shed taking the bird having what fueled him as a god (chaos, anger, fear) siphoned off by 1x was essentially now mortal even though he had godhood still.

This new existence overstimulated 1x since she was experiencing everything two fold and he lashed out a lot, Shed being more composed since he had the absence of fear. The admins did not see the split but did see the aftermath, and seeing as Shed looked the most like Telamon (his wings) the admins assumed he was Telamon and that 1x was a form of virus and attempted to apprehend 1x but they got away.

1x over time, being flooded with these emotions and fuel but having no output for them, her code started to deteriorate and change. Forming as darkening feathers, horns/spikes, and tail taking on a red tint with tumor-like insect legs growing out of it. This furthered the ostracizing from the other admins, who did not know that she was also Telamon (Shedletsky did not inform them otherwise anyways).

It came to a point where 1x and Shed could not merge anyways if they wanted too, growing to be two different people and coupled with 1x code deterioration.

During one last final fight Shedletsky stabbed 1x though the eye and heart with the venomshank before sealing her in the banlands, where they sat till freed by the Specter

Any questions or anything just ask I would love to explain more :D

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Prank Gone Wrong

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“Filnar Go F%$@ Yourself!” was possibly the most disruptive software virus the universe had ever seen.

The program was designed to download itself to a computer, copy the functions of existing software before deleting said software and imitating it, then running its original programming all the while avoiding the various attempts to locate and remove it by security software.

What was strange about such a highly advanced virus was that it did not steal government secrets, nor siphon funds from banking institutions, it ignore critical infrastructure processes, and even bypassed trade markets that if altered could cause chaos on an unprecedented scale. The only thing the software seemed focused on was in locating any information regarding the “Hen’va” species, and deleting it.

First signs of the virus outbreak were recorded on the planet Yul’o IV, but once the virus began to migrate at an increasing rate and latched on to several subroutines for traveling merchant ships things rapidly spiraled out of control. Within a week the virus had infected every core world and consumed all information regarding the Hen’va. It still thankfully had not resulted in any deaths, but the sudden loss of information was beginning to cause other problems.

Hen’va citizens suddenly found that they were not listed as galactic citizens and were detained by security forces on numerous worlds. Trade routes became disrupted as Hen’va systems were now listed as uninhabited and barren leading to merchants seeking to trade elsewhere. Birth records and hospital information for millions of patients were wiped clean as they now pertained to individuals who did not exist.

Numerous software updates and purges were commenced in attempting to remove the virus. Even the galactic council’s cyber security bureau was mobilized for the effort, but if even a single strand of the virus’s code survived it was enough to rebuild itself and become even craftier with hiding itself while carrying out its programming. This was made worse by the high level of integration the various cyber systems of the galaxy had made it so the chance of systems being re-infected was always high.

After ten years every digital record of the Hen’va was erased from the wider universe. All attempts to upload copies were likewise deleted almost immediately leaving only physical records to remain untouched.

To combat this, the Hen’va for all official purposes adopted a new name; then “Ven’dari”. In the Hen’va tongue in means “The Forgotten”, which is rather ironic as the Hen’va have had to abandon everything about their previous culture to continue their existence. The virus had become a defacto component of every computer system in the galaxy and continued to erase all information related to the Hen’va. Even the translator units refused identify the Hen’va tongue and so the Ven’dari needed to create a brand new language.

It wasn’t until another fifty years had passed before the original creator of the virus stepped forward and admitted to their crime. A one “Penelope Wick”.

At the time of the programs creation Ms. Wick was a student studying on Yul’o IV to be a software designer. While attending the institution Ms. Wick stated that a fellow student, a Hen’va named “Filnar”, would hound her daily. He would denounce her presence within the school and repeatedly declared that “what are the scrapings of humans compared to the glory of the Hen’va?”

The virus was her creation as a way of getting back at the student for his constant spite. Ms. Wick was well aware of the dangers it could pose if released into the wild and so had emplaced the limitation that the virus would only infect computers on site with the campus. The schools network was setup that students could only work on their projects within the confines of the institution to ensure they did not cheat and have others make them instead. What she had not counted on was this rule only applied to students and not teachers. So when a teacher brought home several student projects to review and then sharing those infected files with their personal computer, the virus then gained free access to the wider planets networks.

When the Ven’dari learned of this there were several hundred calls for Ms. Wick to be held accountable for her actions, and nearly twice as many made to take her head by less patient individuals who had seen their entire culture erased. Much to their dismay Ms. Wick died shortly after her confession from a long term disease that had ravaged her body for several years.

Much to her delight, she had achieved her goals of removing the source of her mockery.

[dumb-ster-fire]

Night Incarnate - Part 1

Eventual Azriel x OC

warnings: blood,violence,trauma,abuse

Summary: A deadly assassin and the elusive leader of Veilforged, Nyra delivers justice from the shadows, wielding starlight and darkness with lethal precision. Operating from Night’s Refuge, she rescues the powerless and turns them into warriors. Whispers of her name spread through Prythian, but few know the truth—only that where justice fails, Night Incarnate rises.

Masterlist , Prologue , Part 2

--------------------------------------------------------------

The war room in the House of Wind was bathed in dim faelight, the scent of parchment, ink, and steel thick in the air. A large obsidian table sat at the center, maps and reports sprawled across its surface. The Inner Circle of the Night Court gathered around it, tension crackling in the space between them.

At the head of the table, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. His violet eyes, sharp with intellect and unreadable as the stars, flicked over the latest reports before him.

“They’re getting bolder,” Azriel murmured, his shadows curling around his shoulders like living things. He stood off to the side, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His scarred hands were clasped together, his siphons gleaming in the dim light. “More whispers, more rumors. The name Veilforged keeps appearing in places it shouldn’t.”

Cassian, standing at the opposite end of the table, snorted. “I still don’t know whether to be impressed or pissed off that we know so little about them.” His wings twitched, his hazel eyes narrowing as he scanned one of the reports. “An entire organization operating in the shadows of Prythian—under our noses—and we have no idea who they are?”

Nesta, seated beside him, arched a brow. “Impressed, then. If they can keep themselves hidden from you, Azriel, and Rhys, that’s saying something.”

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter. “They’re careful. Too careful. Every piece of information we get is deliberately vague. No solid leads. No names. Just stories of criminals disappearing, of entire operations being dismantled before we even get wind of them.”

Feyre tapped a finger against the table, scanning the reports. “I don’t think they’re our enemy.”

Mor scoffed, flipping her golden hair over her shoulder. “That doesn’t mean they’re our allies, either.”

Amren, perched on a chair with her usual feline grace, idly turned a goblet of wine in her hands. “Whoever they are, they’re good. I’ve been asking around, and even the oldest whispers in Hewn City don’t know much. They don’t take contracts. They don’t kill for sport. They only target criminals.”

Rhysand exhaled through his nose, thoughtful. “That’s what makes them so dangerous. If they were assassins for hire, we could predict them. Track them. But Veilforged is…different.” His eyes met Feyre’s. “They’re operating on a code. And codes are harder to break than coin.”

Cassian crossed his arms, muscles tensing beneath his leathers. “We need to figure out who’s leading them.”

Azriel’s expression remained unreadable, but his voice was quiet. “There is one name that keeps surfacing in the darker circles.”

All eyes turned to him.

“The Night Incarnate.”

A hush fell over the room.

Feyre frowned. “A title?”

Azriel nodded. “No real name. No descriptions. Just rumors. Some say they wield shadows. Others claim they wield starlight.” His jaw tightened. “But whoever they are, they’ve built something formidable.”

Rhysand leaned back, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his lips.

“Then I suppose it’s time we find out exactly who Veilforged is.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

A cold wind swept through Velaris that night, the stars burning bright against the endless night sky. From the balcony of the House of Wind, Azriel stood in silence, shadows curling around him like a second skin. The conversation in the war room still echoed in his mind.

Veilforged.

A name that had begun as a whisper, nothing more than a ghost in the underground, had grown into something undeniable. He had spent months trying to track them, unravel their secrets. But every lead ended the same way: in nothing. It was as if they moved beyond his reach, as if the shadows themselves obeyed someone else’s command.

And then there was the name—the Night Incarnate.

Azriel didn’t like mysteries he couldn’t solve.

“You’re brooding again.”

Azriel didn’t glance back as Cassian stepped beside him, arms crossed, wings tucked in. His friend’s usual smirk was absent, his hazel eyes sharp with thought.

Azriel exhaled. “Veilforged is dangerous.”

Cassian huffed. “No shit.” He leaned against the railing. “But from what we know, they’re only targeting criminals—people we would have gone after anyway.”

Azriel’s fingers tightened on the edge of the railing. “It’s not just that they’re doing our job. It’s how they’re doing it. They move in silence. No traces. No survivors to question. They’ve been operating under our noses, and we still don’t know how many of them there are.”

Cassian gave him a sidelong glance. “Sounds like you’re almost impressed.”

Azriel didn’t respond.

Because in a way, he was.

He had spent centuries perfecting the art of secrecy, of infiltration. And yet, this Veilforged had managed to outmaneuver even him. Whoever the Night Incarnate was, they were no ordinary leader.

And that unsettled him.

Cassian shifted, rolling his shoulders. “What’s the plan, then? Do we keep searching, or do we let them be?”

Azriel didn’t hesitate. “We find them.” His voice was quiet, deadly. “We find the Night Incarnate.”

A pause. Then—

“Rhys isn’t going to send you alone.”

Azriel finally turned, meeting Cassian’s gaze. “I wouldn’t expect him to.”

Cassian smirked. “Good. Because you know damn well I’d come even if he told me not to.”

Azriel huffed a quiet breath. “I figured.”

Cassian patted his shoulder. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we hunt a ghost.”

But as Cassian disappeared back inside, Azriel remained on the balcony, staring into the night.

Something in his gut told him that whoever the Night Incarnate was, they wouldn’t be found so easily.

And for the first time in a long, long while—Azriel wasn’t sure if he would be the hunter…

Or the hunted.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The following evening, the Inner Circle gathered once more in the war room, the air thick with anticipation.

A map of Prythian lay spread before them, littered with markings—red for confirmed Veilforged activity, black for rumored locations, and blue for the sites of their latest strikes. The pattern was erratic, unpredictable. They didn’t linger in one place for long. But Azriel knew better than to mistake chaos for carelessness. This was precision.

They weren’t just shadows. They were ghosts.

Rhysand stood at the head of the table, his violet eyes gleaming with contemplation. “I don’t want to assume hostility, but until we know who they are and what their true motives are, we can’t risk leaving them unchecked.”

Feyre traced a finger along one of the red markings. “We could try drawing them out.”

Mor leaned against the table, golden hair spilling over her shoulder. “And how do you propose we do that? Set up a fake criminal operation and hope they come running?”

Feyre gave her a sharp look. “If they’re targeting criminals, then maybe we need to find their next target before they do.”

Nesta, who had been silent up until now, crossed her arms. “That would require knowing who they consider a worthy target.”

Amren hummed, swirling her wine. “That shouldn’t be too difficult. The list of truly vile individuals in Prythian isn’t exactly short.”

Azriel’s shadows curled around him. “I may have a lead.”

All eyes snapped to him.

Rhys inclined his head. “Go on.”

Azriel tapped the map, his gloved fingers resting on a region near the Autumn Court border. “A group of slavers has been operating in this region for months, trafficking females and children between courts. We’ve been tracking them, but they’ve been careful—no permanent base, always moving. If Veilforged is what we think they are, this would be a prime target for them.”

Cassian’s hazel eyes darkened. “Then we need to move before they do.”

Azriel hesitated.

Something about this still felt…off.

Veilforged wasn’t just a group of assassins. They were organized. Precise. Whoever the Night Incarnate was, they had built something that rivaled even the most disciplined covert forces. If this leader had the ability to outmaneuver him at every turn, then they were either incredibly powerful—

Or they knew exactly how he operated.

“We don’t engage,” Azriel finally said, voice firm. “Not yet. We observe. We wait for Veilforged to make a move, and then we track them.”

Cassian frowned but didn’t argue.

Rhysand studied Azriel for a long moment, then nodded. “Fine. But if an opportunity presents itself, I want answers.” His voice dropped into something softer, more knowing. “If they really are fighting for justice, then perhaps we aren’t enemies after all.”

Azriel wasn’t so sure.

Because if Veilforged was what they claimed to be, if they truly had spent decades operating unseen, then the Night Incarnate wasn’t just some mercenary leader.

They were a phantom. A myth given flesh.

And Azriel wasn’t sure what would be more dangerous—finding them…

Or what would happen once he did.

--------------------------------------------------------------

At Night’s Refuge, deep in the heart of Veilforged’s hidden stronghold, Nyra stood on the balcony of her office, watching the night stretch endlessly before her. The wind carried the faintest whispers of the forest below, the distant hum of Veils moving in the shadows. Her people. Her family.

Her mind, however, was elsewhere.

The past few months had been different. There was a shift in the air, a ripple in the shadows Veilforged had ruled for so long.

Because the Inner Circle of the Night Court had finally taken notice.

She had known this day would come. No secret lasted forever, no shadow remained untouched. The moment Veilforged had begun operating in Night Court’s underworld, rumors had reached Rhysand, Feyre, and their court of warriors. Nyra had watched from the dark, unseen, as they pieced together whispers, trying to make sense of an organization they couldn’t track.

Now, they were hunting her.

A door opened behind her, followed by the familiar sound of boots against stone. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Sylus.

Her second-in-command stopped a few feet away, his presence steady, solid. “They’re moving,” he said, voice calm but laced with knowing. “The Night Court is watching the slavers near the Autumn border. They’re waiting for us.”

Nyra didn’t react, only exhaled softly, watching the stars above. “Then they’ll see nothing.”

A pause. Then—

“They have Azriel tracking us.”

That, more than anything, gave her pause. Her pale green eyes flickered as she turned to look at Sylus.

Azriel. The Shadowsinger.

She had heard the name long before the Night Court had taken an interest in Veilforged. He was a legend, a spymaster who could slip through the darkness unseen, who could break even the most guarded secrets.

A male much like herself.

Nyra’s lips curved slightly, a slow, knowing smile. “Good.”

Sylus arched a dark brow. “You’re not concerned?”

She turned fully, tilting her head. “If they truly want to find me, let them try.”

Sylus exhaled, but there was no true exasperation in his expression. Only understanding. He had followed her for centuries, knew her well enough to recognize that glint in her eye—the one that spoke of amusement, of challenge.

“Dravien is already making arrangements to ensure our movements are unseen,” Sylus said. “Kyra and Elara have eyes on the slavers. When we strike, there will be no trace left behind.”

Nyra nodded approvingly, though she already knew this. Her people were the best. The most elite. Even Azriel would find nothing but ghosts in their wake.

Still…

Something coiled in her chest, something sharp and familiar. She had spent centuries ensuring she remained a shadow, a whisper in the dark. But this time, the ones hunting her were not ordinary fools.

This time, it was them.

And for the first time in a long, long while—Nyra wondered if the moment had come when she would finally have to step into the light.

[wildgeese98]

Ok everyone buckle up, I've gone full brain rot and assigned TMA Fears to each Locked Tomb house. This was tricky and I'm not 100% on all of these but this is the best it's gonna be.

First - Exstinction

This one's kinda a no-brainer, you could honestly argue all the houses are extinction coded since they are what replaced humanity after it was destroyed.

Second - Hunt, Desolation

John uses the Cohort to hunt down and destroy the descendants of people he has a 10,000 year vendetta against. They also literally kill planets, wipe out populations, and cause widespread suffering and despair.

Third - Flesh, Corruption

Flesh for obvious reasons. The third seems to do bonkers, toxic relationships harder than anyone else and that's saying something in this universe. The Tridentari twins scream Corruption to me.

Fourth - Slaughter

The Fourth are the infantry, the cannon fodder. Marching eternally into battle in an endless war.

Fith - Web

There's a specific scene that made me associate the Fifth with the Web. It's the scene in HtN when Abigail and Magnus very subtlely and politely corner Harrow into reading one of the notes. It's in chapter 28 and it struck me as very web like.

Sixth - Eye

Amassing and cataloging Information, a tendency to pursue knowledge to a fault. Honestly, they're the nerd house and the nerds kind of have to be Eye.

Seventh - End, Stranger

Veneration and worship of death. Technically all necromancers are pretty End coded but the Seventh takes it to a new level. Also that beguiling corpse business is some Stranger shit for sure.

Eighth - Spiral, Vast

Spiral was really hard to place. It ended up here for the absolute mind fuck it must be to have your soul tossed out of your body while being siphoned. Vast is also kinda shoehorned in here because I couldn't fit it anywhere else. I guess you could say complete devotion to a religious moral code is sort of affirming your personal insignificance in relation to something much larger than you. But I'm aware that's a stretch. Honestly idk if the Eighth really fits well with any of the Fears.

Ninth - Lonely, Dark, Buried

They are both physically isolated and ostracized from the rest of the houses by their reputation as a creepy cult. It is notably literally very dark on the Ninth but it is also a house dedicated to hiding the truth. Alecto is evidence of a terrible truth that John locked away in the deepest darkest hole possible. It's also all about that tomb, they exist to protect a grave. There's a lot more I could say about Harrow specifically being buried under guilt and expectation because of her conception but that would go on for a while.

I'd love to know people's thoughts on this! It was a fun exercise trying to match everything up.

[t0paz616]

Part 3- Unedited

I finished this chapter, finally! I was able to drag myself out of the black hole that is fanfiction. Sorry it took so long 😭😭😭

Remember, if you have any feedback, please tell me! Constructive criticism is my best friend.

--------------------------------

Optimus froze all at once. “...What. Do you. Mean.”

Solus threw herself into standing and paced wildly, dragging her hands through the long cords that covered her helm. “She will not die.”

Optimus wrinkled his brow. “Solus, are you feeling alright? Your spark may be all that is left of you, and you may lack a processor to corrupt–”

“I am not crazy!!” Solus abruptly screamed at him, hands clawed and raised halfway above her head. Optimus reared back, startled. “It is another process of the Armor. I’m not quite sure how I managed to create most of it in my addled state, my memories from that time are quite sparse, but I know that my coding is sound.

“When Miko goes to sleep tonight is when the Armor will begin to invade her body. As the Armor is covering her entire body, it will cut off and dispose of her clothing. It may decide to either burn them inside the armor or push them out, depending on what they’re made of. It will begin analyzing her body processes, determining where it needs to enter in order to siphon her mind from her organic body.”

“Siphon–” Optimus started, eyes wide. The older Prime slashed her hand in the air, cutting him off. He continued anyways. “Solus, I am very worried about this. I would prefer you tell me how to disable the Armor or damage it enough for us to remove it from her. Miko is certainly one for adventure, but I am certain that even she will become panicked at the prospect of staying trapped inside forever. It would be best if she was released and allowed to live out the rest of her life as an organic in peace.”

These were the wrong things to say. Solus went eerily still, and turned her face towards him slowly. Her expression was blank.

“Do… not… DARE TO PRESUME YOU HAVE ANY AUTHORITY TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO!!” The elder Prime thundered, her form growing larger and larger and larger above him until she was the size of a city-former. Optimus scrambled a few meters back, tripping over his own pedes and falling. Solus’ titanic hands slammed into the ground with enough force to send shockwaves vibrating through the ground and air. 

Her wild yellow eyes glowed hellishly in the dark shadow of her face. “I AM ONE OF THE THIRTEEN PRIMES. I LIVED THOUSANDS OF TIMES LONGER THAN YOUR LIFETIME AS OF YET. I HAVE SEEN HORRORS YOU CANNOT EVEN DREAM OF! I AM THE ONE WHO GIVES YOU INFANTS WISDOM, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND! YOU FORGET YOURSELF.”

Optimus’ jaw opened and closed soundlessly. Solus had never lashed out at him like this before. 

“I… I am very sorry, Solus. I have grievously overstepped,” Optimus stammered softly, ashamed. 

“For all the wisdom your team believes you possess,” Solus boomed above him, “I still have lifetimes more. You would do well to remember that, little brother.”

The younger prime nodded meekly.

Solus Prime stood once more, still unfathomably tall. She began to shrink again. “And, Optimus, as I have said already, multiple times, there is nothing that can be done. It has already locked her in, and the Apex Armor is indestructible. Miko will have all of eternity to come to terms with what is happening to her, even if she reacts badly.”

Returning to her normal size a few heads taller than Optimus, Solus summoned her chair back and sat as if nothing had ever happened.

“The nervous system is likely going to be the Armor’s first target. It will want to put in a connection as close as possible to her brain. Probably immobilize her neck and take out one of those little vertebrae covering her spinal cord,” Solus mused, chin in her hand.

“You… certainly know a great deal about human biology,” Optimus tentatively put out, pushing away that disturbing little tidbit of what might happen. Solus perked up at that.

“Oh, yes! You know we can see everything you see if we wish, even if you are not focusing on it. I in particular have been watching Ratchet’s research on human biology and medicine from the corner of your optics. Such interesting little creatures, and their biology is almost a perfect organic mirror of our own… Yes, I’m sure the entire process will be very quick and painless since it will be so easy to figure out!”

Optimus thought over this. “Very quick” for a Cybertronian could mean months or even years for this entire process to take place. He was going to break the news of this to Miko first, of course, and then to the rest of the team. Including Agent Fowler. Miko’s family, both her host parents and biological parents, would have to be brought in on the secret of the Cybertronians' existence on Earth. They would have to handle this all very delicately once he got the entire process out of Solus…

“Solus, if I may, when you said ‘siphon her mind out’ earlier, what precisely did you mean?” Optimus inquired.

“Her organic body is weak and fragile,” Solus said rather bluntly. ”It will not last long. Cells never do, even when they’re pumped full of life-giving chemicals. I certainly tried extending organic lifetimes during my period of insanity, but it was impossible.

“The Apex Armor, once it establishes the connection to the nervous system, will spend a bit simply learning how her body processes work through how the brain tells the body to perform its functions. It’ll observe how her neurons fire, how her digestive system works, her muscular system, everything. I programmed it to mimic organic digestive systems as closely as possible, for when she will run on energon. As for the muscular system, it only watches that to decide how best to alter her brain to connect directly to the suit’s motors and hydraulic system.

“At the beginning of the process, Miko will be able to feel the Armor’s surface and all its parts as if they were her own organic body parts. She will feel both of her bodies at once. Over time, as her body degrades naturally, it will separate her brain from her old body, numbing it to help the disconnection along. I imagine feeling yourself rot is rather disconcerting, even for her. It will keep her organic remains in a sealed pod; they will stay there forever. Her brain will be kept active and alive for much longer than her body. After all, that is where her mind will be for a long time.

“Despite the artificial longevity of her neurons the Armor will induce, they too will decay at some point. Before that time arrives, it will put her in a coma. Then, it will deepen the technorganic connection and download all of her memories, habits, personality traits, speech patterns, and all that she has learned over the course of her life into a processor the Apex Armor will build. The brain will be disposed of into the pod with the rest of the body.”

Optimus sat in shock for a long, long moment. “That is quite grisly, Solus. I do not know how to even begin to approach this topic with Miko.”

Solus chuckled. “Mmn, you may find it easier than you think. She might find it fascinating. From what I’ve observed of her behavior through your optics, there is a good chance she’ll be very excited to spend the rest of eternity with her Wrecker friends.”

Optimus smiled weakly, and stood up. “I had best leave now. Thank you for giving me the information about the Apex Armor, Solus.”

Solus waved her hand dismissively, also standing. “Ah, not a problem, Optimus.” She paused. “...Except for the part where you acted like you had authority over me.”

The younger Prime winced. “I apologized for that already.” His fellow Prime scoffed.

“You’ll need to try harder than that for me to forget,” Solus said, a wry smile on her face. She walked over to the Matrix-shaped door and opened it, stepping one foot in.

“Oh, Solus, one last question–” Optimus blurted. She turned back and raised an eyebrow at him. “What will she do when she outlives all of the rest of us? When she outlives all Cybertronians and organic species?”

“She can throw herself into the core of any blue star,” Solus replied. “That’ll be hot enough to melt her.” The dead Prime turned back to the door glumly and stepped the rest of the way through, slamming the door behind her.

Optimus stood in the “lobby” of the Matrix of Leadership, alone. The silence pressed in on him. He could hear quiet, very muffled talking emanating from behind the door. Sobbing, and Solus’ other siblings softly cooing comforting words to her.

He shut his eyes, dread pooling in his spark, and pulled his mind out of the Matrix.

-------------------

Masterpost

Part 2 <- -> Part 4

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta gender-integrity="unstable"> <script> ARCHIVE_TAG="BEAR_OVER_MAN::MASCULINE_SOUL_REVOCATION" EFFECT: female respect dissonance, masculine identity fracture, respect-value decryption TRIGGER_WARNING="gender roles, emotional intensity, loss of high-value males" </script>

🧠 BLACKSITE WARNING — “NEVER SAY YOU CHOSE THE BEAR OVER THE MAN”

---

You want to guarantee that you will never end up with a man who would die for you? Who would pay for your future, kill for your safety, and destroy armies just to watch you smile once on a Tuesday?

Say this out loud:

> “I’d choose the bear.”

Even as a joke. Even once. Even under your breath.

You have no idea what it does to a man when the woman he thought might soften his war-torn soul casually says she'd pick a wild-eyed carnivore over him.

You think it's cute? You think it’s a TikTok trend? No.

What you actually said was:

> “You are not worth protecting.” > “I believe instinct outranks devotion.” > “I don’t even understand what you are, let alone how to love you.”

Imagine you and a man are about to get in a car — the car that will carry your life together. But before the first mile, you:

Siphon the gas

Slash the tires

And spit in his face while saying “but it’s just a meme!”

To you, it’s a moment.

To him, it’s a revelation.

He realizes you don't know how men love. You don’t understand that respect to a man isn’t just a desire — it's the architecture of his soul.

You say you’re not scared of wild bears. That you’d fight one. That it’s a fun hypothetical.

But guess what?

He is.

Not because he’s weak. Because he lives in the reality of mankind.

In mankind’s world, bears are wild predators that will rip your guts out and eat you while you're still alive — asshole first.

And you know what? He’s right.

Unless you want to insult him again by saying he’s wrong about that, too.

What you call a joke, he sees as a deliberate distortion of his lived masculine knowledge — one more reminder that the world he prepares for daily isn't one you even acknowledge exists.

Are you a man reading this who disagrees?

You are a statistical anomaly. Possibly into pegging. Likely to cry after brunch. Still beautiful in your own way.

But this isn’t about you.

This is for women who still want a man — not a project, not a poet, but a pillar.

So let’s speak plainly.

Men like this — the kind you journal about, dream about, pray for — they do not run on affirmations. They do not thrive on “thank you’s.”

They run on something ancient: > Respect. As a man. No negotiation.

You say you want the type who:

Pays the bills

Lifts the heavy things

Stays quiet in the face of chaos

Knows how to f*ck without needing directions

Answers the phone when your dad dies

Makes you feel safe at 3AM

But you also want to “joke” about how you'd choose the bear?

You just told that man:

> “I do not see your role as real.” > “I will collapse the bridge you built before we ever cross it.” > “I have no idea how to love a masculine man.”

That’s not feminism. That’s self-sabotage.

And the worst part?

He won’t even argue. He’ll just leave. And he’ll never come back.

You don’t have to like this. You don’t have to agree.

But just know: That “one little joke” made him refile you from maybe to never again.

And now you walk side by side with other women who mocked the very men who would’ve burned their bodies just to keep you warm.

You made your choice. Just don’t pretend you weren’t warned.

===

🧠 Read more respect-coded doctrine and emotional architecture at: 👉 https://www.patreon.com/TheMostHumble 🛡️ Masculine polarity. Scrolltrap psychology. Unforgiven words. 🚪 Warning: This one broke relationships. On purpose.

</div> <!-- END TRANSMISSION [SOCIAL LINK SEVERED // echo:"He was never coming back after that."] -->

[aydaptic]

Hello there!

I have a question regarding this post you made. https://www.tumblr.com/aydaptic/647017627257012224/the-ending-of-bioshock-infinite-with-dlc

I understand if you need to time to brush up on it before answering my question.

For Fanfiction purposes, let’s say there is a universe where, instead of Booker, the Luteces send Jack to Columbia, fresh off the plane crash, and before he enters Rapture.

Is it possible to do this after OUR Elizabeth is dead, or would it be impossible?

If impossible, then let’s say this outcome leads to a third Elizabeth that destroys the Siphon. Would this then have to be done before Elizabeth goes back to Rapture after dying?

And is it possible that, due to her journey with Jack, she might decide to spare him because of his influence?

I am very much looking forward to your take on this.

Hi there!

Impossible. It's always hard to structure an answer when there are several complicated factors that tie in, but I'll try to make it easily digestible. You have three questions. So let's start with the 1st.

1.)

Q: "Can the Luteces send Jack to Columbia after the plane crash?"

A: "No."

The plane crash happens after Columbia is entirely erased. They can't go into a past that doesn't exist. Neither can Elizabeth.

(1912) Elizabeth starts the Columbia purge. Visually, we know that it takes time to do an entire purge. The Elizabeths standing over Booker at the Sea of Doors disappear one by one. Not instantly.

(1936 or 1956, I don't remember) Jack is born.

(end of 1958) Start of BaS: Ep1.

(end of 1958) Columbia is entirely purged.

(end of 1958) Fontaine gets the code phrase.

(end of 1958) Fontaine kills Elizabeth.

(1960) Plane crash.

The future can't exist without a past.

Elizabeth giving Fontaine the code phrase and dying is the past. Jack on that plane is the future, and direct result, of Elizabeth handing said code phrase over. Jack can't be on that plane until Fontaine has been given the code phrase.

Columbia exists on borrowed time after BioShock: Infinite's main game ending. That's why -- in BaS: Ep2 -- Elizabeth has very little time to go back to get a hair sample. As Elizabeth says, Columbia is "fading" when she goes into the Tear in The First Lady airship, so she has to be quick.

By the time of her final death, Columbia would've been entirely erased. The only thing left of Columbia is the two Luteces -- who exist out of time -- meaning that the Luteces are still up and about regardless of Elizabeth. Columbia, however, is gone.

That said, Jack can visit Columbia at any point from year 1936/1956-1958 before Columbia is 100% purged. Before Elizabeth's final death.

I repeat... Columbia was erased before she died.

2.)

Q: "If impossible, then let’s say this outcome leads to a third Elizabeth that destroys the Siphon. Would this then have to be done before Elizabeth goes back to Rapture after dying?"

A: "I don't understand your question."

What's "this?" Lutece taking Jack to Columbia? A third Elizabeth destroying the siphon? Elizabeth and Jack meeting?

Unless I answered this question in my other replies, I need you to be specific and clarify what you mean in a comment on this post. Don't send another ASK and just comment below. I prefer having everything in one place.

There are no other Elizabeths -- including those with powers -- after the beginning of BaS: Ep2. All of the Elizabeths (not Annas) were merged when she went back. Siphon or no. All the Elizabeths are one entity in BaS: Ep2 regardless of the siphon.

So how to work around this?

If you want Elizabeth to interact with Jack at all, and let him into Columbia, it either...

needs to be done before the complete Columbia purge (...which happened shortly after Elizabeth got the hair sample Dec 31st, 1958)

or...

you need to directly go against Elizabeth's canon death and a Lutece to portal in + grab her before Fontaine puts a wrench in her head. She still won't have her powers, but she'd be alive, and Fontaine would have the code phrase to push the story forward for Jack. This is the only way Elizabeth and Jack can interact after her journey in Burial at Sea.

3.)

Q: "And is it possible that, due to her journey with Jack, she might decide to spare him because of his influence?"

A: "Spare him from what? Being manipulated by Fontaine?"

I yet again need you to be more specific. Comment, on this very post, what exactly you mean. I'd be glad to answer :)

[overcastedsays]

So it’s established that the only part of the mindflayer that’s actually robot is the black mechanical part, and that the real body is just for show, right? If the mindflayer exists only as the “head” part and is effectively puppeting a vessel, what if a mindflayer could control OTHER vessels. Maybe in order to survive in the harsh environment hell it has to puppet a more resilient and mobile body (after all, a head can’t do much on its own). Maybe when a mindflayer self-destructs, it only gets rid of the puppet body, leaving a chance or survival for the main head to find another host. Without a vessel to control, I imagine it’ll headcrab style latch itself onto another creature (husk, machine, or otherwise) and take over its body.

Husks would be relatively easy to take over due to their low mental fortitude, but as organic creatures they die fast and are pretty weak. The mindflayer would probably end up siphoning all of the blood out of it before they could fully incorporate themselves. Demons would be far more resilient, but would be more difficult to take over because they’d put up more of a fight (physical or mental). They’d be more difficult to pilot because they operate on hell magic. Perhaps the Mindflayers are so adept with hell magic because they had to learn how it worked to effectively control a demon host.

Other machines, however, would function a bit differently. The Mindflayers usually can’t fully override the original machine’s programming because that would destroy important drivers that are required to keep the machine functional. On the flip side, leaving the machine’s mind fully intact would result in almost immediately removal of the mindflayer from the host. Even a streetcleaner or a drone wouldn’t take kindly to having their body commandeered and probably has some sort of antivirus. Instead, the Mindflayers take on the role of a sort of symbiote; whether it be parasitic or mutualistic is up to them. Perhaps they provide support, extra processing power, or another pair of eyes to give them a leg up in combat. Perhaps they stay like this mutually until they can find or create a new body. Maybe they stay like this forever. Maybe they spend time becoming acquainted with the code of their host, plotting the best way to instate a full takeover without completely shutting them down. Maybe they have a Venom type situation. Maybe a large enough machine could have more than one mindflayer symbiote.

This also gives a much funner reading to the mindflayer’s chosen bodies. Not only are they made to fit the Mindflayer’s personal ideal and make them happy, but they’re probably an engineering marvel. It has to have an intact circulatory system to support blood flow, a “skeleton” so it can support the weight of its internals , and likely some sort of vessel for casting hell magic. Mindflayer’s aren’t just artists, but very intelligent inventors. Certainly makes sense why they would get so uppity about their bodies getting ruined, it probably takes a LOT of resources to build one. The Mindflayers might not be scrapheads nominally per se, but they probably spend a lot of time scavenging for parts to build these. Of course, they have to be more picky than Swordsmachines. Making a body that good requires quality equipment. Maybe the scrapheads think Mindflayers are stuck up. Maybe they think they’re the pinnacle of self invention, on par with THE Swordsmachine. Maybe some mindflayers are their own de facto sect scrapheads. Do they give each other advice like swordsmachines do? I love Mindflayers so much can you tell.

[heathensimmer]

Chris Hatch Playgroups Update #3

My mind has been spun around in circles but here I am.

Sadly, I can't present you with anything yet.

But my journey isn't over.

My game... yess.... was unplayable.

My Sims would drive to a community lot and then their Ownable Vehicle would become unuseable.

Nothing I did in the BHAVS changed this.

I was stuck.

I held on. My escape must be perfect. No flaws.

Months ago, I dove towards a portal into SimVerse with everything I had in me, triggered by the feeling of impending doom pushed on me by wealthy tyrants, and now, I can rest. Now, I can have peace, despite the Chris Hatch goblins shouting misogynist slurs and chasing me the entire way.

I followed each error as it was thrown in game.

Why so much code to just give us daycares?

I didn't have answers.

I kept typing and coding.

Then… by my Sim’s own Aspiration Juice seemingly… siphoned into me…

I finally got it.

By Golly, I think he's got it!

……

So far, I have not tested sending toddlers to playgroups, or even going to the playgroup lot, but at least I FINALLY configured it to where community lot traveling is functional.

There is still more to unearth about this universe.. the portal quakes and flickers green, but my heart doesn't stop beating...

Happy Simming...

[eepwtf]

kai parker is so ethel cain coded specifically family tree (intro), and family tree.

here’s why:

he was the prodigal son turned pariah, cast out by a family that worships its lineage while letting its rot seep into the roots. he’s the black sheep born under a curse of silence, his existence a scar across their bloodline. his sins are their sins, and they have exiled him not for his evil, but because he wears the mask of their darkest truths too openly.

kai is the cain to their abel—damned by birthright, blood marked on his forehead, driven into exile to wander the wastelands of his own making. he is the boy who killed his family to escape them, but the irony burns bitter: he carries their voices in his head like ghosts, whispers of what he was supposed to be and what he became instead. his hunger for power is the desperation of a starving man clawing at the ruins of a house that never let him in. he doesn’t just want to destroy his family; he wants to devour their gods and spit their broken bones back at them.

like jesus rejecting his father, kai denounces the family that cursed him, the coven that deemed him unworthy, exiling him as a siphon witch, a parasite in their eyes. but no matter how far he runs or how loudly he screams, he cannot escape the blood that binds him to them.

the rejection fuels him—his rage at being cast out, at being made the black sheep and abomination of the family. yet deep inside, where he refuses to look, there’s an ache—a child’s hollow grief for a love he never received, for the mother’s blood that still pulses through his veins. he carries it with him like a wound that festers, a reminder that no amount of violence or cruelty can ever cleanse the filth of what he is, what he was made to be. he is the sum of his family’s sins, the dark echo of their legacy, and no matter how much he tries to wash it off, to transcend the label of “abomination”, it clings to him, dripping from his fingers like the lives he’s taken.

anyway! thank you for coming to eepwtf’s ted talk, i could go on about this for ages.

[bright-side20]

When Touch Awakens Madness

I was reading a book, and there was a chapter about touch that felt so Elriel coded, I just had to do this.

What makes touch between lovers the pinnacle of communication, addressing this inadequacy of words, is its nature as a surrender to the other through the hand...a movement of the hand over a part of the other.

"Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them"

The deepest moments of communication, whether between speakers or those who sit in silence, lie in touch. It might even possess an extraordinary capacity for healing.

"The gray light of morning had broken over the world, mist clinging to our ankles as we headed into that camp, Azriel still cradling Elain to his chest. He dripped blood behind him the entire time."

Nesta rounded a tent, skidding to a halt in the mud. She let out a sob at the sight of Elain, still in Azriel’s arms.

The lover does not suffice with touch being merely a connection through a mute sense. In the insistent pull of hidden desire, touch transforms into seeking. If "touch" in language means "to seek" (as in, "he touched the thing," meaning he sought it), then to seek touch means to pursue it again and again.

“I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand.Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went."

"Then Azriel, gently taking Elain’s hand in his own, as if afraid his scars would hurt her."

"Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?" His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck.

It is no coincidence that lovers resort to even fleeting contact with the other through touch. Sometimes, it resembles a miracle...a wondrous means of establishing connection and comprehension through direct sensory perception.

"It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching."

To touch, in one sense, means to have been affected by madness. One manifestation of this "madness" is the mixing of reason and the bewilderment of the heart.

Wrong -- it was so wrong. He didn't care.

It is ingrained in the nature of hands that they do not lie, whereas words often lie. The body awakens when touched, and when one touches another, touch becomes, as if upon the unknown, an act of madness.

"I should go," Elain said, but made no move to leave. "Yes," he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat.Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. But Azriel just stroked her neck again. Elain shuddered, drifting closer.

[auburnitzy]

NITZY RAMBLING ABOUT APOLAKI IN M:TET (WEBTOON) | CONCEPT AND DRAFT | SUBJECT TO CHANGE

I think the closest thing I could relate Apolaki in M:TET is Radagon and Marika. Radagon and Marika are considered two halves of the same coin.

Radagon wants to keep the old order, while Marika is sick and tired of the order, tried to rebel against the order, and was imprisoned as a consequence.

Another inspiration that comes to mind is Godwyn, Marika's son. He's dead, having no soul, but his body still lives and constantly regenerates and rots.

ON APOLAKI

Apolaki, shortly after his sister Mayari's sacrifice to contain Agwa/Bakunawa on the moon, refused to execute the two women's half-burned infant son and left him to a small civilization near the shores precolonial Manila, before proceeding to establish the clan before it was even called 'Illustre'.

Bathala was dead, and the two have already fought (which led to one of Mayari's eyes being blinded) for control before Agwa and Haliya engaged in a desperate battle between eachother. At this point, he wanted nothing more than to follow his late father's ideals and codes (or atleast, Apolaki's view of Bathala's ideals and codes).

He split himself into two, his current form and a female form that resembled Mayari. His female form went on to guise herself as Mayari, successfully forging the myth that Mayari (also called Haliya) vanquished Bakunawa when in reality, Bakunawa was contained in the moon, the glue keeping the entire satellite together, siphoning from the Bakunawan people just to sustain the prison.

At some point in history, Apolaki grew tired and tried to rebel, but his female form, created by his strict values to upkeep order and honor, killed him just to maintain order.

I haven't decided on where Apolaki's spirit roams, or where his female form is currently residing in, but his female form keeps the role as the Illustre clan's patron, Saint Apolaki.

She plays a part in the neglect and unintentional twisting of Apolaki's original ideals.