#i want to hack the algorithm

[whichcouldmeanothing]

Red, White & Royal Blue x The Crown - Crossover Trailer (based on this) (YouTube)

[theythemmer]

princess daniel you will always be so special to me

[momocicerone]

mf I’m about to block this inspirational quotes account on insta cuz everything they say relates to my situation now and it’s pissing me off like yea yea lesson learnt what do you want from me??? you got me I’m boo boo the fool big loser extraordinaire at your service aye can we go home now

[simonxriley]

i was watching a video last night of two cod youtubers who cheat and it got me a lil curious so i watched the video bc one of the people was some i actually watch. they're cheating was fucking reverse boosting 😒.

[theprettynosferatu]

I mean, it can’t hurt, right? Just… as an experiment. Yes, an experiment! I have been practicing a lot lately, after all. If someone had told me how hard it is to actually edge, to reach that perfect point and just… stop, I’m not sure I would have started doing it. But I AM getting better at it! If he could see me it would be sooo… but I’ll have another session soon, and I want to be able to tell him that I’m doing it, I’m following the program, that I’m doing well in therapy for once, that unlike all those other hacks he made me better…

I’m tired, and I know it’s harder for me to hold back when I’m tired… but at the same time I have to be able to control myself. That’s what he said. It’s all about impulse control or something… and if I fail and go over? No, I can’t be too hard on myself. But at the same time he would be disappointed. I don’t want to imagine that. Not that he ever tells me he is disappointed, but I can tell. I could almost imagine him looking so sad the few times I accidentally came… I need to make him proud. I need to train more. Sure, I have to work tomorrow but one edge, just the one…

Fuck, I love social media. It’s like… the algorithm knows how to push me deeper and deeper… and I feel less alone, knowing there are so many people gooning and edging and encouraging one another. To think I was ashamed of the stuff I liked before! Like, admitting that watching a girl being spanked turned me on would get me red like a tomato. Now… a spanking does nothing for me. I need more, and the screen delivers. It’s so fucking good to see so many good girls, drooling and edging like me and writing on their skins what willing fuckholes they are… The words come to me and I’m muttering them… cunt… useless toy… living cumrag… I’m not sure I can stop myself from mumbling anymore. I watch them smile before getting their stupid mouths fucked by a huge cock, shutting them up and turning them into the useful dolls they are…

Jesus! That was close. I didn’t expect to hit the edge so quickly! My pussy must be more sensitive lately. Makes sense. Two weeks without cumming is a long time… but he looked so proud of me last session… no way I can throw that away for a moment of relief. I’m in control. Not my body. Me. 

Okay, I did it. Time to get some much needed rest.

Fuck…

Turning in bed. My cunt is soaked and it’s insistent, demanding. I have to work tomorrow. I can’t… I put my pillow between my legs. I don’t know why I feel like it will calm my pussy down a bit. I’m making no sense. Fuck, thinking that made me wetter. I’m making no sense. I’m dumb. I’m stupid. I’m just a horny bitch in heat…

My hips move on their own. I’m not entirely awake, not entirely asleep. I’m almost… not there. Like I’m just watching my needy body hump the pillow, like I’m merely a passenger and my stupid, horny body is taking over…

No. No. I’m in control. I won’t cum. I won’t…

That was too close. Much too close. But I did it. I stopped right at the edge. I didn’t cum. 

I was a good girl.

Good girls edge. That’s not something the therapist said. At least I don't think so. I saw it online. But he explained edging to me, so he must want me to be a good girl for him, right? No, that’s silly. He’s a professional. He’s teaching me control. I want to learn from him. I want to be a good girl for him. I want him to…  

It’s two in the morning already. Time slipped by like… like it was soaked by my pussy juices. I like that image. My needy cunt is so permanently wet even time gets slick. I might be going crazy. I need to snap back to reality. I need to focus. Tomorrow I have to work, and I’m already going to be running on like, five hours of sleep.

Well, I’m going to be fucked tomorrow either way, right? Not much difference between five hours of sleep and four. And I do have a few audios saved…

One more edge. That’ll be all.

God, I love how audios make me feel. As soon as I put the headphones on and that low, barely audible pulsing sound comes on, I can feel a tingle snake all over my skin. And her voice… It’s so soft, so gentle, so caring… and so desperate at the same time. I don’t know how many times I’ve listened to her, but it always makes me feel… like she’s holding me. Guiding me. Telling me what I am. What I could be. What I should be.

I know I’m saying the words out loud. I couldn’t stop myself from doing it even if I wanted to anymore. The girl in the audio and me, we are one and the same. I can’t tell where the audio ends and my mind begins. Her words are my words. The only part of me that remains is the watchful eye that’s always alert now, always ready to pounce and stop me from going over the edge.

Edging makes me better. Edging makes me sluttier. Edging makes me prettier. Edging makes me more obedient. Edging makes me a slave to my cunt. Edging makes me better. Edging makes me sluttier…

I can feel him railing me in his office. I can taste his cum on my tongue. I can see the pleasure in his eyes, the way it gives me purpose…

Shit! That fantasy almost got me. I can’t be the only one that thinks about their therapist that way, right? No, no judgment. No shame. That’s what he says, so surely he wouldn’t begrudge me a little kinky fantasy starring him… 

I wonder if I should tell him. Fuck, that would be amazing. To look into his eyes and tell him every detail that my mind conjured up, how I want him to take over my mind, to tell me what to think, what to wear… who to be. 

Twenty past four in the morning. Four-twenty. I should sleep, but come on. Timing’s too good. One joint, one more edge, and that will be it. Weed always makes edging better, anyway. I feel so… happy. I don’t have another word for it. Bubbly. Happy. Slutty. Maybe I should make someone else happy like me… 

I should probably buy like, a mask or something, just to be safe. But I don’t have one now and I want them to see all of me… I want every inch of my body to be porn, to make someone happy… It doesn’t matter who. I need to be useful. I go on the website.

I blame the lack of sleep and the weed. I’m not dumb. I’m… it’s just… good girls are porn. Fuck, that feels good to say. I log on and…

There it is. Of course, first try. A stiff cock. I can’t see the owner’s face, and I don’t care to. I vaguely remember a time when I would have felt disgusted. Now I can’t think at all. Mu pussy clenches in anticipation, and my hand rubs it softly, insistently. We share the moment in perfect peace, masturbating as one, both mindless and entranced by our own bodies…

Suddenly, the fear comes. I want to be useful. I want… I need to make that cock cum. That’s my purpose. That’s all I want to be. But what if I can’t? How can I know exactly what kind of slut this cock wants to cum to? What if I’m not… good enough?

Then, the man starts typing and the fear melts away, replaced by a warm blanket of peace. He tells me what to do. Suddenly, I don’t need to try anymore. I don’t need to think. I don’t need to worry. I don’t need to be anything but an extension of that wonderful cock. I don’t think I even read the words in any meaningful way. They bypass my brain and go straight to my body, and obedience is instantaneous. 

I’m on all fours, stretching my buttcheeks apart, struggling to look at the screen. I want to see it. I want to feel worthy. 

I barely catch myself. Seeing it tense up, hearing his moan, seeing his cock shoot cum for me, just for me… it almost makes me break my edge. I feel… proud. I feel perfect, as if I’ve found the exact corner of the universe that exists just for me to occupy, that wonderful purpose… He ends the video chat quickly. Maybe he’s embarrassed. It only shows me the dangers of cumming. Cumming brings bad thoughts. But edging…

Dawn arrives. I’ve been… away. I’ve become whoever, whatever the person on the other side of the screen needs me to be. I’m fuzzy. I know I’ve called someone daddy and begged him to sneak into my room at night… I know one woman made me spank myself with my hairbrush until I cried, and she came to my tears. I think I danced for a group of older men, but I can’t be sure. Maybe I… fell asleep at some point? I don’t know. Nothing feels real. I don’t feel real. I feel like a beautiful fiction. 

The alarm goes off. I should shower. Have a coffee. Go to work. Be a person.

Sure, I’ll do all those things. I just need one more edge to start the day…

Just one more…

I know I’ll have an amazing therapy session in two days.  

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

[seat-safety-switch]

For some reason I can't understand, the local mall still has a travel agent. She seems to be doing pretty well, too, judging from her new Porsche and her exquisite office digs. As you can imagine, this whole thing was confusing to me, because I thought the internet had worked hard to crush all small business proprietors such as herself under an algorithmic boot the size of Topeka. So what was going on here? I had to get to the bottom of it.

As I said, the internet has done a lot to get rid of travel agents. If I wanted to go to Osaka (great food, better Hondas) I could just ask Siri to do it. Ted Siri is the name of the nice person at the library who I tell all my passwords and credit card numbers to, and then he puts them in the computer. That's not his real name, because he tries to keep it safe from "crackers," but I digress. On the internet, the lowest-cost flight is going to take 192 hours and involve my organs getting stolen and sold for Bitcoins, but the second lowest-cost flight is on Air Canada, where the stewardesses spit directly into your mouth when you ask for a drink. Some folks pay extra for that (and you will, too. Spit's not free.)

If the travel agent was still travel agenting, she must be charging an insane amount of money and not getting busted for it. I had to know how this worked, so that I, too, could have my own little mall office that doesn't make any economic sense yet persists until the heat death of the universe. You see, owning a tiny office in a mall was one of my childhood dreams, one that is quickly becoming impossible due to the collapse of malls.

Unfortunately, detective work of this grade doesn't come cheap. For instance, I had to get up and out of the house during the hours that the travel agency was open. Agnes (that's her name, I don't know if I mentioned this earlier?) wouldn't be working at the 11:30-11:45 pm "productivity hour" that I read about in a life hacking magazine. She would be busy doing something that normal people do at this hour, possibly sleeping or barbecuing.

As much as it pained me, I forced my body to get out of bed at around ten in the morning and stumble into Agnes's travel office. It was then that I discovered she wasn't there at all. Inside the space allocated for her travel agency, beyond the pretty ornamentation and fantastic brochures of the waiting room, was a room containing only a crudely-carved set of stairs reaching deep, deep under the mall. It was only then that I remembered that I never saw any customers leaving the travel agency.

Everything worked out in the end, though. She got me a great deal on a flight/hotel package to Osaka, and all it cost me was a little teensy-tiny bite of my liver. Don't even miss it, really, although it was a bit insulting when she started choking, hissing, and screaming while thrashing on the ground, her arms flailing violently against the stone surface of the travel agency's cave.

"What's in this?" she screamed before dissolving into a red mist.

"Rotella," I said after some thought.

[fuckingrecipes]

How does one actually build a useful repository of recipes for different cuisines? Like, I have the Silver Spoon which is a pretty good cross section of Italian cooking. I know more than enough variations of the typical french mother sauces to get the principles without a need for a recipe. I know from various Euro cuisines particular flavors that pair well I could build a dish around (like, I could make a goat cheese and caramelized onion soup without the need of someone telling me a recipe). I don't have any such data sets for other cuisines, and you know the recipe website world is a hell scape.

Tried and true method is: Cook often, try new things, and save it if you like it.

Get a blank notebook (or a 3-ring binder) and collect recipes yourself as you try them. You can write recipes in by hand, or print them off & punch for the 3-ring binder.

Go to restaurants which serve food you want to explore, and take a picture of the food, record the name of it on the menu, and note some of the ingredients that you can identify in it.

If you live in a small town with not many places that serve 'foreign' food nearby, get off google. Use DuckDuckGo or Brave as a search engine. They have very few ads and the search algorithm prefers when you get to the point in your recipe blog, rather than dicking around with your life story.

Do a little tour on your world map. Focus on countries, search for food from that country, then search for specific kinds of food from that country. Search for things like "Authentic Turkish Stewed Chicken" "Traditional Brazillian Goat Recipe" "Hong Kong Street Food Recipe" "Collection of Taiwan Recipes" "25 amazing Korean dishes" "10 best Cajun Soul Food Recipes" "Dominican Republic Cuisine Recipes"

Go watch cooking tiktoks that aren't european-centric; go out of your way to find them.

Go down a list of spices and pick one you've never tried before. Look up where it's traditionally used, and try to find some dishes that use that spice!

Go to your Local Library and dig into their cookbook section. Every library has one! Look for cookbooks focused on cuisines you don't know yet, and try those recipes!

If you're cool spending money on this, go to Half Price Books or other book-reselling stores where you can find cook books at really low prices. Again, explore the cuisines you're not familiar with.

If you have grocery stores for other cultures near you, go into their grocery! Check out what spices have a shitload of different brands on display, and pick one at random. Seek out a recipe that uses that new spice you just bought.

And remember: Write that shit down!

You can always have a little guide at the front or back of your recipe collection that explains different spice blends, or explains key sauces, or anything else!

You can keep a little guide on how roasting spices changes them, and your experiments with that.

You can keep a list of bread recipes, or cooking hacks like how to make really good naan without a woodfire grill.

---

Personally, I'm forgetful. I forget sites exist, forget logins, and lose passwords all the time. I have about a hundred recipe collections across about as many websites, and I know where like, 3 of them are right now. Many of those websites have gone down, and my lists are lost forever.

The book of recipe & food-tips collection I've kept & used the longest - my Food Grimoire - is a physical item that I can misplace in my house but never truly lose. It can't have its server crash or website maintenance suddenly be abandoned and blip out of existence.

[identityarchitect]

If you use the same email for everything, that email and every account associated with it is probably compromised due to this.

wait what? what exactly does this entail?

Recently, the Internet Archive faced a severe security breach that leaked the account info of all of its users.

Longtime security researcher Troy Hunt, who runs the data-breach-notification website Have I Been Pwned (HIBP) also confirmed that the breach is legitimate. He said it occurred in September and that the stolen trove contains 31 million unique email addresses along with usernames, bcrypt password hashes, and other system data.

(via Wired)

What this means is that the email address and password you used for your Internet Archive account is public information. (You can check Have I Been Pwned to see if your info is a part of this breach, but assume that it is.)

Most people use the same password for most things. Let's imagine you have a pretty secure password, like th1sISap@ssw0rd!!. This follows all the contemporary rules for passwords: it has lowercase and uppercase letters, numbers, and symbols, and is decently long. So let's say you use this password for your Internet Archive account, and your email address, but your Discord account has a different password.

Someone can look at your leaked info from the Internet Archive and try your password on your email. Now they have access to your email address. That's a very bad thing, since most services online use your email address to confirm that you're who you say you are. Now they can also access your Discord account by sending a password reset request. And Discord account hacks are actually pretty common. Not via these means, for the record: most Discord account hacks take place over Discord itself, usually as a fake link posing as some "oh no I reported you and now you need to contact staff to undo it" (pro tip, if anyone ever says that, they're lying. Social media staff know what misclicks are and also most social media uses an algorithm anyway).

With your Discord account, they can now pose as you - a known legitimate user, who people will want to trust - to try and scam people. Not great. Also, you probably don't want other people to have access to your account.

So, what should you do about it?

Change your email account password. All of your passwords should be unique to that account, but especially email, since it's the 'hub' of logins and if someone has your email they can just send a forgotten password request.

If you have a phone, you can set up two factor authentification. What this means is that you authenticate that you're the owner of the account via one factor, your password, and then an entirely separate factor, your phone. If someone wants to hack something with 2FA, they first need to figure out your username & password, and then guess your 2FA code. Most 2FA codes reset every 30 seconds, so even with brute forcing it's nearly impossible and not worth it.

Stop using the same password for everything! I understand why people do this & there's no shame in it but the more similar your passwords are, the more at risk you are after pwnage. There are plenty of password managers out there: I personally use Bitwarden. Your browser's native password manager is probably fine, but you've got to start taking its suggestions when it wants you to use an ultra-secure password that you'd never be able to remember. Pro tip: You don't need to remember it. The password manager will remember it for you. Bitwarden has a mobile app if you need to login to stuff on your phone, and it also lets you easily carry passwords between computers.

I'd also recommend going through and seeing if you can delete old accounts for websites you no longer use. Having less accounts reduces your risk of being pwned simply because there's less datasets you're in that could be pwned.

I hope this helps ^^; & keep in mind that being pwned is not the end of the world. Even with your info being out there, someone's still got to choose your account of the 31 million that got breached in the Internet Archive leak. Additionally, your accounts might not even be compromised at all - I'm pretty sure I'm fine even though my email was in the leak, since I have a unique password and 2FA for my email, and unique passwords for all my other accounts too.

[redvexillum]

A/N: I didn't anticipate writing a Vox x Reader story (much less a raunchy, BDSM theme smut). But, I needed to get this idea out of my head so I can focus on my request and my other stories. So, here we are. Also, I've noticed there is a distressingly low number of PURE Vox x Reader stories, so I wanted to contribute to the database.

Though, I apologize if my version of Vox is lacking in any way. I have made many creative liberties with my head canon version of him.

Inspired by this post/conversation with the lovely miss @redfoxwritesstuff

07.09.24 - Now that I know where I'm going with this story, I have changed the title from [Short Fuse] to Signal.

SUMMARY: You royally pissed someone off because you were receiving anonymous hate emails for the past fifteen years. How incredibly petty and...entertaining. At first, you decided to ignore them but as their hate comments got increasingly creative, the more you couldn't help but add oil to the burning, passionate flame of their hatred towards you.

Until one day, the mysterious anonymous hater (probably) accidentally revealed themselves to be the one and only TV demon, an Overlord and CEO of everything technological and modern.

WARNING/TAGS: f!reader, toxic relationship, enemies to f*ck buddies to something indescribable, dom/sub undertone, sub!Vox, dom!reader, reader is a responsible dom, Vox takes a lot of L's but he secretly enjoys it, dual POV, Vox tries to be hip but ends up being a boomer, Reader is sexually liberal and confident, Vox is the brattiest sub you will ever find, kind of fluff if your squint

“Hello, my Sexy Peeps! How are you doing on this hellish day?” A melodious burst of laughter chimed from Vox’s phone. He took a dramatic sip from his coffee, savouring the rich, dark brew, and settled into his plush armchair, preparing to lose himself in her latest video.  

“Today, I thought I’d mix things up a bit due to a very popular request!” She continued and leaned forward in front of the camera, giving Vox a generous view of her cleavage. He approved her outfit choice for today, a tight-fitting cyan blue tank top with a plunging v-neckline.  

But aside from her attire, he was interested by her supposedly “new” content. He didn’t know she took requests from her viewers. Intrigued, he arched an eyebrow, setting his cup down on the side table and leaning his face closer to his phone.  

The newest online sensation on VoxTube was about to begin. This girl had seemingly materialized out of nowhere, drawing tens of thousands of views and subscribers to her channel. Her retention rates were astoundingly high for content so banal and ordinary. Initially, Vox had suspected his network had been hacked.  

He still couldn’t quite grasp how in seven layers of Hell she had managed to manipulate the algorithm with her simple videos. All she did was try the newest foods around the Pentagram and review random merchandise in a phenomenon called “unboxing.” 

His gaze inevitably wandered to the deep trench of cleavage she prominently displayed. He scoffed. He’d seen better. After all, his partner controlled the porn industry in Hell.  

Yet, that didn’t stop him from pausing her video sometimes, openly staring at her chest for a few seconds… or minutes…or maybe he may have saved a couple (several) screenshots of her video and her photos from her Sinstagram account. Perhaps he might have even saved some of her more salacious-looking photos on his internal hard drive for private viewing. 

All for research, of course.  

“Now, I know there’s this series – the longest-running series in all of Hell…” she trailed off, her plump, pretty lips curling into a mischievous smirk.  

Vox straightened in his chair, feeling the first flutter of excitement in his chest. Could it be? Was she going to mention his most prized project, “Yeah, I Fucked Your Sister, So What?!” for free?  

Excitement surged within him, a giddy thrill that this lame, greenhorn, no-name nobody was about to mention his series to her 2.5 million (and growing) viewers.  

“Guys, guys, guys,” she laughed, raising her perfectly manicured hands in the air as if in surrender. “I watched the first season and wow–” 

Vox pressed his thighs together, waiting with bated breath for what he hoped would be a glowing review. Perhaps he should contact her, reach out, sponsor her like all the tiny, insignificant, worthless, businesses were doing.  

“I gotta tell you,” She shrugged, raised her immaculate trimmed brow, and with a hearty guffaw, said, “it’s pretty mid.” 

Disbelief washed over him as he stared at the screen. Instinctively, Vox paused the video, staring at the freeze-frame image of her with a large smile dancing across her lips.  

Mid? Mid? What the fuck did mid even mean? 

Scrutinizing the word in his mind, he thought maybe she had given his series an average score. Average. He could work with average. But judging from the comments filled with those annoying crying laughing emojis and agreement that it was bad, he realized it was another piece of slang from this decade that he somehow missed.  

Power surged through his head as his mind dove into the database, and he opened his trusty Urban Hell Dictionary. 

The definition of Mid was… 

Below average. 

Not good. 

Mediocre.  

Boring.  

“WHHHHAT?” He roared, his voice glitching in between the long-drawn-out word. Springing up from his chair, he picked up his mug before hurling it against the polished floor. It shattered into a cascade of jagged pieces, their sharp lines reminiscent of crooked, mocking smiles. The hot coffee splashed onto the hem of his pants, its sudden heat mirroring the fury rising within him.  

Memories surged through him, back to when he was alive, back when they cancelled him for not being innovative enough, for not being entertaining enough, for being… 

Being…. 

Boring.  

His eyes twitched, electricity crackled and jolted up in arcs across the surface of his head before fizzling out at the points of the antennas from his hat.  

He should kill her. Get Val to make her disappear or force her into working at his porn studio. How dare she call the fruits of his labour…b-bo-… He seethed, unable to even say the damn, blasted word.  

Vox thought of a thousand ways to torment her, relishing the idea of making her cry with her below-average, not good, mediocre, BORING looking face. Anger surged, boiled, in his veins, and he did what he knew was the best course of action when faced with this unprecedented insult.  

After all, with VoxTek, he had an image to keep of being on the side of the lowly Sinners. He chuckled, forced, but chuckled, nonetheless. It would smear his good image to go after some small, nobody of a Sinner. After all, he was an Overlord and the CEO of the largest corporation in all the five fucking points of the Pentagram.  

She was going to get so cancelled.  

That he would make sure of.  

Humming a random, jaunty little tune, you shut off the ring light and closed your laptop. Stretching your back, you sighed in satisfaction as your bones gave a gratifying crack. You giggled at some comments from your review of the popular series, “Yeah, I Fucked Your Sister, So What?!”  

There were passionate defences claiming the series was a work of art, which was far-reaching at best. It was mildly entertaining enough to watch while you painted your nails. Seriously, the show looked like it was produced for the audience in the 1950s.  

You were the first influencer to give a poor rating to the TV series, and being first meant more controversy, more views, and more money from sponsorships as you rose to the trending list once again.  

Damn, gaming the system was the best. Truly, Hell was way behind its time compared to what people did for views back when you were alive.  

Following your routine, you washed away the makeup, changed from your tight-fitting clothes into a loose T-shirt and sweatpants, and laid on your king-sized bed that was far too big for one person. Staring up at the ceiling, you were surrounded by the void of your loneliness.  

You should…go out and fuck someone.  

Preferably, someone related to the entertainment industry. All that juicy gossip about your newest fling always raked in views and clicks.  

But the idea fizzled and died as you thought about having to play the submissive role, feeding their giant egos to compensate for their shit-sized cocks. You considered visiting the BDSM club, but influential people were rarely found out in the open in those shops. There was probably a private club that you weren’t invited to…yet.  

Vain.

Empty.

Nothing.  

It didn’t change much, did it? Whether you were alive or damned.  

Everything about your life was the same.  

Sitting up, you grabbed your phone and started to scroll through Voxazon, frivolously spending thousands of Hell bucks on useless crap.  

Retail therapy.  

The tried-and-true method to stave off depression and apathy.  

You were ready for that dopamine hit as you read through the reviews of the latest dildo models, your lips pulling into a sly smirk at all the new features of VoxTek’s newest sex toy.  

A chime resounded from your phone – a notification from your personal email. Your brows raised as the sender was from anonymous666@hellmail.com 

Confused, you opened the email, wincing at the possibility of infecting your device with a virus. But that thought quickly vanished as you read the email’s content.  

Subject: (no subject)  Dear Bitch,   Retract that fucking review about “Yeah, I Fucked Your Sister, So What?!” from your video today, or you will regret it.   Furthermore, you have a “mid” face, and so are your boobs. Your boobs are super fucking mid. You probably get MORE views if you actually covered your boobs because that’s how MID they are.   And all your videos are MID. Especially the one you posted on July 7, 20XX, where you reviewed the Hellover drink. The one where you wore that shitty neon green tank top, which, by the way, is also fucking MID.   Anyway, this is my FIRST and LAST warning.   Fuck you.   P.S. Seriously. Fuck you.

Your eyes slowly blinked, once, twice, before a hearty, genuine laugh erupted from you. Oh my God. Did this prick actually hack your account to get your personal email to send such a shitty, lame-ass message? 

Breaths coming out in short, uneven huffs, you rolled over on your bed from side to side, clutching your stomach. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes from laughing so hard. You hadn’t laughed this genuinely since you fell to Hell.  

As your eyes traced over the words of their message, you laughed out loud again. It looked like you had a butt-hurt superfan.  

Humming, you rolled over onto your stomach and kicked your feet idly as you stared at the message. “Thanks for the laugh, virgin prick,” you whispered, planting a loud smooch on your cellphone screen. “Annnnd, delete!” Your index finger daintily tapped the trash can icon.  

Now, back to the task at hand. You debated between getting the glittery pink dildo or the two prong dildo. Tilting your head, you decided you deserved a treat, so you ordered both. 

As you were purchasing more random crap, your eyes glazed over, your mind fervently thinking of what to say for your next season review for that TV series. Just then, an annoying ad popped up – of course, from VoxTek – promoting their shitty Cobra vibrator. Seriously, you tried it, and it did nothing for you.  

An idea rapidly formed, growing until you jumped out of bed and ran to your laptop. No one had truly (and honestly) reviewed some of VoxTek’s terrible sex toys yet. In fact, you noticed that every single review for their sex toy line had glowing five-star ratings.  

Now, some of their toys were outstanding, making you come so hard until you were sobbing, soaking your underwear from your release. But that was one out of every five toys you purchased. Like all massive corporations, VoxTek was clearly buying reviews, giving themselves perfect scores.  

Perhaps it was time to change that. 

Your review of the series and the anonymous hate message were soon quickly forgotten. This was your chance to shake things up, to give the unfiltered, raw truth that your viewers craved.  

With a determined glint in your eyes, you started drafting your next video script. This was going to be huge, bigger than Jerry’s dick from last week, that was for sure.  

NEXT ->

💠 MASTERLIST 💠

[suiana]

So I have seen most of your yanderes being males how about a female yandere just for the funni. Like I really just wanna suck some milky tits 🤤

(you can ignore it if you want to)

I love women, reader is kinda dumb but that's ok because reader is based of me when I see a hot woman

yandere! cosplayer x gn reader

"would you like me to do... this instead?"

you blush as she pushes her tits up against your chest. why wouldn't you? you were in an extremely sexual interaction with a super hot girl right now! and she's even dressed up as bayonetta! a character you absolutely love and adore! you'd have to be a saint to not combust on the spot.

plus this cosplayer was one of your favourites, her stunning cosplays whisking you off your feet with every picture she posts. today, you managed to meet her at a convention she's said that she's attending. you managed to find her amidst the crowds and luckily for you, she noticed your prescence.

though it was a little weird that she knew so much about you. I mean, she knew your name, when you'd be visiting, and practically everything about you! it's so weird! because your all of your profiles are on private and you've never talked to her, not even once! but who cares am I right? she's hot so it must just be a coincidence haha!

you had just wanted to get a picture with her, maybe a hug or two. but she had other plans apparently. pulling you aside, dismissing all of her other fans, it was like you were her lover. and weirdly enough, she even encouraged it when others called you her lover. like??? hello??? you two literally just met???

you couldn't understand it. not one bit. but to be honest you didn't mind. she probably has no bad intentions either way so it's alright to just go with what she wants.

though you didn't expect to be rizzed up like this. her gently carressing your face as she whispers about how much she loves you... wait is this a fanfic novel come to life?! your face was burning hot as you stared at the attractive cosplayer with wide eyes.

you couldn't move your body, too confused, horny and attracted to your favourite cosplayer confessing her love for you. wait, she knew you all this time and decided to start cosplaying to get your attention?! she hacked the algorithm to allow her posts to show up on your feed?! what?!

your mind was a mess, but so was the thing between your legs because god damn you did not expect for such a hot and sexy woman to be interested in someone like yourself. I mean, yeah you were hot but still!

meanwhile, the smitten cosplayer silently chuckled as she pinned you against the wall, her alluring eyes staring down at you. you were just so cute! so adorable~ she just couldn't help herself!

"everything I do is for you... I love you~"

she cooed, watching as your face continued to redden in embarrassment. god, she's thankful she found salvation in you. for if she didn't, she would never have experienced the love and joy of loving someone so adorable.

[quinton-reviews]

What advice would you give to someone considering making video essays?

Don't be weighed down by the expectations of others. It seems these days there are now too many people assuming that if you want to make something labeled a "video essay," you have to match a certain style or tone. In many ways, it's overbearing - if you make something that has too many skits, too many jokes, that doesn't have a strong thesis outside of "this thing is bad", people say you're "failing to find a point." But if you put weeks of work into the filmmaking process and you want to call it a documentary, it feels limiting to have people insist that it's just a rant video instead of something more.

In truth, I recommend just trying to make *videos* first and trying to find your voice. No one starts off on YouTube being totally original, but as you learn the craft you will find your own brand and style. I think it is important for smaller creators to experiment, in spite of keyboard warriors being obsessed with the idea of everything under the sun needing to be new.

Starting off, your biggest struggle will be finding contentment in the experience of making videos - finding your closure. If you don't have an audience watching your stuff right away, spending weeks working on a video with 0 views can feel pointless and frustrating. Without finding a resolution for each project, you'll start to wonder why you're doing it.

So instead, find a friend in your personal life who will watch the videos with you. Make content for you and the people you know, and find contentment in that experience. And when you start to grow and gain real followers, pivot your style to match that new status quo.

Creating content for YouTube is a process of throwing things at a wall until something sticks. The big secret is the moment something sticks, you drop everything you're working on and do *that thing* five more times. This helps build trust in the algorithm and helps build your brand to new viewers finding your content. But don't write yourself into a corner - allow yourself to experiment and evolve even as you're finding success. If I didn't do that, I'd still be making drama videos about LeafyisHere. I'd be burnt out, miserable, and bitter. But because I allowed my style to evolve with my own tastes, I now am at the highest point in my career (to the loud annoyance of many people online).

But the biggest advice I can give is that if you think being a YouTuber will solve any issues in your private life, it won't. That's the biggest mistake I made starting out, I thought having this parasocial connection with other creators would fix my loneliness and anxiety. It didn't, in fact, it made things worse; and I am the only person to blame for that. I quickly learned that the most important people in my life still were (and still are) my real-life friends - people I go to bars with IRL and people I chat with on Discord - and not other creators. Sure, having this mindset has made me more isolated in many ways, but honestly I think that's the way it has to be for someone like me.

Final piece of advice - create your YouTube channel with a secret email you never post about online. It makes it much harder to dox and hack you. Peace out!

[spicymotte]

"create content" "pick your niche and take it to a new level" "do market studies" "live and breath trends" "hack the algorithm" "focus on your strategy"

bro I just wanna draw. I just want to make art and share it online so people can go "cool 🤙"

[estavionpira]

Prodecktorate: An Honest Critique

So the Prodecktorate: Slaughterhouse card pack has been out for a couple weeks now, and I wanted to share my thoughts on the current state of the game.

Gameplay:

The gameplay has always been top-of-the-line in its genre. The rock-paper-scissors dynamic between brutes, blasters and breakers is executed really well, and having most thinkers and shakers act as buffing and debuffers was pulled off, which I didn't expect them to pull off when they announced the game. Masters can be really useful and fun to play as when you use them right; stealing enemy cards or getting to draw from the deck for free is great fun, but pretty unbalanced to play against. Tinkers are conceptually great as a jack-of-all-trades class, but their execution is horribly unbalanced. I'll get to that in Meta though. Strangers having massive evasion and giving intel buffs to their team is useful in concept, but they underperform horrifically in gameplay. I feel like an across-the-board stat buff to most stranger cards could help alleviate this, but there'd need to be a proper look-over for the category to properly solve it.

Meta:

By far the biggest issue with the meta is the absolute dominance of Tinkers. It's been a major problem since the game release, but with the release of Prodecktorate: Slaughterhouse adding the ridiculously overpowered Bonesaw and Defiant cards, it's worse now than it's ever been. Tinkers are meant to be jack-of-all-trades cards, but they're far too powerful in far too many categories that there's really no reason to play anyone but tinkers in most of your deck slots. Bonesaw can summon one of either Murder Rat, Pagoda or Hack Job from the reserve pile per turn without costing a deck slot, which is a ridiculously strong major power to start off with, usually master powers either get hero units that cost deck slots or grunt units that don't; getting hero units that don't cost deck slots would make her an S-tier master by herself, but she also comes with pseudo-brute physicals, pseudo-blaster ranged abilities, and a blanket immunity to master powers, which is absolutely bullshit. You're never going to play against a deck without Bonesaw on it. Defiant is almost as bullshit as she is. The nano-thorn ability would make him an S-tier striker by himself, but he also has pseudo-brute physicals, and the combat prediction algorithms passive he has gives him B or A-tier combat thinker abilities. That's not even to mention the ridiculous boost he gets when deployed alongside Dragon (who's broken in her own way, but she's always been broken, so I won't get into it.)

Overall:

The game's really not in a good state right now. It has good fundamentals, but enough categories are broken or unfun to play against that it really draws down the overall experience, not to mention the utter dominance of tinkers severely limiting what can be played outside the most casual of matches. They'll need to take a serious look at the effect of the recent cards when balancing for the upcoming Prodecktorate: Irregulars if they want to get the game out of the slump it's in.

[andmaybegayer]

can you actually talk about bitwarden / password managers, or direct me to a post about them? Idk my (completely uneducated) instinct says that trusting one application with all your passwords is about as bad as having the same password for everything, but clearly that isn’t the case.

So it is true that online password managers present a big juicy target, and if you have very stringent security requirements you'd be better off with an offline password manager that is not exposed to attack.

However, for most people the alternative is "reusing the same password/closely related password patterns for everything", the risk that one random site gets compromised is much higher than the risk that a highly security focussed password provider gets compromised.

Which is not to say it can't happen, LastPass gets hacked alarmingly often, but most online password managers do their due diligence. I am more willing to stash my passwords with 1Password or Bitwarden or Dashlane than I am to go through the rigamarole of self-managing an array of unique passwords across multiple devices.

Bitwarden and other password managers try to store only an encrypted copy of your password vault, and they take steps to ensure you never ever send them your decryption key. When you want a password, you ask them for your vault, you decrypt it with your key, and now you have a local decrypted copy without ever sending your key to anyone. If you make changes, you make them locally and send back an encrypted updated vault.

As a result, someone who hacks Bitwarden should in the absolute worst case get a pile of encrypted vaults, but without each individuals' decryption key those vaults are useless. They'd still have to go around decrypting each vault one by one. Combining a good encryption algorithm, robust salting, and a decent key, you can easily get a vault to "taking the full lifetime of the universe" levels on security against modern cryptographic attacks.

Now there can be issues with this. Auto-fill can be attacked if you go onto a malicious website, poorly coded managers can leak information or accidentally include logging of passwords when they shouldn't, and obviously you don't know that 1Password isn't backdoored by the CIA/Mossad/Vatican. If these are concerns then you shouldn't trust online password managers, and you should use something where you remain in control of your vault and only ever manually handle your password.

Bitwarden is open source and fairly regularly audited, so you can be somewhat assured that they're not compromised. If you are worried about that, you can use something like KeePassXC/GNU Pass/Himitsu/ (which all hand you the vault file and it's your job to keep track of it and keep it safe) or use clever cryptographic methods (like instead of storing a password you use a secret key to encrypt and hash a reproducible code and use that as your password, e.g. my netflix password could be hash(crypt("netflixkalium", MySecretKey)), I know a few people who use that method.

Now with any luck because Apple is pushing for passkeys (which is just a nice name for a family of cryptographic verification systems that includes FIDO2/Webauthn) we can slowly move away from the nightmare that is passwords altogether with some kind of user friendly public key based verification, but it'll be a few years before that takes off. Seriously the real issue with a password is that with normal implementations every time you want to use it you have to send your ultra secret password over the internet to the verifying party.

[dreaming-of-mossballs]

Porridge for— you guessed it— A Bashful Captain (Gepard x florist!reader)

Summary: After hearing the shocking news that Gepard is sick, Serval entrusts you with the task of making sure he doesn’t burn himself out while no one is watching. Good luck with that.

▸ Genre(s): fluff

▸ Word Count: 5k

▸ Tags: Gepard x reader

▸ Warnings: food mentions

A/N: I’ve been struggling to get my posts to show in the tags, so let me know if you want to be taglisted! It’s really demotivating seeing my work get demolished by the algorithm.

MASTERLIST

How nice it was to have a moment of respite after a long and arduous campaign.

At least, that’s what the captain wished he could say.

Every muscle in his body seemed to be screaming at him to stay in bed after he woke up that morning. His throat felt like it had been scraped with steel wool and then some. Plus, his body felt chilled, even after piling far more than the usual number of blankets on his bed.

“Don’t overexert yourself,” Serval had said. Aeons, she was right.

Gepard vaguely registered the fact that this combination of symptoms spelled disaster, but nevertheless, he had to get up. He drew in a deep breath in an attempt to gather the strength to hoist himself out of bed, but the air seemed to have invisible barbed wire that scoured his already painful lungs. He broke into a hacking cough that echoed throughout the estate and immediately sat up to cover his mouth with his elbow.

A knock on the door drew him out of his misgivings.

“Young master Gepard?” A concerned voice— which belonged to one of the maids— called.

Although the captain felt like his stomach was churning like butter, he shifted the blankets aside and treaded towards the door. Even the estate felt dreary that morning as the sunlight reaching through the window was weak and scattered (Due to a thick cloud covering, indicating an impending snowstorm.) The expensive plush carpet on the floor of the room did little to ease his newfound dislike of standing upright.

How silly he felt, a man who trudged through waist-deep snow on the daily, was now reduced to a sniveling mess in his family home. Gepard, still rubbing his nose, opened the wooden door slightly.

The shock on the maid’s face was evident as she caught her first glimpse of him. He really did look worse for wear, his golden hair was unkempt, his complexion was pale, and he had to lean on the doorframe to keep the room from swaying and bending inwards and—

“Um— young master. I heard you coughing,” she blurted out, eyeing his drooping eyelids. “Would you like me to fetch you a glass of water?”

Gepard raised his voice to respond but instead let out a ghastly wheeze followed by coughing that sounded like thunder. He turned his head away so as not to catch her in the blast.

“Y-yes, please,” He resumed looking at her. “That would be much appreciated,”

His voice was uncomfortably hoarse. She glanced up at him. “Would you like it with lemon or without?”

The young man didn’t get a chance to respond. His calloused hand slid down the doorframe, his vision went fuzzy—

—and then everything went dark.

The maid’s shriek echoed off the walls, causing the sparrows that perched on the windowsills to take to the sky.

Her voice turned heads, both maids and butlers alike, all throughout the manor.

(It is said that they still speak about it to this day, much to her chagrin.)

❆ — ❆ — ❆

You were convinced that work was going to give you a heart attack.

With the Solwarm festival upcoming, flower sales practically exploded. Your job as a florist was a source of many joys, but even you had your limits. Your hands were permanently stained with a mix of red and orange from all the Solarflowers you’d been handling. It looked like brilliant flames adorned your arms, but it lost its novelty after you realized you couldn’t wash it off, even with industrial strength soap.

And you had a catch-up with Gepard in three days. Just great.

He’d sent the invitation through a surprise letter a week before he came home. He said he’d be busy for a bit with mission debriefings and yada yada, but he’d like to meet at Serval’s for lunch once he got the chance.

Couldn’t he have just texted me? You snorted when you opened it. Those nobles. (You betted that he’d never gone on a date that was anything other than a fancy matchmaking dinner.)

But then you realized that was dumber than dumb. He wasn’t allowed to have his cell phone on military expeditions. You nearly smacked yourself with the first edition copy of the Gardener’s Almanac in shame.

You cast a mournful, longing glance through the paned glass windows and out at Qlipoth fort. Of course Gepard had ten thousand meetings to attend to after getting home.

A pang of pity reverberated throughout your chest. Didn’t he at least deserve a short break? He was like a herding dog that never got a day off.

You looked up from where your head was resting on the counter, feeling the warmth of a Solarflower bouquet spread across your face almost like a blush. Handing the customer’s change across the counter whilst simultaneously stifling a heartbroken sigh wasn’t much, but it was one of the hardest things you’d done all day.

I am so. Friggin. Tired. You groaned. The overcast weather was really getting to your mood.

A clatter came from the back, which caused you to prick your ears.

“Hey, (Y/N)? The plumbing in the upstairs sink broke. We’re missing the right kind of wrench. Would you mind going out and grabbing it?” Meg spoke.

“Sure,” you perked your eyebrows, eager to escape your thoughts for a split second. “What kind is it?”

Your boss handed you a paper with the details, and you swung your florist’s bag over your shoulder with newfound gusto. A trip to Serval’s workshop was exactly what you needed.

The breeze outside the shop was stagnant. It made you shudder. You couldn’t control the weather, but you could sure as hell skip to the shop to spite the bad hand you’d been dealt recently.

The bronze shop bell dinged to announce your entry. And Serval, the owner of the Neverwinter Workshop, was fast asleep on a pile of papers.

That can’t be comfortable,

“Hey, Serv—,”

She shot up from her desk faster than you could blink.

“Welcome to Neverwinter Workshop! What can I— Oh! (Y/N)! Sorry about that, I just uh… dozed off for a bit,”

You chuckled. “Not a problem. I just came by for an 18x18mm wrench. Would you happen to have one of those?”

Molly, the assistant, peeked her head in from the back. “Only a few hundred of them,”

You stared back, flabbergasted. “Why so many?”

“Miss Serval put an extra zero on the order form,” she said with a shrug.

Serval looked at you sheepishly, her blue eyes filled to the brim with embarrassment. You shot her a glance loaded with concern.

“Have you been getting enough rest?” You inquired.

“Yeah, totally! Well… The band and I have been pretty busy with rehearsal lately. Y’know, with the Solwarm festival coming up and all—,” She waved a hand in the air dismissively. “—anyways, the person who’s case you should REALLY be on is Gepard’s,”

You lifted an eyebrow at her attempt to deflect the blame. “Yeah? And why is that?”

She paused, not paying you the slightest crumb of attention before she let out an planet-shaking yawn.

“Huh? Oh, he’s sick. Real nasty case. He got it from Pela,”

“Jeez. Seriously?” You exclaimed. “That sucks. I hope he gets better soon,”

She blinked slowly and tiredly. “Yeah, yeah. We do too. He actually passed out this morning,”

Your eyes went wide.

“He WHAT???”

“Ah, well, he passed—,”

“Nope, nope, nope. I got it,” you said, rubbing your temples while staring at the floor. “Holy crap. It must be really bad then. Did he have to go to the hospital?”

Serval shook her head. “Nope, thank Qlipoth. Lynx has had to crash here so she doesn’t catch it,”

You glanced around the workshop. “She has? Where is she?”

Your friend pointed at a stack of cardboard boxes stacked beside a shelf.

“Right there,”

And clear as day, you spotted the white tufts of fur from Lynx’s hat sticking out of her sleeping bag.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

“Okay… So, let me get this straight. Gepard returned home and promptly passed out,” You gripped the edge of the reception desk so hard you thought it might splinter. “Is anyone keeping him from going to the meetings or… anything?”

“Well, yeah. He knows well enough not to spread his sickness around. What I can’t say for sure though is that he’s not forcing himself to do paperwork… and stuff,” Serval hummed to herself, sorting through another stack of papers that had been rearranged from her catnap.

You let out a withering sigh. “Someone’s gotta stop him,”

Picking up your phone, you hurriedly dialed his number. After far too many seconds, you flopped helplessly onto the desk. No answer.

“Ugh. Can’t we like… call Dunn or the household or something?” You said weakly.

“I thiiink you may be blowing this one out of proportion,” she grinned, showing her pointy canines. “Why don’t you stop by if you miss him so much? You can knock some sense into him or whatever,”

She smirked as she saw embarrassment seep into your face.

Aha! So you DO miss him,

“Yeah, if warp trotters fly, maybe,” you tried to hide your expression by running a palm over your face. “I can’t just show up unannounced,”

“You sure can! I do it all the time,” she said cheerfully. “Usually when the man of the house isn’t there, though,” A look of distaste flashed in her eyes.

“The head butler has a good memory. He should remember you. Say I sent you—,” she perked up. “Oh! Here, I’ll write you a note,”

The blonde-haired woman yanked open a wooden drawer with an ear-piercing screech and lifted a notepad and pen out from its confines. She scrawled something out quickly.

“This should do,”

You squinted at the note skeptically.

I hereby authorize (Y/N), a friend of Gepard’s, to check up on him and make sure he isn’t working himself to death,

Signed,

Serval

[A strange doodle of a smiling face holding up a peace sign]

“Now go!” She shouted, practically pushing you out the door. “Go, go, go! You got this!”

“What—? Serval, I can’t—,”

“Yes you can! Call me if they don’t let you in. Rock on!”

She dropped you unceremoniously on the stone steps outside and slammed the door.

“Cheers!” Her muffled voice called.

I really should become a matchmaker, she snickered to herself.

You looked at the note once more and wilted.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

Gepard’s residence was… exactly the same all the other times you had gone, maids and all.

It was still plenty overwhelming though. You brushed the wrinkles out of your tunic as you waited for someone to answer the door. It wasted no time swinging open with a force that could’ve flattened someone, had they been standing behind it.

You nearly squawked in fear. Didn’t these people know how to open a door normally?

While gripping your messenger bag, filled with a few things you had brought from home, you requested entry from the broad-shouldered man that answered. You had no trouble keeping your voice steady but your chest felt like it was being crushed under a metal boot as you faced him.

“Ah, yes. Anything for a friend of the young master!” The butler smiled warmly at you. He didn’t show any sign that he had picked up on your nervousness. Hah, you didn’t think you’d ever get over all these pairs of eyes on you each time you came.

But wait— a friend? Hadn’t you told them each and every visit that you were a gardener he hired?

You bit the edge of your lip but kept your mouth shut.

He motioned you inside. “He’s been resting. Please, let us walk you up!”

You kept your eyes trained on the velvet carpet draped on the stairs as you followed him up. The floorboards squeaked softly under your soles.

When you got upstairs, the curly-haired man stopped in front of a particular door. “Just go on in,” he instructed.

You thanked him and rapped on the door lightly.

“Gepard?”

He looked up from his paperwork hurriedly from where it was bent over the desk to the source of your voice.

“It’s me. Serval sent me over to check if you were doing alright,” you said, leaning your head closer to the wood.

Gepard’s brows knitted together.

If she really wanted to, she could have busted my door down like last time.

He switched off the lamp and got out of his chair.

You heard a croak that sounded like “coming” and winced away from the door. Eek. He must be in really bad shape.

The door opened, causing a breeze to hit your face. After not seeing his face for a month, this wasn’t how you expected your first meeting to go.

By Qlipoth’s grace—, you clapped your hand over your mouth to prevent yourself from saying it out loud.

Gepard’s hair was messy and his cheeks were crimson. Locks of his golden hair covered his eyes, which were puffy and red. Better yet, he was wearing a matching set of blue and white striped pajamas. You nearly gawked. At least he wasn’t wearing his uniform if he wasn’t working.

He took in a quick breath to greet you but a harsh bout of coughing cut him off. Turning away from the door, he hacked into his elbow and tried to shut it.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you wedged your buckled boot into the space between the door and the frame. That swift action shocked him out of his coughing fit.

“A-apologies, I wasn’t expecting a visit. Please step away before I give you my illness,”

“Oh! That’s why you shut the door,” Your mouth went wide. “I thought you knew the real reason why I came!”

His eyes went wide as you used your forearm to force the door open wider, a vaguely threatening gesture.

What real reason?

“Forget what I just said,” you grinned while sauntering into the room. “Anyways, my immune system is great! I used to eat dirt when food was scarce in the Underworld. It’ll take a lot more than a cold to kill me,”

“Oh my. Is— is that so?” Gepard cleared his throat, forming a fist over his mouth. He followed a few steps behind you as you went about the room.

“Yessir. I came to say hi! Nothing more. Definitely not,” You chirped, looking around his quarters (not at all suspiciously, by the way.) “How are you feeling?”

Wait, didn’t you say Serval—?

He didn’t get to finish that thought.

“Well— all right, I suppose. A little lightheaded and feverish,” his eyes trailed your form moving about. “I took some medicine earlier, and my condition has improved some. Nothing a little rest won’t fix,”

You nodded, not sparing him a glance. “Yes. Rest. Glad to see we’re on the same page here, Gepard. Hey— you moved your bamboo plant in here!” You spotted a joyful little green plant in a pot on top of his desk.

He gave you a puzzled look. Your behavior was…strange, to say the least.

“Ah, yes. I moved it because—,”

—it reminded me of you, he narrowly stopped himself from saying.

“—I read that bamboo didn’t need as much light as I was giving it, so, I figured it would be fine if I transferred it,”

You bent your knees a little to take a closer look at it. “I see. The soil looks nice. Mind if I turn on the light to take a closer look?”

“Be my guest,”

You rotated the little key that controlled the lamplight. It flicked on, spreading a warm glow onto the books and papers on the desk. A glint reflected off a dollop of ink resting on a half-written paper.

You froze. That ink is fresh.

Bristling indignantly, you whisked your head towards him. He picked up the change in mood immediately and blanched.

“I thought you said you’d been resting,” you narrowed your eyes at him.

“I have,” He paused, confused. “Well—,”

“AHA!” You shouted. “I gotcha! This ink is fresh, Captain. Don’t think you can fool me,” You said triumphantly, placing your hands on your hips.

“Serval— she did send you, didn’t she?!” He sputtered. The usual stoic captain was nowhere to be seen as he rubbed the back of his neck in shame.

“Yes. She did. But also I would’ve come either way to make sure you weren’t wearing yourself out,” you snorted playfully. “She said it was highly likely you were doing paperwork. And paperwork IS. NOT. REST.” You shook a finger at him accusingly.

Gepard flinched slightly. “I’m not exerting myself physically, so there’s no need to worry, (Y/N). Really,”

The air around you seemed to grow dark. You cracked your knuckles, staring him straight in the face.

“Sit down. Now,”

He obliged, choosing to plunk down on his bed.

“I know it feels like you’re wasting time doing nothing, but your mind needs to recover too,” you shook your head disapprovingly while giving him an exaggerated sigh. “You should know that,”

You pulled up a chair in front of him and took a seat, facing the window so he was looking at your side profile.

“I don’t care if you’re the most capable man on Jarilo-VI—,”

—and it was pretty likely that he was,

“You need time to rest, just like everyone else,” you lectured, opening one eye to peer at him teasingly.

“Right,” Gepard replied, defeated. He had nothing against you.

“Did you even wear the scarf I gave you out there?”

“I did, but I didn’t want to dirty it,” he replied. You gave him a snort, which quickly turned into laughter.

“Aww. That’s thoughtful of you,” you flashed him a smile. “I made it knowing I might have to make you another one though. Or three. Just let me know if it gets too damaged to wear, okay?”

Gepard looked down at his striped pajama pants, a small smile crossing his features. “Thank you. I appreciate it,”

His chest almost hurt with all the things he wanted to say trying to fight their way out.

“No problem. If anything, you deserve it,” you sang. “On the other hand, have you eaten anything today?”

“I haven’t,” he rested his head on his chin. “I don’t seem to have an appetite, unfortunately,”

“I see. You should get something in ya though. Natasha told me your body could use the energy,” you stated knowledgeably.

He tried in vain to stamp down the feelings in his chest that sprouted from seeing your concerned expression.

For him. You cared about him.

Aeons, he didn’t deserve this.

“You can ask the cooks to make you some porridge or something,” you suggested. “I have some instant stuff, but it might not be to your liking,”

“I’m sure yours will be fine,” he rebutted quickly. “I’d be happy to eat it,”

You looked at him disbelievingly. I’ve never seen someone so determined to eat instant porridge,

His face stayed just how it was, his eyebrows weighing heavily on his eyes, just like twin anvils.

“Yeah, ok,” you let up. “Do you have a kettle or anything close by?”

“I believe there is one in the kitchen that they use for tea. You can ask the maids to retrieve it for you,” he motioned to the left.

You shook your head and got up. What use was it to call a maid for a trip that merely entailed going up and down the stairs? (Well, there were a stupid number of stairs, but that’s a whole other issue).

Kettle, bowl, spoon, and cloth napkin in hand, you bolted back upstairs to your patient. You plugged the kettle in and set it down on a towel so the heat didn’t damage the furniture.

Tapping your feet while you waited for the kettle to boil, you took a quick glance around the room. It told you a lot you needed to know about Gepard.

Firstly, he was relatively neat. Of course the areas of high traffic, like the bookshelves and the desk, were messier, but they hadn’t more than a few specks of dust on them. His uniform was hanging off of a dark oak armoire, and his military medals were pinned on a cork board attached to its door.

Secondly, there were quite a few pictures hanging on the walls. There were a few of him at awards ceremonies, at various ages. And one of him as a cadet— and wow— he was pretty short back then. He stood almost a whole head shorter than the other guards. You almost squealed with delight.

You turned back to him, noticing his eyes were glued to where you were staring. Oops.

You hurriedly apologized for staring so conspicuously at the photographs, but he shook his head at the statement. Photos were meant to be looked at, after all.

This quickly led to a slew of questions he wasn’t expecting, such as “How old were you when you joined the Guards?” And “Did Serval ever threaten to bench press you?”.

He almost laughed at that one. Probably. His nose wrinkled a little. Or whatever. You figured he’d finally laugh for real once the moons collided with Jarilo-VI.

The kettle began to whistle.

“Ah, water’s boiling,” you said, turning towards the outlet where it was plugged in.

Gepard had since settled down in bed, pulling the covers over his waist. You poured the piping hot water into the bowl carefully, the steam forming curls in the air, and covered it with a lid.

After a few minutes had passed, you set the bowl on a library book from your bag (Eek. Bad idea.) as a makeshift tray and stuck a spoon in it.

“Voilà. Enjoy!” You flung your arms in the air ostentatiously as he looked onward.

Gepard took a spoonful and blew on it gingerly. You watched him with an expectant look on your face. Although whether you were expecting something good or bad, you didn’t quite know.

He lifted it to his mouth and you zeroed in on him even harder.

“It’s delicious,” he said with conviction, meeting your eyes. You squinted at him.

“Um. Gepard, I think the fever is messing with your brain. Are you sure you can taste right now?”

“I’m sure,” he responded.

“No way!” You exclaimed, slapping your forehead. “Let me try— actually, wait. That’s a bad idea,” you sighed. “I’ll just have to believe you,”

The captain nodded affirmatively. He brought another spoonful up to his mouth and relished it, feeling the warmth spread across his tongue. You swore as you watched him savor it contentedly that you’d buy some on your way home to try for yourself.

While Gepard polished off the contents of his bowl, you yammered on about various events that had happened in Belobog while he was away. You had been saving them for when you got together for real, but you figured now was just as good a time as any.

Once he had finished, he rested the spoon on the side of the ceramic bowl.

“Thank you for coming to visit me, (Y/N),” he said gently.

“Someone had to,” you laughed while kicking your feet up. “When I heard you’d been bumbling about all day, I nearly had a heart attack!”

He ran a palm over his face, closing his blue eyes. “Yes— and I’m sorry for that,”

“I didn’t want to believe her, but you guys both have a tendency to push yourself way too hard, you know?”

“By her, you mean Serval?”

You pursed your lips at him.

“That’s how the Landaus are,” he exhaled heavily, letting out a small cough he quickly covered. “It’s… our duty to bring glory to our name, after all,”

You folded your arms. “Maybe by fighting valiantly or repairing automatons, but crawling through paperwork?? I don’t think so. Secretaries that want to help you are a dime a dozen. It’s a lot easier than risking your life in the Snow Plains,” you chortled.

“You’ve probably filled your glory quota for the next two centuries, Gepard,” you glowed. “Bronya and Pela know just how hard you work. You can always ask for help,”

Gepard sighed again. (He did that a lot.) You made a good point.

“I’m sure I’ll recover in no time, thanks to all of you,” he said sincerely. You imitated the sound of an explosion while opening your fist.

“Boom. Magic porridge,”

To your surprise, this elicited a short chuff from Gepard; This caused your breath to get lost somewhere in your throat.

It felt strange seeing him so unguarded in his bedroom with his hair unkempt, in contrast to the well-polished emblem of strength shown on the recruitment posters everywhere in the Administrative District.

You folded your hands over your lap contentedly, silently thanking Serval for clueing you in today. Out of the blue, Gepard spoke up.

“When I recover, would you like to go to the Belobog History and Culture Museum with me?”

That startled you. “Really? I have been wanting to go,” you gnawed on your thumbnail hesitantly. “But are you sure? With all the stuff you have on your plate?”

“Positively,” he replied, his blue eyes capturing all of your attention. You quickly averted your eyes before your circuits overheated. “Volunteers can bring in one guest for free. I… know we haven’t had too many chances to spend time together because we’re both busy, but I figured I’d make an offer anyhow,”

You didn’t catch the last half of that sentence over the sound of a train whistling in your ears.

This should be illegal.

Is he even hearing himself right now?? To— to spend time together?? If I wasn’t super-duper ultra perceptive, I’d think he—,

You clamped your hands on your cheeks (internally, of course) to still yourself, while the rest of you stared straight ahead.

Oh dear,

“Sure!” You blurted out, stiff as a statue.

Smooth, (Y/N).

Fortunately for you, an alert from your phone jostled you out of your internal minefield. You flipped it open while trying to expel far too many thoughts from your mind at once.

It was Serval. You popped into your messages app to see what she had sent— and in true Serval fashion— she had sent the most mind-boggling, disorienting message possible.

From: Serval at 13:44

S: how’s he doing? did u get there alright?

S: ahh you’re probably busy.

S: tuck him in for me, will u?

You nearly spit out your drink. Gepard blinked at you.

You— you can’t just SAY something like that, you cried internally. Not when my feelings are all messed up! I should get out of here before this gets any worse,

“Is something the matter?”

You sighed, long and heavy. “There’s always something, isn’t there?”

He made no move to make any inquiries.

“Anywho, I guess I should take my leave now,” you spoke, reaching down to pick up your messenger bag off the floor and rising from your seat. “before I keep you up any longer. Take it easy, okay?”

“Ah— yes,” he replied, not letting the disappointment leak into his voice. He wondered about the sudden change in mood, but he didn’t want to pry if it would cause you discomfort.

“I’ll… keep that in mind,”

You smiled warmly at him.

“Good,”

❆ — ❆ — ❆

Even though you had left with the reasoning that you didn’t want to keep him awake, Gepard was anything but tired.

His strict internal clock as a soldier was probably to blame. A sigh echoed throughout the room. It was way too quiet now. And the velvet curtains absorbed any sound too weak to escape them.

He had to do something to keep his mind active. Maybe reading, perhaps? But the only books he had on his bookshelf were on war strategy and history. Both of which were related to his job.

How about drawing?

Now, that didn’t sound too bad.

He got out of bed and picked up a pencil, a spare piece of paper, and the floriography manual you lent him, off of his desk to use as a hard surface. As he settled into his mattress, he peered out the window one last time. He spotted a familiar green beret against the tan limestone bouncing way faster than necessary down the steps leading to the plaza.

A chuckle escaped his lips.

Well, time to get started,

❆ — ❆ — ❆

You sat in the break room of the florist’s, reading the latest edition of Automatons Weekly while waiting patiently for the porridge you had bought from the grocers to finish absorbing the water.

Vaska sat across from you, drinking floral tea while flipping through Tales 2. You’d prepared a bowl of porridge for her as well, just a different flavor. Hers had flecks of green and black in it, and it smelled quite good. Rather savory, in your opinion. The one you had gotten Gepard was the plain kind.

They had a surprising amount of flavors of porridge specifically at the grocers, like cinnamon, coconut, banana, whatever. It was honestly overwhelming. The fact they spent so much time curating the porridge aisle was weird, considering they didn’t have anything worth buying from the Underworld. But nonetheless.

After lifting the lids and seeing that the grains were sufficiently cooked, you both dipped your spoons in and shoveled them in your mouth.

“Blech!” Vaska said, coughing her mouthful into a napkin. “It tastes like soap,” You looked at her wordlessly as you swallowed yours.

You pondered for a moment.

“You know… I think I’ve had dirt more flavorful,” you said, bursting into loud laughter. “And how exactly do you know what soap tastes like?”

Vaska gave you a look loaded with venom.

“Whatever. You up for some cookies?” You shrugged.

She snickered, cracking open the door to the sweets cabinet in response, and fished out a jar of Meg’s famous chocolate brownie cookies.

Well, so much for that plan.

2024 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

💙 THANKS FOR READINF I LOVE YOU 💙

[thdorkmagnet]

Avenging the Baby Brother (Turtle Tots: Before the Rise)

@flufftober 2024 Day 3- Getting Revenge

Chapter Summary: Some poor unsuspecting scammers learn not to mess with Donnie’s little brother.

Duo: PB&J/ Smarts and Crafts

A/N: This one is actually another alt prompt for the 'make it fluffy challange'. And of course, Donnie was the first person to come to mind for a chapter about revenge, hehe

Also please note that I know nothing about hacking or coding and any efforts to try and educate myself on the subject just leaves me more confused so if I got anything wrong, then sorry. I really tried haha.

Disclaimer: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles belongs to Andy Suriano, Ant Ward, and Nickelodeon. All rights belong to them.

“It's here! It's here!” came Mikey's excited squeal from downstairs, audible even over the heavy thrum of electronic music in Donnie's headphones. He was content to ignore the yells of his younger brother- as it was really nothing new- until he heard his name called. “Donnie! Donnie it's here! Come see!”

“Sigh,” Donnie moaned, pulling the headphones off and reluctantly rising from his desk. He had been knee deep in algorithms for over an hour and had really wanted to finish up before getting torn away by one of his dumb brothers’ antics. But such was the life of a misunderstood genius, he supposed. 

Oh how he wished for soundproof walls. 

Donnie mentally added that to the project list and, with one last longing look back at the half-finished code, headed downstairs to find out what all the fuss was about. 

…

That fuss was apparently a cardboard box which Mikey was happily brandishing around the Lair when Donnie arrived. Of course, naturally it was what was in the box that was the source of Mikey’s excitement but Donnie was still feeling a bit bitter about the whole ‘interruption’ thing. “Dee, Dee, look! My new toy came in!” Mikey squealed, practically vibrating with excitement. 

Donnie offered him a small smile, saying simply, “Yes, so I see.” 

“What is it, Mikey?” Leo asked as he and Raph crowded around their little brother. They both looked immensely curious and even Donnie had to admit he was getting a bit invested now. 

Mikey beamed back at them, setting the package down on the floor. “It’s a Stella Snail plushie! Y’know from Space Friends?” 

Ah,Space Friends. Yes Donnie was quite acquainted with the show at this point. It was Mikey's favorite non-Lou Jitsu/Jupiter Jim show and he'd been obsessing over it for months now; humming the theme song constantly, forcing Donnie and the others to binge watch it with him, incorporating it into every game they played, and practically memorizing every line of dialogue from all three seasons.

And Stella Snail happened to be Mikey’s absolute favorite character. 

“That’s great, Mikester,” Leo encouraged, lightly bumping shoulders with his little bro. But Donnie had a small concern. 

“Isn’t Space Friends merchandise quite rare?” Donnie asked, narrowing his eyes at the box Mikey was trying to tear into. 

“Um, yeah, but I found a website selling it,” Mikey explained quickly, tongue sticking out as he tried to peel off a strip of tape. 

Donnie’s breath caught. “What kind of website?” 

Mikey shrugged, focus entirely on his prize and not his big brother. Raph stepped in to help rip the last of the tape off, leaving the little box turtle bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“Um, Raphael, maybe you shouldn’t-” But Donnie’s voice went entirely unheard as the box was finally pulled open and Mikey shrieked in joy, reaching inside to pull out-

The doll in Mikey’s hands hardly resembled the character it was based off of, ragged and cheap and clearly thrown together with little care or attention. The stitching was atrocious, one of the eyes had fallen off in transport (or perhaps never been there at all) and the loose pieces of fabric hardly came together to form a coherent whole. It looked about as knock-off as knock-offs could get. 

And when Mikey’s bright shining face turned to a sad frown it made Donnie’s blood boil. 

“....What?” Mikey said in a small voice and both Raph and Leo grimaced at the sound. Donnie just clenched his fists and glared at the offensive thing in his baby brother’s hands. 

Mikey turned to his brothers with tearful eyes and said, “Why- Why doesn’t it look l-like Stella?” His lip wobbled and it made the blue and red turtles snap into action. 

“Oh I’m sure they just sent you the wrong thing by mistake,” Raph said in his panicked voice.

“Yeah. This is probably just some dumb April Fools joke,” Leo soothed and Donnie held back the urge to mention it was summer. The slider wrapped an arm around his little brother and discretely snatched the doll away from him, examining it with a lopsided smile. “I mean look at this thing! It looks so wrong it's almost funny!” He wiggled it a bit in Mikey’s face, making goofy noises with the motion and the youngest's sniffles turned into reluctant giggles.

“I'm sure they'll send you the real thing soon,” Raph encouraged, patting his head reassuringly. 

Mikey’s sad face pinched with hope. “R-Really?”

“Yes,” Donnie spoke up now, drawing the attention onto him and he did his best to not look violently angry, clenching his hands so tight at his sides they hurt. “I'll do some research and find out what went wrong. I'm certain I can help speed things along for you, Angelo.” 

Mikey smiled again, bright and happy, before launching himself across the room to hug his big brother. Arms and legs wrapped around him, forcing Donnie to readjust his weight so they didn't topple over. Mikey just buried his face in Donnie's plastron, clinging to him like a koala on a tree. “Thank you Donnie, you’re the best!”

Donnie smiled, giving his baby brother an affectionate pat on and head. “I know,” he said, soft. 

“Hey Mikester!” Leo called across the room, dropping the toy unceremoniously back into its box. “I don't know about you but I think I'm in the mood for a Smiling Friends marathon!” 

“Yeah!” Mikey shouted, hopping off his brother and making a beeline for the TV room. Leo was fast on his heels, giggling the whole way. 

“Raph too!” the snapper added, running after the pair.

Donnie watched them go then slunk back to his lab to start researching, scowling angrily the whole way there. 

It didn't take much scrolling to find what he was looking for, a very sketchy website promising “quality products from all your favorite franchises”. Scoff! Clicking onto the home page, Donnie’s nose wrinkled as he took in the truly horrific web design on display. 

The background was an unrelenting neon blue, the bright pop of color hurting Donnie’s eyes and giving him a headache. The text was all written in either impossible to read cursive or bland comic sans. Some entire sentences overlapped and any text meant to accompany photos was bleeding into the picture itself, making it near impossible to tell what it even said. 

But the worst of all was the actual ‘merchandise’ on display, the images clearly either photoshopped or stolen. Donnie even found one that still had a watermark for a different company in the corner. How lazy could they be?!

It quickly became clear who the targets were for this frankly pathetic scam, either grandparents who didn't know better or naive, gullible little kids too trusting to see the metaphorical writing on the metaphorical wall. Like his baby brother. Who was pure and sweet and believed anything anyone told him. 

Donnie could feel his anger rising more and more as he scrolled- practically snarling at his computer screen- but his blood boiled when he came across the fake Stella itself. Because the picture looked like the real deal- like ‘practically stepped out of the show itself’ real- and the description had enticing buzz words like “official”, “limited time” and “rare” so it was no wonder Mikey had bought it. Any of his dumdum brothers would have, despite how incredibly overpriced it was. Because of course it was! 

These scammers, while clearly amateur- one look at their web design and that was apparent- had created quite an effective scheme, robbing poor young kids who didn’t know any better. It was almost cartoonish in how evil it was. 

But lucky for them, Donnie was about to give them a lesson in morality. 

By hacking them. 

Which was painfully easy to do, since their encryption system was complete garbage like the rest of the website. Honestly it was like they wanted to be hacked. It took Donnie less than ten minutes to gain full access to their servers, giving him free reign to cause whatever havoc here he wanted, grinning wickedly to himself. “Relishing chuckle,” he muttered, tapping his fingers together like a supervillain. 

He had plans for revenge and oh, was he gonna enjoy exacting it. 

First things first, Donnie started compiling data, storing it away for later use. He quickly found names behind the shady site as well as personal information for blackmail. And sweetest of all, the company used for the actual production of the toys were notorious for bootlegs. And he just gained full access to their system. If he played his cards right Donnie could effectively kill two birds with one stone here, which made him snicker. 

After some more digging and data mining, Donnie hit the jackpot, the bank account linked to the website. This, this was going to hit them where it really hurt. Where it mattered. 

Donnie drained the account dry, leaving the scammers with nothing but bankruptcy to their names, transferring the dirty money into his dad's checking. 

It was a good thing his father was napping right now otherwise he would probably die of a heart attack to see half a million dollars in his name. 

With the important stuff out of the way, Donnie focused on the more petty part of his revenge, giving the website a full makeover. Starting by changing the hideous background color to a much more satisfying purple, mostly so his eyes wouldn't bleed from staring at the screen too long. Then he got to work swapping out the fake and/or stolen pictures with images that more accurately represented their counterparts. Other small changes were made here and there as he went, Donnie snickering quite a bit to himself at the new tagline heading the page. “Scams'R’Us. Fools’R’U.” He felt particularly proud of that line. 

Finally, he installed a virus to cause a server-wide crash that should keep anyone still trying to get on the website from actually purchasing anything, even knowing exactly what they were getting into. People were gullible that way. 

All in all the changes ended up an improvement over the original- the web page both factually correct and aesthetically pleasing, which were both a mission success in Donnie’s books. Honestly, he should be paid for the services he just provided these amateurs, even if those services did include upending their entire business and dragging their names through the mud. 

At least his webpage didn’t look like the failing grade of a high school web design class. 

Donnie sat back in his chair, arms folded and smile smug, admiring his handiwork. Yes, his revenge really had come together quite nicely if he did say so himself. That would teach them to mess with his little brother and make him cry! 

A shiver of wicked satisfaction crawled up Donnie’s spine and another evil laugh passed his lips, taking a moment to really soak in his victory. 

Once he got his fill, he opened up a new tab and ran a web search. He had more important things to do right now than just gloat. 

He still owed Angelo a new stuffy, after all. 

…

A week later Donnie was once again drawn out of his lab by excited shouting from his baby brother. But this time the softshell gave no token protest, instead smiling and shoving his chair back to stand. He’d been waiting on pins and needles all day for the package to arrive, the independent artist he’d commissioned assuring him it would be delivered on time. They certainly worked fast, much faster than Donnie had expected, and he might have worried they’d ripped him off the same as the scammers had Mikey if not for the extensive research he’d done before ever hiring them. But their credentials matched up and their quality had been backed by multiple sources so it was a safe bet going in. 

The rest of the money he’d redistributed to the victims of the scam, though the temptation to keep it for his ‘uranium fund’ had been hard to fight. Ultimately though it was better to ditch the evidence before his dad or Raph caught wind of what he’d been up to. Because they would definitely have words with him if they knew.

The package had already been ripped apart when Donnie made it downstairs, Mikey spotting him and holding the toy aloft as if it were a trophy. “Donnie! Donnie! It came! You were right! It looks just like the real thing, see!” He held it out for Donnie to inspect and...  yes, the craftsmanship was fantastic. Professional. Not a seam out of place. 

Donnie nodded, saying in a clipped tone, “It does seem up to standards now.”

“Can you tell them I said thanks.” Mikey squeezed the toy tight to his shell, smile brighter than a thousand burning suns, making Donnie feel all warm and squishy on the inside. 

“I will.” He offered a much duller smile in return but his baby brother didn't seem to mind, hugging him tight around the middle, burying his face into Donnie’s plastron and nuzzling. Donnie gave him a pat on the head because he was bad at physical affection. 

“Just please check with me next time you make any purchases like this again,” Donnie said, careful of his wording here. “So I can, ahem, oversee production to avoid this incident in the future.”

Mikey didn't seem to notice the lie, just nodding into Donnie’s chest. “Okay,” he replied sweetly. It made Donnie feel warm with pride. 

He squeezed just a bit tighter before adding, “Thanks for helping me get Stella, Donnie.” And when Mikey looked up at him with that adorable, doe eyed smile, it made every part of him surge with love and protective energy. 

By now the data Donnie had collected would be uploaded onto every social media site across the world, effectively stomping out the last dying flickers of the scammer’s reputation once and for all. But for Mikey, Donnie would do so much more- so much worse- to protect his sweet smile and make sure it was never taken away. 

“Anything for you, Mikey,” he said, voice soft, finally applying his own pressure to the hug, holding his little brother close to his heart.

Donnie would burn the world down for his baby brother. 

But for now, he'd settle for making him feel loved. 

A/N: Remember kids, revenge is never okay. Unless the person you are getting revenge on deserves it and then it's fine.

Haha, I just really love Donnie going all supervillain unhinged on his brother's behalf. It's sweet! Plus, having the big brothers spoil the youngest is like one of my favorite things to write on here.