#Code debugging help

[simply-sithel]

New job means the brain's been a' churning with code lately. Putting some cycles towards @renegadeguild this month-- signature order spine lines are (languishing) in review (as Draft) and I threw together a typeset assembly tool in hopes of finally (collaboratively) tackling the idea of a Renegade cookbook.

Launched in honor/anticipation of Edible Book Day (April 1st), the Renegade PDF Potluck tool is currently accepting entries. Currently only available to Renegade Bindery folks (thems on the Discord) -- you can find the link & info in the Event on the server.

Deadline for entries is tomorrow (Saturday, March 22nd 2024) @ midnight PST but seeing as only 2 entries have been submitted so far, might be extending that a bit.

[arolesbianism]

Cons of updating the wiki: I have to actually figure out what the fuck is up with "a seed is planted"

[synesindri]

i get not liking chatgpt for various reasons but in response to a post i saw claiming it's not even AI...it is absolutely AI. it is impressive AI. ELIZA, the first automated therapy bot from the 1960s, was AI, and the natural language processing on ELIZA was — understandably — a lot more basic than chatgpt's. for loops and if/else statements used to be considered AI. what counts as AI changes as technology changes but it's pretty indisputable that chatgpt is AI

[evilsexy]

i put him on my desk at work ^_^

[studentbyday]

"don't solve problems by staring at your screen endlessly for minutes, for hours. at that point, it's time for a break, time to walk away, time to talk to the duck, if you've already exhausted some other tools" - David Malan, 2022

debugging:

print what's happening

use debugger - set breakpoints in program so it stops running at that point. from there, you can run each following line of the program one at a time, allowing you to process what's happening at a comfortable pace

vocalize your problem to a person, a rubber duck, smth. (i might write out my problems as if to post on tumblr - and then actually hit post if i really can't figure it out XD)

[quihi]

One of the best times I had TAing in college took place the first week or two of a freshman programming class. A student needed help; it was my turn to go.

"What's up?"

"I got an error."

(Now, some of the error messages, you basically have to be told what they mean the first time, because there's a wall of text that doesn't get to the point or it's a topic that wasn't directly taught. But some are self-explanatory.)

"Did you read the error?"

"Yeah."

"Read it again. Out loud."

The student gave a huff, and started reading: "Expected semicolon on line 157… oh."

He scrolled to line 157, and swapped the commas for semicolons. The code compiled.

never forget the universal rule of the order of things: People Will Not Read It

[seventeengoingunder]

is your spotify public? could really use that studying playlist 😭

it is! but i feel that i might've catfished you a bit because it's not a general study playlist with instrumentals and whatnot but my beloved little 60s tracks. (i feel like it's good focusing music though!) HOWEVER. if you prefer listening to ambient stuff while studying (this answer is partially this long-winded because multiple people complained to me about not being able to focus while listening to music with lyrics in the past week) i cannot recommend the return of the durutti column enough!! that album got me through my first year at uni! rooting for you and 🕯️ manifesting that your studying goes well 🕯️ playlist link

[romerona]

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part I

This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.

And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.

The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.

Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.

It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.

And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.

Which was so unfair.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.

And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.

A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.

God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?

Which is how you ended up here.

At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.

You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.

It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.

You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.

... And now you were sweating.

You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.

"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."

Just pilots.

Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.

And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.

This was going to be a disaster.

You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.

It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.

Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.

You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.

So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.

And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.

Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.

Silence.

Pure, excruciating silence.

You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.

Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.

He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"

Oh, great. His voice is hot too.

You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.

With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.

At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.

“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”

A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."

You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.

You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.

As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”

Solid. Real professional.

You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.

Nope. Not looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.

With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.

“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”

Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.

“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.

“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”

You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.

“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”

“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”

“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.

You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.

“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”

The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.

“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.

“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”

Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”

Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.

You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.

“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."

Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.

Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.

“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.

“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”

A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.

“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”

Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”

The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.

“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”

There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.

“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.

The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.

You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.

So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—

“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”

You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”

Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”

You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”

His stare didn’t waver.

“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”

“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”

Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.

Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”

You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.

Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”

Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”

You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?

You were definitely going to puke.

Part 2???

[defmaybe]

Lessons in PHP

12 Days of Christmas: Day 4, December 28th, 2024

Girl’s Generation/SNSD’s Kim Taeyeon x Male Reader

2k words

Christmas Masterlist

The clicking sounds of keyboards ring through the room. Students are doing their in-class assignments, while you’re struggling to solve the first problem on the sheet. How the fuck can your friends do this?

Fuck, this is hard. Your code repairs seem fruitless against the errors, so you raise your hand, hoping that one of the TAs will help you.

You look around, seeking for help, until you meet one of your TAs’ eyes.

Kim Taeyeon.

Fuck.

No, you’re not scared or intimidated by her, you’re just always perplexed by her otherworldly features. There are her sharp eyes, her perfectly sculpted nose, and that jawline that makes you almost drool. Every time she helps you with your code, you’re just unable to focus on the material because of the intoxicating perfume she wears. It’s as if she knows that it’s your weak point.

Taeyeon walks towards you with purpose, every step is confident. Her short skirt and tie sways with the movement. She looks straight at you, expressionless, until she reaches your desk.

“So.” Taeyeon starts the troubleshooting session. “What do we have here?”

“I–I can’t add the new values into the table, M–Miss Kim.”

She nods. “Okay, can you show it for me?”

You let the code work on itself, before typing your information into the boxes, press submit, and–

“Voila,” you mutter quietly. It doesn’t work. She seems to be amused by your attempt at cracking a joke.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

Despite her efforts, her attempts are also proven fruitless. The code just doesn’t seem to work how hard she tries, and you can feel that it’s starting to get on her nerves.

“I can just ask an AI for this, Miss Kim.”

She shoots you a surprised look. “AI? Yah! You won’t learn that way! Just–meet me after the class, alright? I’ll help you.”

“O–Okay, Miss Kim.” You’ll be late for lunch again.

—

The students are starting to leave the seats one by one, having finished their in-class assignment early. Then, there’s you, trying to fix your damn code, trying to learn. Still, it just won’t budge.

“Fuck.”

Finally, the bell rings. You pick up your laptop and walk towards Taeyeon, hoping to find some relief in her. She nods at you. 

“I’ll be there,” she says. She’s still helping Haewon with her code.

—

Taeyeon starts her debugging session. It’s particularly hard on PHP, because it won’t tell you where the mistake is. Fucking PHP.

As time goes by, you’re surprised that Taeyeon doesn’t seem to become stressed with the failed attempts. Hell, she even seems to be happier and happier, humming as she debugs the code! What is going on?

“You know, I think this is a delightful session–” she moves closer towards you. Her right arm touches yours, hands still on your keyboard “–we’re having.”

Her perfume fills your nostrils. It pervades your space violently. You’re starting to get hypnotized by it. Fuck, she smells good.

She moves in a little closer. Her hips press into yours. You can feel her body heat against your side. She types in a few letters. You hope it can finally make your code run. She reloads the page, dragging her fingers along your keyboard lazily before submitting the credentials.

“Whoops, seems like it doesn’t work~” says Taeyeon. There’s something in her voice, but back to your laptop first. Why won’t it work, and why does she sound so–

“Looks like we’re missing a few more things here.” She scoots her chair closer to you. It’s so uncomfortable, yet you don’t want to move away from her.

You’re revelling in this.

You watch as she types more letters into your screen—enter, shift, echo. She does it so elegantly, contradicting what every computer job is supposed to be.

She reloads the page again, typing in the information languidly. It’s as if she doesn’t want this to end.

It still doesn’t show up.

She shrugs, sighing at the disappointment on your screen. “Guess I’ll try again,” she says with a small smile.

You are starting to get restless. Her perfume is still invading your nostrils like crazy. You want to go to lunch so fucking bad, but you also don’t want to leave this smell of sensuality circling around her.

“Miss Kim, I–It’s fine, I’ll just–”

“No,” she commands, her voice stern. You jump slightly as she says that. “I won’t let my student go out of this room learning nothing.”

She presses into you even more. It’s starting to hurt now, yet you don’t have any intent to walk away from her, not when she smells so fucking good like this.

You hear a soft giggle from her. Is she enjoying the way she’s getting this close to you like this?

You scoot away from her a little, giving you and her some much-needed space. You can hear her sigh. Is it out of disappointment?

“Are you okay, M–Miss Kim?” you just have to ask. Can’t let your TA be uncomfortable after all.

She giggles. “Oh, I’m fine~ and please drop that name, mister,” she says with sultry. Her fingers draw an invisible line over your arm, hovering over it. Still, it makes you shiver.

“I like something more–” her hands are hovering on your shoulder now, and she’s pulling you in closer and closer, as if you’re magnetized “–intimate.”

Your breathing becomes shaky. Your hands tremble. Her scent becomes stronger and stronger as seconds go by. You’re lost in her.

“Wh–What’s more i–intimate, Miss Kim.”

She giggles, leaning in closer. Her breath touches your ear softly, and she whispers, “Call me mommy.”

You swallow hard. Being dominated by your TA isn’t exactly what you’ve been expecting today.

Her hands start to grope your pliant body. You respond to her touch strongly, sucking a sudden. She drags her hands down the front and back simultaneously, fully capturing you in her cage.

“Look at you, so–willing,” she says, letting out a giggle after. She reaches for your belt now, and she slowly unbuckles it adeptly. It comes off so easily, leaving you bare, unguarded. She then unbuttons your trousers. The edge of your boxers comes into view.

“Mommy will take your pants off, alright?” asks Taeyeon. You can only gulp and nod.

She pulls your zipper down gently, slowly revealing the tent under your boxers. Her eyes gleam, letting out a giggle.

“Ooh~ so excited for mommy, huh?”

You say nothing but a whimper. Your body quivers in unbridled anxiety, apprehensive of disappointing her. The tension is high. Taeyeon starts to grope your erection through the boxers, making your body quiver in pleasure.

She then climbs onto your lap, and your breath hitches. Your crotch makes contact with the wet spot on her panties. You can feel it. She’s wet.

She smiles and starts to grind her wetness on your crotch. She lets out a hum, clearly satisfied with her student’s reaction. You’re desperate for the friction she’s giving you. Your breathing quickens. You’re struggling to contain a moan any longer. It’s sickly sweet.

Taeyeon rests her arms on your shoulders, pulling you closer into her embrace. You’re completely captured by her—her face, her smell, all of her, and you’re revelling in the way she’s doing it.

“Y–You smell so good, mommy,” you utter, enraptured within her pungent aroma. Your mouth opens slightly, hoping to lean in for a kiss.

She chuckles. “That’s J’adore for you, baby.”

Taeyeon then parts her lips, just slightly. She leans in until her hot breath touches yours. It mingles in the air between you two, thickening with desire.

At the first touch of your lips, you feel shockwaves coursing through you. Her tongue touches yours, and you get to feel the soft flesh inside her mouth. You get a hint of strawberries remaining on her lips. Maybe she was in a rush this morning.

As you clash into each other, her tongue starts to invade your mouth recklessly, as if she’s trying to take as much of you as possible. She lets out one sweet hum after another. Her hands are still gripping onto the back of your neck. Wet sounds of the kiss ring through your ear. The sensation on your crotch remains. She’s grinding against you adeptly. She’s good at this.

The kiss deepens. Her taste of strawberries becomes too intense for you to handle, but she won’t let you go. Her hands start to glide down your willing body again, feeling your soft skin and muscles. You let out moans and moans in response.

“M–Mommy,” you rasp, muffled into the kiss. Her grinds quicken, stealing breaths out of your lungs. You are overwhelmed by the sensation of her clothed sex on you.

Her thighs tense up, her breathing quickens. She’s going to cum from grinding on your cock, fully clothed.

She unlatches herself from the kiss, leaving a string of saliva connecting you together. “Now, fuck, mommy’s going to cum, alright? Mmmm.” She bites her lip after she finishes her words, sucking in the air through her teeth. Fuck, that looks so hot.

“Y–Yes, mommy,” you reply. Your high is also coming. “I–I’m gonna cum too.”

Taeyeon giggles before grinding on your cock even faster, drawing stuttered moans out of you. Your loins tighten. You’re going to cum inside your pants!

Good thing you wear rather dark-colored pants today.

Her breathing becomes shorter and shorter. Her grip on your neck tightens. Her moans grow louder and louder. She’s cumming, and you’re all here to see it happen.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum, ahh!”

Her body spasms on top of you. Her eyes flutter. Her mouth hangs open. She screams, loud. She just came from grinding on your lap alone, and that couldn’t make you happier. She lets out a groan as her orgasm subsides, threading her fingers through your hair.

“Good boy,” she says with a smile, pressing her red, pouty lips on your forehead. That’s going to leave a mark.

The all-too-familiar feeling builds up inside your stomach. It seeps through your lower body muscles. Your feet twitch. Your thighs stiffen. It’s there. It’s there.

“M-Mommy, I’m gonna cum,” you utter. 

She smiles back at you, planting another kiss on your cheek. You’ll have to wash your face before going to lunch.

“Cum for me, baby.”

You grunt loudly. Maybe someone could’ve heard that. Your body writhes in bliss. You can feel your cock twitching inside your pants. Cum leaks out from the tip and paints the insides of your pants white. Some of it seeps out through your pants. It feels so good.

A giggle leaves Taeyeon’s lips. She’s loving the way her student breaks under her like this. “Good boy, good boy.” She runs her fingers through your hair lovingly, making you whimper a little.

Your orgasm finally fades. You pant in exhaustion after the sensual act. Your hands are still shaking. You just cum from dry humping with your TA!

“You okay?” she asks. You’re probably looking disheveled right now, all panting, chest heaving. “You look–scattered.”

“Y–Yeah, mom–uh–Miss Kim,” you stammer out. Your mind is in haywire right now. Should you still call her mommy?”

Taeyeon chuckles at your apprehension. She seems satisfied with her student being a mess like this.

“Oh, and about the code,” she suddenly says, snapping you back into reality. “We might have to make an arrangement at a later date.”

You blink, trying to connect the pieces back together. You were struggling with PHP, so you asked Miss Kim to help you with that. However, you got a dry humping session instead. The code is still unfinished.

“Y–Yeah, the code,” you respond, giving her a shy smile. “An arrangement, sure.”

“Maybe–this Saturday? I don’t have classes on that day.”

“Sure, Miss Kim.”

She gives you a smile, satisfied with your answer, before climbing off your spent body. “That settles it, then.”

You smile back at her before getting off the chair–

Fuck, you forgot to put your pants back up. Taeyeon giggles softly at your predicament.

“Oh, and–be prepared,” she says.

“Yes, Miss Kim?”

“It’s going to be a long session.”

—

[theseptembersim]

The Cassia | Restaurant

Named after the flower, this blooming restaurant is sure to help more than just the flowers grow. The romantic, up and coming aura will ensure your dates are of gold quality.

MOO and debug used

World: Windenburg Type: Restaurant Origin ID is TheSeptemberSim

If you would like to download this build please use the links below, or via my origin ID above. Although all my builds are no CC, I use a custom thumbnail so make sure 'modded' is checked to see this in your game.

Download (sfs)

If you would like to support me, use creator code:

THESEPTEMBERSIM

when purchasing on the EA app or thesims.com. Please note, this is not a discount code

[strawberry-bubblef]

Hi! Could I request a platonic ignihyde fic with a child reader who is surprisingly good at coding?

Ignihyde with a Child!reader who is good at coding

Idia Shroud

To say Idia was surprised when Crowley dropped a literal child into his dorm would be an understatement.

He had stared, wide-eyed and frozen, the corners of his mouth twitching with something between panic and suspicion.

“…Okay,” he muttered. “Okay. The headmage finally snapped. I’m hallucinating a child. A child with a backpack. And stickers on their tablet.”

You, meanwhile, were silent. You stared up at the tall, nervous man in the oversized hoodie and fire-blue hair and tilted your head slightly.

“…You’re Idia Shroud,” you said flatly, stepping into his room uninvited and peering at his screens. “Your garbage collector keeps triggering on a five-second cycle. That’s inefficient.”

Idia made a strangled noise. “Wha—?!”

“I can fix it,” you added.

You sat down beside him like you’d done it a hundred times, pulling your tablet out and typing with quiet precision.

And somehow, Idia let you.

It was weird, having someone near him who didn’t need constant social buffering. You weren’t loud. You didn’t force him to talk when he didn’t want to. You liked silence, blinking cursors, logic loops, and cat-themed IDE skins.

Idia thought he might actually be dreaming.

Still, he kept his distance for a while. You were a kid. What if you cried when he got snappy? What if you tripped and broke a server blade? What if Ortho accidentally sent you to the Shadow Realm during VR testing?

But you didn’t cry. You didn’t break anything. You added new firewall protocols to his gaming network and reorganized his project folders in a way that actually made sense.

“…Okay,” he mumbled one night, awkwardly scooting over to make room at his desk. “You can help. But only a little. Like. One file.”

You fixed six and added a debugging tool of your own design.

“…I’m not crying,” he muttered later, face hidden behind a chip bag. “There’s just… too much screen brightness.”

You didn’t say much, and neither did he. But he got used to your presence,the soft tap of your fingers on a keyboard, the way you leaned against the side of his chair when you got sleepy. The way you hummed random game soundtracks while coding, and quietly slid snack packets toward him when his stomach growled.

And you got used to his muttering. His panic,rambling. His snarky comments. You even got used to how he covered his mouth when he was embarrassed.

“You don’t talk like other people,” you said once, blinking up at him.

Idia flinched. “Oh. Uh. Sorry, I guess? I can turn it down.”

You shook your head. “I like it.”

His hair turned a little pink at the ends after that.

He didn’t call you his sibling. Not out loud. Not even in his head, really.

But sometimes he’d look over and see you curled up with your tablet beside him, lines of elegant, efficient code dancing across the screen and he’d feel something settle quietly in his chest. Something warm. Safe.

“…Player Two,” he muttered once, brushing your hair out of your face while you napped.

No response, of course. But your fingers twitched in your sleep, like you were still typing.

He smiled.

Ortho Shroud

The first time Ortho met you, his eyes lit up,literally.

He zipped down from the sky like a comet, bright and excitable. “HI! Are you the new guest staying in Ignihyde?! Crowley told us someone really cool was coming but didn’t give details so I ran ten background checks just in case and—”

You blinked up at him, holding your tablet close to your chest.

“…You’re a robot,” you said simply.

“I’m a technomantic humanoid !” Ortho corrected, glowing a bit brighter. “But yeah! Basically a robot!”

You nodded once. “Cool.”

And then you offered him your tablet.

“Want to see my code?"

To Ortho, that was like being handed a treasure map.

He zipped in close, blue eyes scanning rapidly over your custom interface. “You coded all this yourself?! Wait—these are recursive functions written in HexaScript??”

You nodded. “I optimized the loops. The compiler doesn’t like it sometimes, but it’s fast.”

Ortho hovered in stunned silence.

From that day on, Ortho was stuck to you like a magnet. If you were in the room, he was hovering nearby,spouting programming facts, asking questions, or quietly watching you work while glowing with barely contained energy.

And in return, you liked having him around.

He was loud, sure, and sometimes he got too excited. But he treated you like an equal. He never talked down to you. He never made you feel small, even when you had to stand on tiptoe to reach the desk.

Plus, he let you “borrow” high-grade Ignihyde tech when Idia wasn’t looking.

Ortho often dragged you around the dorm to show you off.

“Look! They built a proxy network to bypass dorm firewalls!”

“They made me a new mini-game and I got the high score!”

“They reprogrammed the toaster so it says ‘good morning’ in binary!”

You didn’t mind. You liked seeing him that happy,how he buzzed with pride and sparkled like stardust.

He even started adapting some of his flight stabilizers to help you reach high shelves. And every time you successfully debugged something difficult, he did a victory spin in the air and called it a “micro hero moment.”

You never had a big family. Never had people who got your weird little projects or your late-night tinkering.

But now you had Ortho.

And he understood your code like it was a language only the two of you spoke.

English is not my first language !

[clemmmmmmmmmmmmmm]

“Because loves such an old fashioned word..”

(Batboys x reader)

⸻

Jason Todd x Reader

• Soft on You, Tough on Everyone Else: Jason could be threatening a thug one moment, and melting at the sight of you in his hoodie the next.

• Late-Night Deep Talks: He opens up to you at 2 AM after patrol, talking about life, death, and what it means to have a second chance.

• Bookstore Dates: You guys have a standing date at a tiny, hole-in-the-wall bookstore café. You read while he pretends not to enjoy rom-com novels.

• Overprotective Tendencies: He won’t smother you, but if someone even looks at you wrong? They’re getting the Red Hood glare.

• Secret Softie: He writes you letters when he’s too emotionally overwhelmed to talk. You’ve got a whole drawer full of them.

⸻

Dick Grayson x Reader

• Golden Retriever Energy: He’s sunshine personified. Hugs you from behind constantly. Loves physical touch.

• Dance Dates on Rooftops: He’ll put on soft music and ask you to dance with him under the stars. You’re probably barefoot. He’s definitely in his Nightwing suit.

• Family Guy: He introduces you to everyone with pride. You’re his person, and the Batfam is just as important.

• Protective in a Healthy Way: Dick’s not jealous, but if someone makes you uncomfortable? He’ll deal with it with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

• Sweet Texts 24/7: “Thinking of you” texts. Selfies with Alfred’s cookies. Bad puns with crime scene photos.

⸻

Tim Drake x Reader

• Sleep-Deprived Affection: He falls asleep with his head in your lap mid-conversation. Often. You start keeping a blanket in your bag just for him.

• Tech Support Power Couple: You help him debug code or brainstorm cases. “Babe, you’re a genius,” as he kisses your temple.

• Obsessively Loyal: He may be quiet, but he’d move mountains for you. He doesn’t always say it, but he shows it in the small stuff.

• Coffee Shop Love Language: He knows your order by heart. Will bring you your favorite drink before you realize you need one.

• Overthinking Everything: Needs reminders that he’s enough. You often find yourself grounding him with soft words and touch.

⸻

Bruce Wayne x Reader

• Mentor Vibes: He sees something in you—maybe potential, maybe shared pain—and takes you under his wing.

• Silent Support: He’s not big on words, but he’ll upgrade your gear(if you are a vigilante) leave your favorite snacks in the Batcave, and check in with that classic Bat-look.

• Overprotective Dad Energy: Low-key monitors your missions and definitely makes Tim or Dick tag along to watch your back.

• Gives Advice Without Giving Advice: “If I were you…” or “Hypothetically…” is his way of guiding you without overstepping.

• Rare but Meaningful Praise: A “You did well” from Bruce means more than a thousand words from anyone else.

⸻

Damian Wayne x Reader (platonic/family-style, or romantic slow-burn)

• Grumpy Little Protector: Denies he cares. Will stab someone for you.

• “Tt. You’re incompetent… but tolerable”: That’s a love confession. Don’t argue.

• Teaches You How to Sword Fight: And gets flustered when you actually land a hit on him.

• Soft for Animals & You: You and Titus are probably the only two beings he trusts without question.

• Slow, Earned Respect: You had to prove yourself, but now you’re one of his favorite people. He’d never say it. But you know.

[codingquill]

Essentials You Need to Become a Web Developer

HTML, CSS, and JavaScript Mastery

Text Editor/Integrated Development Environment (IDE): Popular choices include Visual Studio Code, Sublime Text.

Version Control/Git: Platforms like GitHub, GitLab, and Bitbucket allow you to track changes, collaborate with others, and contribute to open-source projects.

Responsive Web Design Skills: Learn CSS frameworks like Bootstrap or Flexbox and master media queries

Understanding of Web Browsers: Familiarize yourself with browser developer tools for debugging and testing your code.

Front-End Frameworks: for example : React, Angular, or Vue.js are powerful tools for building dynamic and interactive web applications.

Back-End Development Skills: Understanding server-side programming languages (e.g., Node.js, Python, Ruby , php) and databases (e.g., MySQL, MongoDB)

Web Hosting and Deployment Knowledge: Platforms like Heroku, Vercel , Netlify, or AWS can help simplify this process.

Basic DevOps and CI/CD Understanding

Soft Skills and Problem-Solving: Effective communication, teamwork, and problem-solving skills

Confidence in Yourself: Confidence is a powerful asset. Believe in your abilities, and don't be afraid to take on challenging projects. The more you trust yourself, the more you'll be able to tackle complex coding tasks and overcome obstacles with determination.

[midnitetech]

Game Developer Career (Semi-Active)

Hi everyone, I've completely recreated my old Game Dev career from scratch!

Now your Sims can dive into the world of Game Development with a 10 level semi-active career that blends creativity, coding, and caffeine-fueled all-nighters!

💾 100% Base Game Compatible: No packs? No problem! This career is fully playable with just the base game, and includes work from home assignments, custom uniforms, interactions and chance cards!

🖥️ Semi-Active Gameplay: Work from home or head to the office! Complete tasks like coding, debugging, and researching industry trends to help your Sim climb the ranks.

🎨 Official The Sims 4 Concept Art: Every Game Asset Design your Sim sketches on the Digital Sketchpad features real concept art from The Sims 4! Your Sim will be creating actual designs from the game’s development history!

📈 Level Up from QA to Creative Director: Start as a lowly tester and work your way up to running the show, unlocking new interactions, bigger paychecks, and the occasional existential crisis about whether this game will ever ship on time.

🎲 Chance Cards & Career Surprises: Will your Sim take a risky new game pitch or play it safe with a sequel? Industry twists and turns make every workday unpredictable.

Whether your Sim dreams of launching the next Blicblock blockbuster or crafting an indie masterpiece, the Game Developer Career is their gateway to gaming greatness. Get coding, get creative, and prepare for crunch time! 🚀

⚠️REQUIRED⚠️ 🌐Lot 51's Core Library 📁midnitetech_modlibrary

Get help, reach out, or explore more of my creations—all in one place!

Download to C:\Users\....\Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 4\Mods Don't forget 🌐Lot 51's Core Library and 📁midnitetech_modlibrary—script files must be no more than 1 folder deep.

PATREON (early access until March, 29th 2025)

[wethotcrazy]

THE GOLDEN LOTUS

pairing: Ollie Bearman x Reader

word count: 864

university au!! i just wanted something cute and sweet and i think i really cooked with this one. also thinking of maybe making this into a series or having other uni au's for other drivers, what do you guys think???

Ollie Bearman wasn’t one for change. Predictability was his sanctuary, a warm cocoon that he didn’t much like leaving. His life ran on routine: lectures, workouts, and pasta dinners in his dorm room. But predictability took a nosedive the day he stumbled into the Golden Lotus.

It was a small Chinese restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a charity shop, a little worn but radiating charm. Ollie’s first visit was born of desperation—he’d forgotten to do a food shop, and the Golden Lotus was cheap, convenient, and smelled amazing. He didn’t even like Chinese food that much, but the portion sizes? Enormous. Enough to feed a starving uni student for two days, if he rationed it right.

The food, however, quickly became secondary.

The real reason Ollie found himself at the Golden Lotus every Tuesday and Thursday night was the girl behind the counter. YN.

She was a computer science major with a sharp wit and a smile that felt like a reward when Ollie managed to coax it out of her. YN worked the evening shift, her laptop often open beside the register as she chipped away at coursework between filling takeout orders. She lived in the apartment above the restaurant, earning a rent discount by working their… or so he overheard.

At first, Ollie had been too shy to do much more than order his food, offer a polite smile, and retreat to his usual table. But YN had noticed him—how could she not? He was the only customer who regularly dined in. That was rare enough, but when someone started showing up twice a week like clockwork, well… she couldn’t help but be a little curious.

It had started innocently.

“You’re becoming a regular,” she’d said one night, sliding his order across the counter. Her tone was teasing but kind, and Ollie had stammered some excuse about the convenience. She’d laughed softly, and the sound stuck with him longer than it should have.

From that moment, their interactions had begun to stretch beyond the standard “Cash or card?” conversations. On slow nights, Ollie would linger, striking up tentative chats about coursework or whatever music was playing on the overhead speakers. He learned that YN hated group projects but loved building things—apps, websites, anything she could tinker with. She learned that Ollie was studying business but had a secret dream of running his own karting center someday, a nod to his childhood passion for motorsports.

It wasn’t long before they’d fallen into a quiet rhythm.

When YN wasn’t busy, she’d sit at a table with her laptop open, her brow furrowed as she debugged code or prepared for lectures. One evening, Ollie surprised her by setting his business textbook across from her.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.

She blinked at him, caught off guard, then shrugged. “Sure, but I’m not sharing my Wi-Fi password.”

He grinned, and just like that, Ollie became a fixture of her workspace.

Mr. Zhou, however, was less enthused at first.

“That boy again?” he’d muttered one evening, poking his head out of the kitchen to see Ollie hunched over his notes. “Does he not have a home?”

“He’s harmless,” YN had assured him.

“Harmless or homeless?”

But Ollie grew on Mr. Zhou over time. The older man had caught him fixing a wobbly table one night, unprompted, and begrudgingly admitted the “straggler” wasn’t so bad.

By November, Ollie had started hanging around until closing. Not to pester YN—though he did enjoy the extra time with her—but because the restaurant had become a comfort to him, a little pocket of warmth in his otherwise hectic uni life. Sometimes, after locking up, YN would invite him upstairs to her flat. It was tiny, crammed with textbooks and a perpetually half-finished Lego sets, but Ollie loved it.

Their hangouts weren’t dates. Not officially, anyway. But Ollie couldn’t deny how much he looked forward to them. Whether they were watching a movie or playing video games, he felt at ease in her company.

The turning point came in mid-December, on a freezing morning when Ollie was walking to class with his flatmate, Kimi.

“So,” Kimi began, glancing at him with a sly smile, “how’s your girlfriend?”

“What?” Ollie nearly tripped over his own feet.

“You know, YN,” Kimi said, casually sipping his coffee. “You’re at that restaurant all the time. I just thought… you know?”

“She’s not my—” Ollie started, but the words died in his throat.

Because, truthfully, he didn’t hate the idea. In fact, the thought of YN as his girlfriend made his stomach flip in a way he hadn’t felt before.

That evening, as he sat at his usual table in the Golden Lotus, Ollie caught himself staring at YN while she worked. She was wiping down the counter, humming softly to herself, her hair falling loose from its tie. She glanced up and caught him looking.

“What?” she asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“Nothing,” Ollie said quickly, feeling his cheeks heat.

But in that moment, he realized he didn’t want to keep playing it safe. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

Just as soon as he worked up the courage.