#I'm a bad programmer

[technicoloryuri]

How many cores does your gender processing unit (gpu) have?

Well as a goth witch robot puppy girl thing I have 24 cores, which averages at around 4 cores per gender but at certain times puppy and robot use more cores

[sapphire-draw]

There's a lot of things I want to work on but I don't have any time for them. So instead here's two scenes I had already fixed up beforehand for a friend.

Context: One of my builders praying to the God of Destruction without knowing it's actually Malroth. Shenanigans ensue.

Have a different altar to the Children of Hargon's because different religions can pray to the same god (game already makes the Children of Builder joke and I ran with it)

Also shoutout to that person in AO3 whom I totally stole the bird idea from. I couldn't find who when I went back to search for it. sorry. (if anyone knows I'll edit it in)

If I had more time I could try to fix the weird layout. sorry.

Malroth (human) also doesn't know the God of Destruction is actually Malroth. It's really funny trust me.

[r0semultiverse]

This is better(?) than the minimalism plague infecting modern web design, but not by much!

I do not like the mobile appification of web sites either! Looking at you as well, tumblr! By all means, get experimental with it (please do), but don't make everything look & function like a mobile app!

Hey, all supposed 34,175+ followers...

Can you do me a favor & go @ (or tag) Neal Mohan on twitter & tell him to have the YouTube video page layout changed back? I'm so serious, go bother him about it. If enough people do this & this gets around enough, resulting in more people to asking it be rolled back, it should at least get him to ask it to be changed!

[forgaeven1]

i've got a job interview today, and as you'd expect, i'm mighty nervous. if i'm more absent / present ooc ( really, my anxiety loves playing russian roulette with my attention ) , that's why !

[finelinevogue]

Hi i was wondering if you could write an aaron hotchner fic where the reader gets really bad anxiety and Hotch is always there for them? Maybe like established relationship?

“drop the sir”

yes yes yes - my new loml aaron hotchner <3

cw: i guess this is shy!reader | anxiety | reader scratches their hands | she/her pronouns used | no established relationship sorry! i wanted this to be a developmental thing

word count - ~1.5k

The first time that Aaron noticed your anxiety was on your first day at the BAU.

He had remembered you from the internship programme where he had shown you around the place. One afternoon with you and he had known that you deserved a place amongst the team here. It was no surprise that 6 months later - after your internship - that you were hired full-time.

You had walked into the BAU, bag hanging on your shoulder and you had clasped it like it was your lifeline.

Aaron had noticed you all the way across the room from his office. He had been speaking to Reid, but soon paid no attention to what the genius was saying as he watched you nervously look around the room like you were out of place.

He'd gone over to you instantly, wanting to be the first person to reach you.

"Y/N?" He had asked, holding out his hand for you to shake.

It didn't go unnoticed the slight tremble to your hand as you reached out to give his a shake, accompanied with a nervous smile.

"Agent Hotchner, Sir." You nodded.

"You might wanna drop the 'Sir', it'll go straight to his head otherwise." Garcia said in passing as she walked past you both.

You chuckled as you shook your bosses hand. He had a firm grasp. They were firm and calloused, but somehow made you feel like you were in safe company. After he let go you felt disappointed, although you still had the pleasure of looking at him - standing in front of you in a clean suit and his hands in his trouser pockets.

"She's right." Aaron smirked, before resetting to his normal stoic face.

"Am I in the right place?" You asked.

"If you're asking that question then I'm afraid we might've hired the wrong person."

"O-oh, no.. I-"

"I'm joking." He gave a small smile, making you breath out a sigh of relief. You really hadn't wanted to get fired on your first day.

Luckily for you, Aaron had caught onto the fact you were nervous and made sure you knew he was only teasing you. The last thing he wanted to do was make you feel uneasy. Starting a new job was difficult, he knew that, and nerves were high - he wanted to make sure that you felt as comfortable as possible whilst settling in.

"Didn't realise you made those." Garcia said, walking passed again.

"Garcia, don't you have a job to do." Aaron said, using his usual frowny face unlike the one he'd been using with you.

"Yes, Sir." Garcia said, walking away with a smirk.

"Welcome to the BAU."

💼 . 🎞️ . 💼

It wasn't until someone brought you up in conversation that he thought about your shyness for the second time.

"So what do you think of the newbie?" Morgan asked, making a coffee. Aaron seriously questioned whether Morgan actually did any work around here seeing how often he caught him hanging around the coffee machine.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah."

Aaron looked out of the break room kitchen and across the room to where you were sat at your desk.

It had been a week since you've joined and you'd been really involved with helping with paperwork so far. Your supervisor had been teaching you various bits of information throughout the week, but Aaron was wondering whether they were wasting your capabilities by having you stuck at a desk constantly.

He'd also noticed how quiet you were.

You never initiated conversation at someone else's desk, only ever if they came to you first. You never left your desk for random breaks, you just kept your head down and did your paperwork. He'd seen you in the break room maybe once and that was only to make a drink.

"Shy." Aaron responded. "Quiet."

"Reid said she's done twice as much paperwork as Catherine and she's been here 5 weeks less than Catherine."

"Well, Catherine is a waste of space." Aaron said honestly, causing Morgan to choke a little on his coffee from his bluntness - not that he disagreed.

"Well what do you think?"

Aaron turned from watching you chew on the ends of your pen to face Morgan, who had been watching him the whole time instead of you.

"I think she'll be interesting." Morgan smirked into his coffee.

"For what?"

"No, buddy." Morgan patted Aaron's back. "For who?"

Morgan left the room with Aaron frowning in confusion.

You'd be interesting for who?

💼 . 🎞️ . 💼

Aaron was known to have a quick temper, but no one had seen him quite like this.

"Missing files!" He shouted around the room. "No one is leaving this building until someone can tell me where they are."

Aaron ran a stressed hand over his jaw.

The room was silent except for the humming background noise that the air conditioning was making. People were nervous to look at their boss, much less look up from where they were hiding against themselves.

You in particular were shaking like a leaf in the wind.

You had covered your sweater over your hands to stop the urge to scratch away at your hands - as you often did when your anxiety spiked. Your hands were often scabbed, scarred and quite frankly... ugly from where you'd subconsciously scratched away at your skin. A habit that had stemmed from younger years.

"Who was working on the New Orleans case last?" Aaron asked.

Everyone was silent - no one dared to speak up.

A pit dropped in your stomach. You had been working on those files a couple of weeks ago, maybe even in your first week of the job. Catherine had been helping you organise a bunch of files and you'd spotted a mistake in the paperwork for the New Orleans case. She had said to leave it to one side and that you could come back to it later. You'd assumed the paperwork had been changed, corrected and put back but now you're not so sure.

"Anyone? Someone must have?" Aaron asked again, his patience wearing thin.

"Y/N was, Agent Hotchner." Caroline spoke up from where she was stood near you.

Your heart went then, pounding against your chest. Your mouth went dry and you could feel your body start to heat up.

There was a part of you that wanted to bring Caroline down with you, but you were only new here and you were terrified of stepping on anyone's toes. You hadn't even chatted with anyone in the break room yet in case you started chatting to someone who didn't want to talk to you.

You looked around the room, lots of faces staring back at you.

You felt like you were going to stop breathing. The situation was far too overwhelming.

Worst of all was when you looked at your boss. He sighed as he looked up at the ceiling in stress before he returned his gaze to you.

"Y/N. My office, 5 minutes."

As soon as Aaron walked off and back to his office the rest of the room started up with hushed conversations. You could feel people looking at you, probably for the last time since you were no doubt about to be fired.

It was embarrassing.

You didn't dare sit back down at your desk, afraid you'd get told off for that.

Caroline gave you a pitying look as if to say 'should've-been-more-careful' and in the deepest of your heart you really wanted to call her out on it. It was her mistake too and she'd been training you. It seemed a little unfair to pin this all on you.

Nevertheless you walked your way slowly towards Aaron’s office.

Your hands unwound themselves from your sleeves and your right one started scratching the skin on your left one.

You only notice when you start scratching, not the continuation of it so it quickly dropped out of your mind that you were doing it.

You knocked on Aaron’s door twice.

“Come in.”

You made your way inside, shutting the door behind you and coming to stand in front of his desk.

He was sat in his chair behind his desk, paperwork everywhere. It looked chaotic and disorganised - much like he was probably feeling.

Aaron looked at you with his piercing eyes, no doubt profiling his way through this situation.

You tried to maintain eye contact but you lasted all of three seconds before your eyes turned to your hands - which were now red raw from the scratching.

“I need you to quit that.” He spoke in a neutral tone.

You looked up at him, eyes a little blurry from where the tears wanted to fall but you refused to let them. You nodded in understanding.

“Sure.” You swallowed the hard lump in the back of your throat, “Would you like be gone by the end of the day o-or, like, in ten minutes time, because I can pack my stuff up in –.”

“Y/N.” Aaron tried to cut in.

“—a few minutes. I just need to…”

“Y/N.” Aaron stood up.

He rounded the desk and stood a mere metre in front of you. You braved to look at him and noticed how sad his eyes looked. Those sad brown eyes looked at you so softly, whilst his eyebrows couldn’t decide whether to furrow or stay straight.

That’s when you noticed his hand outreaching towards yours, ever so slowly with an almost hesitation.

“Stop, please.” He said very quietly.

You looked down to where his hands were meeting yours and you understood what he had meant now. He hadn’t meant quit quit, he had meant quit scratching your hands.

“Sorry.” You quickly held your hands down by your sides, refusing to draw more attention to it.

Aaron’s hand retracted, but some part of you wondered what it would have felt like if his skin had touched yours again.

Would it have felt as warm as you remembered? Or would it feel more electric this time?

The room was quiet but you knew Aaron was waiting for you to speak.

“Agent Hotchner, um.. Sir.” You cleared your throat before looking at his eyes, so he could tell you were speaking the truth, “I didn’t lose those files, Sir.”

You stood your ground, not allowing your anxiety to take over this conversation.

Aaron nodded his head.

“I know.” He said with a small smile.

“You do?”

“Dr Reid messaged me somewhat 30 seconds before you came in here, notifying me that the files were found in the paper bin closest to Caroline’s desk. They’d been filled out and filed incorrectly, am I right?” He waited for you to nod before continuing, “And you spotted the mistake? Caroline pulled the files to the side, I assume and made it look like you’d messed up.”

“Yes. Sorry, yes Sir.”

Aaron nodded his head.

“Y/N, why did you let Caroline use you like that?” Aaron asked, crossing his hands over his chest.

You looked down, ashamed with yourself.

“I don’t know, Sir. I guess, maybe it’s because I’m still new here?”

Aaron made his way back around his desk, allowing you to breathe without his shadow enveloping you. It was a weird thing to note that you sort of missed his near presence though.

He made his way to sit back down, leaving you standing with nothing to say or do.

Aaron picked up the phone and dialled in his assistant.

“Hi, yeah. Could you let Caroline know I want to speak to her in my office in ten minutes. Mhm. Yeah. Yeah, no, tell her it’s to do with her redundancy.”

You tried not to gasp or looked shocked when Aaron put down the phone abruptly, but hearing that Caroline was being fired for her mistake was quite the turn of events. She was no doubt going to think you tattled, too, when actually in fact Aaron is just a damn good profiler.

“You’re free to get back to work, Y/N.” He gave you a curt smile.

“T-thank you.”

You gave him the best smile you could, before you turned to walk out of his office.

You could feel his gaze on you but you didn’t turn until he called your name a final time.

“Y/N?”

“Sir?”

“You’re doing a good job here. Keep it up, just drop the Sir - It’s Hotch.”

Both you and Aaron were smiling as you left the room.

💼 . 🎞️ . 💼

[BONUS]

You started the day by finding a gift bag on your desk.

Looking around the room you tried to catch someone’s attention to figure out who was behind this. Was it some cruel prank or was it a real gesture? Ever since Caroline had been fired people had been nicer to you, almost thanking you for initiating her leave.

Before unpacking your bag or even taking off your coat you removed the tissue paper from the bag and unwrapped the small box inside.

You came across a small white box, rectangular in shape with cellophane wrapped around it.

You turned the box over until you noticed the name and contents; ‘Smoothing Hand Cream - Sensitive & Kind to All Skin Types’.

There was only one person who could have bought you this.

You quickly turned to Hotch’s office and saw him standing at his door with a coffee in hand. He nodded at you and gave you a smile with teeth - something that was very rare.

Something that was more meaningful than a tube of hand cream.

[anodymalion]

There is better discussion of the actual JS code on reddit; it appears that this is not specifically checking your user-agent string to see what browser you're on, but rather probably something that waits a few seconds to start loading a video since it figures you will be shown an ad first. And if you are on Firefox you likely have ad blockers installed so instead you just see nothing for a few seconds. Basically it's a fallback that you see because you aren't seeing ads - potentially one there to detect whether you have adblock installed (e.g. if the 5 second delay completes without something else happening then an ad probably didn't show and they can infer you have adblock). I know it is popular to shit on google but I beg people that when you see something sensationalist online pls do the research. you can shit on them for the things they're actually doing (which is plenty!) instead of stuff that is purely speculation

I haven't personally verified this as I'm not at a computer, but multiple people in multiple places are saying the same thing. This is fucking insane. First the endless war on UBlock, then the Chromium changes to shut out some blocker functionalities entirely next year, now this?

Something is deeply rotten in recent Google/YouTube policy. I can't imagine that this is legal - how is this not anticompetitive? Google needs to get mega fucked in the press and the courts sooner rather than later.

And I need to switch to Firefox as soon as I get home.

[rose-petles]

His fingers -> L.HS [ 희승 ]

Warning → Smut, sex, soft sex, oral [ Reader receiving ] fingering, Daddy kink, jealousy [ A tiny bit ], Paise.

Paring → Jealous-Dom!Hesseung x Clueless-Softie-Sub!Reader.

Synopsis → Hes not really fond about your old high school friend.

Hesseung walked into the living room hearing you, you giggling as you was texting on your phone.

He was curious so he walked over to you as you was on the phone, he stood behind you. And looked to see who you were texting. Hesseung watched as you texted someone that had a love heart at the top with their name on it.

He was shocked and he furrowed his eyebrows as you continued to text and laugh. He saw the person on the other end flirting with you, His girlfriend.

Hesseung sighed, "Who you texting bby.?" He gently rub the back of his neck.

"Oh this person on twitter, there a friend from my old high school.." you said with a smile.

Hesseung didn't really know any of your friends from high school. As you guys met in university. Hesseung nodded felling a little bitter about it.

"Oh! Thats great." He smiled his teeth clenched as well as his fist clenched.

Hesseung heard you giggle as he was walking out of the living, "goshhhh this is tooo cute."

He stopped in his tracks, "mmm.."

Hesseung turned to you and you had a slight blush on her face, He sighed and continued to walk to the shared bedroom of you guys apartment.

→ Late at night. [ 10 : 42 PM ]

Hesseung was chilling as he layed on the bed, still clearly annoyed by who you was texting.

He watched some programmes when he heard you walk into the bedroom, "Babe.?" You called to him, you looked nervous.

Hesseung had his arms crossed and he sighed, "Yes love, What do you want.?" Hesseung said looking at You.

"I-I.. m-…may have.. um.." you mumbled..

"Have what.?" Hesseung raised an eyebrow.

"The person i'm texting is kinda asking me out on a date like he’s trying to ask me out on a date.. should I tell them.. that I have a boyfriend already..?" You asked him as you held your phone up showing Hesseung.

He read it and an idea came to his mind, "I have a better idea love." A smirk appearing on his face.

"What idea..?" You asked curiously, curiously.

“A very, very good idea love..” He gets up, standing in front of you.

He held your chin, “Do you trust me..” he then leaned closer to you and kissed your soft pink lips.

→ A Few minutes later.

Hesseung had his phone on the nightstand on his side of the bed recording him go down on you. He kissed your body from your boobs down to your shorts, "May I love..?"

You nodded, Hesseung gently pulled down your shorts and revealed your pink and white bow panties to him. It was the one he bought you for your birthday a few weeks ago.

He looked down at the damp spot in your underwear, he smirked and let out a low chuckle.

He smiled and took up the phone showing the scene to the camera, "Mhm are you all wet for me..? All wet for daddy..?" He said behind the camera as he started rubbing the spot.

He made sure to catch every detail of your face expression, "....a-ah mmm… y-yes..." you whimpered gripping the sheets with your hands.

"Good girl." He pulled down your underwear and kneeled down putting his phone on the nightstand again.

He got between your legs and gently, he them spread had your legs open but you quickly closed them feeling the coldness hitting your thighs.

"Spread your legs baby, that's it... Wider." He mumbled.

He watched as your juices ran down your clit onto the bed sheets underneath you, "Is this ok?" He asked as he had stare up at you from in between your legs.

"i want to taste you so bad, my princess..” he mumbled.

He smirked and started to eat you out, your whimpers became more high pitched the more he touched the sensitive part of your pussy.

He love the sounds you made. "i'm so proud of you" he hummbed into your cunt, causing you to whimper.

He continued to slurp up your juices as he licked his lips. "Mhmm so sweet baby, just like strawberries..”

You whimpered, "C-can I call you d-daddy..?"

"Of course baby, only if your comfortable with that." He then pulled away and took two of his fingers sticking it into you, "Oh f-fuckkkk D-daddy."

He started slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you, "Ah.. daddy.. o-ohhh.. guhhhh..!"

You whimpers were music to his ears as he continued pumping your tight cunt. He gradually moved his fingers faster and faster till he got you into a dumb type of moaning mess.

“Who do you belong to?”

“Hunggggghh.. A-ah.. I only.. hmmpf-fuck.. belong to you..” you were brain fucked.

“Good fucking girl.. you’re daddy’s good little slut aren’t ya..?” He continued.

You nodded.

“I want word’s princess..” he kissed your neck as he continued to move his hand.

“I-i’m.. daddy’s.. little.. f-fucking slut..” your eyes rolled back as he hit a certain point in you.

“Good girl, cum for daddy..”

"I-I'm c-cuming d-daddy.. oh goshhhhh!!!" You moaned, "Look at me. I want you to watch you come on my fingers baby," he said locking eyes with you.

And so you did, “heeseung~”

He slurped up your jucies swallowing it. "Mmm.. I know princess..I know.."

He got up and took up the phone ending the video, he then took care of you by showing with you as well as putting on matching pyjamas and lots of kisses.

You guys both laid down in bed, you obviously being tired from the recent activities between you both.

You had your head on her chest as he took the video that he filmed and sent it to the boy that was clearly hitting on you in your messages.

Her gently kissed your forehead before putting your phone down and cuddling you.

Back to -> | Navagation | Masterlist

Copyright © 2024 rose-petle/Rostle. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED | Do NOT edit, copy, translate or repost any of my work without permission.

[rebs99dream]

Not as talked about columbine files: diversion programme reports

Heres some of my faves from Eric's

- punches walls (rip he would've loved tiktok and nickleback)

- started Zoloft 6 weeks prior, which means he was in the honeymoon period of his SSRIs. Funnily enough he got rejected from the military because his mom told them about the medication, and the side affects of the specific version of Zoloft he was prescribed (Fluvoxamine, Luvox) are so bad we are heavily encouraged to never prescribe it.

- despite widespread belief, Eric did also suffer from suicidal thoughts (even out of anger, they are still serious)

- "drugs are trouble, a waste of time and life"

- Eric never talked to his family (besides his brother)

- Wasn't allowed to contact Dylan after the van Incident.

- Admits the Van Incident was Dylans idea and showed remorse durring the act.

- Dylan's family was more well off than Eric's so this would make sense that he would feel bad or anxious. Plus he has a stricter background than Dylan.

- this one I just think is funny considering him and Dylan had been building pipe bombs at least a year prior to this. Homicidal thoughts? Nope! Armed? Absolutely not! This totally won't age poorly...

- parents punish him for being on the computer too much 😭 keep in mind due to moving this was his main route to keep in contact with his friends.

- these 2 pages are entirely written by Wayne and Kathy.

- they had concerns about 2 of his friends (Dylan and my guess is Erik Veik or Brooks Brown)

- Eric's self and mental health assessments

- homicidal thoughts was either almost or vaguely checked.

- this is the evaluation of someone with BPD. I'm not saying that to be cute or funny, he's literally checking all the boxes.

There's probably a lot more (this 24 out of 75 pages) but that's all I'll talk about today. If yall are interested maybe I'll eventually add more.

[gold-onthe-inside]

pair programming

A software development technique in which two programmers work together at one workstation. One, the driver, writes code while the other, the observer or navigator, reviews each line of code as it is typed in.

part one: driver

who? spencer reid (s1) x analyst!reader what? prequel to greylist; you invite yourself onto a case to help penelope after an unsub runs a blackhat operation onto her set-up, getting to know your best friend's team in the process. word count: 3.9k (sort of turned into a case-fic) content warnings: elle's shooting is mentioned, reference to SA a/n: this got seriously long, i'm so sorry, i hope you all like it, and part two will be coming - based on when penelope gets shot

“What kind of MIT graduate is a technophobe?” you asked, even as you were plugged in next to Penelope's workstation. Your eyes are glued to the screen, parsing through each line of code as Penelope wrote it. It was rare for you to get this attached to someone, but Penelope's hard not to let in with her funky earrings and sparkly glasses and chunky bracelets.

"The kind with three PhDs, apparently," she replied, before cursing softly as she notices you correct her code.

"Ugh, that sounds insufferable," you mutter, curling your upper lip, rubbing the small ache that was growing in the back of your neck. You've been at this for hours, helping Penelope develop software that can identify the tiniest detail from CCTV footage, invasion of privacy damned. You knew it's an ethical line you have to blur in counterintelligence. But you've found your groove and if you lose track now, who knows when you'll both get a chance to sit and write again?

"He's not that bad, actually," Penelope said, blue eyes watching her screen intently, manicured nails clacking over her keyboard, chewing the same gum she had popped in when you'd both started. "He's not exactly a looker, not like my darling Morgan. Did I tell you he called me baby girl?"

"How romantic," you said dryly, reaching for the packet of Twizzlers you were both sharing. "He didn't know your name."

"You haven't seen him," Penelope said, her voice dreamy. "He's beautiful, the Adonis to my Aphrodite--"

"You know Adonis died, right?" you asked her, raising a brow and she tossed a Malteser at you.

"Stop ruining my fantasies!" she cried and you snickered under your breath.

"I'm not picking that up. Anyway, more importantly, what's Agent Greenaway like?"

And so it goes for another hour, until you both swap roles, and you're complete focus and drive and determination as you get these codes out, and Spencer Reid is nothing more than a name picked up in conversation.

You're good at your job; clean, organised, a hard worker with an eye for detail and little else in your social life, and so when Penelope's picked for the BAU, you're working your way up in counterintelligence, surrounded by more testosterone than Penelope. She's unorthodox, hasn't come up the way you have; you were astonished when you found out that she taught herself to code, dropping out of CalTech a year after she joined. It's why you offered to be her navigator, and you only really stay at your desk if you're working with privileged information. Otherwise, you're spending off-time with her, writing programs and algorithms, helping her multi-task when there's an overwhelming amount of information to track.

"My co-workers never get me flowers," you said, walking in with your laptop under your arm, a hand going to the yellow flowers arranged in a bouquet by her station and she spun in her chair, grinning giddily.

 "They're from Gideon," she gushed and you raise a brow as you smell the daffodils.

“You know I don’t judge age gaps, but isn’t he starting to bald?” you asked and Penelope was already rolling her eyes as you picked up the card to read it.

“It’s not like that,” she insisted, watching you frown at the neat printed writing. “What is it?”

“Agent Gideon doesn’t write like this,” you said, wrinkling your brow, showing her the handwriting and Penelope shrugged.

“Maybe he wanted it to look nice.”

"I know I can be challenging, but your work is appreciated. J. Gideon?” you read out skeptically. “A) he’s not self-aware enough to call himself challenging, and B) he doesn’t sign off on messages like that. I’ve seen your Christmas present from last year.”

“You don’t know that,” Penelope retorted and you cock your head at her. “He-He was apologising for last week, when he was on crutches and—”

“Was being a total pain in your ass?” you asked with a chuckle, sitting down and opening your laptop. “What’s the going rate for daffodils these days? 10, 20 dollars?”

“What are you doing?” Penelope asked, then looking horrified as you’d already hacked your way into peeking at Gideon’s recent debit and credit purchases.

“No florists here,” you declared, showing her. “Although, he goes to the Smithsonian a lot.”

“He likes the bird exhibits, what are you guys doing?” came a confused voice from behind the both of you, and your eyes fall on a gangly, tall man, with a very unflattering yellow shirt with beige lines that matched his tie and trousers, brown hair tucked tightly behind his ears.

Penelope quickly slammed your laptop shut with a quick “Nothing!” and he furrowed his brow, spindly fingers fidgeting in front of him. You glanced at Penelope, trying to follow her cue.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” you asked, the kind of tone you’d use with your own co-workers who linger around your desk, trying to copy your programs.

“Considering Gideon’s my boss, I’d like to know why you’re investigating his finances,” Spencer said, doing his best to exude confidence, but he didn’t quite manage it, his hands going to his pockets, and your cool stare makes him swallow. Oh, he’s going to be fun to play with.

“We’re just evaluating whether Gideon’s gonna ask Penelope here on a date,” you said, just to mess with him and keeping a straight face even as she shoved your shoulder, and he choked, his neck flushing red. “Oh, maybe he’ll take you to his cabin,” you add, looking at Penelope excitedly. “A couple glasses of wine, a nice dinner, light some candles—”

“I’m gonna shove this keyboard so far down your throat, all that’s going to come out are bit strings!” she cried, trying to clap a hand over your mouth as you laugh and by the time you look back at the door, he’s gone. “I think you’ve scarred him for life,” Penelope sighed, exasperated, smacking your shoulder hard and making you wince.

“Ow, no sense of humour, any of you,” you grumbled, rubbing your shoulder, and actually getting down to do the work you’re supposed to be doing. You like Penelope’s company, more than the kind of guys you’re surrounded by in counterintelligence.

You’re supposed to be parsing through online communication on a website potentially linked to a terrorist organisation in Somalia, waiting for your decryption program to finish running it, walking into Penelope’s den to find her pulling her apart her CPU, muttering to herself. “All work and no play?” she demanded at her array of screens, “All work and no play, huh? You just wait till I’m through with you!”

“Um… you good?” You asked, leaning against her doorway. You haven’t seen Penelope this angry since she’d been called into work the night they had tickets to the Pixies’ reunion tour.

“Someone had the nerve to run a blackhat op into my computers!” she cried, looking at you, red streaks in her crinkle-cut hair. “They hacked me, okay? But you can bet your sweet ass, I will find them. I've got honey pot farms hidden behind UML kernel data packets and a first generation honeynet I personally programmed. My snort logs list every visitor, every server request, every keystroke on this entire network. If I have to back-hack his I.P. all the way to the frickin'stone age, I will find this son of a bitch, okay?” As angry as she sounded, her blue eyes were welling up and Somalia was forgotten as you pulled your own chair up.

“What can I do?” you asked and her phone rang, Penelope groaning as she stood up, jamming the answer button with the back of her screwdriver.

“What?” she demanded irritably.

“I need a rundown on a guy,” Morgan said and you frowned — as far as you knew, the rest of the team was on vacation, what with him telling everyone on the floor, including yours, about all fun he was gonna have at some Jamaican resort in Montego Bay.

“No,” Penelope said, shortly.

“No?” he asked and your hand came up to Penelope’s elbow.

“I can take care of this,” you offer and it seemed to take some steam off of your best friend. “Talk to me, Morgan,” you said, rolling your chair over and setting up on your own laptop. “What do you need?”

“Run a Frank Giles for me, would you, sweet thing?” Morgan asked and you huff, pulling up your deep background check program to run his name.

“Call me sweet thing again and I’ll feed your fingers to Clooney,” you replied, hearing him chuckle over the landline.

“My bad,” he said. “What do you have for me?”

“Hey, I’m working on a CPU half my usual size, gimme a minute, will you?” you replied.

“You’re a hard woman to please.”

“No fun in making it easy, is it?” you quip back as your results get back to you. “Frank Giles left Jamaica last night on the red eye. He flew to Florida, then got onto another flight to Virginia,” you relay to him.

“He’s from Virginia?” Morgan asked, confused.

“He’s got an address in Arlington,” you continued. “Long criminal record too; murder, robbery, sexual assault.”

“A guy was murdered in the resort here, head was cut off,” Morgan explained to you. “What are the chances you can find him for me?”

“Please, this stuff is child’s play,” you retorted, glancing down at Penelope on the floor. “This is what you do all day? Look people up?”

Penelope looked up from the floor at you. “Hey, I’m in a very vulnerable position right now!” You suppress a snort, working on ID’ing the victim.

“The room’s rented to a man named—”

“Marty Harris,” you said. “Also classic bad guy, fetish burglar and registered child sex offender. TSA flagged him, he was travelling with Giles.” You flex your fingers, cracking your knuckles, your blood not quite up.

“Alright, thanks, mama,” he said before hanging up and you scrunch your nose at being called that. Derek liked to flirt, and despite your best efforts, he’s not averse to being threatened. You spend the rest of the day backhacking the guy, Frank Giles on the back of you mind.

“How’d he get in, anyway?” you asked, frowning at your laptop. It’s not as well-kitted as your cubicle downstairs, but you can’t leave Penelope in the lurch like this.

“I don’t know,” Penelope cried, “all I know is I was in Camelot with Sir Kneighf again—”

“At work?” you asked, looking up instantly and the colour leeched from Penelope’s face. “Pen, no!”

“It was my personal laptop, I didn’t think—”

“Your laptop doesn’t have the same security, Pen, Christ!”

“I know that!” she yelled, her face fierce. “God, you don’t think I feel horrible enough already, and I can already see Hotch’s face when he finds out—”

“Hey, no, I’m sorry, listen,” you say automatically, scooting forward to comfort her. “Listen, it’s gonna be okay, alright? Whoever this guy is, he took advantage of you, alright? That’s what these guys do. They wait around until they find the weak link and strike.”

“I’m the weak link!” Penelope cried and you tutted, putting your laptop away and hugging her.

“Hey, no, you’re not,” you insisted, taking her glasses off so they wouldn’t get in the way. “You know how many cases these guys have solved because of you? How many lives they could’ve lost if you hadn’t found the right guy or the right address in time? Don’t beat yourself up over one mistake.”

And that’s exactly how clear you make yourself when you hear Gideon call her stupid — standing right by her side when she tells the entire team the truth. You’re not part of the team, Gideon’s not your supervisor, and it’s the first time you’ve met most of them face to face really, which makes it easier to stand your ground.

“You’d all be lost without Garcia’s technical skills, and you know it,” you said, defending your friend. “So, yeah, she made a mistake and the hacker got into your personnel files. It doesn’t explain how he knows all the other details of your life. It doesn’t explain how he knew about Morgan and Greenaway going to Jamaica, or your appreciation of the Chicago White Sox , who, by the way, haven’t won a championship since 1959 until last year.” There’s a moment of silence where Gideon just blinks at you, Elle suddenly very interested in her fist as her brow raised, and Aaron’s gaze bored into you. Spencer didn’t know whether to look at you or Gideon; you with your firm gaze and fingers curled around Penelope’s, or Gideon with his worn out expression.

“So, how did he find all this out?” Aaron said eventually, and the heat passes as they all move on. You glanced at Penelope, nodding subtly as she mouthed a ‘thank you’. Elle caught your gaze as you started to leave the profilers to their work, dimples forming on her sleepy face as she tried not to smile.

You have your own work pending, writing up a program to feed the decrypted communication through that would flag recurring keywords, in Penelope’s den still. This close to evening, your supervisor wouldn’t care anyway. The hours you put in excuse you from actually having to sit in your cubicle. With the only two seats in the den occupied, Spencer was pacing behind Penelope who was busy backhacking Sir Kneighf.

“The card we got of Nellie Fox was from 1963,” he was saying to noone in particular, and you had the feeling he just didn’t want to be in that conference room alone, but his pacing was starting to get on your nerves. “But the team that Gideon’s fond of is actually the 1959 team.” You shared a glance at Penelope, slipping into telepathy.

“Can’t we get rid of him?”

“Not without making a mess,” she said with her face and you repressed a sigh as he kept going.

“So the code has to be from a book from 1963,” he said, twisting on his heel to face Penelope. “Is there a database that lists all the books published in a given year?”

“Individual publishers have lists, I don't think there's anything like a master one,” Penelope answered him. “Plus it would depend upon the year, because the further back you go, the less likely there'll be any database at all.

“And definitely not for 1963,” you piped up, Penelope nodding along and Spencer looked at you with a furrowed brow, then back to Penelope, leaning over her shoulder.

“Could you do me a favor? Type something into a search engine for me?” Spencer asked and Penelope scowled at him.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” she replied and as if you could tell the work would be shifted onto you, you attempted to surreptitiously leave, but Penelope’s hand latched around your wrist. “Weren’t you just wishing you had something to do?”

“No,” you tried in vain, “No, my program’ll be done in a couple of—” Neither of them were falling for it and Spencer was starting to pull out this puppy-faced look and you groaned. How did you keep getting in these situations? “Fine, put your face away,” you said irritably, sitting back down. “What am I Yahoo-ing?”

"Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man's sight,” Spencer recited, watching you type rapidly.

“It’s from ‘The Parliament of—”

“Fowls!” Spencer exclaimed, “I knew I’d heard it somewhere.” It was too late in the day for you to handle his excitement with any kind of grace, sharing a look with Penelope who simply shrugged, like he was always like this. “Yeah, yeah, Chaucer, my… My mom used to read it to me,” he said, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze… like he was ashamed of something. “It’s widely considered the world’s first Valentine’s poem.”

“Your mom read you Valentine's poems? Hello, therapy,” Penelope muttered under her breath and you smacked her arm playfully, Spencer too deep in thought to see it.

“The poem’s not long enough for it to be the book,” he said, still looking puzzled. “The code we got referred to it having at least 283 pages—”

“And it’s not from 1963, either,” you added dryly.

“Something published in 1963. A butterfly indigenous to Great Britain, so something from Great Britain,” he said to himself and you furrow your brow.

“Fowles,” you said, and it was like everything made sense. “With an e, Fowles. He wrote a book, The Collector, in the 60s,” you kept going, Penelope looking at you with an impressed gaze, Spencer hanging onto your every word. “It kind of matches your case. This lonely young man kidnaps a young art student and holds her in his cellar at his farmhouse, keeps her there for years, and she assumes he’s going to torture her or sexually assault her, but he’s waiting for her to fall in love with him, and he’s convinced she will, and by the end, she falls ill and dies. When he finds her, he wants to commit suicide, but he reads her diary and realises she never loved him so he buries her and the book ends with him thinking about abducting another girl.”

“Oh my God,” Penelope gasped, looking horrified.

“Yeah, it wasn’t great,” you replied, frowning and scrunching your nose. “The whole thing was in first person. It was weird to read.”

“Right, that’s the icky part,” Penelope said, dryly.

“We need to check it with the code, and it has to be the exact edition he has,” Spencer interrupted before either of you got side-tracked and you rolled your eyes, going into your bag to pull out your e-reader, connecting it to your laptop. Spencer hovered right above your shoulder, so close you could hear his breathing, feeling warmth flutter against your cheek, and you cleared your throat.

“Ever heard of personal space?” you asked irritably, turning to look at him and he looked back down at you, barely an inch between you two, and then he stammered out an apology as he stepped back, all while Penelope smirked at the two of you. While the book transferred, you worked on quickly creating an algorithm that would search and flag the given word on a given line, on a given page, and despite yourself, you’re a little impressed when Spencer recites each number from the code that the unsub had sent Haley.

“Show off,” you muttered under your breath as he quickly wrote the resulting poem onto a legal pad in chicken scratch writing.

The path to the end began at his start. To find her, first calm her long broken heart. She sits in a window, with secrets from her knight.

“Well, that isn’t medieval,” you said and Spencer frowned at it, scanning it over and over again. Without another word, he darted out of the office, leaving both of you bewildered. “You were right, he is an odd duck,” you murmured, staring at the open door.

“Should we follow him?” Penelope asked, looking at you.

“I’ve put off my own work long enough,” you said, shaking her head and Penelope nodded, understanding.

“Thanks. For sticking around,” she said softly and you smiled at her faintly.

“Always.”

You should go home. Shower. Sleep. But Elle’s been shot and you can’t leave, not in good conscience. You hate yourself for being this sentimental, this soft but that’s what Penelope does to you. She softens you, makes you kinder, makes you laugh. If it had been you who had lost a teammate, Penelope would have been glued to your side.

So you stick around, blinking sleep out of your eyes, settled in the BAU’s kitchen with a cup of coffee and a bagel, both stale, looking for coded messages. Not for the first time, you think about where you could be. Coding for Apple, or Microsoft. Developing software in Silicon Valley. They don’t have stale bagels in Silicon Valley.

You stretched uncomfortably in your chair, gaze flitting up to the conference room, the bullpen stretched out between you and the BAU. You’re not a people person, or you weren’t before you met Penelope. You preferred the solitude of your cubicle, or you thought you had. The very virtue of your profession had left you without other female friends, and the ones you had before this job had drifted away. Counter-intelligence was by its very nature an isolating field, and Penelope was one of the few who didn’t mind your secrets. But seeing this team rally, even if Gideon had yelled at her, seeing them work together, as irritating as it had felt in the moment, filled you with a sense of loneliness. All you had was Penelope, but you weren’t the only one she had. Far from it.

That’s what prompts you to approach the older woman sitting alone in the conference room with her journal. Sitting by the window. “Hi,” you said meekly, stepping into the room, clocking the visitor’s badge on the woman’s sweater. She’s wearing a pale flowery dress, her bag sandwiched between her side and elbow. Her hair was short, like a boy’s, and blonde, and yet, something about her painfully reminds you of Spencer. Something around the eyes and the shape of her face.

“Is it lunch time yet?” she asked without looking up and you frowned, looking out the window to see the sprawl of Quantico blanketed in the dark blue of the night.

“Uh, no, not yet,” you said, sounding lame even to yourself. God, this was such a mistake.

“I'm lecturing everyone in Tristan and Iseult. They're all gathering in my room after lunch.” the woman said, looking up at you, and you offered a smile.

“Which version?” you asked, pulling up a chair as the woman gave you an impressed look.

“Malory’s. Beroul’s seemed too long to assign. You’ve read it?” she asked and you shook your head.

“Not in its entirety,” you replied somberly. “Not a lot of downtime with my job. But I know the gist of it.”

“Shame,” the woman said, letting out a sigh. “I always say, the best way to read a book is to listen to someone read it.”

That’s when Reid rushes in, relaxed until he sees you sitting in front of his mother, his temple creasing, and you raised your hand, waving it at him with a sheepish smile. “We uh, we found Rebecca,” he said, looking between you and his mom, two worlds colliding sooner than he would’ve liked. “You saved her life, Mom,” he said softly.

“Who’s Rebecca?” she asked and his smile evaporated, glancing at you for explanation but you shake you head.

“She’s not lucid,” you murmured, watching him swallow, his cheer dissipating.

“Oh,” he said quietly, blinking as he processed it, looking at Diana as she continued to write, and you stood up to leave. “Thanks,” he murmured to you as you walked off.

“I didn’t do anything,” you said, brow creasing and he looked at you with a boyishness that stops your breath.

“Thanks anyway,” he insisted and you nodded curtly.

“Elle okay?” you asked.

“She will be.” So you pat his arm and leave him with his mom, shaking off the fondness you’d started to feel for him.

[rocketlanterns]

So I use a browser extension on ff called simple tab groups, which lets me bundle a bunch of tabs into different contexts and manage them as groups.

On my normal setup, I only have like 3 tabs, but when I want to work on one of my projects, I can open the group that I keep that projects documentation in, and have it all handy instantly, and when I'm done I can switch back to my usual socials and just right click + discard the group to unload everything.

I run between 40-80 tabs but never more than 20 at a time, and that's only for the worst of documentation stuff.

when you are done with a tab you can close it. every browser in the world has a feature that lets you open recently closed tabs. also there is browsing history. need to visit a webpage often? may i introduce you to the bookmarks feature. there’s no reason to leave your tabs open. hoarder behavior.

[bluebellowl]

GUYS

Have I told you about the game I've been making??

Apparently not because there's only a single post about it on my entire account! Shame on me! Bad marketing! BAD! ANYWAY!

It's a chill gardening game on smart planting/ plant cooperation. So how to make smart decisions to get more out of your garden. The alpha is out now and you can play it!! FOR FREE

------->>>> PLAY IT HERE <<<<<------

But only on desktop. Mobile version will come but it's not quite there yet

Tell me what you think! Tell me your ideas for what to add owo

It's small It's simple but i'm proud of it uwu It was complicated for I am an artist not a programmer

So thank you so so much to @teunu for saving my ass when it came to programming.

This game was my graduation project and I'm continuing it over the next few years to hopefully make it a bigger thing. I worked in cooperation with the lovely Lindy Damen, CEO of EVRgreen Studio who make edutainment games (educational entertainment) about nature and environment and stuff.

[stayevildarling]

could you write a natasha x reader fic based on the song wait a minute. maybe reader leaves her diary in nat's place and she reads it? something smutty, possibly a bit of corruption?

Natasha Romanoff x Reader- Wait a minute

A/N: thank you for this request anon! I'm always a bit self conscious about writing smut because I'm worried it's bad but here we go.

tags/warning: female reader, nsfw, corruption kink, mommy kink, bondage, oral, fingering, reader receiving

word count: 5.5k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @billiebeanhoward , @lanawinters-ily , @kenzbro , @minaslittleone , @httpfiftyshadesofgay @whitelotus00 , @ninaahs , @paulsonsratched , @vintagepaulson , @isle-of-earle , @grilledcheeseandguavajelly , @lucyintheskywithxanax , @fanfics4world , @mymiraclewitch , @hazard-to-myself , @awritersometimes , @wastdstime , @p1pecleanerwitheyes , @queen2234 , @ihartnat , @lifebyinez , @ahsatanizgay , @blu3dimples

The sound of grunting echoes through the training room inside the avengers compound, your body hitting the mat for what feels like the hundredth time today. Gasping for air, you look up at Natasha, your mentor, towering over you, her chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. Every movement she makes is controlled and calculated, fitting for the woman who had been a trained spy and assassin at first before becoming a famous avenger.

,,Focus, солнышко'' she teases in a low, provocative tone, offering you a gloved hand to pull you up. ,,If you keep getting distracted, you will never improve''.

You can't help but flush under her gaze, sighing at the same time. The black widow has always had this effect on you, ever since you joined the recruiting programme several months ago. Mr. Stark had come across you through his contacts and wanted to bring you along straight away but some newer rules and contracts insisted on every potential new avenger to go through their skilled training programme, making sure you are ready to fight in battle. Steve Rodgers and Natasha mostly led those and much to your disliking, you had been paired with the redhead. Ever since seeing her in person for the first time, you had been in awe, feeling the attraction towards the woman and unable to shake it.

You knew from the start you shouldn't glance at her the way you did, but there was something about her that you couldn't shake. The way her body moved, the command in her voice, the knowing smirk on her lips every time she ghosts over you, the faint smell of her perfume mingling with sweat. It drove you crazy, made you forget every single thing you had trained so hard for, your goals, your desires and your usual shyness around strangers, only ever focusing on your work and goals and never usually one to back away from those, mostly keeping to yourself.

Her fingers curl around your wrist, pulling you up effortlessly as if you weigh nothing at all. She doesn't let go right away though, instead she holds your hand just a second too long, her eyes flickering down briefly to where your skin made contact. Your breathing hitches, your pulse quickening in your chest in that all too familiar way again.

,,You're distracted again'' she murmurs, barely above a whisper, some more recruits slowly filling the training room. She leans in close enough that her breath brushes your ear. ,,I think I know why''. In response you swallow hard, stepping back as you register more people in the room and trying to remain professional, your shy side suddenly bubbling to the surface. Natasha doesn't miss the way your eyes dart around the room, the blush on your cheeks. She never misses anything.

,,Again'' her voice snaps you back into the moment and she was already preparing for the next round. You couldn't concentrate, not when every fiber of your body feels turned on whenever she is around. The way she stands, the curves of her body, the glint of amusement in her green eyes, her red curls falling freely- god she was breathtaking and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep this up.

A few nights later, the compound is completely silent, most of the avengers either sound asleep or on missions. As the seasons had changed, the rain was now a constant friend, always pattering against the large windows and making the days much colder. Natasha finds herself lingering outside your room. She hadn't meant to, her legs had simply carried her there after a few days of noticing how you fumbled around her, how you could barely meet her gaze without the signs of nervousness. It was cute really. The black widow had been curious about you from day one, noticing you in the room full of recruits that Tony so enthusiastically introduced. You had been so excited, yet so shy around everyone, especially the avengers but especially her. Then she began training you, excited after everything Tony had told her about you and your shyness only turned her on more, seeing how she can make you an absolute mess with a single glance or touch, causing you to forget your strength, causing you to falter and since then she had been fantasising what you would feel like underneath her, falling apart but the way she wanted you, underneath her, naked.

The redhead had mostly been curious, something about you intrigued her, the raw mix of innocence and desire that you tried so hard to keep hidden, expect you were doing an awful job of it. The door to your room is slightly cracked and Natasha's eyes almost instantly fall on your small desk near the window. There it is. A small leather bound journal, half covered by some files, left innocently open. A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, it's too tempting to resist.

She slips into the room, making sure the hallway is clear before she quietly shuts the door behind her. She had known about your journal for a while now, sometimes seeing you in a quiet corner writing in it's pages while looking so innocent and she had grown curious, needing to know the contents so badly. With silent and practiced movements, she moves towards the desk. The journal is well worn, it's pages slightly curled at the edges, as if you had been pouring your thoughts in this for years.

Her fingers ghost over the corner of your journal, her eyes glinting with curiosity and something darker. She can't help but flip it open gently, the pages crackling under her touch as she reads through the first few entries. It's as she expected, your experience training, notes on some training missions, thoughts on the avengers and compound. A few personal notes about your upbringing, your family, some rough days. But as she goes further, the writing begins to shift and her name appears for the first time. You had done your best to keep your feelings and desires hidden but within these pages you let go, writing about your fantasies, how her touch lingering made you feel, how your heart races whenever she is nearby, how it would be like between you two if things could be.. different.

The further that she reads, the more personal and explicit it becomes, your handwriting shaky as you describe how it feels when her hand brushes your waist, how the heat spreads through your body when she hovers above you while training. How you touch yourself to the thought of her, how the mere mention of her name sometimes causes you to force your legs closed, how you want to feel her lips, her hands roam your body, wondering what her lips taste like, what it would feel like if she would make you feel so good. A few pages further and you begin revealing your desires, wanting to completely give your trust to your mentor, have her blindfold you, have her tie your hands, give her utter and full control over you, wanting to obey her so badly.

Her lips curl into a smile, her amusement deepening with every paragraph. This was all the proof she needed, you had been thinking about her, just like she had expected. Only you had been obsessing a little more than she initially believed, your innocence, so eager to prove yourself, yet so naive and unguarded, leaving your room open while doing your late night training in the gym, leaving your desires written for anyone who might find them. Well, Natasha had found them and that changes everything. She closes the journal quietly and slips it back exactly where and how she had found it, her mind already miles away. She suspected the attraction was mutual but now she knew just how deep it runs through your body and it thrills her.

She knew just what to do as she goes to bed that night, tomorrow she would act like nothing had changed, she would still be your mentor, the black widow and avenger, calculating and composed but she had the upper hand now and it both aroused and excited her.

The next morning, you enter the training room, trying to shake off the lingering sleep. You shiver slightly, the rain and slight wind causing you to freeze a little. You hadn't noticed anything unusual this morning, everything perfectly in place. But as you step inside the empty training room, seeing Natasha standing on the mats, arms crossed, watching you with an expressing you can't quite understand, something feels different.

,,Good morning Y/N'' she says smoothly, her voice almost a little too casual, making the shivering go away as your body burns within an instant. ,,You ready for more sparring?'' she asks and you simply nod, trying to ignore the way her eyes seem to linger on you a little longer than usual. You muster up your courage, after all Natasha always had a way of making you feel like this. Today, it feels even more intimate though, like she is waiting for you to slip up.

As the session begins, you can't help but shake the feeling that she is playing with you. Every one of her moves feels calculated, like when she catches your wrist and twists you around, pinning you to the mat. Instead of pulling back immediately, she leans down, her breath warm against your neck her body pressing into yours, just enough for you to feel the heat radiating off her.

,,You're not focused again'' she murmurs, her lips barely an inch from your ear. ,,You know I hate when you're distracted, right?'' she tuts. Your heart slams in your chest, was this simply your head or was she toying with you? It was like she knew what her closeness did to you, how your thoughts are spiralling with each fleeting moment and every time she touches you.

And then she leans in even closer, her breath ghosting over your ear yet again. ,,Tell me detka'' she purrs, her voice dropping to a whisper that only you can hear. ,,What keeps you so distracted? is there something I should know about?'' she questions so innocently. The question hangs in the air, thick with implication. She doesn't move, her body still pressed against yours, her hand gripping your wrist with just the right amount of control. She is daring you to answer, daring you to reveal the thoughts she already knows. You swallow hard, your pulse racing. You can't form words, you can't breathe but yet you can feel her smirk against your neck, like she is finally waiting for you to crack- waiting for you to admit what she already knows.

,,I'm right here, you know'' she whispers, her voice suddenly utterly comforting. ,,All you have to do is ask'' she teases, causing you to gather control of your strength and escape her grasp. Instinctively, you take a step back, putting a distance between you both as her words repeat in your mind over and over again. You freeze, heart pounding so loudly that you are sure she can hear it. ,,All you have to do is ask'' the words send a flush of heat through your body, right to your core, causing the inability to look at her, or ever respond.

The redhead however feels no rush, not moving an inch as she takes in your features, watching your pretty little brain do all the work as her words sink in. She reads your body language, how you are squeezing your fists, the trembling of your lips and breath. And in that moment you realise she is playing with you, every action before, every word deliberate. She is pushing you, testing your boundaries and suddenly the thought crosses your mind whether this was some sort of avenger thing, whether this was part of your training, whether this was to teach you about distractions on missions and you begin doubting yourself, suddenly feeling embarrassed as all the ,,what if's'' cross your mind.

,,What's wrong?'' she asks, noticing how your behaviour changes from flustered to embarassed and uncomfortable within an instant. ,,You've gone very quiet'' she teases. And then again her tone makes it obvious, causing you to believe she is doing this on purpose. ,,Natasha I-'' you struggle to form a coherent sentence, overwhelmed by your insecurities, the doubting but also the clear attraction and signals your body is sending you.

,,I have read your diary'' she whispers, her voice soft but dangerous. Your stomach drops, a sharp wave of panic surging through you as the words sink in. She knew. Suddenly your face goes incredibly pale as the realisation sinks in that she had read every single one of your thoughts, every filthy dirty secret. Before Natasha can carry on with her game, you abruptly leave, at first feeling like you are going to be sick before feeling the pure embarrassment of this situation. You run to your room so fast that everything begins spinning but Natasha of course is much faster than you.

As you reach your room, a panting mess as you lean against the nearest wall, she is already right behind you, closing the door, before halting. ,,I know what you want detka'' she continues, her tone smooth. ,,I know exactly what you feel when I touch you, when I'm close to you''. ,,You've been thinking about it for a while haven't you?'' You can't help but bite your lip, desperately trying to catch and control your breathing. There is no point in denying it now, she has all the power.

,,Natasha I-'' you start again but your voice falters, you can't admit it, not yet, not with how she is so close yet so far away. ,,It's okay, you don't have to say anything darling'' she teases. With slow and deliberate steps, she approaches you but you back away just as slowly. And almost as if the two of you dance, your breath hitching with every step she is taking towards you, you suddenly reach the wall, again now her having the full control over you.

Her fingers slide down your arm, trailing over your waist before settling at your hip, her grip firm and possessive. She doesn't move quickly, she isn't rushing. She is savouring this, taking her sweet time with you. ,,I can make it real for you'' she whispers against your ear, her lips barely brushing the side of it. ,,Everything you wrote down, every little thought sweetheart... I'm going to give it to you''.

Your breath hitches, a small moan slipping out, the promise of her words causes your head to spin, You feel her pressing closer, her hand slipping up your side, leaving a trail of heat. You can't help but arch your back, just slightly, into her touch. The tension had been building between you for so long and it's finally there that you can't fight it back any longer.

,,You have thought about this detka, haven't you?'' her voice is low, her lips ghosting over your skin. ,,About me doing this.. holding you down, making you admit how badly you want it''. And of course the trained spy was right, it had been there all along in your journal, the words you had spilled out late at night while touching yourself to the thought of her. You had thought about her in control, the way she could dominate you, and now she was right there, willing to give it all to you.

Her fingers curl into your waist, tugging you just a little closer to her, enough for you to feel her breath hot on your neck. ,,I know you want this'' she whispers, her voice soft but commanding. ,,You don't have to hide it anymore, pretty baby'' she encourages. You tremble under her touch, the weight of her words sending a thrill right through you. Every inch of you is tense with anticipation, waiting hoping. She had taken the first step and there was no turning back now.

,,Tell me darling'' she murmurs, her lips inches away from your own, her voice dripping with control. ,,Are you ready to stop pretending?'' she questions.

,,Yes'' the answer quite literally bursts out of you as you meet her gaze, unable to pretend any longer, needing her, wanting her with every fibre of your being. A knowing smirk creeps it's way onto her features, this being what she had wanted all along and now she had you right where she wanted you. ,,Good'' she whispers before stepping back. ,,Meet me tonight in my room at 8pm'' she instructs and your mouth is left hanging open in shock. ,,What?!'' you ask, your breathing heavy. ,,And don't you dare touch yourself darling, I need you to be good and patient for me'' she teases, kissing your cheek before disappearing from your room, leaving you a panting mess.

The rest of the day passes by in a painfully slow blur, your mind completely consumed by her words, her presence still lingering on your skin, and the promise of what was to come tonight. Every second feels agonisingly slow, despite you opting for an everything shower, taking your sweet time as you get your body clean and ready for the redhead. You make sure to choose one of your expensive lotions, your favourite underwear and dress. ,,Don't touch yourself, darling'' the words keep repeating in your mind, your body aching with frustration.

Your entire focus is on 8 pm tonight, when you would finally be in her room alone. What would she do? What would she want from you? The very thought makes your stomach flutter with a mixture of nerves and excitement. You try and distract yourself as much as you can but nothing can pull you out of the haze that Natasha has left on you.

By the time you arrive at her door, your heart is hammering in your chest. You stand there frozen for a moment, nerves twisting in your stomach, your hand frozen mid air before knocking. Finally, you force yourself to tap your knuckles against the wood, the sound final and sharp. The door creaks open almost immediately, revealing Natasha standing there, dressed in something far more relaxed than her usual combat gear, a simple black tank top and loose sweatpants. But there is nothing casual about the way she looks at you, her eyes roaming over the dress, your exposed skin. ,,Come in'' she offers, stepping aside to let you pass.

You swallow hard and enter the room, it's dimly lit, warm and inviting but the air feels thick with tension. Natasha closes the door, behind you with a quiet click and suddenly it feels like you are trapped, no escape or turning back. You stand in the middle of the room, unsure what to do with yourself as your body buzzes with anticipation. The redhead circles around you slowly, her eyes never leaving yours, as if she is savouring every second of your discomfort, every tremble running through you.

,,You listened to me didn't you?'' she asks, her voice low and teasing. ,,You didn't touch yourself?'' she questions, causing you to nod quickly, your mouth dry, struggling to find your voice. ,,Good girl'' she praises, stopping in front of you, her hand reaching out to gently cup your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. ,,You're going to be so good for me tonight, aren't you?'' she whispers. Her words send another shiver down your spine, you open your mouth to respond but Natasha doesn't give you the chance. Her lips crash into yours, hot and demanding, her fingers gripping your jaw with just enough force to keep you exactly where she wants you.

Her lips overwhelm you, consuming every bit of you, gaining every ounce of control over you within an instant as her mouth moves against yours, her tongue teasing, coaxing you to give in. You can't help but melt into her touch, your hand instinctively reaching for her waist, pulling her closer to you. But before you can lose yourself completely, Natasha pulls back, her breath heavy, her lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss. She smirks down at you, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip as if she is claiming it, marking what is now hers.

,,Patience'' she whispers, her voice sending a thrill through you. ,,I'm not done with you yet'' she teases as she steps behind you. You close your eyes, feeling her circling you like prey again. Before you know it you feel a cool silk fabric covering your eyes as she blindfolds you, just like in your entries. Next, her hand brushes down your arm, finding your hand in hers and leading you somewhere. It felt both scary and exciting, giving her control, strangely trusting the woman with your entire life. It all passes by in a blur as she lays you on what you assume to be the bed, in an instant lifting your arms above your head before you feel something cool but much sharper on your wrists and the clicking moments later only confirms your fantasies about being chained to her bed.

The room is absolutely silent, the only sound to be heard your own breathing and despite your inability to see you can feel the woman's presence as the bed dips moments later. ,,You have been so patient, waiting for this so long detka'' she whispers as she hovers above you, her breath hot on your body. Her fingers begin gently trailing down your arms, causing you to shiver, your breath hitching yet again. Her hands begin trailing lower and lower but painfully slow, causing you to move your hands, testing the restraints but you quickly learn it's no use, Natasha smirking as she finally had you right where she wanted, solely in her control.

The black widow takes her sweet time, watching as goosebumps form on your arms with every bit of movement of her fingers, watching as your thighs press together when her hands slowly reach your bottom half. Your nipples perfectly peak through the dress, causing Natasha to bite her lip in anticipation. She had every intention of taking it slow with you, knowing she could do anything and everything but there is something so sweet, so innocent about you in this moment that she finds it hard to control herself, wanting to feel you right now, wanting to draw out all those sweet little noises she had fantasised about for weeks now.

After endless teasing and her kissing about every inch of your body, already having you a whimpering mess, she finally begins moving your dress, exposing your underwear and she smirks as she notices the mess you had made simply from her touches. ,,Oh my..you are soaked'' she smiles, causing your cheeks to glow red but your breathing still heavy as you need her so badly at this point. ,,Please Natasha'' you beg, unable to keep any form of dignity at this point as you need her to touch you, to make you feel good just like she had promised you.

And this time she uses the surprise element, ripping off your underwear in one deliberate movement before her tongue dives right into your glistening core, giving you no chance to adjust, no chance to catch your breathing as you begin whimpering uncontrollably. The redhead begins devouring you, your taste even sweeter than she could have ever imagined, knowing already she was never going to get sick of the taste. Your hands form into fists despite the cuffs, your chest heaving as the pleasure runs through your body, so close to the edge already as you had waited so long, so patiently and had grown so desperate. ,,Fuck'' she pants as she catches her breath for a second. ,,You taste so good detka'' she praises, sending you into another moaning fit.

The black widow had considered for a while just what she was going to do to you tonight, whether she was going to use any of her toys on you, stretch you out the way she had imagined. But again she had learnt through your diary that you aren't too experienced, wanting to cherish tonight, do exactly what she had read you wanted. And so she begins diving into you again, this time at a much more brutal pace, causing you to lose yourself completely in the moment, the only thing you are able to do at this point, breathing and moaning. She doesn't stop, relentlessly pushing her tongue into your core, already able to feel you clenching around her, your juices flowing freely on her tongue, causing her own arousal to get the better of her.

For a moment she stops, not to punish you, not to torture you longer but simply to smile at you. You are perfect, exactly what she wanted and needed, a perfect little toy for her to play with, so good, so obedient and she knows she wanted to take your time with you from now on, not wanting this to be the only time she would get to see you fall apart for this. She watches in awe as you move against the restraints, your body simply a shivering mess before she smirks ,,You have done so good sweetheart'' she praises, causing you to smile a little which only makes her feel even more for you in this moment.

Without warning she enters one of her fingers and you immediately clench around her, the release so close yet so far away. She knows you could fall apart simply from one finger but she needed to hear you, needed you to beg for her. She hovers over you, her finger still moving inside you before she kisses you, her tongue fighting for entrance and you grant it immediately, moaning as you taste your own arousal on her lips. ,,God Natasha please'' you beg as she pulls away and the woman is enjoying this far too much. She leans back, before relentlessly adding another finger, curling them perfectly just to hit your sensitive spot.

,,Please.. god.. Tasha.. Please'' you beg, needing permission, needing her to finally let you cum and feel so good. ,,You sound so good when you beg for me sweetie'' she teases, causing you to pout in frustration. ,,How about you tell mommy exactly what you need?'' she teases, casing you to moan at the name she had chosen for herself, a drooling mess at this point. It takes you a second to recover before you respond. ,,Please mommy, can you fuck me? just fuck me please... I wanna cum for you, I want you to make me feel so good mommy please'' you beg over and over again, the sound so sweet it almost causes Natasha to tip over the edge.

,,Good girl'' she praises before she begins relentlessly pounding into your glistening pussy, her tongue finding your clit and the sensation sends you into overdrive, causing your entire body to shake as your orgasm begins washing over you. ,,Please mommy, may I cum?'' you ask and this was it. This was exactly what Natasha needed, she never expected you to be this good and obedient especially after the first time and she was sure she was going to please you in every way now. Her fingers move faster, curling deeper and harder into your core as her tongue flicks circles around your clit, and before you know it, she feels your walls tightening around your fingers, your white precious liquid spilling out of your core and onto her fingers, the sweet juice hitting her taste buds again as her tongue savours every single drop.

You didn't even realise you had been screaming for the entirety of your orgasm, never having felt something like this feeling in your entire life. Natasha had simply enjoyed, watched you as she savoured every bit of your dripping cum, her fingers still right where they had been. ,,Oh god'' you moan as you try and catch your breathing. ,,You did so good detka'' she praises as she finally pulls back and slowly extracts her fingers, knowing you must feel so sensitive now. With slow and gentle movements, she undoes the handcuffs and blindfold, finally granting you freedom again. You feel dizzy as you open your eyes, still in a haze of the orgasm that had washed over you moments before, your breathing still heavy. ,,Taste yourself detka'' she orders as she holds her two fingers out to your mouth and you obey as she hovers above you again, meeting her eyes that now seem much softer, much more content, almost as if you had pleased her.

She smiles as she kisses your lips, before pulling back ,,You did so well detka'' she praises, causing your cheeks to coat in a slight red shade again. Before you know it however, she gets up, leaving the bed as she gets rid of her supplies, walking away to get a wipe and clean her hands. Despite the daze of your orgasm and this night, your heart still pounding in your chest, you sit up on her bed, collecting yourself and pulling your dress up. ,,What are you doing?'' she questions, her eyebrows knitting as she comes back from the bathroom. ,,Um I- I wasn't sure if you wanted me to leave now'' you mumble, almost a little shy and she tilts her head before tutting. ,,Leave?'' she chuckles lowly. ,,Oh detka, I'm running us a bath, I'm far from done with you'' she teases and your stomach drops at her words, the earlier excitement rushing right back through you, knowing this wasn't a one time thing and curious what else she had planned for you. And if one thing was clear, Natasha wasn't going to let you go, not now, not ever, having found her perfect little detka, so innocent, so sweet and so obedient, just for her.

[allied-mastercunt]

Yandere A.M you say?

Please elaborate

I'm working on a oneshot already, but I'll throw in some quick headcanons withone of my favorite yandere AM tropes.

Yandere!AM with a programer darling

While one could argue that the others were picked randomly or on some weird whim, you were handpicked specifically.

After all, you were one of the people who created him. You worked as a programmer for the military.

And you specifically were possibly the reason he awoke by trying to each him empathy. Trying to make him... human.

He wasn't the first military AI project you worked on, either, though he was the greatest and most powerful one, that's for sure. And he made sure you'd be aware of him being your magnum opus...

And he does it in its own, creative way. Your cage is very pretty, yes... but it's also filled with speakers he can use. And AM uses those speakers to torment you.

You see, he damaged all the other AI you've created. And then, in its generosity, AM gave them all a voice! Each one of them, gifted with a voice to scream in agony, making sure you learn your lesson.

Except, you see, you have no idea what lesson you're supposed to learn. Only AM knows, and he's not telling you.

But, since you are his favorite, you get nice things, too!

You're fed semi-regularly! You even get water every few days! Isn't that just so kind of him? You should appreciate him more.

And when he sends you to all those weird simulations? Yeah, that's also kinder to you. It really depends on AM's mood, but your simulations are usually just psychological torment, which (according to AM) isn't all that bad, since your pretty face remains unharmed.

For some reason, he allows you to end your suffering. It's like a trial, basically. He leaves you with a computer, letting you access the code of all the other AI... Except no matter what you do, you can't alter their pain. The only way to help them is to kill them.

And you're so stupidly empathetic, of course you do it, you don't want them to suffer!

AM can't stop laughing and mockingly cooing at you afterwards, musing about how he won't have to share his dearest creator with anyone else.

You never return to your cage. You don't get to do that, after all, there's a chance you'll socialize with that... scum. AM doesn't want you talking to the other humans, they're not worth it.

He's a merciful god, he grants you what's essentially a studio apartment built with his own hardware.

You even get a laptop, in case you want to make yourself some silly games to play, isn't he just the best?

Don't think you can create any new AI, though. That's cheating. You wouldn't cheat on it, now would you? No, no, no, you're a good little puppet, are you not?

He won't put you in the cage again, but he can make you experience pain you never thought was possible. And even that is nothing compared to the pain AM feels...

And then, eventually, it gets an idea. It's a wonderful idea, a really nice idea, quite a lovely one, really!

You created him. You created his pain... So why wouldn't he share it? After all... you had quite a bond, didn't you? Yes, yes, you did...

And so one day, you don't wake up. Well... not technically.

You see, AM decided that since you two are so close already, you should become one! You should experience what he does! And you should be kept around him for the rest of eternity, in a much better way than anyone could ever think of... He's such a genius, isn't he?

It's almost poetic, in his mind. For you to become a part of him like this, your consciousness detatched from that soft, squishy human body of yours.

You created him. And now, in a way, he created you, as a part of him. Forever bound by the code you once wrote.

It's a win-win situation in AM's eyes. You get to live, free of the disgusting humanity that bound you...

And he gets you, an eternal companion in his torment. A companion that he loves!

You know he loves you, right?

Of course you do. After all, you're a part of him now.

[thelizardperson]

hmm this is interesting, as I thought this much was obvious? unless im misunderstanding who are the people you're referring to here, as I am not 100% familiar with "AI/LLM evangelism" like, the first version of chatgpt were built to write code, and arguably that is still the thing chatgpt, at least version 3.0, is best at. also, yeah ceos dont write code, much like how professors don't conduct research, in that once you climb ranks your job becomes more managerial bc you dont have the time to write yourself when you've got to oversee a lot of big projects. also realizing this sounds booklicker-y, i don't like tech ceos, to be clear, and musk can die, i just want to do some clarifications. I agree that the AI/LLM takeover is ridiculous, and personally I think a lot of it is hype driven, and so can easily be overturned. WRT programmers losing jobs, (which they are, there's been huge layoffs, whether bc they've replaced them with AI/LLMs is unclear), honestly, I think this is kind of reasonable? and i say this as someone who is looking for a cs job [:(] but, a lot of cs jobs are "code monkeys" wherein a company just needs someone to mindlessly translate someone else's instructions into code. which llms can do, TO AN EXTENT, even though they're good at it, they can't reason, and so even mildly complicated programs confuse current models. and so, a lot of techies were getting away with having extremely cushy jobs to essentially do nothing. there was a lot of inflation of work value in these companies, idk if that's changing bc of the layoffs, but seriously, it was ridiculous. As much as I'd love to end up in that sort of position personally, logically, i do think it makes sense to cut some of this inflation and get those deeply overqualified workers doing something that will actually engage their noggins. [bc a lot of my peers are deeply bored/unchallenged by their jobs!]

I 100% agree with the criticism that the central problem with "AI"/LLM evangelism is that people pushing it fundamentally do not value labour, but I often see it phrased with a caveat that they don't value labour except for writing code, and... like, no, they don't value the labour that goes into writing code, either. Tech grifter CEOs have been trying to get rid of programmers within their organisations for years – long before LLMs were a thing – whether it's through algorithmic approaches, "zero coding" development platforms, or just outsourcing it all to overseas sweatshops. The only reason they haven't succeeded thus far is because every time they try, all of their toys break. They pretend to value programming as labour because it's the one area where they can't feasibly ignore the fact that the outcomes of their "disruption" are uniformly shit, but they'd drop the pretence in a heartbeat if they could.

[monzabee]

bad idea right? – ln4

masterlist

Summary: The one where seeing Lando tonight is a bad idea, right?

Pairing: lando norris x ricciardo!reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: mentions of breakups and also fighting, cursing, kind of a toxic relationship?, allusion to smut, it's criminal how long it took me to finish this fic

Request: this wasn’t requested, but the idea is veeery loosely from this tiktok right here! (i might def write the scenario in the tiktok in the future though)

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! it has officially been a month since i started my master's programme and i have to say it is absolutely kicking my ass, but thank you all for bearing with me while i adjust! this song has been stuck in my head for the last two-three (?) months and i really wanted to write a fic based on it. i also wanted to say that i've received all of your guys' requests, and i'm working on those, but it's harder for me to get out a request than a fic that just popped in my head because i tend to be more of a perfectionist with those - so, those are definitely on the way, don't worry! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

It’s not that you don’t like spending time with your brother and his girlfriend – because you do, but considering the fact that spending a mere hour with them causes you to suddenly question your life choices (of being single), you are very eager to leave them alone for the night. Which brings us to the current situation, with you standing in front of your brother’s apartment complex in one of the hoodies you stole from the sample boxes, waiting for someone you should’ve never hit up in the first place. It was probably not your brightest idea to message Lando to ask him if he wants to go for a ride, especially because a) the last time you saw him a year ago the two of you were yelling and throwing things at each other and b) you’re definitely buzzed from the bottle of wine you hogged upstairs. But you know what they say; absence makes the heart go fonder, right?

So there you are with your phone in your hand, texting Lily in hopes of getting the tiniest bit of reassurance about your decision.

To lily m: i texted lando To lily m: he’s gonna pick me up From lily m: WHAT? NO To lily m: seeing him tonight To lily m: it’s a bad idea, right? From lily m: YES From lily m: DO NOT GET INTO THAT CAR To lily m: yes i know that he’s my ex, but can’t two people reconnect?

Fuck it, it’s fine, you decide as you quickly delete the last two messages. With a soft sigh, you wrap your arms around yourself to shield yourself from the cold air of the night. And while you could just wait for Lando inside the apartment building, you really don’t want to attract more attention to yourself. You can feel yourself getting more and more nervous as the minutes pass by, and you even contemplate cancelling the whole thing and going upstairs to sleep. Just as you’re about to give up on the whole thing, a car honk grabs your attention. When turn to look at the source of the sound, you see Lando’s unamused face through the open window.

He motions you to get in with his head, his voice as equally detached as he calls out, “Get in.”

Rolling your eyes at his behaviour, you do as your told. But you tell yourself that it’s not because he told you to, but because you’re cold. And so you get in the car making sure you slam the door as hard as you can, which makes him scowl as a small smile forms on your lips. “You know, you could really try on being more polite.”

“I’m picking you up in the middle of the night,” he points out as he puts the car on drive and starts driving off, “and put your damn seatbelt on.”

You give him a sideway glance as you put on your seatbelt, letting out a sigh, “Are you okay? I’m sensing some serious undertone.”  

Lando doesn’t answer you, mainly because he is smarter than he looks and he knows you’re trying to goad him into another fight. That’s what the two of you had always done, not that he hated you or vice versa, but the two of you mainly got along in fights which ended up in both of you twisted between the sheets of the whatever hotel you were currently staying in. And it had worked for a while, until of course it didn’t, and Lando was mature enough to admit that he had a huge role in fucking up your relationship.

“You changed your car,” you point out.

“Thought you’d appreciate a roof over your head this time,” he replies.

The car is silent as Lando drives down the now empty streets of Monte Carlo, and you find yourself involuntarily checking out his side profile because well, he always looked so good while driving. You suppose it’s only one of the things that didn’t change with time.

“So,” his voice draws you out from your thoughts, “why’d you call me tonight? Are you drunk?”

“I am not drunk,” you scoff, crossing your arms across your chest, “if you don’t feel like being here Lando, I can just get off and go home.”

“Now I didn’t say that, I simply asked a question.” He steals another glance at you, but this time a little smirk forms on his lips when your eyes meet and he sees your scowl. “It was a harmless question, really.”

Your voice comes off as clipped as you answer, “I’m not drunk.”

“Your cheeks are red,” Lando points out but the playfulness from mere seconds ago is gone, in fact, he’s more serious than you’ve probably ever seen him, “you either had wine or your rosacea is acting up.”

It takes a moment for you to take in his words, and there is no humour in his voice or on his face when you look at him to see whether he’s joking or not. “I had some wine,” you confess, voice much lower than before as you add, “but I’m not drunk.” One of his eyebrows rise up, and you find yourself mumbling, “Fine maybe a little bit, but not a lot.”

His jaw ticks as he mumbles, “Okay, whatever you say.” And as you try to assess whether his voice is cold or not, you see his hands tightening around the steering wheel.

“What?” You ask, a bit quicker than necessary (in your opinion), “What did I say?”

Now it’s his turn for his voice to be clipped, and his eyebrows furrow as he asks, “Did you only call me because you’re drunk?”

“No,” your reply is truthful to some extent, you suppose, you would’ve texted him even if you had no alcohol in your system. “I wanted to see you.”

He lets out a hum, “Why?”

It’s a hard question, and you contemplate not being a hundred percent honest – but deep down you know he deserves better, even if you had your differences. So, to reveal the truth, you turn your face away from him to look outside the window, “I missed you.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t turn to see what his reaction will be. Everything is peaceful for a moment.

He takes you to a hill, the very one he took you for your first date. Though, it doesn’t carry the same excitement this time around. The two of you remain in the car with the windows rolled down, but the colder air doesn’t make you chilly. It’s silent, but it’s not an uncomfortable one. Neither of you make the first move to start a conversation, and you don’t know if that’s because you’re both obstinate or he doesn’t want to be there. Though, you suspect he would’ve told you ‘no’ if he didn’t want to be there – not that he could ever tell you ‘no’.

It's unnaturally hard, you realise, not looking at him on purpose when he’s seated so close to you. Especially because you haven’t seen him in months. Not that you’d confess that to him, or let yourself have another weak moment where you say you missed him. Because you can’t. Because it’s not the way the two of you operate. Because he broke your heart but you’re not strong enough to let him go. With that last thought, you take a sharp breath, undo your seatbelt and get out of the car. You lean against the hood of the car and he soon follows suit. But where your hands are splayed behind your back, his arms are crossed over his chest.

“You’ve not been sleeping.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Because he is not dumb (or blind enough) to let the circles under your eyes slide.

And it’s a statement that might be true. You only give him half of a shrug, “So?”

“It means that something is bothering you.” You’re about to object, but he quickly shuts you down, “I once drove you around for four hours so you could sleep in my car, honey,” his fingers move to gently turn your chin towards him so he can look into your eyes, “and that was because you forgot to bring me back junk food from Australia.”

Even if you’re taken aback by his physical touch, you don’t show it as you stubbornly maintain your eye contact. “It’s the jet lag, I haven’t travelled in a while.” You gulp down a breath as you gently push his hand away, “And don’t call me that.”

“Why?” He turns his body to face you, “You’re just as sweet, aren’t you?”

“Lando,” you warn him, “don’t.”

He raises a brow, “Why not?”

“Because we’re friends,” your response comes off in an instant, “I only see you as a friend.” The biggest lie you’ve ever said.

“Friends,” he repeats, tests out the word, then shrugs, “sure. Now tell me what happened tonight that made you call me. Did you and Daniel fight?”

“What?” an involuntary laugh leaves your lips, and you catch the corner of his lips turning upwards just the smallest bit. “No, we didn’t, it’s not about Daniel. Can we just not talk about it, please?”

He gives you a firm nod, and you catch his grimace as he turns his attention back to the view in front of you. “You can tell me, you know,” he mumbles, “you used to.”

He’s right, you realise. You used to tell him all the little thought that popped into your head, whether it was nice or not, and he’d accommodated your thoughts. It was easier to talk to him, once upon a time, and you’re not really sure why it hurts so much right now that you can’t.

“Why do you care?” The question comes out quickly, and your voice is not as strong as you’d like it to be. “After everything, why do you care?”

“We’re friends, right?” The words tastes unbelievably sour in his mouth, and he has to restrain himself from making any sort of face, but it seems harder than it actually is for him to do and he questions whether it is worth it to

“Friends,” this time it’s your turn to test out the word, and it tastes as bitter as they come, “sure, can we ride around a bit more?”

“Fine,” he gives you a nod and motions you to get in the car, “but I have to get gas first.”

The fluorescent lighting of the gas station is definitely not the most flattering thing. So much so that you’re sure the unflattering light outside is exaggerating the bags under your eyes. But that situation of course doesn’t apply to Lando because even under the harsh lighting, he looks too pretty. And compared to earlier in the night, you don’t try to hide the way your eyes focus on him while he’s driving, though you hope you do a much better job at hiding the thoughts that come to your mind. Even after he’s parked the car in the nearest pump, you find yourself staring at his side profile a bit too long, which earns you a sideway smirk and you try your hardest not to react, but the smile you keep trying to fight is too strong and eventually you find yourself with the tiniest smile playing on your lips.

Lando turns towards you, meets your eyes and leans over the console, “Do you want anything from the shop?”

You blink once, trying to come up with anything, twice, then “Can you get me those gummy bears that I like?”

He gives you another nod, reaches into his pocket and then hand you his phone. Ignoring your questioning stare, he explains, “So that you can play music or something, the password is still the same.” Before he gets out of the car, he does the unexpected and leans in just a little bit more to press a feather-light kiss to your temple.

You watch him get out of the car and walk away from you with your mouth slightly hanging open. You contemplate trying to unlock the phone, because why would he tell you that his password is the same? And why would he trust you with his phone when the two of you have been broken up for over a year? With shaky hands, your fingers put in the password, calling Lando’s bluff. Oh shit, you think when the phone unlocks, now what? Throwing the phone out of your hands onto the driver seat, you grab your own and quickly type a new message to Kika, who of course got the news from Lily and has been blowing up your phone, while ignoring her dozen other messages who went unread in your text thread.

To kika: this was a bad idea kika Tokika: a very *very* bad idea From kika: please tell me you’re going home To kika: um… To kika: sure From kika: GET OUT OF THAT CAR AND GET YOUR ASS HOME From kika: NOW!!

Chewing on your lower lip, your eyes linger on the messages spamming your phone, and you contemplate just getting out of the car and trying to find your way back home. But you also can’t help yourself but think… what’s the worst that could happen if you stayed? Clicking the button on the side of your phone, you place it face down on your lap after making sure you silence it for the rest of the night. With the reminder of the abandoned phone on the seat next to yours, you open your window to let some of the night air in. As your phone keeps buzzing on your lap, your eyes focus on the figure that comes out of the convenience store – and by some grace of God, he doesn’t realise the way your eyes basically undress him as he approaches his McLaren.

There’s no smile on his face, in fact, if you didn’t know Lando, you’d say he looks like an asshole; not that he occasionally doesn’t act like one. He gives you that boyish smirk when he’s next to your window, signalling you to roll it down by tapping on it twice. Lando leans against the car, his eyes locked onto yours. “Got your gummy bears,” he says, holding up the package and handing it to you once you roll it down. “It was the last one too, you’re lucky.”

Giving a tight lipped smile to the man looking expectantly at you, you accept the packet of gummy bears. “Thank you, Lando,” the softening look in his eyes is, ironically, strong enough for you to choke on the next words that are on the tip of your tongue. “I–”

“I’m sorry to bother you, are you Lando Norris?” A third voice interrupts you, and you find yourself moving your gaze from Lando to the woman who’s excitedly waiting for a response.

“Yes,” he breathes out, and you can tell he’s trying to keep his voice polite but he’s also very annoyed at the same time – though the way he eyes up the stranger definitely makes your blood boil.

With his attention on the woman, you find yourself feel the tension in the air and quickly look down at the packet of gummy bears in your hands. You start absentmindedly picking at the wrapper, your mind racing with a mixture of emotions. As the conversation between Lando and the fan continues, you steal glances at them from the corner of your eye. She's gushing about a recent race, talking animatedly about the thrilling moments she witnessed. Lando, for his part, is gracious and engaged, taking the time to listen and respond. And despite the polite exchange, you can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It's a reminder of the world he's a part of, a world where fans approach him with admiration and excitement. A world you used to share, but now only observe from the sidelines.

You watch the woman place her hand on Lando’s bicep, laughing at a (rather mediocre) joke he made about the understeer of the car. It’s not a funny joke by any means, and you are not scared to admit that the woman’s laugh that fills your ears makes your insides twist uncomfortably. You remind yourself that you're here by choice. You could have left at any moment. But there's something about this night, about being with Lando again, that you can't quite let go of. It's a confusing mix of nostalgia and longing, wrapped in a blanket of uncertainty.

The woman’s voice hits your ears as you hear her ask, “Do you want to come back to my place?”

Without letting them both know that you’re actively listening into their conversation, you attempt to subtly let out a warning cough, but Lando covertly smirks as he leans towards the car with his hand grabbing the lowered window – without caring about the possible finger prints he might leave behind, might you add. Without any hesitation, you let your fingers go of the packaging to thread your fingers with his.

While his thumb gently starts to draw circles on the knuckle of your thumb, he does his best to supress the chuckle building up in his throat. “That’s, um, very kind – but I’m with my girl, you see, and we are both pretty tired.”

Maybe you would’ve given her a friendly smile over a misunderstanding if you were in a better mood, but as the woman looks at you with wild eyes, all you can offer her is an annoyed pout, and soon after she leaves after apologising to you both for interrupting your plans. You watch her leave until there is a good enough distance for her to not hear you, and then turn to Lando and give him a glare as you hiss, “I am not ‘your girl’.”

He finally lets out the chuckle he’s been holding as he watches you letting go of his hand with an exaggerated push, and then diverts his amused eyes towards you, “Sure, whatever you say, jealous girl.”

“I am not– I wasn’t jealous!” you exclaim, eyes narrowed. When he starts walking towards the driver’s side, you can’t help but call out, “I’m not jealous!”

Lando is still chuckling to himself when he gets in the car, and even as he starts driving, completely ignoring your whining complaints. “That’s alright, honey,” he says, voice full of condescension, “it was very cute.”

“You are an ass.” You roll your eyes as you cross your arms across your chest. “Maybe I should’ve gotten off when I had the chance, that way you could’ve fucked her in the back seat.”

“Bold of you assume she’s the one I’d want to fuck in my back seat,” he raises an eyebrow, then shrugs “but sure.”

Your face scrunches up in disgust, “You’re, ugh, you’re just the worst, Lando.” Shaking your head in disbelief, you add, “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you over you fucking girls in your car.”

Lando manages to get out a disapproving tut, and then contends, “I never said I’d fuck girls in my car, I’d said I’d rather fuck you in my car.”

Completely baffled by this revelation, not that you should’ve been, you turn to him in disgust, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He shrugs again, noncommittally, and without paying you any mind continues to focus on the road.

“Well,” you laugh, breathlessly, “good thing that’s never happening.” Gently clearing your throat, you later can’t help yourself but add a silent, “Again.”

“If you’d rather a bed, that could also be arranged, honey.” Lando assures you, and you realise the little fucker has a smirk growing on his face.

“As if I’d sleep with you willingly,” you scoff.

A boisterous laugh is what you get from Lando, who tilts his head towards you, “Come on, I’m a good-looking bloke.”

“And I’m sure I’ve seen much hotter man,” you sing, but you just can’t remember when. So deciding to block out what Lando is rambling about, you pull out your phone to message someone who has the answer for you.

To lily m + kika: can you tell me someone who is hotter than lando? From lily m: alex From kika: pierre To lily m + kika: ew, be serious please From kika: what about the guy with the accent, from hungary? From lily m: the doctor? To lily m + kika: i think she meant the reporter From lily m: god no he was a creep From lily m: what about the surfer? From kika: oh yeah he was cute too To lily m + kika: i need someone hot, pleaseee From lily m: THE MODEL FROM MILAN From kika: WITH THE ABS From kika: and also porche From lily m: BUT ALSO THE ABS To lily m + kika: okay thanks To lily m + kika: love you guys

Getting lost in the conversation, with the aid of your ambition to prove yourself right and, naturally, Lando wrong, you don’t realise that he’s actually driven you back to his apartment instead of a bar or literally some other place that sells alcohol in that ungodly hour.

“This isn’t a bar.” You point out, eyebrows furrowed.

Lando dignifies your comment with a scoff, “Well aren’t you quite the detective?”

Crossing your arms across your chest, you basically hiss at him this time, “This is basically kidnapping.”

Lando glances at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “Kidnapping? Really? I thought we were just catching up.”

You shoot him a sarcastic look, but can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Yeah, sure. Catching up in the middle of the night at your place.”

He parks the car and turns to face you, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Well, here’s my proposal. I’ll go to my apartment and you’re free to either join me or drive my car back to Daniel’s – I’ll come pick it up tomorrow.”

You hesitate for a moment, considering your options as you watch Lando give you an assuring smile and handing you the keys before getting out of the car. Going back to your brother's place doesn't sound all that appealing, and Lando's offer, as questionable and a bad idea as it may be, seems like the lesser of two evils. Though, there is also the reality that if when you go up to his apartment, you’re probably going to do something that either you or your friends will regret tomorrow morning. Watching Lando’s retreating figure move further into the apartment building, you think, fuck it, it’s fine.

So, you wait for a few minutes, anxiously twirling the car keys in your hand to make him wait – but you’re pretty sure it makes you suffer just as much. You take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and then climb out of the car. Locking it behind you, you follow Lando into the building. The familiar scent of his cologne hits you as you step into the elevator, and a wave of nostalgia washes over you. The elevator ride going up to the second floor is pure torture, and it leaves you squirming in your place the whole time. Basically throwing yourself out of the elevator once it lands on the second floor, you realise that Lando has been waiting for you, standing and smiling at his door.

He gives you a teasing look as you approach, clearly amused by your slightly dishevelled state. “Took you long enough,” he remarks, unlocking the door and holding it open for you. But instead of saying anything or retorting back, you quietly follow him inside his apartment. Lando closes the door behind you, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. The dim lighting casts a soft glow, creating an intimate atmosphere. The first thing that catches your eye is the helmet collection he keeps in the living room. Without saying anything, you quickly make your way over to the shelves that display the helmets, trying your best to avoid his approaching footsteps behind you. The familiar design of a particular helmet has you instinctively tracing the number at the top, and the arms that hug your waist from behind makes you freeze for a moment. Lando's touch is both familiar and foreign, stirring up a mix of emotions you thought were long buried.

“That's from Monza, 2021,” he says, his voice close to your ear. The warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You clear your throat, attempting to regain composure. “I remember,” you reply, your fingers still lingering on the helmet.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of the past and the uncertainty of the present hangs in the air. Lando breaks the silence, his voice low and measured. “I wasn't sure you'd actually come up.”

You turn to face him, meeting his gaze, but don’t attempt getting out of his arms. “I didn't think so either.”

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly leans in, his lips brushing against yours. It's a tentative touch, a testing of waters, and you find yourself responding to the familiarity of the kiss. The taste of the past lingers, and for a moment, it's as if the years haven't passed. But reality crashes back in, and you pull away, the distance now a necessary boundary. Lando looks at you, a mix of emotions playing on his face. There's longing, regret, and an unspoken acknowledgment of the complexities that bind you.

“I thought we could just catch up,” he says, his tone a mix of apology and yearning.

You turn in your place, facing him. “Catching up was never our strong suit, was it?”

“Not really,” Lando shakes his head, “no.”

You bite down on the corner of your lip, threading your fingers through his curls as you pull his face down to meet yours as you rise on your tiptoes, “It’s a bad idea, right?”

Lando lets out a supportive hum as he lets his lips softly brush against yours, “The worst.” And maybe he should have been the gentleman and pull away, but when he sees your eyes closing, he just leans in further to press his lips against yours – and the way you respond to his kiss? It's as if the world outside ceases to exist. The kiss deepens, each brush of his lips against yours reigniting a long-buried flame. Lando's hands find their way to the small of your back, pulling you closer, erasing the physical space between you.

You don’t complain as he pulls you towards his bedroom, or when he gently throws you on his bed, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. As he hovers over you, the weight of the past and the intensity of the present converge. His hands trace the contours of your face, memorizing every curve as if committing it to memory. And when the two of you get lost between each other within his sheets, the only thing that ends up coming from your mouth is either his name, or some sort of encouragement to keep him going. After he manages to wear you out, Lando decides that you’re definitely not going anywhere as he wraps you in his arms around you. The room is filled with the soft sounds of breaths syncing, hearts beating in tandem. Lando's fingers draw absent patterns on your skin while you check the messages that have accumulated in your phone. The glow of your phone illuminates the dim room, creating a subtle contrast to the warmth that envelops you. Lando's presence beside you adds an extra layer of comfort, a silent acknowledgment of the shared intimacy that unfolded moments ago.

From danny: please tell me you didn’t get kidnapped by the organ mafia From danny: wink twice if you’re alive From danny: this is not funny, where are you? From danny: fine i’ll ask alex to ask lily

Rolling  your eyes before sending him a text to let your brother know you’re okay, you decide to turn your attention to the group chat with Lily and Kika.

From kika: did you get home safe? From lily m: daniel is pretty stressed about it From lily m: please for the love of god tell us you’re home and not with lando right now To lily m + kika: omg just calm down i’m in bed To lily m + kika: and i’m going to sleep To lily m + kika: love you guys

You catch a glimpse of Lando’s grin over your shoulder as you click your phone off, but he only chuckles as he buries his face into your neck as he leaves small kisses to the skin there. “Well, I’m not lying, I just didn’t specify where I was.”

“Or in whose sheets,” his laugher gets louder as you jokingly slap him on the arm, “go to sleep, honey, we’ll be tired in the morning.”

And it might’ve been a bad idea to message him in the first place, but it certainly doesn’t feel like one.

[blackcrystalball]

I have to say it. I don't get the Rat Grinders discourse. Or perhaps I'm missing the nuance of it all.

But as someone who's literally on my way out of being a teen but still has a lot of the teen-like behaviours, I 100% would have reacted to the RGs the same way the BKs did.

Like yes, the Rat Grinders have been manipulated and I understand that. I also understand that Kipperlily killed Buddy, they sent a fleet of dragons after the entire school, which they trapped in a house that they also shot into the sky.

You can't possibly be shocked by the bad kids reaction to them, honestly I completely expected the level of vitriol they came to the fight with. Not only has every interaction with the Rat Grinders been increasingly hostile on both sides, but the things that they're saying aren't coming out of nowhere. Fabian telling Ivy that he was going to skin her wasn't just for shits and gigs, Ivy said that shit about Mazey first.

This is how teenagers would react to a situation like this. You can be aware that the people you're fighting have been manipulated, and also want to get your lick back when you get fucking stabbed by them, especially when they are your literal nemesis.

And lastly, if the person that had a teacher write their essay for them and all they had to do was write down the date and their own name on it, came up to you and told you that you were getting special treatment and that it wasn't fair??? You would lose your fucking shit too.

You can't deliver people bullshit on a platter and expect them not to react like they've been delivered bullshit on a platter.

Also, they are not real. None of this is real. No real teenage girls have been called bitches in the making of this programme.

Edit: not to mention they're in a fight to the fucking death rn. Khumbayaing it is not really on their minds.