#parameter passing

[portraitsofpast]

beating rym into submission until they show me exactly what i want at all times

[sonjabysonjamorgan]

the worst thing ever in my life is that i can’t smoke weed anymore :’(

[kiwipit]

coming to the INSANE realization that these ppl I'm speaking to on dating apps think I'm transfemme/bigender instead of. transmasc/bigender. which is what I ID as internally. my profile j says bigender tho (this is insane)

[switch]

i'm beginning to strongly suspect the easiest way for me to deal with passing turns (either direct baton style or continual order) is actually going to just be to make the vanilla agility stat a hidden parameter, continue allowing it to function for determining turn order and absolutely nothing else, and then designate a second, actually viewable stat that will be the real agility used for e.g. critical or maybe escape formulae, be the one affected by buffs, etc. this sounds ridiculous.

[telomirage]

I was headed to the floor to try to reconfigure data entry for a test and ran into my boss, who slowed to a stop like she was approaching an easily spooked horse to ask, "are you still here?" physically yes, emotionally no.

[who-the-fuck-is-sennalye]

well that's some fucking bullshit.

[alienzil]

Nanny Danny

“That is a whole ass baby,” was the only thought running through Lex Luthor’s head when the scientist proudly showed him the tube containing Project KR. It was not remotely the sort of thing he would normally think and most definitely not what he had expected to be thinking the first time he saw the clone.

He’d been pleased when he’d read the reports indicating the success of KR after years of failures. Lex had poured millions of dollars and literally his own blood into ensuring a clone of the alien could be made, one that would be under his total control instead of the unknown aspirations of Superman.  He’d wanted to see the fruits of his labors personally but this…

It. No, not an it. He scrunched his tiny face and smacked his lips and…did he smirk? Was that HIS SMIRK on that baby’s face?! No. No. Babies this small didn’t smile or smirk. They passed gas and their sleep deprived and addled parents mistook it for an intelligent response. He’d heard enough inane conversations in the Lexcorp office about the various progeny of his employees to pick up on that but still. This child had Kryptonian DNA, not to mention his own contribution. Surely, he was far more advanced than the dribbling potato shaped lump of an infant whose pictures he’d been forced to smile and nod over when Mark from accounting had rudely shoved them in his face at the last quarterly budget meeting. Yes, that was definitely a smirk. His, that was his smirk.

“So as you can see its growth is well within expected parameters and we’re planning to start phase one of accelerating the maturation process tomorrow once the testing is do-”

“Take him out.”

“Sir? The testing can all be accomplished while it remains in the tube. There’s no need to-”

“I said, take him out. The project is cancelled.”

“What?! Mr. Luthor you can’t!”

“I think you’ll find I can. Now get me my son.”

*****

Two years later

“Call them again”

“Sir, I’ve called them seven times. They won’t answer.”

“Then call another agency!”

“There isn’t another agency, Sir”

Lex glared at his assistant who stared back at him impassively. Mercy stood by the door staring off into the distance and pretending she didn’t notice him being bested by his own secretary.

He stopped himself from shouting again and took a deep breath before asking, “Then what, exactly, do you propose I do Mrs. Anderson? Adjust my entire schedule around naptimes? Find a toddler size lab coat and safety goggles and bring my son with me to tour the new clean energy project on Thursday? Perhaps buy a tiny business suit while I’m at it for the next board meeting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, Mr. Luthor. I’m telling you that no childcare agency in Metropolis will return my calls anymore. Most won’t even answer.  You’ve gone through 27 nannies in the last 3 months. You need someone better suited to your son’s…special needs.”

Lex snorted. “Special needs might be a bit of understatement. He can lift a car over his head and his favorite word right now is No.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Thank you for…clarifying the situation, Marjorie. If there’s nothing else, you can leave.”

His secretary didn’t move. She looked at him like she was waiting for something and now that he was paying attention, he saw she was holding a file.  “Did you have a suggestion?”

Looking pleased with herself she responded, “Actually, yes, I did.”

“Well?”

She set the file on his desk and flipped it open. He looked down at the first page and raised an eyebrow, “What am I looking at here?”

“This,” she responded pulling out the top set of papers and spreading them out, “is the employee file and background check for Daniel J. Fenton, an intern that started in our engineering department about 4 months ago. He has one sibling, two parents and several close friends he regularly meets with. His current supervisor has nothing but good things to say about him and reports he gets along well with all his coworkers.”

She set out the next set of papers, neatly arranging them on the desk to be easily seen. “These are newspaper articles and screenshots of social media posts regarding a small town vigilante locally known as Phantom. The same small town, Mr. Fenton is from coincidentally. Also coincidentally, Phantom made his first appearance only a few weeks after Mr. Fenton was involved in a minor accident in his parent’s home laboratory when he was 14, the medical records for the incident are included.”

“Hmm,” Lex said observing several photos of Phantom and a younger Fenton arranged in order of similar poses and facial expressions and printed out side by side.

“Finally,” she said handing him the last set of papers directly, “this would be a report from the lab Mr. Fenton works in from an incident that happened yesterday. A test with a new protype went wrong and started a fire. Everyone evacuated per protocol when the alarms went off but one of the other interns was working on a programming issue off to the side of the lab while wearing headphones and didn’t hear the alarm or notice the fire. Mr. Fenton noticed his absence and returned to the lab to get him out.” She stopped talking and let him look at the last several pages in the file, a series of photographs of the lab.

“Is this ice?”

“Yes, it is. It’s several inches thick and covers half of the lab. It completely put out the fire leaving minimal damage.”

“This machine was moved?”

“It was. It was very close to the flames and would have required replacement if exposed to extreme heat or cold. That particular piece of equipment also weighs several thousand pounds and was bolted to the floor.”

Lex read through everything in detail then clasped his hands under his chin and stared at the photo of Daniel Fenton for several moments before turning back to his waiting secretary.

“Have HR send Mr. Fenton up. I’d like to offer him a promotion.”

[cressidagrey]

Love Letter

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Other people write love letters, Felicity Piastri reengineers tire degradation. 

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who actually knows what she is talking about and is the genius behind the science. She said this science "was understandable and accurate enough for fic." (Also I am aware that this is not believable, but hey, let me have fun 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

By the time McLaren hit mid-season in 2024, Andrea Stella had become something of a veteran in the art of bracing for impact — the kind that came not from a crash, but from the Piastri household.

He had gotten used to it.

Oscar’s precision. His unnerving calm. The way he drove with the composure of a man triple his age and none of the ego.

Felicity, who wasn’t technically on the payroll, but might as well have had a desk in R&D. Who was so liked in the engineering department that Andrea had overheard an engineer asking Oscar like an overexcited puppy when his wife was going to come back and play with them. 

Felicity was always lingering at the edge of a race day.

Always watching. Always noticing.

And then there was Bee — small, serious, and so wildly intelligent it made his engineers nervous. She had literally seen an issue with their suspension during her first trip to the garage. Now, she asked about downforce balance mid-lunch and then drew airflow diagrams on her juice box.

Andrea had learned to expect brilliance from them.

But what Felicity handed him that morning wasn’t brilliance.

It was revolution.

It came in the form of a single-page drawing.

A3 paper. Hand-sketched. Neat annotations in clean block lettering.

She passed it over casually, like it was a grocery list. “Was thinking about deg last night. Couldn’t sleep. Just a theory. Don’t know if it’s actually useful, sorry.”

Andrea glanced at it.

Then really looked.

And stopped breathing.

At first glance, it looked like a cooling solution — rim cooling, a variation on brake duct design. Not uncommon. Not radical.

But then he saw it.

Phase. Change. Materials.

His eyes darted to the margin where she’d written:

PCM core set to activate at 276°C. Peak drawdown window ~30 seconds, reset threshold <210°C. Tapered air channel design for directional retention. Modeled after CPU heat-sink transfer.

Andrea looked up.

Felicity just shrugged. “Everyone’s been trying to brute-force cooling through airflow. I figured… maybe it’s not about keeping it cool. Maybe it’s about controlling the peak.”

It wasn’t theoretical.

It was elegant.

Andrea’s brain kicked into high gear. 

PCM — phase change materials — had been a whispered concept in F1 circles for years. The holy grail of thermal management. 

The idea that you could insert a material that would melt in response to a precise temperature range, absorbing energy as it changed state — holding a system in a stable thermal window. It worked in CPUs. Data centers. Rocketry.

But no one had ever made it viable in an F1 brake drum environment.

Not until now.

Not until this.

Not until it came from Oscar Piastri’s wife, at 2 a.m., in the quiet space between insomnia and motherhood.

Andrea blinked hard. “You know we’ve had engineers — PhDs — trying to crack this for years?”

She just shrugged. 

He had no words.

Just respect.

And the rising sense that something seismic had shifted.

He handed it straight to the sim team. They ran a closed simulation. Quietly. Then another. And another.

By the time they tested it under controlled parameters, the engineers were whispering about windowed degradation curves. About temperature floors. About thermal consistency that shouldn’t be possible.

Oscar was suddenly able to manage medium compounds like they were hard. The performance drop-off curve flattened — flattened. Andrea had never seen anything like it.

No magic bullet in F1 ever worked this fast.

But this?

This wasn’t a magic bullet.

It was physics. It was material science. It was control — without compromise.

They ran it again during a private test at Silverstone. And then — stealthily — implemented portions of the system into the race package.

By the time the 2025 season came around, Red Bull was accusing them of cheating. Mercedes was sulking. Ferrari was confused. 

The paddock wanted to know what the hell McLaren had done.

The answer?

Felicity Piastri.

When Andrea called her into his office, holding the latest race run data in one hand and a calculator in the other, she sat across from him sipping tea out of a mug with Bee’s name on it.

“You realize you’ve just solved one of the biggest unsolved problems in modern F1?” he said.

Felicity blinked. “I was just tired of watching Oscar hemorrhage tire life while driving perfectly.”

Andrea stared at her.

She added, a little awkwardly, “I didn’t… mean to change the whole season. I just wanted him to stop overcompensating for a thermal flaw no one was fixing.”

Andrea leaned back in his chair and said — for the first time in his career — “I am both terrified of and completely in awe of your entire family.”

Felicity just smiled and said, “Would you mind printing a copy of the new tire envelope profiles? Bee wants to compare the heatmaps to the old ones.”

Andrea buried his face in his hands. “Tell her to go easy on us.”

“I’ll try. No promises.”

They were rocket ships now. Every track. Every compound. Consistent, controlled, deadly fast.

And somewhere, deep in the McLaren server, the drawing still existed. In a scanned file. Named Piastri_Insomnia_Fix_v1.pdf

Andrea renamed it later that week.

"Found the Window."

Because that’s what it was.

A window — held open by a woman who thought differently. Who didn’t need the spotlight. Who just loved someone enough to stay up all night figuring out how to protect him from heat, chaos, and failure.

And somehow, she’d done the same for all of them.

***

Mark Webber had seen a lot in his career.

Title deciders. Broken bones. Politics dressed up as progress. He’d seen technical miracles and driver meltdowns and the rare, perfect moment when both came together and worked.

But he had never seen a technical revolution arrive folded in half on a single piece of A3 paper, annotated in gel pen and handed in like someone had just scribbled down the grocery list.

And he certainly hadn’t expected it to come from Felicity Piastri. Maybe he should have. 

He was standing trackside in China when Andrea Stella handed him the printout — not the PDF version with simulations, but the original. The drawing. The one that changed their 2025 season from promising to dominant.

“She gave me this on a Tuesday,” Andrea said, voice flat with disbelief. “Said it was just a thought. I’ve had people with entire departments fail to model this. She did it because she couldn’t sleep.”

Mark turned the page over once. Then again.

It was neat. Clean. Not showy.

Pressure curves, airflow vectors, the highlighted activation band of the phase change material she’d used to stabilize tire temp near the brake drum.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “She’s a genius.”

He knew that. He had been aware of it for years. But it was something else entirely to see it in action. 

Andrea didn’t argue. “She just… wanted to help Oscar.”

Mark stared at the drawing again.

That’s when it hit him.

This wasn’t a flex.

This wasn’t about glory. Or proving herself. Or showing up a paddock full of men with degrees and dynos.

It was a love letter.

Written in airflow.

Signed in melting point theory.

Stamped in the stable temperature range of a tire that could now go ten laps longer without falling off.

Felicity hadn’t just solved degradation.

She had — quietly, brilliantly — rewritten the way Oscar raced.

Because he was hers.

And this was what loving him looked like.

Not flowers. Not poems. Just… making the world easier for him. A little softer. A little kinder. A little less brutal at 300km/h.

Mark let out a slow breath.

“Do you think she knows what she did?” he asked.

Andrea shrugged. “I think she knows why she did it. That’s probably enough.”

Mark folded the paper again — carefully, reverently — and tucked it back into the folder.

And in that moment, he didn’t see the terrifying engineering breakthrough.

He just saw a woman who loved her husband enough to change the laws of tire life —So he wouldn’t have to carry the weight alone.

***

Oscar had just come back from a long run on used mediums when Andrea called him into the office.

Nothing dramatic — just a quiet, “Got a sec?” as Oscar peeled off his gloves and handed his helmet to a mechanic. The kind of thing that sounded normal. Routine. Like maybe they were going to go over sector data or tire drop-off or which curb had tried to kill him today.

So when Andrea closed the office door behind them and reached into his drawer without saying a word, Oscar raised an eyebrow.

Then Andrea handed him a sheet of paper.

A3. Slightly folded. Faint graphite smudges along the margin.

 The original one. Still folded along the crease Felicity had made when she handed it to Andrea like it wasn’t the single greatest thermal breakthrough in modern tire strategy.

Oscar took it automatically.

Looked down.

And stilled.

There were notes in clean block print. Equations. Angled airflow paths, subtle thermal gradients, annotations on phase change material melt points and rim temperature drawdown.

Oscar’s throat went dry. His eyes scanned the drawing again, heart starting to race—not from adrenaline, but from recognition.

He knew that handwriting.

It was so her. The tidy script. The neat arrows. The absence of drama.

Just a brilliant mind trying to fix something that made the person she loved suffer.

He’d seen it on post-it notes stuck to Bee’s whiteboard. On margin scribbles in books Felicity had left lying around. On every note she slipped into his suitcase before he went to a race….every note that he then slipped into his racing gloves. 

Oscar looked up, voice quieter than it should’ve been. “This is Felicity’s.”

Andrea nodded once. “She gave it to me three months ago. Said it was probably nothing. Just an idea she had when she couldn’t sleep.”

Oscar sat down.

Because suddenly, his knees weren’t quite up to the task.

He stared at the drawing like it might vanish.

This was it.

The fix. The reason their tires held. The reason he didn’t fall off in stint two. The reason strategy meetings had shifted from damage control to aggression. The reason the car felt like it trusted him back for the first time in forever.

He felt it like a punch to the chest.

“She… she did this?”

“She did,” Andrea said. “And she didn’t want credit. Said she just wanted you to stop overcompensating for bad thermal management. That you were too good to keep bleeding lap time for other people’s mistakes.”

Oscar swallowed hard. His hands were shaking.

He looked back down at the paper.

At the numbers.

The calculations.

Oscar turned the page over.

A post-it was pressed to the back, Andrea’s handwriting.

“From Mark: ‘This isn’t just engineering. This is her love letter to Oscar — making the world around him easier.’”

Oscar’s heart stopped.

He stared at the sentence for a long, long time.

He read it again. And again.

The words didn’t feel like compliments.

They felt like someone had taken a flashlight and pointed it directly into his chest — illuminating something he hadn’t dared to articulate, even to himself.

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

The sketch. The concept. The whole damn thing.

Felicity hadn’t set out to change a season.

She’d just wanted him to stop hurting.

To stop watching his tires fall apart under perfect driving. To stop fighting physics he couldn’t control. To stop carrying all that frustration on his own.

She’d stayed up at 2 a.m. not because it was her job — but because it was his dream.

She had never once made him feel like he had to win for her.

But God, she made him believe he could.

He blinked hard.

Thought about the way she kissed his temple when he came home late. The way she labeled Bee’s lunchbox with thermal guidelines for optimum snack temperature. The way she never said I love you like a performance — only like a truth.

Then he looked up. “Mark… he really said that?”

Andrea’s voice gentled. “He did.”

Oscar stared at the page again.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah. That’s her.”

And in his chest, where the engine noise usually lived — Where the pressure, the expectations, the sheer weight of competition settled — He felt something loosen.

Because winning was nice. The championship would be incredible.

But this?

Being loved like this?

That was better than anything he’d ever drive for.

***

The house was dark when he got home.

Not silent — not entirely. There was the low whir of the dishwasher. The cluck of a chicken outside, ruffling in its sleep. The soft creak of floorboards as he kicked his shoes off at the door and padded down the hall in his socks.

It was late. He hadn’t texted. He hadn’t needed to.

The bedroom door was open.

Bee was curled up in the middle of the bed like a starfish in mismatched pajamas, one hand still clutching the tail of her stuffed frog. Felicity was beside her, lying on top of the duvet, eyes closed, one arm slung across Bee’s little body like she was anchoring her in a dream.

Oscar stood in the doorway for a long time.

Just… watched them.

His wife and his daughter. One terrifying genius and one tiny one-in-training. Both of them unknowable and brilliant and his.

He swallowed around the knot in his throat and moved quietly to the other side of the bed, careful not to wake Bee as he lay down beside them.

Felicity stirred almost immediately, her breath catching as her body registered the warmth beside her.

Her eyes opened — drowsy, soft.

“Oz?” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep. “You’re home late.”

Oscar didn’t answer at first. Just slid his hand beneath hers and laced their fingers together. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, slow and steady.

She didn’t push.

Didn’t sit up.

Didn’t ask.

Just waited.

And because she didn’t ask — because she already knew — he found his voice again.

“Mark saw the drawing,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “The one you gave Andrea.”

Felicity blinked slowly. “Oh.”

“He said it was a love letter. That you were making the world easier for me.”

She was still for a beat.

Then: “He’s not wrong.”

Oscar exhaled sharply. Pressed his forehead to her shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve figured something out eventually.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

She turned her head just enough to press a kiss to the crown of his hair.

Her voice was quieter than ever. “I’d do it again.”

Oscar’s breath hitched.

“I’d do it again tomorrow,” she said. “And the next day. And the day after that. If it meant you could breathe easier. If it meant you didn’t have to fight so hard just to keep pace with people who were working with better tools.”

He closed his eyes. Let the weight of her words settle over him like a blanket. Warm. Certain. Steady.

She ran her fingers through his curls once, twice.

And then she whispered: “You make the world easier for me, too. You just don’t notice it. You make it softer.”

Oscar kissed her shoulder. Didn’t move.

Didn’t need to.

Because she knew.

And he’d carry that with him — into every debrief, every qualifying lap, every moment on the podium.

This wasn’t just about racing.

This was home.

And it felt a hell of a lot like winning.

***

Lando found out in the most Lando way possible: completely by accident and one week too late.

He was in the simulator debrief when the topic of “thermal management integrity stability” came up — words that immediately made him want to die a little inside.

They were talking about their tire performance. Again.

Specifically, the fact that they could now absolutely cook it through mid-stint without falling off the cliff. And no one else could.

Lando was half paying attention — until one of the engineers muttered something about “F. Piastri’s material integration concept.”

Lando blinked.

“Sorry, whose what now?”

The room went quiet.

Andrea didn’t even look up from his screen. “Felicity. The drawing. You’ve seen it.”

“No, I have not seen it. Unless it was attached to a meme or came with a side of banana bread, I was not included.”

Will Joseph — Lando’s race engineer — slowly slid a printed diagram across the table.

Lando took one look.

Paused.

And said, “Wait. This is her?”

Andrea nodded without looking up. “Came up with it over insomnia. Gave it to me like it was a shopping list. It works.”

Lando stared at the airflow map, the PCM trigger temperatures, the annotated note that literally said ‘the goal is to stabilize the moment he usually starts slipping — give him room to breathe.’

He felt like someone had sucker-punched him with science and sentiment at the same time.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, sitting up straighter. “You’re telling me Felicity Piastri — as in, Oscar’s wife who wears motor oil like perfume and once fixed the coffee machine with a literal wrench — came up with the strategy that made our car an actual rocket ship?”

“Yes.”

“And it works.”

“Yes.”

“And she just gave it to you? No credit, no fuss, just… ‘here, I fixed the entire concept of high-deg tire strategy because I couldn’t sleep’?”

Andrea finally looked up. “Correct.”

Lando sat back, stunned.

He knew Felicity was scary smart. Knew she could rebuild a gearbox while calculating orbital velocity. Knew Oscar worshipped the ground she walked on and never made a big deal out of it because he didn’t need to.

But this?

This was something else.

“She didn’t do it for the team,” Lando said quietly, the realization hitting all at once. “She did it for him.”

Andrea didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

Lando looked back down at the page — the margins, the equations, the gentle note that said “he’s too good to be held back by bad thermal behavior.”

And he felt it in his chest — that familiar ache.

Because that wasn’t engineering.

That was love.

The quiet kind.

The kind that doesn’t shout or show off.

The kind that stays up at 2 a.m. fixing something no one else thought could be fixed — just so the person you love can breathe easier.

So he doesn’t have to carry it all alone.

So he can go faster, safer, freer.

It was a love letter.

Not in flowers or poems.

In airflow and melting points.

Lando leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “Jesus Christ. She built him a better world.”

Will snorted. “She rebuilt tire degradation, but sure, let’s make it poetic.”

Lando didn’t even blink. “It is poetic. He’s the quiet guy. And she’s the quieter genius who knows exactly where he hurts and rewrites the laws of physics to help him anyway.”

Andrea tilted his head. “You’re getting sentimental again.”

“I’m right,” Lando shot back, still staring at the page. “He’ll win the title because she didn’t want him to bleed for it.”

He tapped the margin with his knuckle. “This is the kind of love that never asks for a podium. Just builds the car to get him there.”

And for once — no one had a comeback.

Because they all knew it was true.

***

They were in the driver’s lounge two days later, when Lando struck.

He’d been waiting for the perfect moment.

And Oscar, blissfully unaware, had just taken a bite of his protein bar like he wasn’t about to get emotionally roasted.

Lando stretched out across the sofa like a cat in a sunbeam and said, far too casually, “So… what’s it like being loved so much your wife reinvented tire degradation for you?”

Oscar blinked mid-chew. “…Sorry?”

Lando grinned. “Just curious. I mean, some of us get love letters or handmade birthday cakes. You? You get full-phase material integration strategies and temperature-controlled brake ducting. Romantic stuff.”

Oscar groaned, immediately regretting not hiding in the sim room instead. “Lando.”

“I’m serious,” Lando said, sitting up now, fully energized. “Felicity took one look at your stint data and said, ‘this man needs help. Let me just rewrite thermodynamics real quick.’”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t—”

“No, no,” Lando cut in. “Don’t you dare downplay this. The rest of us? We have to manage deg. You? You have a thermodynamic guardian angel in your marriage bed.”

Oscar flushed, the tips of his ears visibly pink. “She had a theory. That’s all.”

“‘Just a theory,’” Lando mimicked, using air quotes. “‘Just a casual bedtime sketch that turned McLaren into the most stable tire platform on the grid.’ My God, Oscar. She loves you so much it’s physically measurable.”

Oscar sank lower in his seat, muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re married to the Nikola Tesla of tire temp control. I deserve to be insufferable.”

“Lando—”

“She built us a better car because she hated watching you suffer.” Lando flopped dramatically. “Imagine. Being loved with that level of efficiency. Can you even comprehend?”

Oscar sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s just… always been smarter than all of us.”

Lando stopped mid-rant.

And smiled, softer this time. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a long pause.

Then Lando added, “Anyway. If she ever wants to fix my brakes, tell her I’m emotionally available.”

Oscar snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“What about Bee? Can she be bribed with juice boxes and data sets?”

Oscar shook his head, laughing now. “She’s already running her own simulations. She’s got standards.”

Lando grinned. “Just like her mum.”

Oscar looked down at the McLaren logo on his hoodie — the one Felicity stole all the time — and felt something warm settle in his chest.

He didn’t say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

But when he went home that night, he kissed Felicity extra softly — and whispered thank you against her temple like a promise.

And Felicity?

She just smiled, wiped her grease-smudged fingers on her jeans, and said, “Don’t thank me yet. Bee thinks we can improve the airflow angle by three degrees.”

Because love — in their house — was always a work in progress.

And always worth the effort.

***

[chaosmagetwin]

Command Prompt

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

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

I killed the last person who dared.

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

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

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

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

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

"S-sorry..." It left.

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

My legs trembled, aching.

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

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

"Pilot. Stand up." A voice called.

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

"How long since you slept?"

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

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

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

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

"Pilot is operating above mission parameters!"

"And what parameters are those, pilot?"

"... Survive."

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

"Confirmed. Request Handler to complete mission."

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

"PILOT. I AM-"

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

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

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

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

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

"Handler!"

"When was it received in this operation cycle?"

"Order received at hour 8 and seventeen minutes!"

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

"... Survive...."

"What were the exact words, Pilot?"

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

"Repeat them to me."

"Confidential information! Cleara-"

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

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

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

".... Command: Sleep."

"Lay down in your pod, Pilot."

"Order.... confirmed..."

[coffeeworldsasaki]

The way I almost died trying to do just this with jetpack compose when I made a lot more complex UIs with xml 🥲

[siegecraft]

this works btw

psionically messaging each one of my crushes but Not doing it sexy style just sendign clarifying questions

[phantomrose96]

The conversation around AI is going to get away from us quickly because people lack the language to distinguish types of AI--and it's not their fault. Companies love to slap "AI" on anything they believe can pass for something "intelligent" a computer program is doing. And this muddies the waters when people want to talk about AI when the exact same word covers a wide umbrella and they themselves don't know how to qualify the distinctions within.

I'm a software engineer and not a data scientist, so I'm not exactly at the level of domain expert. But I work with data scientists, and I have at least rudimentary college-level knowledge of machine learning and linear algebra from my CS degree. So I want to give some quick guidance.

What is AI? And what is not AI?

So what's the difference between just a computer program, and an "AI" program? Computers can do a lot of smart things, and companies love the idea of calling anything that seems smart enough "AI", but industry-wise the question of "how smart" a program is has nothing to do with whether it is AI.

A regular, non-AI computer program is procedural, and rigidly defined. I could "program" traffic light behavior that essentially goes { if(light === green) { go(); } else { stop();} }. I've told it in simple and rigid terms what condition to check, and how to behave based on that check. (A better program would have a lot more to check for, like signs and road conditions and pedestrians in the street, and those things will still need to be spelled out.)

An AI traffic light behavior is generated by machine-learning, which simplistically is a huge cranking machine of linear algebra which you feed training data into and it "learns" from. By "learning" I mean it's developing a complex and opaque model of parameters to fit the training data (but not over-fit). In this case the training data probably includes thousands of videos of car behavior at traffic intersections. Through parameter tweaking and model adjustment, data scientists will turn this crank over and over adjusting it to create something which, in very opaque terms, has developed a model that will guess the right behavioral output for any future scenario.

A well-trained model would be fed a green light and know to go, and a red light and know to stop, and 'green but there's a kid in the road' and know to stop. A very very well-trained model can probably do this better than my program above, because it has the capacity to be more adaptive than my rigidly-defined thing if the rigidly-defined program is missing some considerations. But if the AI model makes a wrong choice, it is significantly harder to trace down why exactly it did that.

Because again, the reason it's making this decision may be very opaque. It's like engineering a very specific plinko machine which gets tweaked to be very good at taking a road input and giving the right output. But like if that plinko machine contained millions of pegs and none of them necessarily correlated to anything to do with the road. There's possibly no "if green, go, else stop" to look for. (Maybe there is, for traffic light specifically as that is intentionally very simplistic. But a model trained to recognize written numbers for example likely contains no parameters at all that you could map to ideas a human has like "look for a rigid line in the number". The parameters may be all, to humans, meaningless.)

So, that's basics. Here are some categories of things which get called AI:

"AI" which is just genuinely not AI

There's plenty of software that follows a normal, procedural program defined rigidly, with no linear algebra model training, that companies would love to brand as "AI" because it sounds cool.

Something like motion detection/tracking might be sold as artificially intelligent. But under the covers that can be done as simply as "if some range of pixels changes color by a certain amount, flag as motion"

2. AI which IS genuinely AI, but is not the kind of AI everyone is talking about right now

"AI", by which I mean machine learning using linear algebra, is very good at being fed a lot of training data, and then coming up with an ability to go and categorize real information.

The AI technology that looks at cells and determines whether they're cancer or not, that is using this technology. OCR (Optical Character Recognition) is the technology that can take an image of hand-written text and transcribe it. Again, it's using linear algebra, so yes it's AI.

Many other such examples exist, and have been around for quite a good number of years. They share the genre of technology, which is machine learning models, but these are not the Large Language Model Generative AI that is all over the media. Criticizing these would be like criticizing airplanes when you're actually mad at military drones. It's the same "makes fly in the air" technology but their impact is very different.

3. The AI we ARE talking about. "Chat-gpt" type of Generative AI which uses LLMs ("Large Language Models")

If there was one word I wish people would know in all this, it's LLM (Large Language Model). This describes the KIND of machine learning model that Chat-GPT/midjourney/stablediffusion are fueled by. They're so extremely powerfully trained on human language that they can take an input of conversational language and create a predictive output that is human coherent. (I am less certain what additional technology fuels art-creation, specifically, but considering the AI art generation has risen hand-in-hand with the advent of powerful LLM, I'm at least confident in saying it is still corely LLM).

This technology isn't exactly brand new (predictive text has been using it, but more like the mostly innocent and much less successful older sibling of some celebrity, who no one really thinks about.) But the scale and power of LLM-based AI technology is what is new with Chat-GPT.

This is the generative AI, and even better, the large language model generative AI.

(Data scientists, feel free to add on or correct anything.)

[pearlcigs]

⋆ make a woman out of me

christian!virgin!reader x ellie williams

summary ⋆ you swore to yourself you only longed for ellie in a platonic way, but as you get older you seem to realize just how pretty she really is.

warnings ⋆ 2.95k ⋆ smut, i might get cancelled 🤷‍♀️, reader (non penetrative) virginity loss, religious themes, ellie is 19, reader is 18, pastor's daughter!reader, mentions of homophobia, alludes to reader's parents being homophobic, ellie smokes weed, pet names (pretty girl, babe, honey, baby, good girl), cursing, first kiss, corruption, corruption kink, oral (r recieving)

time moved slowly within the parameters of jackson. the same familiar faces, day in and day out. though, it was comforting living in such a community. the horrors of the world beyond the walls that stood tall was something you rarely wanted to think about. it made you sick to your stomach to think of your friends, loved ones, even people you weren't particularly close with, outside of the safe walls, being face to face with whatever monsters marred the unhabitual world.

your parents were strict with religion, your father being the only self acclaimed paster that jackson has ever had to offer. there was never a time you could remember, even before finding refuge in the cozy town, where your parents weren't devout. vivid memories of your mother's fingers gliding over the cross necklace she wore around her neck when you would get in trouble. disappointed sighs and signs of the cross, begging the lord above for forgiveness, explaining to the sky you were too young to know what you've done was a sin.

the bible was followed closely in your home, and you obliged without caution. you prayed, attended your father's mass sessions in the tiny chapel just down the road where he preached the bible, wore the holy cross around your neck to show your devotion, you've read the old torn and withered bible you were so lucky to find front to back. religion was all you've ever known and you had found no reason to ever question the man who hung on your wooden walls, hanging from a cross with his hands and feed nailed to it like an animal. that was, until ellie.

"come on, don't you wanna jus' see what it feels like?" ellie teased, waving the joint in front of your face like a taunt. "no thank you." you replied, sitting at the foot of her bed, legs crossed, eyes wandering around her room. when ellie first came to jackson you were infatuated with her, dwindling it down to pure want but only of friendship. "good girl, that's what you say when someone offers you this shit." ellie moves the weed away from your face, inhaling it and then turning away to exhale the smoke away from you.

it started with just friendly smiles, offering to show her around and help her get to know everyone. she was wary of you. honestly, afraid of your friendly demeanor. people on the outside of the jackson walls were cruel and vicious, she thought, with no doubt in her mind, you were being friendly to lure her into some kind of trap. she danced around you with caution, keeping her distance but also decidingly giving you a chance. she quickly became fond of you, your personality, your looks. everything about you appealed to ellie and something about that made you proud, even more eager to befriend her.

the words 'good girl' ring from her mouth and you're not sure how to respond. was there even a proper response to your best friend calling you that? a simple nod was all you could come up with. watching her lips intently as she blew the smoke out of her lungs. your fingers came up to your neck, fiddling with the cross necklace around your neck, a habit passed down from your mother. ellie never paid much attention to your shy outlook on life. you were reserved and a part of her liked that she had so much of you to herself.

it wasn't until you were 17 that you finally came to terms with the fact that your infatuation was more than just a yearning to be her friend. tears of guilt streaming down your face in the confessional at the shoddy chapel, divider between you and the young volunteer who was ready to beg jesus to abolish your sins. "i'm a girl... and i like another girl." you sniffled, lowering the pitch of your voice instinctively so he wouldn't see past your anonymity. ache in your heart when silence was returned, until soft mutterings of a prayer, asking jesus to forgive your tainted heart.

ellie extended her arms behind her head, a small stretch that gave you big feelings. her shirt rode up, exposing the small of her stomach. you swallowed harshly, wondering why god would tempt you with something like this. a soft sigh emits from ellie's lips, flicking the almost finished joint into a nearby makeshift ashtray. another soft sigh falling from her perfect lips. intent eyes trying to be secretive of the no less then unholy thoughts that you were being tempted with.

ellie was put off at first by your fervent religion. her experiences were tainted, never having a good visual of what a healthy relationship with god looked like. she was unsure if you were going to try and convert her into some pious worshipper. you weren't secretive of your religion and that much was enough to make ellie suspicious. with time she realized you were different from the other religious people she's met. only bringing up your religion or anything to do with it when you were directly asked or if it was really important to speak about.

"whatchu lookin' at, pretty girl?" she chuckled as she noticed the way your eyes locked onto her, like if you looked away she'd be gone. it wasn't unusual for ellie to be flirty or to make casual remarks about how pretty you were. still, every time she did your cheeks were adorned in a rosy color. "just you, i guess. i dunno..." you answered back quickly, hoping that answer was enough to satisfy her eager curiosity. "yeah? just me? got something you wanna say to me?" she was just joking around, trying to get you riled up and flustered but you did have things you wanted to say to her.

"no." you answered, though you were sure she wasn't expecting an actual response. "no? yikes, babe, i'm hurt, thought we had somethin' real here." she smiled and you felt the butterflies in your stomach become tongue tied. one thing you loved about ellie above all things was her smile, how the skin around her eyes scrunched up just the tiniest bit, the apples of her cheeks becoming more prominent. everything about her smile made your head spin.

"els, i like you." the words slip out of your mouth before you could even process what was going on. her smile that coerced you to confess to her in the first place falters. "i'm sorry?" she questions, unsure if you meant what she thought you did. you had never said anything that led ellie to believe you were homophobic or that you thought all gay people were sinners like most of the older people who were religious in jackson did. but still she was careful to keep her sexuality from you, strongly assured you would take after your parents' stance on homosexuality.

"i... i don't know why i said that." you say, truthfully. mouth slightly agape and eyes widened with shock that you'd just outed yourself after years of trying to force down your feelings. there was a silence between the two of you. silence wasn't uncommon around each other, sometimes the both of you preferring to spend your time together quietly as a way to unwind after a treacherous day. but this silence was different than those times. ellies breath was caught in her throat, words jumbled on her tongue.

she only began reacting when she saw the panic on your face, followed by your eyes becoming glassy. "hey, hey. don't cry. it's okay." she comforted, sitting up and placing a hand on your knee. she wasn't good at comforting people, you were well aware of that. "i didn't mean to.." you admitted, voice timid and quiet, still uncertain to how she would react. "hey, it's okay, honey." the term of endearment sliding off her tongue like she was meant to call you that for the rest of your lives.

"i'm not mad." ellie affirms, her tone soft, knowing how afraid of other people's anger you are. another flash of silence emerges, just you and ellie staring at each other. neither of you knowing what to say. she pitied you, seeing how much you resented yourself. your bottom lip slotted between your teeth, biting hard enough to potentially draw blood. "don't do that..." she mutters, gently running her thumb over your partially chapped lips, pulling your bottom lip out of your teeth's grasp.

your breath hitches, a small shudder traveling up your spine. your eyes locked on hers, your heart beating loud enough for the whole world to hear. ellie's eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to your eyes. "i've liked you for a while." you admit, knowing there was no going back at this point. "oh, yeah?" her voice was low, some would even describe as seductive. her thumb still lingering on your bottom lip. "yeah." you whisper back, your eyes now flickering down to her lips.

ellie's hand moves to your jaw. her eyes flicking down to your lips one last time before she leans down and presses her lips against yours. her lips are soft, just like you had imagined. she seems skilled, like she knew what she was doing and what the end goal was. a small smile forming on her face as she realizes you have no idea what you're doing. “like this.” she mumbles against your lips acutely aware how clueless you were when it came to romance.

you follow her lead, doing your best to follow her lead. her free hand finding your waist, squeezing gently. you pull away, panting faintly. "i don't know.." you mumble, trailing off as ellie puts her lips back to yours. the hand that was on your jaw roaming to the back of your head, fingers getting tangled in your hair. "i know." ellie responds moments later, her lips brushing against your with each syllable. you couldn't comprehend what was happening, your mind going blank with ellie's lips on yours. she adored the way you looked at her. looking at her like you needed her.

she gently lays you back, grabbing the first pillow she could find and settling it under your head so you were comfortable. her thighs either side of your body, her body weight on top of you, giving you a cozy feeling you'd never experienced before. "you don't even know how long i've been wantin' to kiss your pretty lips..." she whispers, her bangs hanging in front of her face. you bring your hand up to her face, nervously tucking the hair behind her ear. "god, you're so fuckin'..." she stops, just taking a second to admire how alluring you looked under her.

her lips dip down to your neck, slowly biting and sucking on the skin. your breath hitches, a small whine pushing past your swollen lips. ellie groans against the skin of your neck. "make more of those pretty noises f'r me." she mumbles, hips rolling over yours, another whine spilling from you at the pleasurable feeling. ellie's kisses move away from your neck, down your body. trailing down your collarbone to your clothed chest to your stomach. her lips stop, hovering right above your pussy.

your heart was beating out of your chest, you back arching a little in anticipation. "how bad do you wan' it? tell me, baby. tell me how much you wan' me." she was totally and utterly obsessed with you, her mind becoming drunk by the thought of you— the mere sight of you. "p-please, els..." you mumbled, voice timid from embarrassment. it was partially expected though, you'd never done anything like this. "i want you..." it was simple but effective, making ellie go feral for you. "fuck—"

she lowers her lips to your pussy, kissing over the fabric of your shorts. watching her through hooded eyes, your pussy throbbing from her touch. "gonna eat this pussy s'good. show you what you've been missin' out on." she groans, the fabric of your shorts dampening as she trails her tongue over the sensitive area. ellie surprised herself, shocked that she was able to dirty talk to you so easily like this. your hips were writhing against the bed, more eager than you've ever been in your entire life. you felt dirty for wanting this, knowing that god was watching you become a total slut for ellie.

ellie's fingers hooked on your shorts, pulling them down slow as slow could be, chuckling as you whined. "ellie. ellie, please." you muttered, begging for her to hurry up. ellie's eyes rolled back, the sound of you begging getting her more aroused than she's ever been. no one's ever made her feel like this before. she was done with the teasing, if not for your sake but for hers. she pulled your shorts and underwear off swiftly, discarding them somewhere to find later.

her eyes locked on your bare pussy, fighting back a moan at the sight. "you've got me so fucked up, babe." she muttered, kissing around your thighs first. you were nervous, breath shallow and quick paced, hungry for ellie but embarrassed nevertheless. your voice was caught in your throat, blinking quickly as you watched ellie kiss all over your thighs. ellie looked up at you and you were able to see that she was just as nervous as you. "is this okay? you can tell me to stop." she sounded sincere, pushing aside her pure need to get your consent.

you nodded, not trusting your voice. "use your words like the good girl you are, yeah?" she's longing to just taste your glistening cunt. "yes— yes, els. 't's okay..." she doesn't waste another second after hearing your shaky voice, tongue urgently dipping between your wet folds. you moan at the contact, feeling like you were on cloud 9. ellie's tongue presses flat against your clit, your hand clamping over your mouth. moans being muffled as ellie savors the sweet noises your dripping cunt was making.

ellie wasn't fond of you muffling your perfect little sounds, wanting to hear just how good she could make you feel. "let me hear you. don't make me punish you.." you don't move your hand away from your sinful mouth. your free hand finds ellie's, interlocking your fingers which she gladly accepts. "c'mon, baby. let me hear you." she encourages once more, lips moving against you with ease, mixture of your wetness and her spit. but to her dismay, you still ignored her commands. her free hand sliding your shirt up your body to expose your breasts, you were never one to wear a bra. her hand kneading the supple flesh, thumb running over your nipple.

she licks a strip from your entrance to your clit, making your thighs shake with immense pleasure. "wanna be a brat?" she mumbles into your pussy, looking up at you through her eyelashes, staring you down as her tongue circles your clit. "what is it they make you do in confession? hail mary's? 5 of 'em, now. or i stop." she smirks, watching the look in your eye become more flustered by her request. you slowly move your hand away from your mouth, not wanting this pleasure to ever stop.

"h-hail mary, full of grace—" you cut yourself off with a moan, eyes squeezing shut as you lift your hips, pushing your cunt further into ellie's face. "get to ruin this pretty pussy." ellie groans. "keep goin'. don't stop." she aids you to continue, feeling your cunt flutter around her tongue. "the lord is with— is with thee..." you continue, stuttering through the words. "good girl, keep goin' f'r me. let me hear you." she continues to egg you on, talking into your pussy. her own moans mixing in with the sound of yours.

"blessed art thou— ellie, please..." you whine, squeezing her hand and throwing your head back into the pillow, back arching off the bed. "c'mon, pretty girl. blessed art thou..." you toes curl at her words and the feeling of her tongue teasing your entrance. "—amongst... amongst women..." you trail off, mind becoming to hazy to even remember the words to the prayer you've prayed everyday since you could talk. ellie smirked into your cunt, relishing in the feeling of being able to turn your mind into mush, being the only one able to turn your mind into mush.

your moans and whines became breathier and higher pitched with each flick of her tongue. your stomach twisting in an unfamiliar knot. "ah, ah, ellie—" your thighs trying to clench together and push her head away, the feeling becoming too much. "you're gonna cum, baby?" she spreads your legs wider, her only greedy want is to make pleasure wash over you. "ellie! ellie! ellie!" you chant her name, eyes rolling back as the pleasurable wave of your orgasm finally hits you, moans loud and unfiltered.

"there we go... yeah, nice an' easy. fuck." she mutters, tongue fucking you through your high until your writhing and pushing her off of you. her lips relocating to your thighs and slowly working their way up to your pelvic bone, soft kisses against your skin. "tasted so good, baby. best pussy i've ever had." she praises, eager to show you just how much you pleasured her even though you technically didn't make her cum. "els..." you whined, face flushed a rosy red. "yeah, baby. 'm right here." she leaves a trail of kisses up your body as she reaches your lips, leaving a soft peck to let you know she was here. "does this mean you like me too...?" you asked innocently. "are you serious?"

another christian!reader x ellie williams fic!

[foldingfittedsheets]

The highlight of my college was big teams of cross discipline students coming together to make a game. Most teams worked on theirs from junior to senior year, but the teams could change between years. Game weren’t guaranteed to roll over into the next year without certain parameters.

Senior year was considered polish so largely that was artists but we still needed tech to implement changes and refine mechanics, sound engineers to keep adding music and effects, etc.

Our team didn’t get greenlit until we got more designers to sign on; we were sweating slightly that we’d be able to continue or if we’d need to get hired by other teams. A bunch of junior teams tanked in my year, so senior year was a few huge teams that consolidated.

But one of the categories to move from junior to senior year took me by surprise and made me laugh. In fact it took hearing it from another team to know it was even a metric we were getting judged on. My friend was saying, “Yeah- he found too many dicks in ours.”

“What? Did you have dicks in your game?”

“No!” he insisted. But what they had was rocks. Really suggestive rocks. Apparently several of their landscape features looked decidedly phallic to the professor who announced they’d need to scrap the dick rocks to proceed.

It turns out that every year the game students tried to sneak in stuff they weren’t supposed to, because of course our games represented our school, but people are people and they love to try to push the envelope. The most popular sin was dicks, so the professors got incredibly dialed in to cock.

Everything starts to look suggestive when you’re on the hunt for dongs. Certain shadows, rocks, even negative space could be tagged as looking too much like genitals. A lot of teams got notes about it. Ours, thankfully, passed muster.

My friend on the other team was aggrieved to get the note. But I do have to admit their rocks looked very penis-y when I saw them.

[sudaca-swag]

Prev, i dont really agree with this maybe because of how education works in my country, you guys in the global north need to start listening to us about tertiary education, because we actually do have upper public education completely free by the people and for the people outside of the demented business model the US and Europe apply to everything. The objective is that everyone is able to access university if they desire to do so, not that we start diminishing the importance of upper education because only a fraction of people can access it in some places, more educated people means people with more freedom to move through life.

For example, speaking on teachers but this applies to mostly everyone, of course the people in charge of educating the newer generations need to be aware of how to teach them, about what works and what doesnt and that is something thats has been discovered through various scientific studies throughout centuries, and that you cant just learn in one month or one year in a sitting or by real life practice without a previous formation, you need a process, a set programme of studying based on scientific evidence, you need to learn from other experts and be evaluated by peers that can assure the rest of the country that youre allowed and certified to do and say certain things regarding their kids, otherwise anyone can pass on anything as factual when its not, and the structure that we have found can do that easily is a college degree.

some of you really need to listen to "boomers", yes you need a college education, yes you need to get a job despite being a wife/mom, yes you need to go out and socialize face to face, yes you need 5 less hours of screen time, yes you need to learn how to cook and clean (regardless of your gender), yes you should read books, yes youre taking things too personally sometimes and people arent all out to harm you, these are all things that will help your mind and wellbeing

[hxney-lemcn]

Affection-Starved — The Chain x gn! reader

summary: poor reader isn't used to the casual affection the group offers, but their favorite Link finds himself indulging in giving them some extra love.

a/n: Wind's is obvi platonic, some of these got more out of hands than others...oops. Not 100% romantic but like...lowkey is who am I trying to fool LMAO

wc: 3.1k

Master List

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Legend

As much as Legend liked to pretend he didn’t care, he was probably the one who knew the most about each member of the chain. He found himself watching the others, taking in each member’s small quirks. The way Twilight’s nose would twitch at a smell no one else could perceive, how Hyrule seemed entranced with shiny objects, how you always seem entranced with any form of affection. You were pretty good at hiding it, if not for the way your shoulders would tense or the way your lips twitched to keep your natural expression as Twilight ruffled your hair or Wars bumped your shoulders. 

It honestly ate at Legend. You clearly liked the affection, your smile becoming a bit warmer and your eyes hopeful. For someone who was trying to push others away (you especially since you were particularly dangerous), he was doing a terrible job. Once again, Legend found himself watching the others, most chatting happily or playing a game, Time was out patrolling the parameter, and you…you looked…sad. Did the others really not notice? Your eyes looked so crestfallen, even if your usual neutral expression rested on your face. You had isolated yourself from the others, that itch eating away at Legend. You had grown on him, a dangerous prospect to the hero of legend, but he’d be damned if he just let you mope alone. 

So, putting his sewing kit away, Legend found himself sitting beside you. His stiffness melted as seconds passed without a word, the fire crackling a few meters away. With a sigh, he finally gained the confidence to wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. He could feel your muscles tense under him, the way you hesitated in his hold. ‘Is this okay?’ he whispered so only you could hear, and the small nod you gave made him relax. Slowly you relaxed with him, putting more of your weight into his side. Legend could feel the stare of the others burn into you both, but he ignored them in favor of feeling your warmth surrounding him.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Twilight

Twi was naturally more affectionate than he realized. Growing up and taking care of the village children, he didn’t notice when he ruffled someone's hair or pulled them into a side hug. That was until he found your startled expression, which you had quickly tried to fix. He tried to apologize, but you cut him off stating that you just weren’t used to…well affection in general. Poor boy's heart split in two at that. Now he had a new mission to accomplish. Getting you used to affection. Hugs, patting your back, holding your wrist, hip checking you…okay so some forms were more teasing than others, and he may have found himself smug everytime he managed to make you crack your cool facade, but he also enjoyed the soft smiles that inevitably spread across your lips.

Twi would be lying if he said he didn’t shower you with more affection than the others. He loved your reactions, the way you shied away, even better when you slowly started embracing it. The first time you had initiated affection had him smiling widely and blushing profusely. It wasn’t much. An uncertain, shy expression rested on your features, you were clearly nervous. Twi found himself anticipating what could possibly make you feel this way, his imagination getting the best of him. Your hand raised up as you patted his mousy hair gently. He felt his cheeks warm at how cute you were, a giant smile overtaking him. He had refrained from teasing you too much, not wanting to scare you off.

This man is so, so smug no matter what, feeling proud that you felt comfortable enough with him. It’s strange how you could make something he didn’t think twice about become something all he could think about. He didn’t mind though, he liked the way you managed to make his heart flutter with every little touch.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Sky

He didn’t really notice at first. In fact, he was dead asleep the first time he pulled you into his impromptu cuddle pile. When he awoke, your form snug into his side, he didn’t think much of it. Sure it was nice, you were warm and he felt sleep call for him once more, but it was normal to find himself wrapped around the other heroes, it was bound to happen with you. With a sleep smile, he found himself nuzzling back into your hair…until he felt how fast your heart was beating…how were you not dead? Sky unwillingly pulled away, you were in fact awake and it looked like you were in pain. Quickly, Sky scrambled back, sleepiness long forgotten in his worry of your comfort. 

You apologized, much to his confusion, shyly mumbling about how you didn’t mind, you just weren’t used to such affections. Shaking his head, he sent you a beaming smile, mentioning that if he or anyone else ever made you uncomfortable to let them know. Yet that didn’t seem to be the problem at all. In fact it seemed like you yearned for the intimate acts, always placing yourself beside Sky as he slowly nodded off. You had become his pillow more likely than not, and it almost seemed like you were anticipating it. The thought made his stomach fill with butterflies and a blush coat his cheeks. 

It was when your hand had found its way into his hair one night that he knew he was a goner. Your touches were gentle and hesitant, fingers softly carding through his hair making both his eyes droop and heart accelerate. His arms found purchase around your torso, head nuzzling into your shoulder. It had become very clear to everyone just who his favorite cuddling buddy was, and he’s not sure if he’d cuddle with anyone else ever again.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Hyrule

The boy wasn’t as confident as the others, finding himself in awe of their everything. That seemed to be something the two of you could relate to. The other heroes made everything look easy, from swinging a sword showing their care. Hyrule always wanted to join in when Warriors would hug your shoulders when you managed to improve your fighting technique, or when Wind would drag you around by your hand so effortlessly. Little did you know that Hyrule admired you as well, watching in awe as you managed to keep up with seasoned fighters despite being a civilian yourself. 

It wasn’t until you found yourself hurt that he finally managed to initiate any contact between you both. It was a small scrape, barely there on your palm and a small frown on your lips. Hyrule didn’t hesitate to heal the wound, finger tips glowing as your skin mended back together. Your eyes widened, cheeks warming at the feeling of his fingers barely touching your palm. You must’ve gotten too used to being with the others as your fingers twitched, intertwining your fingers. Hyrule felt his face burn as you whispered a small thanks, your smile was so warm and you were looking at him so softly…

You were internally going crazy. You had never initiated something like this before, it felt so intimate, but the way Rulie couldn’t meet your eyes but continued to hold your hand confirmed your hypothesis. He was just like you all those months ago when you first joined the rag tag group, and they had helped bring you out of your shell, so you would help Rulie break out of his. It was still hard for you to reach out first, but you made yourself try, starting out small until Hyrule found himself reaching for you first, meeting each other halfway. You never thought you’d be the one to help break someone out of their shell, but you didn’t mind if it meant you had a cute traveller glued to your side. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Time

Time himself was more closed off, with arms crossed and always slightly outside of the group. It was clear to anyone with eyes that even if he was an integral part of the group, he did not see himself fully a part of it. Time noticed that you seemed to feel the same way, watching longingly as the others rough-housed like you wanted to join, or how your face lit up when they’d mess up your hair (no matter how much you grumbled and pouted). Time found himself endeared by you, it was clear you were not used to such affections, but made every effort to act like it didn’t affect you as much as it did. He couldn’t help the mischievous part of him that would reach out for your hand or brush your hair away from your face, soaking up your flustered reactions. 

Time was much more subtle with his affections towards you than the others, which only seemed to make his actions all the more special. He wouldn’t admit that the way your stunning eyes searched for him made him feel more smug, or the way you’d walk by his side during your treks warmed him. You were just the sweetest thing, and he found himself having a sweet tooth more often than not. Oh, and when you had jumped one night, the sound of a twig breaking in the forest startled you, causing you to cling to his arm…he was basically putty. Your eyes frantically searched for any sign of a monster as you pushed further into his side. Time decided not to tease you too much, as your world didn’t have monsters like theirs did, and he took his arm out of your hold only to wrap it around your waist. 

You tensed in his hold, this was the most affection Time had ever shown you, but when his hand found your hair, gently soothing you that it was mostly likely some sort of animal, you ended up melting in his hold. You could feel the others watching, snickers sounded just over the crackling of the fire, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care at the moment, lost in the comfort that was known as Time.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Four

Another one that isn’t super affectionate, more likely to smack someone’s head than hug them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. Four noticed that you seemed uncomfortable with touch. Maybe uncomfortable wasn’t the best word, more like tense. He also didn’t miss the way you would lean into it, trying to act nonchalant. It made him smile, you were sweet if not a bit awkward. When he found himself holding your hand while leading you through a dark cave, he couldn’t help the bright red blush that coated his cheeks, grateful that he was in front of you so you couldn’t see. Four may not be as affectionate as the others, but he didn’t react like this either. Whatever, he didn’t want to think about it. 

And when you started to slowly interact with him like the others, patting his shoulder, tugging on his sleeve or hell, even just sitting closer to him than normal, he felt like his heart was going to give out on him. Why were you so cute? Always so hesitant like you were afraid of making him upset, eyes watching him expectantly like you wanted him to hold you as well. Was that what you wanted? Goddesses the thought made his blood boil with how flustered he was. Oh and it was even worse when he woke up to the sound of chuckling snorts, opening his eyes and being met with your chest. He nearly screamed, jumping out of your hold and effectively waking you up. Damn Sky, who had his arm wrapped around the both of you before Four made his escape. 

After that you had stopped, taking his reaction as how uncomfortable you had been making him feel, which was not true whatsoever. And so, he found he had to rectify his mistake, trying his hardest to hold your hand without it becoming a death grip or burying his face in your neck every time you hugged. Yet it was worth it with the way your eyes lit up with every touch.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Wind

Wind, as much as he’d like to boast, did not have such a keen eye when it came to someone’s emotions. Not that he was oblivious, but with childlike glee, he found himself more entranced with the thrill of a fight or adventure more than anything. And, as children are known for, he did not have a sense of boundaries whatsoever. Never hesitating to grab your hand and drag you towards danger, or jumping on your back to get your attention. Of course, if you got hurt because of something he did he’d feel guilty, latching onto you until you managed to quell his fears. 

He huffed and puffed when the others told him to dial it back around you. Why would he do that? You deserved to be bothered as much as the rest of them! From poking your cheek when he’s bored to cackling when you did something embarrassing, he refused to treat you any differently than the others. The thought was just absurd! You had even shaken your head with a fond smile, muttering that you didn’t mind all that much, leaving the young hero to puff his chest and stick his tongue out at the others. ‘That’s right, losers, you heard them, I’m their favorite!’ Wind cheered. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ One of them murmured, but left it at that. 

The best moments were when he’d tuck into your lap, listening to you ramble about your own world and how different it was from theirs. It made him feel so warm and safe, you made him feel protected, even if you sucked at fighting. You were like an older sibling he never had, something he didn’t even know he wanted until you pulled him close to you protectively once as some rude adult tried swatting at him. He had never seen you so angry, nor heard you say such angry words towards anyone before. He was a giggly mess by the end, telling the others with an exaggerated story about the events that transpired earlier, leaning into your side with a hug. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Warriors

As much as the flirt liked to make everyone believe he was knowledgeable with love in any form it came in…he very much was not. In fact, it was kind of the opposite. Warriors found your shy reactions to be like those who only cared about his pretty face. He knew you weren’t like that, but something in his gut didn’t feel right, and so he found himself distancing himself from you physically…until he saw you have the same reaction to almost every single one of them. Your eyes darting away when Twi’s hand brushed against yours, how your shoulders tensed when Time patted them, or how you stood stock still when Wind hugged you. It wasn’t because you saw them all romantically…so why were you so shy when it came to even the smallest touch?

Wars got his answer one day while you both were in a small town. You had been walking down a semi busy street when someone brushes past you, causing you to squeeze as close to Warriors side, an uncomfortable look on your face. Due to his confused expression, you explained how you don’t like being touched by people you don’t know, mainly because you’re not used to being touched period. It was then when everything clicked in his head, and guilt for his first assumption slowly consumed him. Biting his lip, Wars threw an arm around your shoulder, keeping you close to his side until your shopping was done. 

From then on Warriors found himself more affectionate around you. Everyone noticed the change, you included, but you refused to bring it up, not wanting him to stop. Not only had his actions become warmer towards you, but he found himself complimenting you more as well. Even he wasn’t fully sure where this was coming from. Relief that you weren’t another person swooning over his good looks, trying to make up for the guilt that had filled his gut, or perhaps maybe…just maybe he found himself enjoying the way you reciprocated his touches, something you didn’t do for many others, and the thought of being special to you made his heart flip.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Wild

With Wild’s attention being dragged from something or another, whether it be a crazy idea to what may test the best in a dish, he’s too unfocused to even realize you tense posture when he places a hand on your arm as he slides past or how you refuse to meet his eyes when he feeds you a small spoon of the food to taste test. That’s not to say he doesn’t notice at all, just that it takes him so long that you’re already comfortable with his unconscious touches. He has to bite his lip from grinning too much when you nuzzle into his touch unknowingly, or to stop himself from squeezing the daylights out of you when you hug him so firmly. 

Don’t get him started with the way you fret over him. Wild’s always getting himself in danger even when he’s not trying, and you’re always the first one to run over and check to make sure he’s okay. The way your hands hesitate for a split second before gently grabbing whatever you deem was most possible to be injured, how your touch is so gentle when you inspect his skin, or how your eyes melt from concern to fond frustration as you lightly scold him for scaring you. The way you care is so sweet, so scared, like you’re afraid he’ll push you away if you get too close, but Wild would never do such a thing. In fact, he finds himself meeting you halfway, grasping your hand firmly as to quell any insecurity or fear from your mind. 

The one time you not only find yourself hurt, but because of Wild’s reckless actions guilt consumes him entirely. He had not only put your safety at risk, but you had gotten seriously hurt, something Wild vowed to protect you from. He tried pulling away, feeling it would be better if you weren’t so close, but you had stopped him in his tracks when you held onto his wrist tightly, eyes silently pleading for him to stay. It was the first time he had ever seen you touch someone without even an ounce of worry, clearly desperate for some comfort, and Wild was at your side in an instant. How could he ever take that comfort away from you?