#encrypted-cryptid

[bluntforcefem]

aaaaand pyrrhic with characters of choice

won at too great a cost

when they'd been shown to the cabin the first time, their bag and the minotaur horn had been in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a handful of others. it was fine, for a moment, but then declan was suffocating, and something about the look on their face must've screamed please don't make me do this today because negotiation for a spot against the wall goes quicker than they thought it would. they wrap the blanket around their shoulders and huddle against the wood, staring at a spot that's been painted and re-painted so many times that the chips are coming off in every color they can think of.

"hey," someone says, a little like they're trying to coax some scared animal. declan turns their head to stare, and staring back at them is a kid their age with bright green hair and darker brown roots, smile pulling at the scars covering half his face. "hi, yeah, you. declan, right?"

"yeah," declan answers quietly. they try for a smile and regret the effort immediately - it comes out wobbly and makes their eyes water, and they duck their head away again, blinking. "hi. sorry."

"'s whatever. 10 throws me at all the traumatized new kids, i'm used to it." that startles a giggle out of them, and he grins, all cat-who-caught-the-canary. "and now you know why. 'm echo."

"does that work on- everybody?"

"about fifty-fifty. you care if i sit?" he's already settling next to them on the sleeping bag as they nod, tugging at the blanket until they acquiesce and pull themself away from the wall. his eyes catch on the horn, tucked against their chest, and they instinctively clutch it closer. "don't worry. if i wanted to steal it, you wouldn't notice."

declan's nose scrunches, and they move it between their thigh and the wall, where they can feel every groove of the keratin, the jagged-sharp edge where it broke off. echo snorts. "they left it out- in the open in the thief cabin," they mutter, "i don't know why 'm bothering. i don't want it, anyway."

"if you say so," echo hums, disbelief evident. they look back at the wall and he sighs, poking at their shoulder until they stop. "nobody's gonna try n' take it for a while if they know what's good for 'em, trust me. you've got me, you've got 10, and 'm pretty sure rassel's been stalking you from across camp so if anybody's got dibs it's them. you won it, fair and square."

"i don't-" their voice breaks, and they bare their teeth at him, fists clenching. "my fucking dad died- and all i got was some- some credit to pass around a summer camp? i don't want it. i don't care what happens to it, i don't care-" what happens to me- "the minute i see the- i'm gonna kill them."

echo blinks, slowly. stays silent.

"i'm gonna kill them," declan repeats, miserable and tired and angry, angry like they've never been before. "whoever- whoever- i dunno. i dunno." there's bile at the back of their throat, and the longer echo looks at them the worse they feel, guilt at snapping closing up their throat. "sorry. sorry. that- 's not your fault."

"you should keep that anger." a note of approval marks echo's voice, even his expression sharpens. like there's respect, there. "camp's easier that way. and- if you find them? we'll help."

they don't know what to say to that. so they nod, again, and lean away from the wall, resting their shoulder against his. he doesn't move away - just reaches over to grab the horn and set it in his lap, instead.

the gesture almost makes them smile.

[skitter-kitter]

fake fic title - gravedirt grows flowers just as well

Lear has already had the surgery once, back when he was a child who foolishly loved his father. Now, he is nineteen and responsible for an island full of people. He has a pokémon who adores him and two loyal retainers by his side. The three of them have always supported him throughout his entire life, except—

Recently, he’s been coughing up yellow carnations.

Someone he loves is disappointed in him.

There were only three people in the world he still had the ability to love. One of them didn’t love him anymore.

Or: Lear gets Hanahaki during the PML.

Fake Title and Summary Asks

[kobold-wyx]

the only safe way to deliver a secure message is to let a monster eat it

or, as i like to call it

in cryptid communications

[tesl8n]

Cryptography monster fucker call that "in cryptid".

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio Nobody Knows AU DP x DC Part 4

Part 3

(Tim POV! This is a long one 😅)

 Tim almost has it. He's so close to cracking this file he can fucking taste it. He's been fighting this thing for two weeks. It's the most incomprehensible and infuriating code he's ever faced off against, which is fitting considering who gave it to them.

The engineer. THEIR engineer. The engineer they didn't ask for and Tim still isn't sure how they got, and the single biggest mystery in Tim's fucking life right now.

See, a significant amount of Bat gadgets at this point are Tim's brainchildren. He imagines them, he designs them, he workshops and tests them.

A few months ago, he'd had a pouch on his utility belt full of experimental pellets meant for slowing down fleeing vehicles. They were designed to break when run over and the compound inside would expand into durable, sticky foam that would ensnare tires.

He'd tested them in the cave.

He had not been prepared to take one hit to that side and have to frantically divest himself of that pouch before he became Gotham's latest foam based cryptid. 

His family had laughed themselves silly at him even as he broke off in pursuit of the drug runners he'd been fighting.

When Tim had doubled back expecting a mess to clean up and pellets to rework? It had been gone. All of it. The foam, the pellets, the pouch of his utility belt.

A serious problem, because who knows who got their hands on that?

Then it had shown back up.

That is to say, Gordon had called them because he found a pouch with a note labeled ‘for Red Robin’ sitting on the stand of the Bat Signal and didn't dare touch it.

After making sure it wasn't a bomb or some kind of biological weapon, Tim had opened the pouch - his own belt pouch - and found pellets. New pellets. Different pellets.

The note just read, “As funny as that was to watch, I fixed them for you. No more premature sploogage on the job. :3 P.S. here's a recipe for solution to dissolve future intentional discharges.”

They'd been right, too. The new pellets were tested (in case THEY were a bomb or biological weapon) and they'd been just strong enough to safely transport but still break when under the pressure of tires. Even the foam was more effective, and the spray Tim synthesized from that stupid recipe had worked like a dream.

What. The fuck.

This person not only improved his design and came up with a dissolution agent from scratch in days, they'd been watching without him knowing and made off with the original pellets without anyone noticing.

This was either a rogue in the making or someone they wanted on their side, and either way they needed to be found.

So Tim had done the obvious.

He'd put together a lockbox of money for the product they'd been given, loaded it with no less than ten (10) bat trackers and a note thanking their mysterious benefactor and requesting to meet up. He'd exploded a foam pellet on a rooftop and left the box on it in the hopes they'd notice and find it, then hung around far enough to not be seen and close enough to beat feet as soon as the trackers started moving. 

They did not start moving. They all went offline simultaneously. 

Tim has never moved so fast in his life, and yet by the time he got to the rooftop there was a pile of foam and nothing else. Not even a trace of whoever took the lockbox.

The next day, there was a ping of one (1) tracker that led them to a note thanking him for the money, refusing to meet, and asking if they'd considered certain improvements to their grapples with schematics for said designs.

Thus started the most bizarre and infuriating chase through notes, money, helpful designs and disappearing trackers Tim has ever been a part of.

Last time, the engineer had left them a USB stick and a note claiming that since they really wanted to know about him so bad, they could have the information on the USB if they could crack the encryption on the zip file inside.

Obviously they screened heavily for viruses or backdoors, but long story short Tim has been trying to crack the fucking thing for two weeks and refuses to let Oracle help. It's personal. It's a matter of pride. 

He could swear the code itself has actively been sabotaging his attempts to hack it, which is, you know. Impossible. 

Ping!

Tim blinks, looking over at the map on another monitor of the Bat computer. 

“Motherfucker-”

He taps into Duke’s comms. This is the first time this has ever happened during the day shift, he wasn't expecting it.

“Signal! I need you on the roof of the warehouse on the corner of Fifth and Everest - a tracker just came online.”

Another thing that infuriates Tim. You can't just turn Bat trackers on and off. They're activated, and then they either stay active or they're destroyed. They can't be turned off and then reactivated.

And fucking yet.

Duke groans, but his own tracker starts making its way in that direction.

“Dude. He's gonna be long gone by the time I get there. He always is.”

“He can't run from me forever,” Tim insists. “I'm almost in this damn file, and I am going to find him and dangle him off a roof from his ankles for giving us this runaround, so help me God.”

“Uh huh,” Duke deadpans. “Sure you are. I'm almost there, and- oh look! A note. What a surprise!”

Tim hears Duke touch down on the rooftop, eyes on the code on his screen while his brother clears his throat and reads aloud.

“Ahem- ‘Good morning, sunshine!’ - guess that's me - ‘I hear some bats and birds have been murdering tires at an alarming rate with the way they drive their bikes-’”

Tim freezes. He's not listening anymore.

“Signal.”

“‘- and that just can't be good for business. Nobody wants a bald tire ruining a chase. So boy do I have the thing for you-”

“Signal!”

“What?”

“I got it.”

“Huh? Got what?”

“I cracked his file. I got it.”

Tim is staring, wide eyed and full of a mixture of elation and trepidation at the contents of the zip file. It's a single text file titled, ‘Wow! You did it!’

“Oh, shit? Well? What's in it?”

Tim swallows, mouse hovering over the file. He takes a deep breath, then double clicks.

The file opens.

Tim blinks.

“Red Robin? What's in it?”

Tim scrolls slowly down, disbelief and horror dawning across his face. “Oh my God.”

“What? Come on, man, talk to me.”

Tim scrolls further.

“Oh. My God.”

“Red? Red Robin, you're scaring me, man.”

Tim puts his face in his hands. Voice muffled, he responds.

“Duke.”

“...Red? You okay?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It's the entire Bee Movie script.”

Silence reigns for a solid five seconds before Duke breaks and descends into raucous, hysterical laughter.

Even muffled by his own hands, Tim's scream of rage scares the bats in the cave into a tizzy.

Part 5

Masterpost

[somerandomcryptid]

Hey ok so for my Adventures in Esempi au, would anyone be interested if I put in some encrypted text? Nothing too fancy because I've never done stuff like that before but just some pretty basic cyphers and stuff.

I want to do it mostly cause I think it would be fun and also I think it makes sense in universe. But mostly it would be for fun xD

But I also don't want to put in stuff no one wants to solve

and since this is AiE related... @calamari-minecraft-corner

[stormbreaker-290]

current malware x static ship names I have come up with

Mic static (classic Mal)

Star static (Hyades)

Hidden static (encrypt)

That's all I can think of

(alts for Encrypt)

Code static

Cryptic static (could also be used for cryptid/ monster Mal)

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SP LENDID

[jumezart]

This attack is getting its own post because sorry to everyone else but its my fave. u.u

Oh the joy of finding an OC with the same name as yours* (*my Airon also belongs to @oakwyrm)

Other Airon belongs to @encrypted-cryptid

[socksoinabox]

More artfight attacks!

Oc- Zel the Demon: @sege-h

Oc- Noite: @funtergeist

Oc- Harley: @encrypted-cryptid

Oc- Fropple: @/roshidreyar (instagram)

[alchemisland]

Fallout

Roll up a piff, boy

Boot up that game toy

Shining my pip boy 

Primm sheriff lost boys.

Landscape palimpsest of extinct styles, bandos where radroaches hide

Ghoul’s rusted lancet breaches my cardoor breastplate, there will be Fallout from this

Last night for supper had scorpion, half-diced a man’s daughter hungry radscorpions

Primm properly like something from a book about prospectors panning for gold

Gold’s old, new currency how cold you’ll go, how quick you’ll do a man for a good turn when he turns

When a trader comes to you flaunting the bag his brahmin copping bullets, tags and a body bag

My sack sags with caps, 

Agape I preach but no treaty’ll stay my breaching, my upreaching

Stealing from the brotherhood, my power armour the grand drama of my bare audacity

I plug the sentries, crunch doors with semtex, load up fast’n’flee.

Hazmat suit got a rip in it

It Van Winkles open, RIP enscripted

Stat check on a terminal that’s encrypted, a crypt of cryptids control of the sentries such advantage would gift us

Pureheads call the third one Van Buren

I’m not one to RP, fast cycling dialogue trees, not in any way shape or form a purist

Hardliners call me a tourist, n00bper mutant

I’m here to see what haunts the empty silos, great graves for ICBMs

Which flew like witches with wet lips from sustained posterior kissing before the End

I’m here for insane prototypes, nauseating new phenotypes

Genetically created cenobites, cultic brute nu-Aztec tribes.

Powder gangers haunt its reaches

Gates formerly part of some larger structure pray deathclaws won’t breach it

Mentat munchers made momentary hierophants, no cap I found caps in a super mutant flesh sack

Settlements squeezed for protection, be a shame if anything happened

Caesar’s legion a band of sandalled leeches 

Teachers features creatures peaches mad preachers

Night desert’s winter, under thick layers the tramp wrapped like a coaxial

Rumours from the north of birds, twice a Thunderbird, a quetzalcoatl 

Its lair in layers of squalor, unswallowed bones 

Every door is a window into a Cazadore hive.

[uglydragons]

i have returned with another dragon that i just remembered this morning is a bit interesting; Encrypted! she’s a lil’ cyborg cryptid weirdo (affectionate)

fun fact; it actually took me a while to come up with a name for her and her current name came from a friend of mine, Waes!

(if anyone wants to see what she looks like under all that; her eyes are lightning common and her colors and genes are wisteria iridescent/eldritch alloy/ivory crackle)

[bluntforcefem]

hi you already know. 9. pressing their face into the others neck, hiding from the world with dec and echo

the aftermath goes a little like this: declan sees echo sitting in the grass, hair loose and the pink faded from their outfit, and he very nearly trips and eats dirt in his scramble to get to them. "e-e-ch-o," he warbles, far from coherent through the wailing static, then he's throwing himself down onto their lap and holding on as tight as he can without hurting them.

"dec- god, dec, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, hey, hey-" echo wraps their arms around him, hand reaching for his hair and then aborting the motion to trace little circles along his spine instead. "you- you found me, you got it, we're- we're okay-"

their voice cracks. that's all it takes for declan to start bawling, record scratching as speech cuts completely, all his i'm sorrys and i love yous stuck being conveyed by the way his fingers scramble for purchase in the back of echo's shirt. he hears echo choke on a cry of their own and tries to lean back, only for them to pull him right back close.

declan, through blurry tears, can see the small drops of dried blood along the side of echo's neck where his claws had broke skin. they've already closed up enough to not need scabs, but it makes him want to file his claws right down to the skin anyway. he presses his forehead into the skin—if the blood flakes off onto him, that's only repayment for how badly dec must be ruining echo's clothes with 5's—and squeezes his eyes shut.

neither of them say anything for a long, long while. until both of them are cried out, guilt-ridden feelings scooped out with a tear-shaped spoon. when they do, it's quiet. agreement to go inside. they don't let go, hands locked together tight as ribbon. when declan stumbles at the doorway, abruptly and horribly scared and feeling horrible that he does, echo squeezes his hand and looks at him, clear green.

he makes it through the threshold.

[sqwishywrites34]

Petition to make Mr Banana from Miraculous Ladybug into a cryptid.

He’s just around every day and no one knows his true face, if he even has one. No one knows who, or what, is under that bright yellow, always smiling, never changing, face.

He knows the unseen horrors of the world, yet he does not speak them. He likely knows the secret identities of Paris’ beloved heroes, yet he stays quiet.

He knows.

No one knows what he knows.

But he knows.

And he will never speak the horrors he has witnessed or the deep, unfathomable secrets he has been unwittingly privy to.

He watches.

And he knows.

And after years of his tormenting silence, keeping the depths of knowledge that no human could possibly comprehend, the only thing he has and will ever speak, in his near perfect copy of a human voice,

“Stay Peachy!”

What does he mean?

What hidden knowledge has he encrypted into his words, his very voice?

What horrors and unfathomable knowledge lies behind those glassy eyes, never blinking, never moving, yet all-seeing?

What unseen, incomprehensible, eldritch horror is hidden behind that wide, too wide, too friendly, just too welcoming, never changing grin?

What secrets does he keep? And for how long? How long has Mr Banana been here? No one knows. If you ask, they’ll say he’s always been here, bringing joy to anyone who sees him. How old is Mr Banana? Where did he come from? Where will he return to?

Will he return to the ash and dust of the Earth once We are all Gone?

Will he ever return anywhere?

Does he have anything to return to? Or has he simply existed since the dawn of everything? Will he be here to see it all crumble? Will he bring the end? Will he be here after we have all met our inevitable demise?

Or is he protecting us? From the horrors he has been witness to?

Is he, alone, preventing our annihilation?

Will he protect us from The End?

Would we simply crumble without his Guardianship?

Should we have faced our demise already?

Is he the one who prevented this?

Is he Still preventing this?

Is he the only thing standing in the way of meeting our eternal fate?

That, dear Readers, is a question we should not ponder too long, should the conclusion be unfavorable. Or Worse. Incomprehensible.

We should simply appreciate this protection we have from facing the inevitable eternity which awaits us.

And with that, dear Readers, I bid you adieu, and a, hopefully, restful night.

Goodnight, dear Readers, Goodnight.

[fandomhop]

@encrypted-cryptid

you just got press crow'd. reblog to instantly press crow your friends

[000life-is-meaningless000]

about going to get my fucking Tumblr account terminated because they argued on the on the fact that racism has been the true definition of it's been corrupted.

understanding nature doesn't make you fucking racist, and if it does the nature is racist or it's natural to be racist.

when you make the definition of racism oppressing people because of because of accurate stereotypes of a certain demographic people from understanding that nature of a certain type of people is real me doesn't exist when you make the difference in racism and you change it to gaslighting people anyone that fights that gaslighting get the front end of the Beast of Wrath, they don't be surprised when a lot of people fight you on your on the altered bullshit definition of racism.

is everything now is racism I kept wondering why so much shit got called racism why politics keep you or politicians keep using racism for fucking everything, how everything is racism and everyone is racist and science or races and God is racist and everything but African Americans in some way somehow races even though the definition includes them with it. they're humans are not gods and goddesses.

so because the definition of racism got so big and so fast and it's inaccurate or it is accurate and it's no longer relevant, being scientific about nature and DNA is now racism, which means that scientists are probably never be able to make that missing link between apes and humans because otherwise that will be racism.

if scientists prove that human beings evolved from apes and apes have specific fucking natures that are characteristics in nature which is also defined as fucking racism

if scientists found the missing link between primates and humans that would mean that Missing Link proof would be racist, and because of the intense anger and insanity and rage and just Ultra strong emotions around racism it's no scientists in their right mind will come out and prove that the missing link to apes and man are real they won't come out cuz if they say that human beings and here's the proof that would mean that primate nature is instilled in humans which is a fucking characteristic and a trait, also qualities.

that means that we know how to abolish science knowledge of DNA knowledge of biology knowledge of all these things because of someone fucked up the language and made it as vague and vast as possible saying that now nature itself is racism and any knowledge you have on any people or biology or creature in the universe now makes you a fucking racist ?

it only gets worse because now the definition of racism is got to be the easy easily the most evil definition there is.

because the definition of now I'm fucking raises them means we're not even allowed to fucking say aliens or alien or have distinct characteristics or traits because that would make you racist you're no longer allowed to say reptilians are anyway evil or nasty or dangerous because that would be fucking racist ?

that means that you also are not allowed to talk about fucking deities because saying that certain deities are evil because deities are aliens and aliens are racist I mean talk about aliens it's racist.

this fucking definition is just pure evil, it's just it's an Apocalyptic Word !

This is fucking horrible this word is evil this word Came From Hell !

now any nature or any knowledge we have on nature creatures entities even ethereal beings is now going to be based off fucking races all our knowledge about the gin and demons and angels can all be counted as cryptids encrypted are a fucking different race

which would mean any knowledge we have on aliens with they are all races and that would be racist ?

motherfuckers don't think, Wilbur came up with the idea of weaponizing the word racism had no idea the endless domino effect they're going to fucking create me probably didn't give a shit.

😡

! ! ! FUCK ! ! !

[damnghouligans]

Too many people were having fun with their gravity falls OCs without MEEEE so I made one.

Her name’s Veronica Gutierrez and she’s from the year 2047. She’s a data analyst and computer engineer. Also one of like 10 people in a small team, within a bigger nationwide team, working on experimental tech between Ball and Boeing deep in the Humboldt woods.

She was SUPPOSED to be working on machinery that was being used to better understand quantum entanglement and its effects on spacetime (using what she’s pretty sure were parts of an alien spacecraft but, to be honest, she wasn’t being paid enough to ask that). Unfortunately, things went wrong. Very very wrong.

Basically her job was to help figure out if portals were a viable method of transportation and, while trying to repair the stupid robot dog they were using for remote testing, was accidentally transported across space and time into the icy Oregon pacific….. right in front of the Stan-o-War II. Now she’s gotta figure out how in the hell she’s getting home. All while avoiding federal agents, the time police, learning about the anomalies of the falls, and unraveling the conspiracy that lead to her job in the first place. At least she landed in great hands!

She’s 52

She’s in love with British synth pop, both the 80s and resurgence in the 2030s

You can and WILL catch her at the goth club and emo nites (theyre more tame in 2047 now that everyone is in their 60s and 70s)

She’s got a bunch of stories about Wendy’s fave bands, but isn’t sure what’s happened already or not. Wendy treats her knowledge as sacred.

Since she speaks Spanish, abuela, soos, and melody immediately like her.

McGucket is VERY MUCH her lifeline since all of the tech in 2012 feels like playing with dialup again, both in good and bad ways

She’s really into vintage tech, especially the almighty coaxial cable.

Shes a DIY king

Her fave cryptid is the borrego springs sandman, for hometown pride reasons

All of her journals consist of beat to shit composition notebooks, which she’s suddenly really grateful for since her 2040s tech is USELESS here. Plus she can’t influence the timeline so she can’t even talk about it much…… did I mention she really loves mcgucket?? Only guy that speaks her language.

She really loves kids, so she entertains the younger pines pretty much whenever she can. They’re a great distraction to the whole “being thrown out of space and time” thing.

She and Stan enjoy old romance novels and argue about the best couples. This is a sworn secret between the two of them, per stans request. So much so she refuses to encrypt her thoughts with ford, or anyone else, present. Ford already knows about the book club. He doesn’t argue.

She and Ford mostly keep it professional at first but she gets his sense of humor and they confess to embarrassing weirdness they’ve told no one but their own journals before (like ford regularly drinking human blood for a month and liking it because he thought he was turning into a vampire thanks to being bitten by a fruit bat. Or Vero trying to convince her middle school crush to convert her to the legions of the undead because she fell for a convoluted vampire hoax).

They become close friends and confidantes after this, but Mabel is determined for more!!