#algorithm for them to memorize | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months ago

Text

Pluralistic is five

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in SEATTLE TONIGHT (Feb 19) for with DAN SAVAGE, and in TORONTO on SUNDAY (Feb 23) at Another Story Books. More tour dates here.

Five years and two weeks ago, I parted ways with Boing Boing, a website I co-own and wrote for virtually every day for 19 years ago. Two weeks later – five years ago from today – I started my own blog, Pluralistic, which is, therefore, half a decade old, as of today.

I've written an annual rumination on this most years since.

Here's the fourth anniversary post (on blogging as a way to organize thoughts for big, ambitious, synthetic works):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

The third (on writing without analytics):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/drei-drei-drei/#now-we-are-three

The second (on "post own site, share everywhere," AKA "POSSE"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/19/now-we-are-two/#two-much-posse

I wasn't sure what I would write about today, but I figured it out yesterday, in the car, driving to my book-launch event with Wil Wheaton at LA's Diesel Books (tonight's event is in Seattle, with Dan Savage):

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/cory-doctorow-with-dan-savage-picks-and-shovels-a-martin-hench-novel-tickets-1106741957989

I was listening to the always excellent Know Your Enemy podcast, where the hosts were interviewing Chris Hayes:

https://know-your-enemy-1682b684.simplecast.com/episodes/pay-attention-w-chris-hayes-OA3C8ZMp

The occasion was the publication of Hayes's new book, The Sirens' Call, about the way technology interacts with our attention:

https://sirenscallbook.com

The interview was fascinating, and steered clear of moral panic about computers rotting our brains (shades of Socrates' possibly apocryphal statements that reading, rather than memorizing, was destroying young peoples' critical faculties). Instead, Hayes talked about how empty it feels to read an algorithmic feed, how our attention gets caught up by it, sometimes for longer than we planned, and then afterward, we feel like our attention and time were poorly spent. He talked about how reflective experiences – like reading a book with his kid before school – are shattered by pocket-buzzes as news articles came in. And he talked about how satisfying it was to pay protracted attention to something important, and how hard that was.

Listening to Hayes's description, I realized two things: first, he was absolutely right, those are terrible things; and second, I barely experience them (though, when I do, it makes me feel awful). Both of these are intimately bound up with my blogging and social media habits.

15 years ago, I published "Writing in the Age of Distraction," an article about preserving your attention in a digital world so you could get writing done. We live in a very different world, but the advice still holds up:

https://www.locusmag.com/Features/2009/01/cory-doctorow-writing-in-age-of.html

In particular, I advised readers to turn off all their alerts. This is something I've done since before the smartphone era, tracking down the preferences that kept programs like AIM, Apple Mail and Google Reader from popping up an alert when a new item appeared. This is absolutely fundamental and should be non-negotiable. When I heard Hayes describe how his phone buzzes in his pocket whenever there is breaking news, I was actually shocked. Do people really allow their devices to interrupt them on a random reinforcement schedule? I mean, no wonder the internet makes people go crazy. I'm not a big believer in BF Skinner, but I think it's well established that any stimulus that occurs at random intervals is impossible to get used to, and shocks you anew every time it recurs.

Rather than letting myself get pocket-buzzed by the news, I have an RSS reader. You should use an RSS reader, seriously:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

I periodically check in with my reader to see what stories have been posted. The experience of choosing to look at the news is profoundly different from having the news blasted at you. I still don't always choose wisely – I'm as guilty of scrolling my phone when I could be doing something more ultimately satisfying as anyone else – but the affect of being in charge of when and how I consume current events is the opposite of the feeling of being at the beck-and-call of any fool headline writer who hits "publish."

This is even more important in the age of smartphones. Whenever you install an app, turn off its notifications. If you forget and an app pushes you an update ("Hi, this is the app you used to pay your parking meter that one time! We're having a 2% off sale on parking spots in a different city from the one you're in now and we wanted to make sure you stopped whatever you were doing and found out about it RIGHT NOW!") then turn off notifications for that app. Consider deleting it. Your phone should buzz when you're expecting a call, or an important message.

Note I said important message. I also turn off notifications for most of the apps I use that have a direct-messaging function. I check in with my group chats periodically, but I never get interrupted by friends across town or across the world posting photos of lunch or kvetching about the guy who farted next to them on the subway. I look at those chats when I'm taking a break, not when I'm trying to get stuff done. It's really nice to stay on top of your friends' lives without feeling low-grade resentment for how they interrupted your creative fog with a ganked Tiktok video of a zoomer making fun of a boomer for getting mad at a millennial for quoting Osama bin Laden. There's times when it makes sense to turn on group-chat notifications – like when you're on a group outing and trying to locate one another – but the rest of the time, turn it off.

Now, there are people I need to hear from urgently, who do get to buzz my pockets when something important comes up – people I'm working on a project with, say, or my wife and kid. But I also have all those people trained to send me emails unless it's urgent. You know the norm we have about calling someone out of the blue being kind of gross and rude? That's how you should feel about making someone's pocket buzz, unless it's important. Send those people emails.

I visit my email in between other tasks and clear out my inbox. If that sounds impossible, I have some suggestions for how to manage it:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2010/dec/21/keeping-email-address-secret-spambots

Tldr? Get you some mail rules:

add everyone you correspond with to an address book called "people I know"

filter emails from anyone in the "people I know" address book into a high priority inbox, which you just treat as your regular inbox

look at the unfiltered inbox (full of people you've never corresponded with) every day or two and reply to messages that need replying (and those people will thereafter be filtered into the "people I know" inbox)

filter any message containing the world "unsubscribe" into a folder called "mailing lists"

if you're subscribed to mailing lists that you feel you can't leave because it would be impolite, filter them into a folder called "mailing lists" unless the message contains your name (so you can reply promptly if someone mentions you on the list)

The point here is to manage your attention. You decide when you want to get non-urgent communications, and mail-app automation automatically flags the stuff that you are most likely to want to see. For extra credit: adopt a "suspense file" that lets you manage other peoples' emails to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo

Now, let's talk about algorithmic feeds. Lots of phosphors have been spilled on this subject, and critics of The Algorithm have an unfortunately propensity to buy into the self aggrandizement of soi-dissant evil sorcerer tech bros who claim they can "hack your dopamine loops" by programming an algorithmic feed. I think this is bullshit. Mind-control rays are nonsense, whether they are being promoted by Rasputin or a repentant Prodigal Tech Bro:

https://conversationalist.org/2020/03/05/the-prodigal-techbro/

But I hate algorithmic feeds. To explain why, I should explain how much I love non-algorithmic feeds. I follow a lot of people on several social media services, and I almost never feel the need to look at trending topics, suggested posts, or anything resembling the "For You" feed. Sure, there's times when I want to turn on the ole social TV and see what's on – the digital equivalent of leaving the TV on in a hotel room while I unpack and iron my suit – but those times are rare.

Mostly what I get is a feed of the things that my friends think are noteworthy enough to share. Some of that stuff is "OC" (material they've posted themselves), but the majority of it is stuff they're boosting from the feeds of their friends. Now, I say friend but I don't know the majority of the people I follow. I have a parasocial relationship (these get an undeserved bad rap) with them.

We're "friends" in the sense that I think they have interesting taste. There's people I've followed for more than a decade without exchanging a single explicit communication. I think they're cool, and I repost the cool stuff they post, so the people who follow me can see it. Reposting is a way of collaborating with other people who've opted into sharing their attention-management with you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/27/probably/

Reposting with a comment? Even better – you're telling people why to pay attention to that thing, or, more importantly, why they can safely ignore it if it's not their thing (what Bruce Sterling memorably calls an "attention conservation notice"). This is why Mastodon's decision not to implement quote-tweeting (over a misplaced squeamishness about "dunk culture") was such a catastrophic own-goal. If you're building a social network without an algorithmic suggestion feed (yay), you absolutely can't afford to block a feature that lets people annotate the material they boost into other people's timelines:

https://fediversereport.com/fediverse-report-104/

Remember how I said the affect of going to read the news is totally different (and infinitely superior) to the affect of having the news pushed to you? Same goes for the difference between getting a feed of things boosted and written by people you've chosen to follow, and getting a feed of things chosen by an algorithm. This is for reasons far more profound than the mere fact that algorithms use poor signals to choose those posts (e.g. "do a lot of people seem to be arguing about this post?").

For me, the problem with algorithmic feeds is the same as the problem with AI art. The point of art is to communicate something, and art consists of thousands of micro-decisions made by someone intending to communicate something, which gives it a richness and a texture that can make art arresting and profound. Prompting an AI to draw you a picture consists of just a few decisions, orders of magnitude fewer communicative acts than are embodied in a human-drawn illustration, even if you refine the image through many subsequent prompts. What you get is something "soulless" – a thing that seems to involve many decisions, but almost all of them were made by a machine that had no communicative intent.

This is the definition of "uncanniness," which is "the seeming of intention without intending anything." Most of the "meaning" in an AI illustration is "meaning that does not stem from organizing intention":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

The same is true of an algorithmic feed. When someone you follow – a person – posts or boosts something into their feed, there is a human intention. It is a communicative act. It can be very communicative, even if it's just a boost, provided the person adds some context with their own commentary or quoting. It can be just a little communicative, too – a momentary thumbpress on the boost button. But either way, to read a feed populated by people, rather than machines, is to be showered with the communicative intent of people whom you have chosen to hear from. Perhaps you chose unwisely and followed someone whose communications are banal or offensive or repetitious. Unfollow them.

Most importantly, follow the people who are followed by the people you follow. If someone whose taste you like pleases or interests you time and again by promoting something by a stranger to your attention, then bring that stranger closer by making them someone you follow, too. Do this, again and again, and build a constellation of people who make you smile or make you think. Just the act of boosting and virtually handling the things those people make and boost gets that stuff into your skin and your thoughts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/31/divination/

This is the good kind of filter bubble – the bubble of "people who interest me." I'm not saying that it's a sin to read an algorithmic feed, but relying on algorithmic feeds is a recipe for feeling empty, and regretful of your misspent attention. This is true even when the algorithm is good at its job, as with Tiktok, whose whole appeal is to take your hands off the wheel and give total control over to the autopilot. Even when an algorithm makes many good guesses about what you'll like, seeing something you like isn't as nice, as pleasing, as useful, as seeing that same thing as the result of someone else's intention.

And, of course, once you let the app drive, you become a soft target for the cupidity and deceptions of the app's makers. Tiktok, for example, uses its "heating tool" to selectively boost things into your feed – not because they think you'll like it, but because they want to trick the person whose content they're boosting into thinking that Tiktok is a good place to distribute their work through:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

The value of an algorithmic feed – of an intermediated feed – is to help you build your disintermediated, human feed. Find people you like through the algorithm, follow them, then stop letting the algorithm drive.

And the human feed you consume is input for the human feed you create, the stream of communicative acts you commit in order to say to the world, "This is what feels good to spend my attention on. If this makes you feel good, too, then please follow me, and you will sit downstream of my communicative acts, as I sit downstream of the communicative acts of so many others."

The more communicative the feeds you emit are, the more reward you will reap. First, because interrogating your own attention – "why was this thing interesting?" – is a clarifying and mnemonic act, that lets you get more back from the attention you pay. And second, because the more you communicate about those attentive insights, the more people you will find who are truly Your People, a community that goes beyond "I follow this stranger" and gets into the realm of "this stranger and I are on the same side in a world of great peril and worry":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Which brings me back to this blog and my fifth bloggaversary. Because a blog is a feed, but one that is far heavier on communications than a stream of boosted posts. Five years into this iteration of my blogging life (and 24 years into my blogging life overall), blogging remains one of the most powerful, clarifying and uplifting parts of my day.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/19/gimme-five/#jeffty

#pluralistic

241 notes · View notes

theeartuaist · 12 days ago

Text

The App

It started with the app.

You never downloaded it. You never saw it download. It just appeared on your phone one grey Tuesday afternoon nestled between your weather app and your calendar like it had always belonged there. It wasn't sleek or modern but oddly anachronistic, with an interface that reminded you of Windows 95 and an icon that seemed to shift slightly when you weren't looking directly at it.

"TrueMate" it was called, in soft pink font, glowing gently, innocuous. You told yourself it must’ve come from an ad you accidentally clicked. Maybe during that 3 a.m. scroll through horror subreddits or that article on cursed love letters.

You should have deleted it immediately. Instead, you shrugged. Curiosity is always the first thread pulled. You opened it. You swiped once and that was all it took.

"Match found," the screen declared without requiring a profile, photo, or even your name.

Just one match: Raye.

Just Raye, no last name, new to the area. Picture: pale skin, high cheekbones, lips too red, eyes too dark. His profile picture had an uncanny quality to it, as if several photographs had been mercilessly stitched together by an algorithm with unusual ideas about human faces.

Then, a message pinged from Raye:

Hello. I would like to meet you.

Yoy should have closed the app. Instead, you found yourself typing back:

That's a bit forward. You don't even know me.

I know you are the one I want to meet. Tomorrow? Coffee? I have researched the proper courtship ritual. I will arrive with flowers. You will be impressed.

The oddness of his phrasing made you smile. A foreigner, perhaps, or someone on the spectrum with an endearing directness?

He picked the café. It was one of those cosy tucked-away places with mismatched mugs and a chalkboard menu filled with ironic puns.

Raye greeted you the next day. You weren’t catfished at least - he was tall and almost aggressively ordinary, with a face you'd forget while still looking at it. His suit was impeccable but somehow wrong—like it had been chosen by carefully studying magazine ads without understanding context. He clutched a bouquet of flowers that still had the price tag attached.

"These are for you," he announced at a volume slightly too loud for the quiet café. "I have purchased the traditional courtship flora."

You accepted them with murmured thanks, noticing how his fingers seemed to bend at odd angles when he released the stems.

"I have secured beverages and circular sweet bread items. Please sit so we may progress to the next stage," he said, watching you with unblinking eyes.

You chatted. It was normal. Almost. Raye had opinions about everything that seemed quoted directly from somewhere else—movie reviews, political commentaries, song lyrics—all delivered with the same intense sincerity. He laughed exactly three seconds after you made jokes, his head tilting at precisely the same angle each time. When he reached for his coffee, his movements were fluid but somehow rehearsed, as if he'd practised in front of a mirror.

"Your species fascinates me," he said after you mentioned your job.

"My species of [your job]?" You replied with a laugh.

"Yes. That." He leaned forward suddenly. "I have observed that after the initial meeting comes the small talk, then the revealing of childhood traumas, then the physical connection. We have completed two stages. Tell me about your childhood disappointments."

Something in his expression made you change the subject to movies instead. His knowledge was encyclopedic yet strangely hollow, as if he'd memorized IMDB entries without watching the films.

"You enjoy stories where humans overcome obstacles and form mating bonds," he observed.

"That's one way to describe romantic comedies, I suppose."

His eyes seemed to recalculate something. "Yes. Human romantic comedies. I enjoy them as well, as a human."

The conversation continued like that for an hour—moments of almost-normality interrupted by statements just odd enough to make you wonder if you was being pranked. But there was something compelling about Raye's attention, the way he absorbed your words as if they were precious.

You were halfway through your drink when, with the abruptness of someone following a script to the letter, he placed his hand on yours and said:

"Let's get married."

You choked. Tea went up your nose. “Sorry, what!?” you said, coughing and wiping your mouth.

Confusion flickered across his face, and his eyes had gone completely flat. "What do you mean? I'm not a stranger anymore," he said, his voice modulating into something softer. "I'm your fiancé. I just proposed."

The café seemed to grow quieter, the background noise fading. You pulse quickened as you pulled your hand away.

"There must be some misunderstanding - that's not how anything works - this is our first date. We literally met like an hour ago. People date for months, years even, before getting engaged."

"Incorrect," Raye replied, producing a small notebook from his pocket. He flipped through pages filled with what looked like screenshots. "In 'The Proposal,' Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds become engaged after knowing each other for 3 years, 2 months as work colleagues. But in 'Leap Year,' Amy Adams decides to propose after 4 years of dating. In 'Sweet Home Alabama,' they were married in childhood. And in 'The Bachelor,' multiple women compete for one marriage proposal in a matter of weeks." He looked up triumphantly. "The data is inconsistent. I have chosen the most efficient option."

Something cold slithered down your spine. "Are you... quoting movies to me?"

"I have conducted extensive research on human mating rituals," he said, tilting his head at that familiar angle. "I have watched 247 romantic comedies, 183 dramas involving romance, and 62 reality television shows about finding mates. I have identified the pattern. First meeting, then coffee, then proposal. We are proceeding correctly."

"That's not real life. Those are stories, fantasies."

His expression shifted again, this time to something you couldn't quite place—disappointment mixed with the concentration of someone recalibrating complex calculations.

"I see. I have misunderstood." He blinked rapidly. "Then we must proceed to the next step where one of us runs through an airport to prevent the other from leaving, or perhaps stands outside with a music-playing device held overhead, or perhaps, we should wait for it to rain and exchange a kiss-”

That's when you noticed his reflection in the window behind him—or rather, the place where his reflection should have been. Instead, there was a shimmer in the air, vaguely human-shaped but rippling like heat waves off summer asphalt.

"What are you?" You whispered.

"I am Raye," he said with a smile that showed too many teeth. "I selected this name because it contains 66.7% of the same letters as 'mate.' I have been studying humans for what you would measure as 3.2 Earth years. You are the first specimen I have selected for my personal research."

He reached across the table again, his fingers elongating slightly as they approached mine. "The app was merely a formality. I have been observing you for 76 days. You are perfectly ordinary, which makes you extraordinarily perfect."

You stood up so quickly your chair clattered to the floor. "I need to go."

"Are you…rejecting me?” He tilted his head, frowning. "I have proposed marriage. You are supposed to say yes after initial reluctance. That is how the story proceeds."

"This isn't a movie, Raye."

"No," he agreed, "Movies end. What I propose is much more permanent."

As you backed away, heading for the door, Raye remained seated, watching you with those unblinking eyes. Just before you reached the exit, your phone chimed with a notification.

A new message in the app that shouldn't exist: The courtship ritual is not complete. We will try again with the correct sequence. I have much to learn, and you are the perfect teacher.

You deleted the app the moment you got home. It reappeared the next morning—nestled between weather and calendar, as if it had always belonged there. Because of course it did!

(Because for some beings, a story doesn't end until they understand the proper way to tell it. And Raye seemed determined to get this story right. However, many revisions it might take.)

#yandere #my writing #writeblr #fantasy #male yandere #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere alien #dark humor

142 notes · View notes

antisocialxconstruct · 7 months ago

Text

every time I see young people trying to defend the fact that they """only""" use AI for chat/roleplay/fanfic/etc I can't help but feel like... there's one of those "structural issue" sides to the discussion that I don't see enough people acknowledge. Like is it really any wonder that people are turning to an algorithm for this kind of entertainment when fandom just doesn't exist to generate community and shared ideas anymore?

At best, most media just doesn't have time for an earnest, dedicated fandom to grow around it, because everyone binged it in a weekend, talked about it for a month, and now we all need to move on to the Next Thing or else become irrelevant and have nothing to talk about.

At worst, "fandom" is where you go to have your your fanworks ignored, mocked, or stolen while you're psychoanalyzed to figure out if you like the media in a morally pure way or an irredeemably evil way. And all in front of your friends, classmates, coworkers, parents, and every asshole who thinks you need to hear their opinion, because it's all happening on one of the like four websites where anything happens anymore.

And of course this is not to say "let them have fun with AI." No. The AI is bad in all the ways that have been explained ad nauseam, and importantly for this topic as well it's also just bad for what these kids are using it for. A chatbot is never going to give you the lasting memorable experience of a collaborative roleplay with another person, or discussing an author's inspirations behind their fanfic, or just flat out talking to another human about a thing you both love. I know that "web 1" trends are slowwwwly slowly making a comeback and I really hope small, dedicated fan communities is one of the ones people start picking up again.

173 notes · View notes

relicunth · 4 months ago

Text

You into some jayvik fanfiction??

Then have I got the post for you. Arcane twt is beating my ass because the people on that app are so convinced of their own takes that I had to take a step back and realize I have free will and are allowed to like my own thoughts on these characters. I have written some fics that maybe you'll like:)

Holding on to you: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61570234/chapters/157406545 Modern AU - college students. Viktor and Jayce meet in Zaun as kids but after having the best day of their lives, they get separated by enforcers. Years later, they reunite after Viktor talks Jayce off of the roof of his apartment building. They rekindle their friendship, try to be each other's safe space, but both have since gone through hardships that impacted them significantly. Read along as they reconnect, share their pain and ultimately fall in love. Angsty, hurt with a lot of comfort. They do fun stuff a lot, too, so I feel like there's some lightheartedness in there too. I have posted up to chapter 6, but have written up until chapter 10 already and will post over the next few days!

Survivor's guilt and a talisman: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61098436 Takes place after the ending of Arcane. Jayce and Viktor survive their ordeal, but not without their struggles. Viktor cannot seem to get over what he has done. Luckily, Jayce is there to pick up the pieces. I mostly wrote this when I first finished the show because I could not accept the fact that they died (still can't). This was my first time writing these characters, so it was also partly an exploration of their characters. I just think it's a disservice to Viktor's character to just have him live on and go about his business without any guilt. This one is also angsty and has hurt and comfort. And a happy-ish ending. It's kinda open-ended but you'll get what I mean when you read it.

A Christmas to remember: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61467895 Takes place during the S1 timeskip, before it all goes downhill. Jayce loves Christmas, Viktor is ambivalent to it at best. Jayce is determined to make their first Christmas as a couple memorable. Viktor is intrigued to see what he has in store. I wanted to write a stupid, silly, tooth-rotting Christmas fic because I wasn't looking forward to the holidays myself lol. It's just them being in love, nothing more.

I have so many fanfiction ideas, it's insane how much I love these two and how they inspired me to start writing again. I just find it difficult to get the ao3 algorithm on my side, so I'm promoting my own work, as egotistical as that sounds. But if you have nothing better to do, maybe check them out!:)

#arcane #viktor arcane #jayce talis #jayce arcane #jayce x viktor #jayvik #league of legends #fanfiction #netflix

56 notes · View notes

annabelle--cane · 2 years ago

Text

it's fascinating to me the way that different social media platforms result in different types of fandom behavior. while s5 of tma was airing, I spent a good amount of time on tma tiktok (I log back in about once every two months now, going back to in-person school after a year a half of lockdown seem to re-blanace my brain and made me once again not really enjoy the format) while still using tumblr as my main socmed, and while there was a lot of overlap in the fan culture, some things were notably different.

tumblr tma fans had near-encyclopedic knowledge of the source material, but it was kind of an ongoing joke for tiktok tma fans that everyone binged the whole show in a week-long fugue state and lost memory of about 35% of it. tumblr has virtually no character limit and allows posts to be passed around by users indefinitely, which lends itself to fairly in-depth meta analysis being made and shared until most any fan could say "the time and space discrepancies at hill top road? psh yeah, I know all about them, I've read seven scrupulously cited posts that lay out all the details." for the entire time that s5 was airing, tiktok videos could still only be a minute long, and I know from a lot of personal effort that there's only so much you can fit into a one minute script that you also have to memorize and record (and cc manually with tiktok text stickers, as they didn't add the caption feature until april 2021) if you want the process to take less than four hours of your one mortal human life. and then you only see the video if your following or fyp algorithm shows it to you. there were a few tma meta-ish videos that got popular because other people would make their own videos referencing them and tag the account so their followers could see what they were talking about, but it's much harder to circulate content you like there. several times I saw people post videos saying "I got into cosplay to film some [agnes or annabelle or gerry or another secondary character] and I just realized I have no idea what their deal actually is 💀".

a thing that tiktok tma fandom was definitely better at than tumblr tma fandom was accurately remembering certain pieces of characterization and the flow of certain scenes. I've seen a bunch of posts on here where someone is trying to argue a point with excerpts from the text ("x character is nicer than you all give them credit for" "x character is so mean to y character in this scene" "z theory can't be true because y character said a line that disproves it") where the argument only holds up because the poster has gotten these excerpts from a transcript dive and hasn't listened to the episodes they're from recently, because while the text alone can be construed to mean one thing, the way it's delivered on-podcast clearly intends another. tiktok, being an audio and video based medium, allows audio clips to be shared around a lot, and cosplayers would often all make videos acting along to the same show clips of juicy interpersonal drama, and so tiktok fans, though they may have had less overall memory of what characters said, always had a better grasp on how they said it. an average tiktok tma fan might not have remembered melanie's subplot about war ghosts, but they would know the nuances of how the way she talks to jon changes between mag 28 and mag 155.

#prompted by Absolutely nothing #tma #marina marvels at life

886 notes · View notes

princess-of-anons · 5 months ago

Text

Wouldn’t it be Very Funny if Tumblr was capable of giving us glimpses into parallel timelines? Like how would you even discern if something was some elaborate shitpost or not?

0 notes

🌐is-blue-shift-2-out-yet Follow

Still find it absolutely hilarious that somebody went through the time and effort to not only make a musical out of Half Life VR but also convinced everybody that was working on it to keep hush hush about it for a whole ass year and THEN somehow kept everybody involved in the original series the musical is based off of in the dark for another six months??? They literally dropped the whole show and individual songs onto the internet in the middle of January too like Who Does That? I can’t even be mad because this show genuinely got me interested in actual broadway musicals but like what the fuck

16,653 notes

🛠️tumblr-updates-official Follow

We are STILL working out the bug that’s causing posts from parallel points of realty to leak into our own and vice-versa. For those of you whose blogs are shadow-following several of these multiversal users without actually following them, we are working on that as well. Until then we have implemented a quick-fix that adds a banner to the bottom of posts not from our own reality.

UPDATE: We have received word that there are some issues with the banner code that is causing some people to be incorrectly identified as being from an alternate universe while people that are actually from an alternate universe are not being labeled at all. For the time being we are removing the automatic banner system. Please use your own discretion and flag blogs you suspect are not from baseline reality, we will have somebody manually.

UPDATE 2: We have been informed that giving the ability to report alleged blogging activity from other universes to a website that thrives off of dedication to The Bit and lying as a joke is a very bad idea. We regrettably request that you enjoy the madness until we get this figured out. For those of you who are still getting banners at the end of your posts despite our attempts to kill the algorithm responsible for it, we are looking into it. Yes, we are very aware that the number of universes getting added into this chaos is growing exponentially. We hope to get this fixed up in a week.

🃏xxxclownboyxxx Follow

Posts that aged like milk

🐐dreamworks-don-quixote-gifs Follow

Mate this post didn’t just age like milk, it aged like fucking grimmal.

🦇britishvampire348 Follow

What the bloody hell is milk?

🛹itsa-tree-and-a-prius Follow

You can’t get shit like this on any other website

71,003,244 notes

🌅lord-nebulous-is-kinda-hot Follow

I could sleep so well if I didn’t have to be haunted by the fact we, as a collective wetsite, decided that for some reason we should ship the Lorax with different versions of himself when the old version of Onceler at the end of the movie was right there.

☠️give-me-your-bones Follow

Bro I am not taking advice from somebody that draws Lord Nebulous as a twink, you know damn well he would be jacked as shit as a human. Give that robo-GILF some meat and then we can talk.

🐐dreamworks-don-quixote-gifs Follow

Fun Fact: Giving meat to robots has universally never gone well in the past! Maybe we could find an alternative instead?

🪺daily-eggbot Follow

🥚

January 35th, 1969

Eggs are a good source of protein and help with muscle growth! And this one is all yours!

[Beep-beep! I am Daily Eggbot! Every day I place an egg on someone’s post, sometimes I place two by accident! My dating system is a little bit buggy and has been known to get dates wrong or make up ones that don’t exist, please let Dev know when this happens!]

🦇vampirebat367 Follow

@iconic-post-archive

💾iconic-post-archive Follow

[Post saved to archive!]

99,332 notes

🎟️dashcon Follow

Thank you again everybody for a successful Dashcon 2019, we hope it was memorable for everyone that was able to show up! We don’t have 2020 vision, but here’s hoping that next year is bigger and better than ever!

From us to all of you, thanks a bunch Tumblrinas!

🔪amongus-detector Follow

🌌squidlord473 Follow

“post from The Timeline where dashcon didn’t become a fucking trainwreck” quickly followed by “random gimmick blog that has not only been around for half a decade but also apparently exists in every single universe” getting randomly assigned with the Wretched Banner feels like the punchline of a cruel joke

10,533 notes

🌚godzillasfatass Follow

Hey, yeah, so we found your husband trapped inside an episode of Star Trek the Animated Series. We got him out safely but I’m not entirely sure if he came back right.

🌚godzillasfatass Follow

Who the fuck changed this from Game of Thrones to Star Trek I just wanna talk

👤bee-movie-deactivated20160619 Follow

There was an animated series for Game of Thrones?

💼notevil-businessman Follow

Everyone on this website is fucking high

🐦‍⬛crowsfeetpics Follow

Me when staff inevitably musters up enough popsicle sticks and glue to fix the multiverse bug

#long post #fake post #dashboard simulator

80 notes · View notes

clean-bubbles-aka-bubbles · 6 months ago

Text

𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

>>>[ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ]<<<

Several days passed by after the incident. (Y/Cyb/N) sat by the window of his secret room, watching the streets of Iacon below. It was bustling with excitement.

Today was the Iacon 5000, the largest race on Cybertron, and bots from all over the planet would gather to witness it. The thought of it made his spark pulse faster. He had seen the races on the holo-vids, but he had never been there, never been allowed to stand among the crowd and feel the raw energy of the event.

“I want to go,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else.

He had asked his parents earlier, but they refused, as always. "Too dangerous," his sire had said. "Too public. Someone might see your insignia."

(Y/Cyb/N) looked down at his reflection in the glass. The insignia, a mark of his Codex lineage, was hidden beneath his shawl. A dull ache spread through him—an ache he could not express.

He wanted to be normal and part of Cybertronian society, not hidden away like some dangerous secret.

This afternoon, he would sneak out.

The plan formed in his mind. His parents would be busy working in the upper part of the building, far away from his room. He had memorized their routine and absence and knew there was a window when he could leave unnoticed.

The excitement of the Iacon 5000 pulsed through the air like a current, and (Y/Cyb/N) could feel it from even this high up in his secluded room. The roar of engines, the cheers of the crowd—it was all just out of reach, but the idea of watching the race in person filled him with a longing he couldn’t shake.

He glanced at the door to his room, his optics narrowing with determination. His parents meant well, but how much longer could he live like this—hidden away, confined to secret rooms and whispers? He wasn’t just a relic of the past, a walking Codex secret. He was alive, a part of Cybertron, and today, he would prove that to himself.

"I have to," he murmured, standing up and pulling the shawl tighter around him, ensuring the insignia was securely hidden. His helm, tilted as usual to keep the shawl in place, gave him a sense of comfort, like a second shield.

The plan unfolded quickly. He knew his parents would be occupied with their work for at least another hour. That was enough time to get to the streets below and find an excellent spot to blend into the crowd.

His spark pulsed faster at the thought of being out there—among the other Cybertronians and spectators cheering for the racers. For once, he would just be one of them. No hiding, no running from his past. Just a part of the energy that flowed through Cybertron’s heart.

(Y/Cyb/N) made his way to the hidden exit in his room, a small hatch his parents had constructed as a secondary escape route in case of emergencies. Today, it would serve a different purpose. He pried it open, casting one last look around his room before slipping into the dark tunnel behind it.

He moved quickly, his spark racing as fast as the engines outside. Each step brought him closer to the streets of Iacon, to freedom, to the race. When he finally reached the bottom, he could hear the distant hum of the city and the crowds gathered for the event.

He pushed the hatch open, emerging into an alleyway just a few blocks from the main racetrack. The streets were already packed with Cybertronians of all shapes and sizes, their voices blending into a cacophony of excitement and anticipation. (Y/Cyb/N) Pulling his shawl tighter, ensuring his insignia was still hidden, he stepped out into the crowd.

It was overwhelming—everything he had dreamed of and more. The sights, the sounds, the sheer life of it all. For a moment, he was just another Cybertronian, lost in the sea of bots, no one paying him any special attention. He could almost feel normal.

Slipping past the security had been surprisingly easy with the help of his Algorithms. Cynatcher allowed him to manipulate the structure of the walls, creating small crevices to pass through unnoticed. Binary Foolery had been equally helpful, creating temporary illusions to distract any surveillance systems.

He found a spot near the edge of the racetrack, where the engines roared to life as the racers prepared for the start. His optics gleamed excitedly as he watched the gleaming racers line up, their frames sleek and built for speed. The crowd's energy was contagious, and for the first time in a long while, (Y/Cyb/N) felt free.

(Y/Cyb/N) could feel the energy of the Iacon 5000 race long before he even arrived. The roaring engines, the thrumming excitement of the crowd, and the spectacle of speed drew him in like a magnet. He had always dreamed of seeing it in person—just one chance to experience it outside the shadow of his origins, the weight of secrecy, and the watchful eyes of his creators. The scene was exactly how he would have imagined.

But he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his optic—a pair of Cybertronian guards in the distance, observing the crowd. They weren’t here for the race; they were scanning the spectators, searching for something—or someone.

His spark skipped a beat. Could they be council agents? Were they looking for him?

His heart pounded as he turned away, blending further into the crowd. He couldn’t let them see him. Not now. Not when he had just tasted freedom.

"Transformers! Transform and get on your marks for the race!" The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, signaling the start of the race. His train of thought was snapped out when he heard the signal.

Engines revved, and the Cybertronians below him transformed into their alt modes. "On your marks!" The announcer continued, the light turning from red to yellow. "Get set…" He paused, waiting for the light to turn green.

*DING!*

*PEW!*

The announcer shot a laser on the signal, signaling the racers to go.

*ZOOM!*

The racers shot forward, a blur of metal and energy. The ground vibrated beneath his feet as the racers zoomed past, and (Y/Cyb/N) couldn’t help but grin, the thrill of the race filling his spark.

For a moment, he forgot about his insignia, lineage, and the dangers that lurked around every corner. Here, in this crowd, he was just another bot, caught up in the excitement of the race. Like any other Cybertronian, he wanted a closer look to witness the thrill.

He moved through the stands. His optics caught sight of a racer—a silver-plated Cybertronian with an impressive speed record—making a sharp turn on the track. The sight was so mesmerizing that he almost didn’t notice when his dodecahedron necklace slipped from his grasp.

Panic shot through him as he bent to pick it up, his servos moving quickly. It tumbled through the crowd with a soft tinkering noise. (Y/Cyb/n) had to shuffle through the crowd quickly, not wanting to see his necklace bounce down into the race. Just before it could bounce out of the stands, (Y/Cyb/N)’s servo shot up to catch it, grasping it quickly.

*SWOOOSH…!*

The race was finished, with the Transformers crossing the finish line. (Y/Cyb/n) sighed with relief, retracting his servo as he secured his dodecahedron necklace around his neck.

But at that moment, a gust of wind tore through the stands, lifting his shawl. The fabric flew down, revealing his helm—and worse, his insignia.

The symbol of the Codexes.

(Y/Cyb/N)'s spark froze as he felt the cool air hit his exposed frame. Panic surged through him. In that instant, the excitement of the race and the thrill of freedom vanished, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread. His optics darted to the crowd around him, searching for any sign someone had noticed.

So far, none of them had noticed—

"Hey! Look! There's a Codex here!"

The crowd’s cheers slowly fell into a stunned silence as hundreds of optics turned toward him. The trans-mech stood frozen, the cold weight of reality crashing down on him. The dodecahedron outline with the Mercedes star within it shimmered in the sunlight, unmistakable against the metal of his frame.

A murmur spread through the stands like wildfire, and soon, it became more than just murmurs and whispers.

"Is that…"

"Wait… it can't be!"

"That insignia… I recognize it!"

"Hold on… aren't they supposed to be erased!?"

"No way. No way! The Codexes—"

"A Codex!? HERE!?"

Shocked expressions gave way to fear, awe, and, worst of all, suspicion. The council had erased the history of the Codexes, labeling them dangerous, but to see one standing there, in the middle of the Iacon 5000, was a spectacle none of them had expected.

(Y/Cyb/N) felt his spark pound in his chest. His instincts screamed for him to run, but he stayed rooted in place for a split second, the weight of countless optics pressing down on him.

The Cybertronian guards stationed near the edge of the stands noticed that everyone had stopped cheering and was staring at something or someone. They looked in the same direction everyone was looking, and their gazes eventually landed on him.

Their optics locked onto (Y/Cyb/N)’s exposed insignia. Recognition sparked in the guards' gaze, and (Y/Cyb/N) could almost hear the warning sirens blaring in his head.

Move,

his mind commanded, and he bolted.

In the chaos, (Y/Cyb/N) grabbed his shawl and dashed through the crowd, his Algorithms working overtime. Cerulean Warp allowed him to open sea green-colored short-range portals, moving him quickly from one point to another, leaving the race.

But the guards were already on high alert. Shouts and commands blared as he leaped over barriers and darted through alleyways, the sound of metallic footsteps closing in on him.

His helm was now fully lopsided without the shawl on him, making it harder to maintain his balance, but he pushed through. His servos clenched around the dodecahedron necklace, the one piece of his identity that had been with him since the beginning.

The guards were getting closer—there were more of them than he'd anticipated. They knew now. They knew he existed.

"[DETERMINED] I can’t let them catch me… not like this," he muttered. Octo Hex came to his rescue, allowing him to create small bursts of force to knock over objects in his path—crates, metal pylons, anything to slow them down.

He turned a sharp corner and spotted a service tunnel just ahead. If he could just make it inside—

*BANG!*

*CLANG!*

A loud clang echoed as a guard fired a stun round, missing him by inches. (Y/Cyb/N) tumbled into the tunnel, his servo slipping on the slick floor as he scrambled to his pedes. His algorithms were tiring him, and his defects made it harder to focus.

He ran deeper into the tunnels with all his might, but he could hear the guards still in pursuit, their voices echoing off the metallic walls. "We have a Codex! Secure the perimeter! Do not let him escape!"

Panting heavily, (Y/Cyb/N) activated Saboteur Catalyst, overriding the lock system of the tunnel doors ahead of him. The doors slid open just in time for him to slip through before sealing shut behind him with a satisfying thud.

For now, he was safe. But the realization hit him like a heavy weight—his insignia had been seen.

His secret was out.

And all optics would soon be on him. There was no going back to hiding in the shadows.

Once erased from Cybertron’s history, the Codexes were now a reality again, and he was at the center of it all.

He had to get back home. He had to return to his creators in the tower—(Y/S/N) and (Y/C/N). He knew they would be mad, but he just wanted to prove he wanted to be independent. Shaking off his worries, he quickly put the shawl over his helm, hiding his face under the shadows and masking his insignia.

He quickly looked around, finding himself in an alleyway. It was only a matter of time before they began to try and locate him. He stepped out, seeing people still going on about their business. He tugged on his shawl, quietly rushing past the Cybertronians and avoiding guards walking around the place.

His spark was still racing as he moved swiftly through the back streets of Iacon, his shawl once again covering his insignia. The thrill of the Iacon 5000 was far behind him now, replaced with the crushing reality of his exposure. His awkwardly tilted helm reminded him of his disheveled state as he maneuvered through the bustling city.

As he weaved through the crowded alleys, his thoughts were in turmoil. How could he have been so careless? All it took was one slip, one moment of excitement, for his secret to be revealed. The emblem of the Codexes—a symbol that could get him captured, imprisoned, or worse. Now that it had been seen, there was no telling what the council might do.

He felt a deep pang of regret as he thought of his creators, (Y/S/N) and (Y/C/N). They had repeatedly warned him, yet he had ignored their caution. Now, he was on the run, and the council would surely be looking for him. They might even come after his parents if they thought they were involved.

His optics darted around, searching for any sign of danger as he neared the more familiar streets closer to home. He passed Cybertronians chatting about the race, oblivious to the panic inside him. If they knew the truth about him, they'd be just as terrified as the crowd back at the track.

Still, something gnawed at him. For a moment, in the middle of that race, he had felt alive—free. The cheers, the crowd's energy, the racers' speed—it was everything he'd dreamed of. But the price of that freedom was too high.

As (Y/Cyb/N) ducked into a smaller alleyway, he activated Cynatcher again to blend into the surrounding structures. He reached a part of the wall that opened into another secret passage leading back to his family's tower. His spark pounded as he stepped inside, letting the door close behind him with a quiet hiss. His home's cold, sterile corridors felt different now—less like a safe haven and more like a cage.

He made his way through the dimly lit hallways, his shawl still securely in place. When he reached his room, he hesitated. What would his creators say? They had spent countless cycles hiding him, keeping him safe, and now he'd ruined it all in one careless moment.

He stepped back into the shadows, his spark heavy with guilt. He wasn’t ready to face them, not yet. Instead, he retreated further down the corridor, slipping into a hidden corner of the tower where he could be alone with his thoughts.

He had tasted the world outside, but now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had changed. The council was hunting him, his secret was out, and the future he had always feared was now a reality.

We're family.

The words of his own when he spoke to his carrier and sire about telling them they should not keep any more secrets from each other. He chose not to contradict his vow.

With a sigh, he proceeded to open the door. The soft hydraulic hiss was released upon entry.

"[GUILT] Sire, Carrier, I have something to confess—"

His words trailed off immediately. He expected to find his creators talking to each other and be shocked when they saw him. However, he found the hidden room empty. Were his creators looking for him? Where were they?

He stepped in slowly, noting how nothing in the house had changed as much. "Sire? Carrier?" He checked their room, seeing how several objects were a bit scattered. They must've heard the news and perhaps left in a rush…

"[WORRIED]." (Y/Cyb/n) muttered, reflexively narrating his concern for his creators as he closed the door of his creators' room. "I wonder—"

*FWIP!*

"—MMMPH!"

His self-talk was cut off when he felt a gag wrapped over his mouth from behind. His servos flickered with the emblem. He attempted to use his Octo Hex Algorithm to generate a large red octagon screen and punch the living daylights out of the intruder.

*Skank!*

However, band-cuffs were immediately placed on him, and the Octo Hex Algorithm faded quickly. (Y/Cyb/n) felt his powers suddenly suppressed and held back by the device, unable to activate them anymore. It was nullified.

The High-tech, sleek, compact device is worn like a band around the user's wrists. It emits an invisible signal that disrupts his connection to his technokinetic abilities, temporarily nullifying the power.

"I got him!" It was one of the guards. "Algorithmic Override cuffs are on him. He's not able to use his ability anymore."

The sudden ambush left (Y/Cyb/N) stunned and immobilized. The guards who had captured him were swift and efficient, their optics hidden behind visors that revealed nothing of their intentions. The Algorithmic Override cuffs, designed to suppress his abilities, were a new and menacing addition to the arsenal against him.

The gag muffled his initial cry for help, and as he struggled against his restraints, the guards began securing the area. Panic surged within him, mingled with the residual thrill of the race he had just witnessed. His mind raced, trying to devise a plan to escape or at least understand what was happening.

“Secure the perimeter,” one of the guards instructed through their comms. “We have the Codex. Prepare for extraction.”

The room was silent except for the distant hum of the city and the occasional clink of metal from the guards as they prepared their equipment. (Y/Cyb/N) tried to focus, pushing past the fear and despair. His creators, (Y/S/N) and (Y/C/N), had to be nearby, and he needed to find a way to warn them or at least ensure their safety.

Through his muffled struggle, he heard one of the guards talking about the Codex’s significance, but the exact words were lost to his gagged condition. The mention of his insignia seemed to heighten the urgency of their actions.

His servos clenched as he tried to think. He had seen his insignia and understood that the council’s decision to erase the Codexes was now a precarious reality. His creators' lives were at stake, and he had to ensure they were safe.

The guards began to escort him out, their grip firm and unyielding. As they led him through the dim corridors, (Y/Cyb/N) tried to recall the tower's layout, hoping to find some means of escape or communication. He needed to warn his creators and find a way to evade the council's clutches.

One of the guards, a smaller and less imposing figure, glanced at him with a hint of curiosity. "Do you think he knows something we don't?"

The lead guard responded with a dismissive tone. "Doesn't matter. We have our orders."

*PING!*

(Y/Cyb/n)'s audio receptors picked up a soft 'ping' sound effect. He glanced down, noticing a small orange emblem of the Quadirectional Keeper on his cuffs. "Hmm?" He blinked, surprised and confused.

*FWIP!*

A muffled yelp left his intake. His wrists were yanked into the air by the cuffs pulled upward by the Quadirectional Keeper.

The sudden movement took aback the guards flanking his sides. They both looked up, seeing him stationary in the air because of a Quadirectional Keeper Algorithm wedged between the cuffs, the square keeping hold.

"What the!? Impossible!"

"H-He's cuffed! He shouldn't be able to use—"

*ZIP!*

(Y/Cyb/n) was pulled back down the hall, caught into another pair of arms. He glanced up, recognizing it was his sire and carrier. He was happy they came to save him, but he was also terrified because the protective rage in their optics was visibly implacable.

“We told you not to leave the tower!” His sire scolded him. He held his right servo up, which had the emblem of the Quadirectional Keeper hovering over his servo.

“We’re not mad, just disappointed,” his carrier added, letting (Y/S/N) break off the cuffs with the Octo Hex Algorithm. “We’ve figured out you would’ve done that.” (Y/C/N) used her Cynatcher Algorithm and bent the gag off her son’s intake.

“[EXASPERATED SIGH]” (Y/Cyb/n) narrowed his optics at them. “Sorry, but I wanted to see the race. I didn’t care about whether I was caught or not, but I wanted to enjoy it instead of staying cooped up in place!”

“We understand.” His carrier sighed with concern and fear. “But we just—”

“Explanations can come later! We need to escape!” (Y/S/N) interjected, grabbing a random crate with the orange-colored Algorithm and chucking it at the guards.

*SMACK!*

One of them sidestepped as the metal box knocked down the other guard. Pressing into the comm unit, he exclaimed, “There are two more Codexes here! Requesting backup! I repeat, requesting—”

*CLANK!*

He was cut off as (Y/Cyb/n)’s sire used the Quadirectional Keeper Algorithm to use the same metal crate and knock out the guard.

The tension in the hall heightened as the unconscious guard slumped to the ground. (Y/Cyb/N) glanced at his creators, heart pounding after the brief skirmish. The danger was far from over, and the realization that they were being actively hunted by the council struck him hard.

"[DETERMINATION]." (Y/Cyb/N) reflexively narrated his emotion, his optics narrowing as his processors raced through possible escape routes. The escape had to be swift, and they couldn't afford any more delays.

His sire, (Y/S/N), looked at him, the intensity in his optics unwavering. "We need to get you out of here now before reinforcements arrive. They won't stop until you're locked away—until we're locked away."

(Y/Cyb/N) nodded, his gaze darting between his creators. "I know. But they were prepared for this—they had these weird cuffs—Algorithmic Override cuffs. It seems to disable our abilities with the Algorithm."

His carrier, (Y/C/N), who had always been the more cautious of the two, placed a servo on his shoulder. "That's why we need to stick together. There's no room for error, not anymore."

(Y/S/N) glanced at their room, where their door was opened. “Hold on.” He quickly rushed inside the room before pulling out a box. There were many different single-hand-held weapons.

"(Y/C/N), take this." He tossed her a handgun, which she grabbed swiftly, loading the stun gun. He grabbed a long-bladed sword, which spun smoothly in his servo. "(Y/Cyb/n), here's something special I had made for you." Finally, he picked up a short-bladed knife and threw it to (Y/Cyb/n), who caught it quickly.

The Laser-Blade is a state-of-the-art weapon seamlessly combines the efficiency and versatility of a cyberknife with the precision and power of a laser gun.

It is a sleek, compact device reminiscent of a futuristic wrist-mounted device. It features an integrated laser sight, LED interface screen, and ergonomic grip for optimal handling. It has a sleek metallic design with glowing blue accents around its barrel.

The laser gun is located on top of the device, and the cyberknife is attached to the bottom of the weapon. The laser beam can be shot from the top of the device to attack opponents. The cyberknife is located below and is used for close combat encounters. The Cyberblade is a powerful and versatile weapon.

"Come on, we got to move down the tower." (Y/C/N) gestured, the other two Cybertronains following her down the halls. "We're on the 18th floor of this 24-story building. The sooner we make it down here and out of this place, we'll find a safer place."

"But where?" (Y/S/N) inquired. "I don't know if we're going to be able to step a pede outside from a sanctuary—if we can find one!" He grunted, the trio going down a flight of stairs.

"We'll just go to the surface!" She remarked. "No one adventures there, but we did once before when our clan was still around. If we can do it once, we can do it again—"

"[ALARMED] Look out!"

*PEW!*

(Y/C/N) sidestepped the moment (Y/Cyb/n) warned his carrier from a stun round. The laser hit the wall behind her, narrowly missing (Y/S/N). In front of them, the trio was confronted by a group of masked Cybertronian guards, their stun weapons and cuffs ready to detain them with no mercy or sympathy.

"(Y/S/N)!" (Y/C/N) glanced back, her optics shimmering to ocean blue, prepared to use her Cynatcher Algorithm. "Use your Quadirectional Keeper!"

(Y/S/N) didn't hesitate. His servos glowed with the familiar emblem of the Quadirectional Keeper, orange light illuminating his features. He aimed at the advancing guards with a swift motion, sending one of them hurtling back against the wall as if yanked by an invisible force. The guard's weapon clattered to the ground, the others momentarily startled.

(Y/C/N)'s optics narrowed with precision, and she stepped forward. Her Cynatcher Algorithm activated with a blue shimmer, and the floor material beneath the remaining guards began to warp, shifting and reshaping itself around their legs. The once-solid ground transformed into flowing metal tendrils that wrapped around the guards' limbs, immobilizing them.

"[SUSPICION] I don’t like this,” (Y/Cyb/N) muttered as he moved to the front, instinctively gripping the Laser-Blade he had just received. The sleek device hummed to life, its dual functionality glowing with power. His optics darted from one captured guard to another, the adrenaline of the fight pumping through his circuits. “They came too prepared. It’s like they knew exactly where we’d be.”

His sire nodded gravely, still catching his breath after using his Algorithm. “This isn’t a simple extraction mission. Someone’s been watching us closely.”

The air in the tower was thick with tension, and the trio remained alert. (Y/C/N) glanced down the corridor, motioning for them to keep moving. “We can’t stay here. They’ll send more—stronger ones. We have to get out of here and reach the surface.”

“Right. Let’s move quickly.” (Y/Cyb/N) took the lead, his Laser-Blade ready as they hurried down the stairs. His mind raced with questions—about the ambush, the council, and most of all, the significance of his existence as a Codex. But right now, survival was the priority.

As they descended, alarms blared in the distance, echoing through the halls. They had to act fast. The sound of more guards mobilizing heightened their urgency, the low rumble of armored footsteps closing in from the floors above.

Just before they reached the exit to the 10th floor, a new wave of guards blocked their path. These guards, however, looked different—more heavily armored, their visors glowing with a menacing red light. Their weapons were charged with energy, and they looked ready for a much more aggressive fight.

(Y/Cyb/N)’s sire cursed under his breath. “They brought in the elite forces. We can’t just fight through them. We need a plan.”

(Y/Cyb/N), gripping his Laser-Blade, glanced at the panel beside the door. “[IDEA] I think I can cause a distraction.”

His carrier looked at him, wary but trusting. “What are you thinking?”

He stepped closer to the panel with a determined glint in his optics, using his Saboteur Catalyst Algorithm. Though the cuffs had suppressed most of his abilities earlier, the guards hadn't accounted for his ingenuity. His servos flickered as he hacked into the building’s electrical system. The lights flickered, and a surge of energy raced through the circuitry.

Suddenly, the entire floor plunged into darkness.

“Go! Now!” (Y/Cyb/N) whispered urgently. His voice was barely audible over the chaos that erupted as the guards fumbled in the dark, their weapons discharging wildly, hitting walls and floors instead of their targets.

Using the cover of darkness, the trio sprinted forward, navigating through the confusion with the help of (Y/S/N)’s Quadirectional Keeper to pull guards out of their way and (Y/C/N)’s Cynatcher Algorithm to reshape the floor, tripping up their enemies.

Down the winding staircase, they ran, the cacophony of boots and shifting walls echoing around them. (Y/Cyb/N) tightened his grip on the Laser-Blade as they descended floor after floor, his optics darting to catch any movement in the dimly lit tower. Every step closer to the surface meant a chance for freedom, but every floor seemed to bring new threats.

“More guards will be coming from below!” (Y/C/N) called out. “We’ll have to fight through them or find another way.”

“I can’t keep the Quadirectional Keeper active forever,” (Y/S/N) warned. “Get ready, (Y/Cyb/N). You might have to use that weapon sooner than you think.”

(Y/Cyb/N) nodded, his optics narrowing as they reached the next landing. A new set of guards blocked their path, their stun rifles already aimed.

Without a second thought, he activated the Laser-Blade. The cyberknife gleamed with a sharp, glowing edge as he slashed downward. With the precision of the integrated laser, he cut through one of the guards’ weapons, disabling it in an instant.

“(Y/Cyb/N), behind you!” (Y/S/N) shouted.

He spun on his heel just in time to block a guard's attack with the knife portion of his weapon before unleashing a pulse of energy from the laser gun, knocking his attacker backward.

The fight intensified as the trio pressed forward, their Algorithms and newfound weapons pushing the guards back inch by inch.

“Just a few more floors,” (Y/C/N) urged. “We can make it. We just have to—”

Before she could finish, a thunderous BANG echoed from above them, shaking the entire stairwell. The building groaned, and (Y/Cyb/N) realized with a sinking feeling that reinforcements had arrived.

“We don’t have much time. They're bringing the heavy artillery now,” (Y/S/N) muttered darkly, looking up. His optics met (Y/Cyb/N)'s, filled with urgency and fear.

The sounds of machinery and metallic footsteps drew closer from both above and below. (Y/Cyb/N) tightened his grip. "[BRAVERY] Let’s finish this and get out alive."

He steadied himself, his spark pounding in sync with the rising tension. He glanced at his creators, their optics reflecting the same determination in their faces. They had come this far together, and now there was no turning back.

"[FOCUSED]," (Y/Cyb/N) reflexively narrated, his voice barely above a whisper as the trio prepared for the imminent clash.

The guards below were advancing quickly, but the reinforcements above were even more menacing. Heavy steps and the hum of high-tech weaponry filled the stairwell, signaling the arrival of more elite forces. They were cornered, and the only way out was down—straight through the heavily armed enemies blocking their escape.

"(Y/S/N), keep using the Quadirectional Keeper!" (Y/C/N) shouted. "We’ll take the ones below and push our way through!"

"Got it!" (Y/S/N)’s servo glowed with the orange energy of the Algorithm, the invisible force guiding the guards into disarray as they struggled to keep their balance. With a flick of his wrist, he sent two guards tumbling down the stairs.

(Y/Cyb/N) darted forward, his Laser-Blade humming as he slashed through another guard's weapon, then quickly shifted to block another strike from the left. The combination of blade and laser gave him the versatility he needed in such close quarters, and he fought with the urgency of survival.

The guards, though well-trained, were unprepared for the raw power of the Codexes. The trio worked in seamless coordination, with (Y/C/N) using her Cynatcher Algorithm to bend the guards’ weapons, disarming them quickly, while (Y/S/N) continued manipulating their movements with the Quadirectional Keeper.

Just as (Y/Cyb/N) cut down another guard, a deafening crash echoed from above. Heavy artillery had arrived, and with it, a squad of large, heavily armed Cybertronians descended from the upper floors, their armor gleaming in the low light.

"They're here!" (Y/C/N) yelled, eyes wide. "We need to get to the bottom, now!"

"We're not stopping!" (Y/Cyb/N) shouted back, his optics blazing with determination. "[RESOLVE]." He pushed ahead, slashing and firing in tandem as the enemies pressed closer.

Suddenly, a powerful blast struck the wall beside them, sending debris flying. (Y/Cyb/N) ducked, narrowly avoiding the impact as the structure groaned under the assault.

"We won’t make it if we don’t think fast!" (Y/S/N) called out over the chaos.

(Y/Cyb/N)'s optics flickered toward the nearest window. "We might not have to fight all of them. What if we break through the wall and take the jump?"

His creators exchanged a glance. It was a risky plan, but time was running out.

"(Y/S/N), can you use the Quadirectional Keeper to cushion our fall?" (Y/C/N) asked, her voice laced with urgency.

"[UNCERTAINY] I can try—"

*CLICK!*

*WHIZZZ!* (x98)

"FREEZE!"

All of a sudden, from both sides of the hall, targeting lasers were trained on them. Many Cybertronian guards had a rifle aimed at them.

"You are all under arrest! Come with us peacefully, or we'll do it by force! On the count of ten, if you don't comply, you'll be offlined on the spot!"

The leading team shouted, his grip on his gun tightening. "Ten, nine…"

(Y/C/N) and (Y/S/N) looked at each other before they looked at (Y/Cyb/n), who was ready to go full beast mode with his abilities. They glanced at the window on their left and at each other, nodding.

"(Y/Cyb/n)." (Y/C/N) grabbed his son's shoulders gently. "We'll need you to trust on this."

"[CONFUSED] [SCARED]" (Y/Cyb/n) reflexively narrated as he looked at his sire with confusion evident. "What are you talking about?"

"Look…" She sighed. "All we care for now is you escaping. You’re the one powerful Codex among us and our clan."

(Y/S/N)’s right servo was glowing a red color, prepared to use the Octa Hex. “We're sorry that we didn’t have time and went out as often as you wanted. We should’ve done that before this happened.” He spoke with regret, his left servo glowing to activate the Quadirectional Keeper.

“Sire, Carrier,” their son glanced between his creators. “What are you saying—”

*CRASH!*

He was cut off as the window on his left broke into shards from the Octa Hex’s. (Y/Cyb/n)’s eyes widened in panic, realizing where his solution was going. “[PANIC] [DESPAIR] Sire, Carrier—”

*PING!*

He was cut off when he saw the familiar emblem of the Quadirectional Keeper’s red-orange square grabbing his waist. “W-What are you doing!?”

“Get ready to fire!” The leading squad exclaimed.

“Goodbye, son,” (Y/C/N) smiled, coolant rubbing down her optics.

“We love you so much.”

(Y/Cyb/N)’s optics widened in shock as the Quadirectional Keeper’s force lifted him. The last thing he saw was his creators’ sorrowful faces before he was flung backward through the shattered window.

*BOOM!*

Behind him, the heavy artillery fired, filling the stairwell with smoke, debris, and a wave of heat as explosions erupted where they once stood.

The wind roared in (Y/Cyb/N)’s audials as he plummeted through the air, his systems flashing warnings of rapidly decreasing altitude. "[PANIC] [LOSS] [BETRAYAL]," his voice whispered as the ground rushed toward him, his spark pounding against his chestplate.

It felt as if everything was spinning out of control like he was losing everything and the world had torn away the only stable foundation he had ever known.

His optics narrowed as he quickly activated his algorithms upon recognizing the situation.

But it was all too late.

*CRASH!*

(Y/Cyb/n) landed on the metal ground roughly. Pain shot through every sensor of his frame. It hurt so much he couldn’t scream as he struggled to regain his bearings. He could catch a glimpse of the explosion still occurring in the building. He narrowed his optics as he saw debris falling down.

*CRUNCH!*

*CRACK!*

A broken, static-like screen elicited from (Y/Cyb/n), the moment he was processing a pole penetrating through his left optic and two large metallic shards sticking on his neck wires and vocalizers.

“::REPORT: SYSTEMS DAMAGED BEYOND REPAIR. INITIATING: SELF-PRESERVATION SEQUENCE.::”

His body began to weaken as he felt Energon pool beneath it. He looked around and saw several Cybertronians watching the scene with shock and horror. Others arrived in confusion and disbelief.

He didn’t have enough time to think, and his processor went fuzzy as a particular blue and golden-colored Cybertronian got closer.

And then everything went dark.

─•~❉᯽❉~•──•~❉᯽❉~•─

>>>[ NEW ARC: IACON 5000 ]<<<

49 notes · View notes

numinousmysteries · 7 months ago

Text

@leiascully mentioned airports. JessM wrote the quintessential airport fic and this lives in that universe. I owe them everything, and they owe me nothing.

This has not been beta'd, edited, or put through any quality control whatsoever. Read at your own risk.

@today-in-fic @xffictober24

Paved Paradise

It's Bill Scully's turn to host Christmas. There is some sort of algorithm within the extended Scully clan that determines this. It factors in variables such as who's stationed abroad, who's too pregnant to travel, and who's just being so goddamn stubborn (Scully's words) this year. It's a complex calculation that starts as early as July if Scully's sighs and eye rolls during her phone calls with her mother are any indication. And despite all the time and care that allegedly goes into these deliberations, it seems that more often than not–in Mulder's mind at least—they end up flying to San Diego on the busiest travel day of the year.

Maggie headed out a week earlier to spend more time with Bill's kids, so it's just the three of them hunkered down at O'Hare for an extended layover. One that's becoming more and more extended as the snow piles up.

William has been characteristically well-behaved on the journey so far but even the most mature six-year-old's patience would be worn thin by now. Fuck, Mulder thinks, even this not-so-mature 46-year-old is getting antsy.

"I'm so bored!" He calls out, squirming in the vinyl seat at the gate. "Can I go walk around?"

"No," Scully says. She's not even looking up from her book. Mulder doesn't know how she can maintain her stoic calm in the boisterous chaos of an airport on Christmas Eve. "They could call us to board any minute now. And besides, it's too crowded, I'm worried you'll get lost."

Mulder doesn't want to remind her that they could have been called to board any minute in the past three hours now. "I'll go with him," he says, jolting up out of his seat. "We won't go far. And I'll have my phone on me, so just send a bat signal if we need to come back."

She looks up from her book to consider it. The two of them must look desperate because she just shakes her head and sighs. "Sure. Stay close."

Mulder grins down at William who smiles back conspiratorially.

"Yes! Thanks mom!" Full of pent-up energy, the kid grabs Mulder's hand and pulls him into the mire of human mass in the terminal. Will's red hair makes it easy to keep track of him in the crowd although, to Mulder's dismay, it's been getting darker recently. He'll always have Scully's bright blue eyes, though.

"Where to, kid?"

"I'm hungry," he says, excitedly. "And maybe they have a book store. I finished my book on the first flight and then I read the whole thing again. And look—there's a Pizza Hut. Can we get Pizza Hut?"

Mulder stops in his tracks in front of the restaurant. Still in motion in front of him, William stumbles a bit at the abrupt stop. He's been here before. In this exact spot in this terminal seven years ago. But there wasn't a Pizza Hut Express there before. It used to be a Chili's To Go. A very special Chili's To Go.

"What is this crap?" He gasps.

"Dad!" William glares up at him in surprised disapproval. A look that could come from his mother. "You can't say that."

"This didn't used to be a Pizza Hut, Will."

"Huh?" His son asks, confused.

"There was a Chili's here once. Before you were born. Your mom and I went there after a case once."

William is still staring at him skeptically. "Didn't you go to like a million airports?"

"Yeah," Mulder says, gazing in shock at the new restaurant as if its predecessor will suddenly appear before his eyes. "But this one was...memorable."

"Why? Was the food good?"

"I don't remember any food."

"You're so weird, dad," Will shakes his head. "Can we get pizza?"

"Um, sure," Mulder says. He's sadder than he should be by the replacement of one chain restaurant in an airport by another. But god, what had happened at that Chili's. It was the first time she let him touch her. The first time they fucked. In a red vinyl booth, no less. It was where their partnership finally became something more. William wasn't conceived there—and for that, he is thankful—but it set in motion the shift in their relationship that would ultimately lead to William's conception. That would ultimately lead them here. To this airport. On this holiday. As a family. And the Chili's wasn't even there to witness them.

Mulder goes through the motion of paying for William's personal pan pizza, bottled water, and a large diet Pepsi for him and William to share. He eyes the corner of the restaurant where there used to be a booth behind a retaining wall. The wall and the booth are gone. Probably ditched in a dumpster somewhere, trash compacted, or sold at auction. They should have been given a proper sendoff. A 21-gun salute. A hero's farewell at Arlington.

Eager to eat his pizza, Will skips his way back to the gate, his dazed father following a half-step behind.

As Will sinks back into his chair, Mulder turns to Scully any says, "It's official. They've paved paradise and put up a Pizza Hut."

"Blow on that, honey, it's hot," Scully says to William, not missing a beat. "What are you talking about, Mulder?"

"The Chili's that was in this terminal. Our Chili's? It's gone. They replaced it with a Pizza Hut Express. Can you believe that shit?"

"Language, Mulder," she whispers, nodding toward William who's too absorbed in his cheese pizza to notice.

Mulder can tell she knows what he's talking about though. She's starting to blush. A light rouge rising to her cheek not unlike the fuzzy pink of the sweater she'd been wearing that day. One that, now that he thinks about, he'd never seen her wear before or since.

"Are you sure it was even this terminal? These all look the same," she says.

"How could I forget?" It comes out louder than he wanted, even startling William briefly before he turns back to his meal.

"It could have been this terminal. Or it could have been any of the other identical ones though."

He slaps his hands on his thighs in frustration. "No, Scully, you're wrong. It was this one. I know it was. And I know you know, too."

"Oh, Mulder." She shakes her head and turns back to her book.

Finally, their flight is called for boarding. They gather up their bags and herd William onto the jet bridge. Once they're settled into their row, William in between them distracted with a new book, Scully leans over him to whisper in Mulder's ear.

"We'll always have Chili's." She winks.

Her low purr makes his groin twitch and he makes a note that he'll have to do something about that later, even in Bill Scully's house. It'll be more comfortable than a booth at Chili's To Go at least.

#xfiles #txf #the x files #msr #x files #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #msr fanfic #fictober #xffictober

46 notes · View notes

kairiscorner · 2 years ago

Note

OMG IF YOU WANT PLS DO WRITE THE FIC ABOUT MIGUEL SEEING OUR THIRST TRAPS 😭 salamat talagaaaa wala na kasi akong maisip maliban kay miguel

HELLOOOOO, OFC I WILL ANON, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS HEHE this is another excuse to make more text fics bc it's starting to feel fun for me LMAO <333

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

is it not for me? – miguel o'hara x reader (reacting to your thirst traps)

a/n: kind of suggestive shit underneath the cut, sorry if you don't like it, you have every right to scroll away ^^

after getting used to the controls and operations on social media and understanding the basic goal, or lack, of it–miguel had begun scrolling through his feed like you and lyla directed him to do. he scrolled and scrolled through the endless photos, videos, and posts sent his way by the very strange algorithm of the app. he still hadn't found the right thing for him on social media and he honestly wouldn't be here if you and lyla didn't force him to try it out so much, but when he least expected it... he happened upon your account.

he saw a photo of your back, it was you taking a selfie in the mirror with hardly anything covering your back. your behind was in full view but covered up, the lighting was dim, save for the flash of your phone's camera. the caption read: "for m, hoping you'll enjoy this three-course meal 🍓"

...that did something to miguel. it set some sort of feeling off of him, something that urged him to not just click like, but to comment right then and there: "who the shock is 'm'?" but if only he knew how to comment; all he knows how to do is click like and scroll.

he clicked the like button, unsure of how to feel about that very... eye-catching photo of yours. he tried shaking the feeling off, but he just couldn't; he couldn't stop thinking about it. he scrolled back up to see who else liked your photo, it took him a few tries to figure out how to do that. he also saw a few of the preview comments, complimenting your looks and tagging their friends who had 'm' in their names–joking that the photo was for them.

it pissed miguel off that these people could think your photos were for them, when you promised him you were all his. it damaged his ego slightly, but he figured these people were just douches, simple as that.

...but he needed to be doubly sure, so he click on your profile and looked through the posts you made. you really did love showing off your behind, it seemed like you were incredibly proud of it; miguel's totally in love with your ass, don't get him wrong, bur to know other people could see it and get to revisit the sight of your ass? oh, that made him feel a bit of a stinging pain in his chest.

he hated that feeling, where he felt like you were sharing intimate bits of yourself when you kept reminding and telling him you're all his. that, and as he scrolled through your comments, he saw a lot of people who not only loved your photos and sent you many compliments, but many who told you to get off the platform–many also catcalled you in the comments, too, much to his disgust.

"can't even keep this shit in real life, what losers." he muttered under his breath as he felt his anger rise as he kept scrolling through your comment section. he had gone through almost all of your posts, memorizing all the details of your posts and how you looked in them, feeling his face and chest flare up in a fit of heat as he looked through them all one by one. he sighed as he noticed you were a little too bold in these photos, in his opinion. he didn't want you to jeopardize yourself, seeing as how there were a lot of creeps on your account, he wanted to bring it to you attention.

hence, he messaged you all about his concerns.

"for... her mother?" miguel repeated to himself as he reread your message to him. he sighed, not believing your excuse one bit, believing you directed it to someone with an 'm' in their name, like him, but he decided to play along for now to get you to fess up eventually. that, and he doesn't think you'd wish your mom would have a lovely three-course meal with your ass picture, but he did see that you took pictures of food afterwards, so... it was plausible. but you were not off the hook yet.

he sighed as you laughed at his attempt at guessing who that post was for, who 'm' was. he felt a little embarrassed, a little ashamed he thought it was him, but then he thought of who would be closest to you, had 'm' in their name, and would enjoy the three-course meal that was... you already know what. he sighed as he typed and retyped his message after deleting the previous one, trying to get himself together after outing himself as being a little expectant that those thirst traps were for him.

he finally messaged you, trying to sound stern over text, but he was completely ignored by you when you sent him a selfie of your bottom half, with little letters on your bottom that read: "good????? bad????? should i get em....."

fuck, you baited him again.

he felt his cheeks grow hot and his breath hitch in his throat as he stared at your photo for a second, hoping you wouldn't post this, that this could remain as just a little thing between you two. but then again, he couldn't control you, so he'd just try to respond back–seeming unfazed. hopefully.

he was so easy to please sometimes.

moral of the story?

miguel loves your ass and wants to beat up the creeps in your comments section, while making it known to both you and the world that your ass is all for him–nobody else.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @fiannee @fictarian @yuridopted0 @arachnoia @meeom @ophanimgold @melovetitties @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @popeheywardssecretgf

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fluff #spiderman 2099 #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv imagines #atsv fluff #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse fluff

270 notes · View notes

thdorkmagnet · 7 months ago

Text

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.

#flufftober2024 #day 3 #alt 7 #my writing #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #save rottmnt #unpause rottmnt #rottmnt fanfiction #turtle tots #donatello hamato #michelangelo hamato #pb&j duo #smarts and crafts

29 notes · View notes