#data dashboard development

[hydralisk98]

Czarina-VM, study of Microsoft tech stack history. Preview 1

Write down study notes about the evolution of MS-DOS, QuickBASIC (from IBM Cassette BASIC to the last officially Microsoft QBasic or some early Visual Basic), "Batch" Command-Prompt, PowerShell, Windows editions pathing from "2.11 for 386" to Windows "ME" (upgraded from a "98 SE" build though) with Windows "3.11 for Workgroups" and the other 9X ones in-between, Xenix, Microsoft Bob with Great Greetings expansion, a personalized mockup Win8 TUI animated flex box panel board and other historical (or relatively historical, with a few ground-realism & critical takes along the way) Microsoft matters here and a couple development demos + big tech opinions about Microsoft too along that studious pathway.

( Also, don't forget to link down the interactive-use sessions with 86box, DOSbox X & VirtualBox/VMware as video when it is indeed ready )

Yay for the four large tags below, and farewell.

[jcmarchi]

Using Pages CMS for Static Site Content Management

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/using-pages-cms-for-static-site-content-management/

Using Pages CMS for Static Site Content Management

Friends, I’ve been on the hunt for a decent content management system for static sites for… well, about as long as we’ve all been calling them “static sites,” honestly.

I know, I know: there are a ton of content management system options available, and while I’ve tested several, none have really been the one, y’know? Weird pricing models, difficult customization, some even end up becoming a whole ‘nother thing to manage.

Also, I really enjoy building with site generators such as Astro or Eleventy, but pitching Markdown as the means of managing content is less-than-ideal for many “non-techie” folks.

A few expectations for content management systems might include:

Easy to use: The most important feature, why you might opt to use a content management system in the first place.

Minimal Requirements: Look, I’m just trying to update some HTML, I don’t want to think too much about database tables.

Collaboration: CMS tools work best when multiple contributors work together, contributors who probably don’t know Markdown or what GitHub is.

Customizable: No website is the same, so we’ll need to be able to make custom fields for different types of content.

Not a terribly long list of demands, I’d say; fairly reasonable, even. That’s why I was happy to discover Pages CMS.

According to its own home page, Pages CMS is the “The No-Hassle CMS for Static Site Generators,” and I’ll to attest to that. Pages CMS has largely been developed by a single developer, Ronan Berder, but is open source, and accepting pull requests over on GitHub.

Taking a lot of the “good parts” found in other CMS tools, and a single configuration file, Pages CMS combines things into a sleek user interface.

Pages CMS includes lots of options for customization, you can upload media, make editable files, and create entire collections of content. Also, content can have all sorts of different fields, check the docs for the full list of supported types, as well as completely custom fields.

There isn’t really a “back end” to worry about, as content is stored as flat files inside your git repository. Pages CMS provides folks the ability to manage the content within the repo, without needing to actually know how to use Git, and I think that’s neat.

User Authentication works two ways: contributors can log in using GitHub accounts, or contributors can be invited by email, where they’ll receive a password-less, “magic-link,” login URL. This is nice, as GitHub accounts are less common outside of the dev world, shocking, I know.

Oh, and Pages CMS has a very cheap barrier for entry, as it’s free to use.

Pages CMS and Astro content collections

I’ve created a repository on GitHub with Astro and Pages CMS using Astro’s default blog starter, and made it available publicly, so feel free to clone and follow along.

I’ve been a fan of Astro for a while, and Pages CMS works well alongside Astro’s content collection feature. Content collections make globs of data easily available throughout Astro, so you can hydrate content inside Astro pages. These globs of data can be from different sources, such as third-party APIs, but commonly as directories of Markdown files. Guess what Pages CMS is really good at? Managing directories of Markdown files!

Content collections are set up by a collections configuration file. Check out the src/content.config.ts file in the project, here we are defining a content collection named blog:

import glob from 'astro/loaders'; import defineCollection, z from 'astro:content'; const blog = defineCollection( // Load Markdown in the `src/content/blog/` directory. loader: glob( base: './src/content/blog', pattern: '**/*.md' ), // Type-check frontmatter using a schema schema: z.object( title: z.string(), description: z.string(), // Transform string to Date object pubDate: z.coerce.date(), updatedDate: z.coerce.date().optional(), heroImage: z.string().optional(), ), ); export const collections = blog ;

The blog content collection checks the /src/content/blog directory for files matching the **/*.md file type, the Markdown file format. The schema property is optional, however, Astro provides helpful type-checking functionality with Zod, ensuring data saved by Pages CMS works as expected in your Astro site.

Pages CMS Configuration

Alright, now that Astro knows where to look for blog content, let’s take a look at the Pages CMS configuration file, .pages.config.yml:

content: - name: blog label: Blog path: src/content/blog filename: 'year-month-day-fields.title.md' type: collection view: fields: [heroImage, title, pubDate] fields: - name: title label: Title type: string - name: description label: Description type: text - name: pubDate label: Publication Date type: date options: format: MM/dd/yyyy - name: updatedDate label: Last Updated Date type: date options: format: MM/dd/yyyy - name: heroImage label: Hero Image type: image - name: body label: Body type: rich-text - name: site-settings label: Site Settings path: src/config/site.json type: file fields: - name: title label: Website title type: string - name: description label: Website description type: string description: Will be used for any page with no description. - name: url label: Website URL type: string pattern: ^(https?://)?(www.)?[a-zA-Z0-9.-]+.[a-zA-Z]2,(/[^s]*)?$ - name: cover label: Preview image type: image description: Image used in the social preview on social networks (e.g. Facebook, Twitter...) media: input: public/media output: /media

There is a lot going on in there, but inside the content section, let’s zoom in on the blog object.

- name: blog label: Blog path: src/content/blog filename: 'year-month-day-fields.title.md' type: collection view: fields: [heroImage, title, pubDate] fields: - name: title label: Title type: string - name: description label: Description type: text - name: pubDate label: Publication Date type: date options: format: MM/dd/yyyy - name: updatedDate label: Last Updated Date type: date options: format: MM/dd/yyyy - name: heroImage label: Hero Image type: image - name: body label: Body type: rich-text

We can point Pages CMS to the directory we want to save Markdown files using the path property, matching it up to the /src/content/blog/ location Astro looks for content.

path: src/content/blog

For the filename we can provide a pattern template to use when Pages CMS saves the file to the content collection directory. In this case, it’s using the file date’s year, month, and day, as well as the blog item’s title, by using fields.title to reference the title field. The filename can be customized in many different ways, to fit your scenario.

filename: 'year-month-day-fields.title.md'

The type property tells Pages CMS that this is a collection of files, rather than a single editable file (we’ll get to that in a moment).

type: collection

In our Astro content collection configuration, we define our blog collection with the expectation that the files will contain a few bits of meta data such as: title, description, pubDate, and a few more properties.

We can mirror those requirements in our Pages CMS blog collection as fields. Each field can be customized for the type of data you’re looking to collect. Here, I’ve matched these fields up with the default Markdown frontmatter found in the Astro blog starter.

fields: - name: title label: Title type: string - name: description label: Description type: text - name: pubDate label: Publication Date type: date options: format: MM/dd/yyyy - name: updatedDate label: Last Updated Date type: date options: format: MM/dd/yyyy - name: heroImage label: Hero Image type: image - name: body label: Body type: rich-text

Now, every time we create a new blog item in Pages CMS, we’ll be able to fill out each of these fields, matching the expected schema for Astro.

Aside from collections of content, Pages CMS also lets you manage editable files, which is useful for a variety of things: site wide variables, feature flags, or even editable navigations.

Take a look at the site-settings object, here we are setting the type as file, and the path includes the filename site.json.

- name: site-settings label: Site Settings path: src/config/site.json type: file fields: - name: title label: Website title type: string - name: description label: Website description type: string description: Will be used for any page with no description. - name: url label: Website URL type: string pattern: ^(https?://)?(www.)?[a-zA-Z0-9.-]+.[a-zA-Z]2,(/[^s]*)?$ - name: cover label: Preview image type: image description: Image used in the social preview on social networks (e.g. Facebook, Twitter...)

The fields I’ve included are common site-wide settings, such as the site’s title, description, url, and cover image.

Speaking of images, we can tell Pages CMS where to store media such as images and video.

media: input: public/media output: /media

The input property explains where to store the files, in the /public/media directory within our project.

The output property is a helpful little feature that conveniently replaces the file path, specifically for tools that might require specific configuration. For example, Astro uses Vite under the hood, and Vite already knows about the public directory and complains if it’s included within file paths. Instead, we can set the output property so Pages CMS will only point image path locations starting at the inner /media directory instead.

To see what I mean, check out the test post in the src/content/blog/ folder:

--- title: 'Test Post' description: 'Here is a sample of some basic Markdown syntax that can be used when writing Markdown content in Astro.' pubDate: 05/03/2025 heroImage: '/media/blog-placeholder-1.jpg' ---

The heroImage now property properly points to /media/... instead of /public/media/....

As far as configurations are concerned, Pages CMS can be as simple or as complex as necessary. You can add as many collections or editable files as needed, as well as customize the fields for each type of content. This gives you a lot of flexibility to create sites!

Connecting to Pages CMS

Now that we have our Astro site set up, and a .pages.config.yml file, we can connect our site to the Pages CMS online app. As the developer who controls the repository, browse to https://app.pagescms.org/ and sign in using your GitHub account.

You should be presented with some questions about permissions, you may need to choose between giving access to all repositories or specific ones. Personally, I chose to only give access to a single repository, which in this case is my astro-pages-cms-template repo.

After providing access to the repo, head on back to the Pages CMS application, where you’ll see your project listed under the “Open a Project” headline.

Clicking the open link will take you into the website’s dashboard, where we’ll be able to make updates to our site.

Creating content

Taking a look at our site’s dashboard, we’ll see a navigation on the left side, with some familiar things.

Blog is the collection we set up inside the .pages.config.yml file, this will be where we we can add new entries to the blog.

Site Settings is the editable file we are using to make changes to site-wide variables.

Media is where our images and other content will live.

Settings is a spot where we’ll be able to edit our .pages.config.yml file directly.

Collaborators allows us to invite other folks to contribute content to the site.

We can create a new blog post by clicking the Add Entry button in the top right

Here we can fill out all the fields for our blog content, then hit the Save button.

After saving, Pages CMS will create the Markdown file, store the file in the proper directory, and automatically commit the changes to our repository. This is how Pages CMS helps us manage our content without needing to use git directly.

Automatically deploying

The only thing left to do is set up automated deployments through the service provider of your choice. Astro has integrations with providers like Netlify, Cloudflare Pages, and Vercel, but can be hosted anywhere you can run node applications.

Astro is typically very fast to build (thanks to Vite), so while site updates won’t be instant, they will still be fairly quick to deploy. If your site is set up to use Astro’s server-side rendering capabilities, rather than a completely static site, the changes might be much faster to deploy.

Wrapping up

Using a template as reference, we checked out how Astro content collections work alongside Pages CMS. We also learned how to connect our project repository to the Pages CMS app, and how to make content updates through the dashboard. Finally, if you are able, don’t forget to set up an automated deployment, so content publishes quickly.

[technologyequality]

Make Smarter Moves, Not Just Faster Ones: The AI Decision Matrix You Didn’t Know You Needed

Make Smarter Moves, Not Just Faster Ones The AI Decision Matrix You Didn’t Know You Needed Ever felt like you were making business decisions with one eye closed, spinning the Wheel of Fortune, and hoping for the best? Yeah, me too. Let’s be honest: most entrepreneurs spend more time guessing than assessing. But here’s the plot twist, guesswork doesn’t scale. That’s where the AI-powered…

[webtualglobal]

The data management and analysis capabilities of your organization can be greatly enhanced by incorporating Power BI into your business processes. Power BI enables businesses to make smarter, faster decisions by offering powerful data visualization and real-time analytics. However, successfully implementing Power BI requires a strategic approach that covers everything from choosing the right developers to deploying dashboards and utilizing its services. The initial step in Power BI implementation is hiring developers skilled in creating solutions customized to your company's needs. These developers are responsible for setting up the technical framework, designing Power BI dashboards, and ensuring seamless integration with your data sources. A well-organized dashboard can transform complex data into easy-to-read visuals, giving decision-makers a clear view of business performance and trends. Once your dashboards run, the next focus is utilizing Power BI services. These services allow you to share reports across teams and collaborate effectively and securely. With Power BI's cloud-based capabilities, employees at all levels can access up-to-date insights, regardless of location, ensuring that everyone in the organization is on the same page when making crucial business decisions. A successful implementation also requires a clear understanding of your company's data needs and workflows. Identifying relevant data sources and ensuring they're correctly connected to Power BI is critical for providing accurate and actionable insights. Additionally, it's essential to train employees using the platform to get the most out of the tool. Empowering your team with the skills to use Power BI effectively ensures better adoption and more significant business value. Adopting Power BI in your enterprise offers many opportunities for more informed decision-making. Businesses can gain deeper insights into performance and trends by working with skilled Power BI developers, creating meaningful Power BI dashboards, and utilizing Power BI services to enhance collaboration.In addition to supporting a data-driven culture that promotes growth and maintains an organization's competitiveness, Power BI streamlines data analysis.

[cavillionlearning]

Why Learn Tableau? Here are 5 powerful reasons to get started with this industry-leading tool

1. Industry-Leading Visualization: Transform raw data into stunning visuals!

2. High Demand in Data Analytics: Tableau skills are highly valued in today’s job market.

3. Actionable Insights in Minutes: Make data-driven decisions faster.

4. User-Friendly Interface: Easy to learn, even for beginners.

5. Boost Your Career: Stand out in data roles and advance your career! Want to take your skills to the next level?

Join our 1-day Tableau Bootcamp on 2nd November (Online)!

[thememakker]

Mplify - Versatile Bootstrap 4 Admin Template by Thememakker

Mplify Admin makes the development process easy and fast for you and aims to help you implement your idea in real time.

Product Highlights

Mplify is a fully professional, responsive, modern, multi-purpose, and feature-rich admin template. It can be used to create various websites, admin templates, admin dashboards, backend websites, CMS, CRM, blogs, business websites, timelines, and portfolios. This versatility makes it an ideal choice for developers looking to build functional and aesthetically pleasing web applications efficiently.

Key Features

Bootstrap 4.3.1: Ensures compatibility and modern design standards.

jQuery 3.3.1: Offers extensive plugins and support.

Built-in SCSS: Provides more flexibility and control over styles.

Light & Dark Full Support: Allows users to switch between light and dark themes.

RTL Full Support: Right-to-left language support for global accessibility.

W3C Validate Code: Ensures high coding standards and practices.

Mobile and Tablet Friendly: Responsive design for all devices.

Treeview: For hierarchical data display.

Drag & Drop Upload: Simplifies file uploading processes.

Image Cropping: Integrated tools for editing images.

Summernote: Rich text editor integration.

Markdown: Support for markdown formatting.

Beautiful Inbox Interface: User-friendly email management.

User-Friendly Chat App: Built-in chat application.

Scrum & Kanban Taskboard: Task management tools.

Add Events to Your Calendar: Event management capabilities.

File Manager: Efficient file organization and management.

Blogging: Tools to manage and create blog posts.

Testimonials: Features to showcase user testimonials.

Maintenance: Tools to manage and schedule maintenance.

Team Board: Collaboration tools for team management.

Search Result: Enhanced search functionalities.

Beautiful Pricing: Elegant pricing tables and plans.

Contact List & Grid: Efficient contact management.

User Profile: Customizable user profiles.

Extended Forms: Advanced form functionalities.

Clean Widgets: A variety of clean, modern widgets.

Technical Specifications

Bootstrap 4.3.1

Bootstrap 4.3.1 is a powerful front-end framework for faster and easier web development. It includes HTML and CSS-based design templates for typography, forms, buttons, tables, navigation, modals, image carousels, and many other interface components, as well as optional JavaScript plugins. Mplify leverages Bootstrap 4.3.1 to ensure a consistent and responsive design across all devices.

jQuery 3.3.1

jQuery is a fast, small, and feature-rich JavaScript library. It makes things like HTML document traversal and manipulation, event handling, and animation much simpler with an easy-to-use custom API integration that works across a multitude of browsers. Mplify includes jQuery 3.3.1 to provide enhanced functionality and interactivity to your applications.

Built-in SCSS

SCSS is a preprocessor scripting language that is interpreted or compiled into CSS. It allows you to use variables, nested rules, mixins, inline imports, and more, all with a fully CSS-compatible syntax. With SCSS, Mplify offers a more powerful and flexible way to manage styles.

Light & Dark Full Support

Mplify comes with built-in support for light and dark themes, allowing users to switch between these modes based on their preferences. This feature enhances user experience and accessibility, especially in different lighting conditions.

RTL Full Support

For developers targeting global audiences, Mplify provides full right-to-left (RTL) language support. This feature ensures that languages like Arabic, Hebrew, and Persian are properly displayed, making the template versatile and inclusive.

W3C Validate Code

The World Wide Web Consortium (W3C) sets the standards for web development. Mplify adheres to W3C's coding standards, ensuring that the template is built with clean, valid code, which improves browser compatibility, SEO, and overall performance.

Mobile and Tablet Friendly

In today's mobile-first world, having a responsive design is crucial. Mplify is designed to be fully responsive, ensuring that your mobile application looks great and functions seamlessly on all devices, including desktops, tablets, and smartphones.

Applications

Mplify’s versatile design and feature set make it suitable for a wide range of applications across various industries. Here are some key applications:

Admin Dashboards

Mplify provides a robust framework for building admin dashboards. With its extensive set of UI components, charts, forms, and tables, you can create comprehensive dashboards that provide valuable insights and data visualization.

CMS (Content Management Systems)

With features like blogging, file management, and user profile management, Mplify can be used to build powerful CMS platforms. Its clean widgets and beautiful interface ensure that the content management experience is both efficient and enjoyable.

CRM (Customer Relationship Management)

Mplify’s built-in tools for managing contacts, scheduling events, and maintaining communication through a chat app make it an excellent choice for developing CRM systems. These features help businesses manage customer interactions and data effectively.

Business Websites

The multi-purpose nature of Mplify allows it to be used for various business websites. Whether you need a portfolio, a blog, or a corporate website, Mplify provides the necessary tools and components to create a professional online presence.

Blogging Platforms

With integrated tools like Summernote for rich text editing and Markdown support, Mplify is ideal for creating blogging platforms. The beautiful inbox interface and testimonial features enhance the blogging experience, making it easy to manage and publish content.

Benefits

Easy and Fast Development

Mplify is designed to streamline the development process. With its pre-built components and templates, you can quickly assemble functional and aesthetically pleasing applications. This reduces development time and costs, allowing you to focus on implementing your ideas in real time.

Professional and Modern Design

Mplify offers a clean, modern design that is both professional and user-friendly. The template includes a variety of customizable widgets and components that adhere to the latest design standards, ensuring your application looks polished and up-to-date.

Comprehensive Feature Set

From task management tools like Scrum and Kanban boards to extensive form functionalities, Mplify provides a wide range of features that cater to various needs. This comprehensive feature set makes it a versatile solution for different types of projects.

Responsive and Mobile-Friendly

With Mplify, you can ensure that your application is accessible on all devices. Its responsive design adapts to different screen sizes, providing a seamless user experience on desktops, tablets, and smartphones.

Global Accessibility

Mplify’s RTL support and multi-language capabilities make it suitable for global applications. This feature ensures that your application can cater to users from different regions, enhancing its reach and usability.

Regular Updates and Support

When you purchase a license for Mplify, you receive all future updates for free. This ensures that your application remains up-to-date with the latest features and improvements. Additionally, Mplify provides excellent customer support to assist with any issues or queries.

Challenges and Limitations

Learning Curve

While Mplify is designed to be user-friendly, there may be a learning curve for beginners who are not familiar with Bootstrap or jQuery. However, comprehensive documentation and community support can help mitigate this challenge.

Customization

Although Mplify offers a wide range of customization options, extensive customization may require advanced knowledge of SCSS and JavaScript. This could be a limitation for developers who are not well-versed in these technologies.

Performance

As with any feature-rich template, there is a potential for performance issues if too many components and plugins are used simultaneously. It is important to optimize the application and selectively use features to maintain optimal performance.

Latest Innovations

Enhanced UI Components

Mplify continues to evolve with regular updates that introduce new and improved UI components. These enhancements ensure that your application remains modern and functional.

Advanced-Data Visualization

Recent updates have focused on improving data visualization capabilities. With enhanced charting tools and interactive elements, Mplify allows for more dynamic and engaging data presentation.

Integration with New Technologies

Mplify is continuously updated to integrate with the latest web technologies. This ensures compatibility with new frameworks and libraries, providing developers with more tools to build advanced applications.

Future Prospects

AI and Machine Learning Integration

The future of Mplify may include integration with AI and machine learning tools. This would enable developers to build more intelligent and automated applications, enhancing user experience and functionality.

Expanded Plugin Support

As the web development landscape evolves, Mplify is likely to expand its plugin support. This will provide developers with more options for extending the functionality of their applications.

Improved Accessibility Features

Mplify is expected to continue enhancing its accessibility features. This includes better support for assistive technologies and compliance with accessibility standards, ensuring that applications built with Mplify are inclusive for all users.

Comparative Analysis

Versus Other Bootstrap Templates

When compared to other Bootstrap templates, Mplify stands out due to its comprehensive feature set, modern design, and extensive customization options. While other templates may offer similar components, Mplify's unique features like RTL support and advanced task management tools give it an edge.

Versus Custom Development

Opting for a pre-built template like Mplify can significantly reduce development time and costs compared to custom web development. While custom development offers more flexibility, Mplify provides a robust foundation that can be easily customized to meet specific needs.

User Guides and Tutorials

Getting Started with Mplify

Installation: Download and install Mplify from the official website or marketplace.

Configuration: Configure the template settings according to your project requirements.

Customization: Use the built-in SCSS files to customize the styles and appearance.

Integration: Integrate Mplify with your backend systems and databases.

Deployment: Deploy your application on your preferred hosting platform.

Advanced Customization Techniques

SCSS Variables: Use SCSS variables to easily change colors, fonts, and other styles.

JavaScript Customization: Extend the functionality by adding custom JavaScript code.

Component Modification: Modify existing components or create new ones to meet specific needs.

Performance Optimization: Optimize the performance by minifying CSS and JavaScript files, and selectively loading components.

Conclusion

Mplify is a powerful, versatile, and user-friendly Bootstrap 4 admin dashboard template. It offers a wide range of features and customization options, making it suitable for various applications, from admin dashboards to business websites. With its modern design, responsive layout, and extensive documentation, Mplify simplifies the development process, allowing developers to implement their ideas in real time efficiently.

Whether you are building a CMS, CRM, or a personal blog, Mplify provides the tools and flexibility needed to create a professional and functional web application. Its ongoing updates and support ensure that your projects remain current and compatible with the latest web technologies.

[christyrdiaz]

In the dynamic world of modern business, data-driven decision-making has become a cornerstone of success. Companies that utilize the power of data analytics achieve a competitive edge by making informed choices based on insights obtained from vast amounts of information. 

Among the myriad tools available for data analysis, predictive analytics software development stands out for its ability to unlock business growth by forecasting trends, identifying risks, and enabling proactive strategies.

[pinkrvst]

//_tag dump.

[oddlydescriptive]

Reset, Chapter Seventeen

Series Masterlist

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You didn’t get flown out for the final race. Didn’t get a dress code email for the prize giving ceremony. Didn’t get a hotel keycard left in an envelope at the front desk. You watched the last race of the season from your dorm, curled up on your twin bed with a plate of freezer dumplings and a laptop that buffered at least twice before the stream caught up.

Red Bull won everything, obviously. Verstappen took the final checkered flag like it was inevitable. The team celebrated in a blaze of champagne and perfectly lit content loops. You closed the window before the podium interviews even started.

No one called. No one needed anything.

And honestly, that made sense.

You’re still under contract through December 31st- still, technically, Red Bull property- but AlphaTauri’s already been announced. You’re not just development anymore. You’re not just RedBull Racing anymore. You’re forward-facing. Pipeline material. And while no one has said it aloud, the shift’s been happening for weeks.

They’re phasing you out.

Quietly. Gently. Efficiently.

Your data access had been the first thing to go- little changes, gradual redactions. You still had log-ins, but fewer dashboards showed up when you used them. Then the assignments started thinning out. Weekly reports became biweekly summaries. Dev meeting invites stopped appearing unless someone had a specific question for you. A sim anomaly. A question about a comment you had left on the braking data a few weeks ago. 

It’s not personal. It’s not even cruel. It’s just… logistics. And you got it. You get it. You do.

You’re not their girl anymore. Or, won’t be. Not in the gears-and-axles sense. You got exactly what you wanted. You’ve stopped being a cog. Now you’re something shinier. Something public. A face. A product. A name.

You’d had more access than you probably should’ve from the beginning. More control. More input. They’re only pulling back what they’d loaned in the first place.

Still.

You’d built your entire life around this place since they dumped you on the factory steps in August-  broke, jagged, desperate, hungry for anything more than the Indy career you had torched to the ground. This badge. These halls. The windowless sim rooms and bitter instant coffee and shared dorm showers. It’s become your whole ecosystem.

And now?

Now you’re bored.

Not in the casual, oh-I-have-nothing-to-do sense. Not in the Instagram scroll, maybe-I’ll-go-for-a-run way. You’re untethered. No real tasks. A measly four calendar holds before the end of the year. No Gavin- he’s traveling with the team.  No Alessandro- burning PTO like a matchbook before the winter build surge. No Danny- off wrapping up his last days with McClaren. Stuck, just like you. Stuck, right here in purgatory.

Lying on your back in a sterile little dorm room with your legs curled up like a child and your phone battery at nine percent. Watching the forced-air heating ruffle a stray paper on your desk, trying not to fall asleep before the year-end party even starts.

It’s not loneliness, exactly. You’ve survived worse. Objectively, you have zero complaints.

But it’s quiet in a way that makes your skin itch.

There are big things coming. Huge things. A race seat. Brand deals and sponsors. Points, even, if you play your cards right. But right now? Right now you’re still technically Red Bull. Still on their payroll. Still sleeping under their roof.

You’re not part of the machine you live in anymore. And the weight of that contradiction is making you feel… something. Not numb. Not sad. Not exactly.

Just unmoored. 

The day’s gotten away from you in your spiral- cold gray light stretching thin across the dorm ceiling, your phone buzzing occasionally from across the room and left unread. You should be doing something. Hair. Makeup. Picking out an outfit for this evening’s staff year end party. Anything.

Instead, you’ve just been… still.

You can’t quite name it. The feeling in your chest like a tether’s been cut. The quiet hum of weightless boredom, pressed under the skin like a bruise that never quite blooms.

You’re still training. Still working. You show up to the gym like it’s your job- because it kind of is. Because it’s the only thing that hasn’t shifted beneath your feet lately. The rhythm, the discipline, the ache. It reminds you of the summer. The purgatory of Jos’s house. The hours you carved open just to fill them with movement. With sweat. With anything that kept you from unraveling entirely.

But this has been different.

Since you got here- since the AlphaTauri shook the marrow out of your bones and left you wrung out and trembling for your life in an ice bath- you’ve been training with intention. Not just survival. Not just control. Not just maintenance. You’ve been trying to build.

For the first time in your life, the goal isn’t to disappear.

It’s to expand.

IndyCar never cared if you were strong. They cared if you were light. No driver weight minimums. Junior series, whatever flavor you drove in any given year, same thing. Lighter was faster. Coaches, engineers, principals- always asking the same questions.

How light can you get and still drive? How many days can you go without carbs before your body starts eating your reflexes?

Smaller was better. A decade of conditioning that turned your own hunger into an enemy. Every pound scrutinized. Every calorie accounted for. Racing in those worlds meant being barely there- meant learning to cut yourself down until you fit inside the mold.

The only real advantage to being a woman in that system? You were already small. Naturally lighter. It made the weight targets a little easier- sometimes. While your male teammates were scraping muscle off themselves to make weight, skipping meals and running hot just to cut grams, you were coasting in under the line. Not because it was healthy. Not because it was fair. But because being born smaller meant you starved less.

But now?

Now you’re in F1.

Now there's a minimum. A fixed number. Now it doesn’t matter if you’re naturally small- because every pound you don’t carry is another pound your competitors get to fill with power. With strength. With muscle that helps them outdrive, outmuscle, outlast you.

You’re no longer rewarded for taking up less space. You’re punished for it. So you’ve changed.

You’ve been eating like it matters. Training like it’s math- input and output, time and tension. Your body, for the first time since before you got your first period, isn’t a compromise. It’s becoming a weapon.

You sit up slowly. Peel off your clothes. One layer at a time. Hoodie, socks, leggings, tank. Until you’re just in your underwear and bra. Cotton. Soft. Familiar.

Then you reach for the full-length mirror leaning against the wall and drag it onto the bed with you. Set it up agasint your pillows so you can see yourself. All of you. Up close.

And then you look. Really look. Take stock.

Your thighs are thicker now. Solid. Corded with new muscle, the kind that moves when you shift and flexes without trying. They press together, heavy and warm and proud. They flow into hips that have grown wider, fuller, more anchored somehow. Your waist is still there- narrow, defined- but the curve from rib to hip to thigh is smooth and deep and fucking stunning.

You twist slightly, propping yourself on one arm, and turn your attention lower.

Your ass is outrageous.

You blink. Then smile. Every inch of it earned from loading squats three times a week until you might have cried with exhaustion. It lifts high and round, fuller than it’s ever been. It’s the reason most of your jeans have become… hazardous, lately. You only have a handful of pairs left that fit at all, much less well. The shape is almost surreal- like someone photoshopped you and forgot to undo it. But it’s not fake. It’s earned. It balances the line of your back, the curve of your hips, the strength in your thighs.

You shift your hips again, slowly. Watching the way everything follows. The drag of your skin, the flex and pull of muscle. And it’s not just power. It’s not just the function of it.

It’s beautiful.

There’s a sensuality to it that catches you off guard.

Not sexual. Not quite. Not the kind of thing you’d show off for someone else. This isn’t about being wanted. You haven’t been touched in months. Haven’t been kissed. Haven’t felt the pressure of someone else’s palm against your skin or the heat of a gaze that wanted this body.

And that’s okay.

Because right now, this moment isn’t for them.

It’s for you.

You look at your stomach- still lean, but no longer hollow. Muscle built up through dedication, not revealed by deprivation. Your shoulders roll back as you shift upright, and your back pulls taut, muscles threading together like ropes under skin.

And then your eyes land on your chest.

Your bra- nothing fancy, just plain cotton- stretches over you in a way it never used to. Full. Rounded. Heavy in a way that’s new. Like your body finally got the message that it’s safe to have things now. That you’re allowed to take up space.

You trail your fingers from your sternum outward. Over the shape of yourself. The dip of your waist. The rise of your hips. The flare and the fullness and the heat pooling under your skin, not from desire- but from recognition.

This is not the body you left America with.

Not the one built for hunger. Not the one that fought, that starved, that was sold in sponsorship dollars and calories just to survive. Not the same one that felt powerless and drowned and vulnerable in pits full of men with egos that outpaced their cars.

This one is yours.

All of it. The strength. The softness. The sex appeal.

And yeah, it’s probably a little vain, the way you pose. The way you tilt your chin and arch your back and stare at your own reflection with a smirk you didn’t know you still had in you. But you don’t care.

You love her.

This new shape. This new presence. This walking, breathing proof that you are here. You deserve this space. You are every inch of who you make yourself to be. 

You pull your knees up to your chest, still sitting on the bed, mirror between them, and rest your cheek on your own shoulder, watching the way your arms curve around yourself. 

It’s not lost on you how much trauma lived in the old body. In the bones that didn’t bend. In the skin that always felt too tight. In the way people looked at you like a novelty or a threat or a product.

This body isn’t for them.

It’s for you. For who you’re going to be. 

And it’s perfect.

Eventually… you move. Not quickly. Not decisively. Just… gradually. Like heat returning to numb limbs. You get up, still in your underwear, and pad barefoot across the cold dorm floor to the narrow wardrobe tucked beside your desk. It’s small, just to hold the things you can’t afford to let wrinkle. You’ve only opened it a handful of times since you got back from Brazil.

The contents aren’t much. A few basics. A pressed pair of jeans with a sharp, precise crease ironed down the front. Slacks. A simple blazer. At the right end, your suit hangs crisp in its plastic wrap, the one you wore to push your contract at Helmut, back when the words “development driver” still felt like something borrowed. 

You touch the fabric out of habit. The pants look… impossible. Maybe, if you hold your breath and pray to Sara Blakely and her Spanx gods- oh, and don’t eat all night- but honestly, you’re looking forward to the catering spread. Besides, it’s just the staff party- it’s really not that serious.

You let them hang.

Instead, you let your fingers walk a few hangers to the left. Fingers brush something soft. Velvet. Rich, forgiving, quietly festive. Not ugly sweater festive, but more like ‘yes, we are acknowledging it’s December.’ You pull it forward.

The dress is red. Not race-car red, not attention-demanding. Just… warm. A little saturated. The kind of color that makes your skin look golden and your hair a little darker in contrast. Sleeveless. High-necked. Hits just above the knee. Enough stretch to move with you. To let the body you’ve built exist without apology.

You hold it up to your chest, glance toward the mirror still propped on your bed, and nod once. Quietly. Like you’re letting yourself agree with the version of you that smiled at her own reflection twenty minutes ago. It’s not a statement dress. It’s not supposed to be. 

You pull on a pair of black nylons- semi-sheer, a soft little balance between flirtation and formality. The kind you used to wear for media days in junior formula, when you wanted to look polished but not severe. They slide up with the faintest whisper, snug but not constricting. They feel like intention.

Shoes next- your simple black pumps. Not casual, not party heels. Just clean, classic. You slip them on and they still fit the way only leather can- with loyalty. Like no matter how much the rest of you changes, these shoes will still love your feet. That feels like something. A single, stable detail in a body and world that’s otherwise brand new.

You perch on the edge of your desk to do your makeup rather than move the half-clean laundry that lives on your chair. Try not to sit in your compact while you plan your face.

Nothing heavy. Nothing loud. Just light coverage. A little shimmer. A soft sweep of blush across the apples of your cheeks that makes you look sunlit, even under factory-grade fluorescents. You gloss your lips with something pink and sheer, add a touch of mascara. Pretty. Festive. The kind of face that looks like someone you’d want to talk to at a work party without checking a credential first.

Your hair’s a little unruly from lying around until it air-dried, but it still curls easily under your hands. You twist it up in loose, polished sections, pin it in place, and finish it with a narrow ribbon tucked just above the nape of your neck. The bow is barely anything- thin, dainty. Just a little touch.

And when you finally step back from the mirror and take it all in- dress, tights, pumps, makeup, the slight shimmer on your collarbone- you don’t feel like a driver or a ghost or a PR obligation. Not really.

You feel like a girl going to a party at the end of the strangest, most transformative semester of her life. A little out of place. A little nostalgic for something that hasn’t even fully ended. Quietly proud. Quietly melancholy.

You smooth your hands down your dress once, just to feel the fabric hug your ribs. Time to say goodbye- quietly, professionally, beautifully- to the place that made you feel like someone valuable again. Even if they’re already learning how to do without you.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

The party’s better than expected.

Not flashy, not loud- just the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the low warmth of staff laughter echoing against the high factory walls. Someone’s strung lights across the ceiling beams, giving everything a soft golden tint. There’s music playing low from the overheads, just enough to keep the room moving. Food’s decent. Little platters of fussy fingerfoods that strike a balance between upscale and approachable. Drinks are free. Everyone’s at that perfect midpoint between polite and tipsy.

You’re leaned against a high table near the edge of the floor, nursing something red and fizzy in a plastic flute. The dress is holding up. The shoes haven’t betrayed you. And you’re laughing- real laughter, open and soft- because Ollie from dev is holding court like his life depends on it.

“I swear to God,” he’s saying, wide-eyed, one hand gesturing wildly, “the second I mentioned it, he looked at me like I’d confessed to a murder.”

Nicole’s giggling politely beside him- dark hair curling over her shoulders, dress tastefully low-cut, clearly groomed and pressed to the nine- and Ollie is doing absolutely nothing to hide the way he’s looking at her.

It’s not subtle.

He is making full, direct, devotional heart eyes every time she opens her mouth. You’re only half listening to the story at this point. Mostly you’re laughing at the sheer audacity of his infatuation. Like he doesn’t even care that you’re standing right here, clocking every stolen glance like it’s your actual job.

Ollie says something else- something about a lost data package and a RedBull fueled all nighter that left him hallucinating on his drive home- and Nicole tilts her head, clearly humoring him.

“That’s… so wild,” she says, all doe-eyed and glittery.

Ollie looks like he’s going to combust. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing again. You sip your drink instead, cheeks warm. For the first time all day, you feel… present. A little girlish. A little like you belong. And yet, despite the comfort of that- you feel it. 

You can feel Jos moving through the room.

It’s not oppressive. Not threatening. He’s not circling like a shark, and you’re not prey. It’s just… something you’re aware of. Like tracking a storm in the distance. You always know where he is.

And honestly?

You’ve resigned yourself to it.

You know he’ll find you eventually. That’s the nature of Jos. He always does. Always appears at the edge of a moment you thought was yours, all gravel-voiced analysis and heavy handshakes and that particular brand of European proximity that makes everything feel more intimate than it should.

And you’re not exactly afraid. You never have been.

If anything- God, you almost missed him.

Jos is a lot. An exhausting amount. But he’s also sharp. Dangerous in the way only brilliant men can be. Talking to him is like fencing with live wire- strategic, quick, crackling. But you’ve never felt like the target. Not really.

You’re not sure what that makes you.

An ally, maybe.

A co-conspirator.

Because Jos doesn’t talk to you like you’re lucky to be here. He talks to you like you’re a weapon. Like you’re leverage he trusts to understand what you’re worth. Like you’re playing a game with him- and unlike with most men in this sport, with Jos, the game doesn’t end with you losing. You think. Probably. So far, at least.

Still, there’s a sliver of something colder beneath it all. A flicker of discomfort you haven’t fully looked at yet. You don’t let yourself think about that too hard. Not here. Not now.

Instead, you set your drink down and laugh again- high and bright, because Ollie has just managed to turn a telemetry error into a flirtation, and Nicole is playing along like she might just let him win. You play with the ribbon in your hair, glance sideways across the room-  And, sure enough, Jos is watching. Not close. Not obvious. Just… waiting.

You adjust the strap of your dress, smooth your hands down the velvet one more time. Your glass is nearly empty. Nicole’s laughing again, Ollie’s blushing so hard it’s a health concern, and somewhere across the room, Jos Verstappen is waiting for you.

So you decide- fuck it.

If he’s going to find you anyway- if he’s already watching- you might as well meet him on your terms. Even if those terms are flimsy. Even if they exist mostly as a way to keep your spine straight and your voice level and your heart from pounding through your ribs.

You slip away from the table, leaving Ollie mid-laugh and Nicole mid-smile. Neither of them notices you go.

You push off the table and cross the floor without fanfare. Slow, steady, unbothered. Your heels click softly against the concrete. The lights above throw gold over your shoulders, and you hold your posture just right. Not stiff. Not girlish. Just composed. Whole.

You don’t know what compels you, exactly. It’s not submission. It’s not allegiance. It’s something quieter. Resignation, maybe. Or- God, maybe curiosity. You’ve danced around this enough times to know it’s coming. He’ll find you eventually. Might as well see what happens when you make the first move.

Jos tracks you the whole way. He’ss standing near the back, half-shadowed by a pillar and positioned with surgical precision- close enough to be in the mix, far enough that no one casually wanders into his orbit. He’s talking to someone from powertrains, nodding along like he’s interested, but his eyes flick toward you the moment you cross the floor.

Not obviously. Not openly. Just with the kind of stillness predators have right before they strike. Arms folded. Drink untouched. He shifts his weight once, almost imperceptibly, like he can’t believe his luck but is already plotting how to use it.

You keep your shoulders relaxed. You walk like you have nowhere in particular to be.

Jos smiles when you reach him. It doesn’t quite touch his eyes.His gaze flicks over you once- just once- but it’s loaded. Evaluating. Not lecherous, but not empty either. Like he’s cataloging the value of your appearance for some unseen ledger.

“There she is,” he says, low and pleased. “I was wondering when you’d come say hello.”

You smile. Easy. Controlled. “Thought I’d save the best for last.”

He laughs once, a short sound, dry and amused. “I like the dress.”

You resist the urge to fidget. “Thanks. Needed something that fit.”

Jos’s eyes flash at that- just a brief glint of approval, the kind that makes your skin feel seen in a way that’s not quite comfortable. Not inappropriate. Just intentional.

You sip your drink- what’s left of it- and let a small silence settle between you. The music hums along in the background. Conversation rolls across the room like static. You glance over your shoulder once, scan the space like you’re keeping track of exits. Then turn back.

And with practiced casualness, you say, “You hear about anything running this winter?”

Jos’s attention sharpens, just slightly. Barely a twitch in his jaw. But he clocks it. You keep your eyes on the middle distance and take a sip of your drink- mostly for the pause it offers- and then, casually, like you’re mentioning the weather: “I’ve been a little bored.”

Jos tilts his head. Interested. “Is that so?”

“Just... stir-crazy.” You keep your tone light. Bright. “Haven’t been in a real car since they flew Max in for brake testing.”

He gives nothing away. Just waits.

You glance out over the room like it doesn’t matter, like you’re not carefully placing each word. “I was thinking- if anything came up. A testing slot. A rally drive. Anything like that.” There. Gentle. Palatable. No pressure. Not desperation. Not even an ask, really. Just a statement. A floating suggestion.

Your voice doesn’t shift. Your shoulders stay easy. But your stomach coils tight. Because even now- even with this new body, this new deal, this new version of you- there’s still something about asking that feels like folding. Like peeling open your ribs.

Jos’s mouth twitches. Just the corner. “Hm.” That’s it. Just that. But you know him well enough to catch it. That sound- small, smug, delighted. It’s the sound of a trap closing.

Because you came to him. Because you asked.

No matter how subtle. No matter how casual. You asked. And it thrills him. Because Jos Verstappen lives for this.

He hides it well- he always does- but it’s there. The faint shift of weight toward you. The satisfied tilt of his head. The way his eyes sharpen just slightly, like the game he’s been playing has finally started to swing in his favor.

“You want me to make a call?” he asks, smooth and quiet, like it costs him nothing.

You lift a shoulder. “Only if it’s not a headache.”

He hums, looking away for a moment, already flipping through names, contacts, favors- building the scaffolding in his mind. He lets the silence stretch just long enough to prove he holds the reins. Only then does he speak.

“It wouldn’t be a single-seater,” he says finally. “Rally, most likely. Scandinavia. Snow. Cold. Not much exposure. Barely any pay.”

You don’t hesitate. “Send my paycheck straight back to the team,” you say. “Call it a sponsorship. I don’t care what it is.”

That gets his attention.

Jos studies you, eyes narrowing just slightly. Not with suspicion. With curiosity. Like he’s just thrown a line out, expecting it to hang in the water for a while- and you bit down before it even landed.

It was a test. A measure of your grit. Of your desperation. Of your understanding.

And you passed.

He leans back ever so slightly, nodding once, like he’s filing something away. “That sounds like a good time, does it?” he asks, tone dry but edged with something almost amused.

You hold his gaze. Steady. “Yes. It does.”

Another beat. He looks at you for a moment longer- really looks. Like he’s trying to figure out if you’re naive or ruthless, and whether or not it matters.

Then, almost fondly: “You’re smart to ask.”

There’s no threat in it. But there is a temperature. A charge beneath the compliment. He wants you to know you’ve made the right choice. That you’re wise to seek him out. That there’s more where that came from, if you stay close.

Jos smiles again, all teeth and calculation disguised as generosity. “I’ll be in touch. Keep your gear bag packed.”

And just like that, you’ve traded yourself for a favor. You feel it settle in your ribs. Weightless. But not free. The kind of thing that won’t show up in contracts or inboxes, but that you’ll carry all the same. Jos slips away only a moment later.

One minute he’s promising to make a few calls, and the next he’s clapping someone on the back and gliding into another conversation- like he hadn’t just offered you a taste of something sharp and sweet with a leash hidden inside.

You’re left standing near the perimeter of the room, drink still in hand, blood still humming from the conversation. It's not adrenaline exactly. Not fear. Just the slow, uneasy swell of something that feels like a contract being signed without ink.

You can feel him before you hear him. The shift in temperature. The static at your back. Max. Predictable, honestly. That Jos would drop you off right in his periphery. Fitting, truly. Inevitable.

You don’t see him approach- he moves like a shadow under a locked door. Silent. Sure. Unwanted.

But this time? You’re not caught off guard. You’re not off balance. You’re not scrambling to please, or prove, or endure. You’re tired. Bone-deep tired. The kind of tired that scrapes everything polite out of your chest and leaves nothing behind but sharp teeth and sharper instincts.

And you’re not afraid of him anymore.

Max takes position just behind your left shoulder, close enough that the heat of him skims your skin without touching it. Like a dare. Like he wants you to turn.

You don’t flinch.

You just wait. He wouldn’t have stepped forward if he didn’t have something to say. Fucking say it, Max.

“You really going for the full set, huh?” he says at last, voice low and dry. Venom tucked under every syllable like it’s something elegant. “Sponsorship. Seat. Verstappen family holiday invite.”

You blink once. Slow. Unbothered. “Jesus.”

You turn your head over your shoulder- just enough to catch the line of his mouth, the cut of his eyes. The disdain’s still there, as always, but there’s something else now. Something darker coiled just behind it. “Is this your idea of a Christmas card?” you ask.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t have to. The accusation’s already in the air between you. He’s not here to be clever. He’s here to see what you’ll do.

You inhale, sharp and silent. Then pivot on your toe, full-body now, facing him square for the first time. He’s close. Closer than you expected. Closer than anyone should be in a room full of champagne and fairy lights and factory staff pretending they aren’t watching.

You meet him at eye level. No posture. No smile. No spin.

Just you.

“I’m sorry I’m not subtle enough for you,” you say, voice steady. “But some of us don’t have the luxury of pretending we don’t need favors.”

You take a half-step forward. Not aggressive. Not passive. Just enough to reclaim the space he thought he’d filled.

“Look,” you go on, tired and clear and done with it, “I’ve got nothing to sell but my drives and my time. That’s it. So yeah, if Jos wants to hand me a favor, or a drive, or a fucking photo op, I’m going to take it. I’m going to smile, say thank you, and take everything he gives me. Because I’m not in a position to be picky.”

His jaw tightens. Barely. Just enough.

And maybe you should stop there. But you’re so fucking done. With him. With this. With the way he’s hovered all season like a storm cloud and acted like you were the one blocking the sun.

So you don’t stop.

“Seriously,” you add, biting now, “why are you standing here? Why don’t you go find another junior employee to intimidate? Do some scouting for next season. You love that shit.”

Max doesn’t blink. Doesn’t budge.

But his silence isn’t power anymore. Not to you.

In two weeks, you’re out of his factory. Out of his immediate orbit. You’re done tiptoeing through his moods like they’re weather patterns. So you lean in. A breath closer. Just to twist the knife. Just because you can.

“Or maybe,” you murmur, “you want me to yell at you again.” His expression doesn’t change. But his pupils sharpen. You see it. The flash of it. That dark, sick little thing he doesn’t want to name.

You remember it. That day in the boardroom. The way he stood there, watching you unravel like it was art. Practically licking his fucking chops in the blood of a kill. Like he’d finally pulled the right string and the whole thing came tumbling down and God, wasn’t that just so satisfying.

You raise your brows now, almost playful. “Seemed like you loved it.” The air between you tightens.

Not with fear. With something else.

Something heavier. Twisted. Threaded through with adrenaline and ego and the fact that you don’t technically need to be any nicer to him than he deserves anymore- but fuck, you’ll still take the last word.

Your drink sweats in your hand. Somewhere, someone across the room laughs too loud. A champagne cork pops. Max breathes in. Sharp. Controlled. You can see the words on his tongue. You can see the war inside him- the want to snap back. To grab. To tear. But he doesn’t.

He flicks his gaze down your body instead.

Not long. Not crude. Just one slow, scalding drag of assessment. Like he’s not even sure if he’s sizing you up or taking you in. Then he tilts his head. Just a little. Voice flat. “Careful.”

You smile. Not sweet. Not kind. Just knowing. “Or what?” you say, cool and easy. “You’ll call HR? Kick me off the team?” You let the smile grow sharp. “Oh, wait. You can’t. I’m already leaving.”

His eyes narrow- barely. He’s trying so fucking hard not to react. To be cool. Detached. Unbothered. And he almost pulls it off. Almost. Because this? This isn’t a fight.

Not yet. This is play. The sick kind.

Two wild animals circling the same patch of dirt. Teeth bared, tails twitching. Neither of you quite sure if this is about dominance or the last laugh or mutual destruction- but God, don’t you both want to find out.

You take a sip of your drink. Cool and steady.

And Max- quiet, scalding Max- just stands there. Watching.

Your phone vibrates in your clutch.

You wouldn’t normally check it in the middle of a cold war reenactment with Max Verstappen, but almost everyone on your short, carefully curated no-Do-Not-Disturb list is in this room, except your parents and-

You pull it out.

Danny Ricciardo [8:42 PM] bailing on mclaren. headed your way. party still good or should we find a pub? 20 mins out

You blink. And then you smile. It hits like a burst of light- like someone cracked open a window in a room you didn’t know was suffocating you. Danny.

Your maybe-friend. Your only safe person in the entire Red Bull ecosystem. Someone who isn’t looking at you like he’s devastated you’re leaving, or like he’ll forget your name the second the paperwork clears, or like he’s waiting for God to strike you down mid-sentence.

(Max, that last one. That look is all Max.)

You type fast.

You [8:43 PM]still rolling but up to you. everyone here keeps looking at me like a kicked puppy. wouldn’t mind a drink that doesn’t have ‘compote’ or ‘infusion’ in it.

There’s no reply for a minute.

Two.

Five.

Max, then, checks his phone beside you, his thumb hovering just a little too long. You glance at him- because you can’t not- and for the first time, he looks mildly annoyed. That makes you feel excellent. The night does have hope after all. You sip your drink just to keep from smiling.

Your phone buzzes again.

Danny Ricciardo [8:51 PM]let’s go out. I’ll text when I’m close.

You straighten, pulse skipping just once. You’re not going out in this. Not with Danny. Not to a pub. Velvet dress? Ribbon hair? Absolutely not. 

You glance at Max, who’s still scrolling, now with an expression like he’s trying to burn holes through his phone. Good. He can stay here with his bad mood and his weird dad. You’ve got plans. “Bye,” you murmur, not bothering to wait for him to look up.

You disappear through the side doors, heels clicking across tile. Up the stairs. Down the dim dorm hallway that’s somehow still home even when it’s already starting to forget you.

Inside your room, you move fast. Dress peeled off in one motion. You keep the nylons- they add a little warmth, and they make you feel like your legs have a little secret armor- and pull on a pair of shredded black jeans. High-rise, frayed knees, familiar as a favorite memory. A memory that is a little tight over the ass, but it’ll do.

A sleeveless top. Tighter. Cropped just enough to make your waist look like something sculpted- enough that it just barely kisses the waistband of your jeans. Black, because of course it is, but with a slight sheen that catches the dorm light.

You let your hair down. Shake it out. Pin the bow back in, low at the base of your skull.

Quick check in the mirror- yeah. That’ll do. Cute. Sharp. A little youthful. A little fuck-you. A little fuck-me. 

Exactly right.

You grab your jacket. Lip gloss. Your phone. And when you leave this time, it’s not with a sense of something ending. It’s with a thrill in your chest like maybe- finally- something is about to begin. The all black is fitting- like Danny’s come to save you from your own funeral. 

You’re practically skipping by the time you spot the rental SUV idling just past the front doors.

Factory lights still gleam overhead, pooling muted white against the cold pavement. You’re flushed from the party, from the hallway sprint, from the stupid quiet thrill of knowing someone actually wants to see you.

You wave once, already grinning.

Danny rolls the window down, half laughing already. “There she is! Backseat, Hollywood.”

You stop short. “What?”

He grins wider, too casual. “You’ve got the back.”

You blink. There’s a half-second- maybe less- where your brain tries to find a joke there, or context, or anything to make that sentence mean what you want it to mean.

But then you round the side and open the door- 

Oh.

Okay.

That’s fine.

This is fine.

Max is in the passenger seat, half-turned toward the window, jacket collar flipped up like he’s shielding himself from the entire world. He doesn’t even look at you. Your brain tries to recalibrate.

Because you’d assumed. Of course you did. Danny texted you. Danny said let’s go out. Danny is your friend. And for a few fragile minutes, you let yourself believe that meant just you and him. That it would be easy. Familiar. Comforting.

And now- 

Now you’re crawling into the backseat behind the same man you had a little verbal sparring match with not seven minutes ago. Perfect. 

You clamber awkwardly across the console, half-kneeling on the leather, and stretch your arms around Danny in the world’s least ergonomic side hug.

He laughs, warm and immediate. “That’s one way to say hi.”

“You’re lucky I’m flexible,” you mutter, chin nearly in his shoulder.

“You’re lucky you smell good,” he shoots back, arms slipping around your waist just long enough to squeeze.

You pull back, cheeks pink from wind and exertion, and slide fully into the backseat.

Danny eyes you through the rearview mirror. “You look nice.”

You roll your eyes, adjusting your seatbelt. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“No, I’m saying it like you’re trouble.”

From the front, Max shifts. Says nothing.

You glance at the back of his head. His silence is louder than the engine.

Great.

This is going to be fun.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

You’re practically folded over the center console, laughing about something stupid- Danny said a phrase wrong, or you did, and now the two of you are tangled in some inside joke Max doesn’t understand and doesn’t want to. You’re taking up space like you live there- laughing, leaning in too close to Danny, warm in a way Max hasn’t seen from you in weeks. Maybe ever.

And it’s not just the posture. It’s the presentation.

Your hair spills over your shoulder, catching the light from the streetlamps overhead. Loose. Shiny. Feminine in a way that makes his throat tighten.

Your shirt rides up slightly at the back, just enough to reveal the soft curve of waist where the jeans cling a little too perfectly- black denim, snug in all the places that would make anyone stare, especially now, with your new body- louder, prouder, stronger than the one Max last saw at a weigh-in this summer. Sheer black nylons that aren’t entirely see-through, but just enough to make his eyes linger before he can snap them away. 

He doesn’t look. He shouldn’t be looking. He isn’t looking.

But he can’t stop seeing.

He tries not to. Shifts in his seat like that’ll stop his peripheral vision from functioning. Like the heat creeping under his collar isn’t his problem to deal with.

He hates this.

Because it’s not just the way you look- it’s the way Danny’s looking at you. The way you’re looking at Danny. All warm and open and lit up from the inside. Like Danny’s safe. Like he’s yours. Like he’s seen something Max hasn’t.

There’s a ribbon in your hair.

A fucking ribbon.

Tied low, trailing down the back of your neck where your curls fall loose and messy, like you meant for them to look that soft. That touchable.  But Max can’t stop looking at it. He hates that bow. He hates what it implies- what it softens. Like you’re approachable. Sweet. Like there’s anything gentle about you. 

And he hates that it works.

Danny said it first- you smell good- and Max hasn’t been able to un-smell you since. Now Max can’t stop noticing. Something soft and expensive and a little sweet, something that clings to the heater vents. Wraps around his throat. It’s subtle. Effortless. Exactly the kind of scent that doesn’t try to draw attention but does anyway. Warm. Light. Clean. A little vanilla, maybe. A little powder. Something soft and domestic and utterly disarming, soaking into the the edge of his patience with every breath. 

He wants to roll down the fucking window.

You look good. And that should be annoying. Just another fucking thing about you that takes up too much space. But it’s worse than annoying.

He hates all of it. He hates how cute it is. Not loud. Not styled to seduce. Just naturally, infuriatingly attractive. He wants to make Danny turn the car around. Wants to shout something just to ruin the mood you and Danny are building without even trying.

Because it undermines everything. The bow, the perfume, the gloss on your lips- none of it belongs on someone like you. Someone who’s clawed her way into every room, swinging elbows, spitting fire, refusing to take a single inch without drawing blood.

But now you’re in Danny’s car looking like this?

Like a girl?

Because for the first time- the first time- Max doesn’t see you as a rival, or a nuisance, or a pressure point to push until you scream.

For the first time, he sees you as a woman.

And he hates it. Hates that it’s you. That it’s now. That it's happening at all. Because you’re not supposed to be this. You’re supposed to be sharp edges and smug retorts. A storm in a Red Bull polo. Someone to fight with. Someone to prove wrong.

You’re not supposed to be cute.

You’re not supposed to be beautiful.

But you are.

And now you’re glowing in the backseat like some perfect fucking contradiction, all honeyed edges and storm-wrought eyes, and Max- 

Max can’t breathe.

Because the same power that makes him want to throw something through a wall every time you talk is the same thing that’s pulling at his nerves right now. That’s twisting under his skin like a wire.

You are so goddamn alive.

Every room you walk into, you change the temperature.

Every time you speak, you rearrange the gravity.

Max clenches his jaw. Because the worst part- the part he can’t admit, even to himself- is that this isn’t new. Not really. That presence you carry, that fire, that thing that pisses him off every time you open your mouth- that’s what this is. You’re a problem. You’ve always been a problem. 

And now he’s seeing what that problem looks like in black jeans and soft perfume and a bow tied at the back of your head like a dare. You’re not just a problem. You’re alluring. You’re dangerous. And Max is hating every single fucking second of realizing it.

When the car pulls up in front of the pub, you unclip your seatbelt with a soft click and glance between the two of them.

“I can check it out first,” you say, hand already on the door. “Make sure it’s halfway subtle. Not filled with factory staff or a Max fan club.”

Danny huffs a laugh, but you’re already slipping out- shoulders squared, leather sneakers hitting pavement with that easy, practiced rhythm that says you’ve never once considered asking permission to take up space.

You cross in front of the SUV, slicing clean through the headlights. And for a second- just a second- Max forgets to breathe.The way your hips move. The way the sheen of your tights catches the light through the ripped in the denim at the back of your thigh. The bow bouncing softly behind your hair as you go.

Danny’s eyebrows shoot up.

He’s watching, too. Staring, really. Full tilt. Blatant.

And not in the way Max is- bitter and defensive, trying to smother it before it spreads. Danny’s looking like someone genuinely pleased to see you. Someone who likes watching you walk. Someone who wouldn’t mind seeing you keep going and not come back, just so he has an excuse to follow.

And Max- 

Max hates that, too.

You disappear into the pub, shoulders back, posture casual. And the moment the door swings shut behind you, Danny exhales.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “She looks good.”

Max doesn’t respond. Doesn’t look. Tries not to. But he can feel you out there, just like he’s always been able to feel it- occupying more than your share of the air.

Danny exhales through his teeth, a little laugh catching at the end. “She always like that?”

Max flicks his eyes toward him, annoyed already. “Like what?”

Danny shrugs, eyes still tracking the door you just disappeared behind. “You know. All... that.”

Max doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t know what that even means. The ribbon? The legs? The presence?

Danny glances at him. A little softer now. Still watching the door, but quieter. More careful. “You knew her first, man. What’s her deal?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Max could say a dozen things.

Her deal?

Where would he even start?

He could say you are stubborn. Sharp-tongued. Obsessive. You don’t bend unless something breaks you. You’re exhausting and impressive and sometimes so fucking loud in his head it drowns out everything else.

But the truth is simpler. The truth is worse.

All Max really knows is how much it takes to break you.

That’s it.

How long you can hold your breath in the fire. How much pressure you absorb before something cracks. What your voice sounds like when you’ve been holding back a scream for hours, for weeks. What it’s like to push you into a corner until the only thing left is fight.

It’s not knowledge. It’s pathology.

And it makes him feel a little sick.

He looks away, jaw tight. “I don’t know her.” And it’s the truth, but it doesn’t feel like the right thing to say. Not when Danny’s looking at him like he wants a reason to justify feeling something warm- like he’s hoping Max can explain the thing Danny’s become infatuated with. But Danny doesn’t push. Cuts himself off as your figure comes darting back across the parking lot.

You push open the car door and duck back in, breath puffing in the cold. “It’s decent,” you report, tugging your jacket tighter. “Not a lot of quiet corners, but if we can get y’all to a table fast, there’s a good chance we can get a drink or two in before the whole town realizes Verstappen’s here for pint night.”

Danny snorts and grabs the handle. “Copy that. Deploying cover fire.”

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

The three of you head inside. It’s warm, a little cramped, but charming in that British-pub-on-a-Friday kind of way. Low ceilings, scuffed wood, red walls. A few tables of locals already deep into their second round, but no one looks up long enough to register who just walked in.

You claim a booth near the back- narrow, loud, good enough- and offer to grab the drinks. Danny rattles off his usual, Max mutters his without looking up, and you head to the bar, sharp-heeled and half-smirking as you go.

You come back balancing three pints in your hands, pushing one toward each of them and settling into the seat across from both. Max takes his without thanks. Danny gives you a soft, sideways look that you pretend not to see.

Small talk kicks up, carried mostly by Danny. Easy stuff. You all pretend for ten minutes that the last few months haven’t been a professional and emotional meat grinder. You have problems. Danny has problems. Max has problems. You talk about none of them. Instead, racing gossip. Car updates. A truly unhinged story from Danny about a team principal with food poisoning in Singapore. You didn’t need to know that much about Zak Brown, honestly, but you’re laughing anyways.

And then, half a beer in, Danny leans back. One arm stretched across the booth. His gaze lands on you.

“So.” He takes a slow sip. “Hollywood. You talked to anyone since moving?”

You blink. Oh. “Like… romantically?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Or whatever you call it when it’s mutual.”

You nearly choke on your beer. You cough once, cover your mouth, and wave a hand like it’ll clear the air. “Oh my God.”

Danny laughs immediately. “That bad?”

“That’s hilarious,” you sputter, wiping your mouth. “Genuinely. Peak comedy.”

Max shifts slightly, glass still in his hand but eyes cut sharp across the table. Maybe you shouldn’t talk about your life in front of him, but honestly, there’s nothing to tell. Not really. 

You shake your head. “Danny. I live in a dorm room above the factory. Everyone I interact with is either married, under the age of twenty, or- ” you gesture lazily, without even looking- “him.”

Danny turns to glance at Max and immediately huffs a laugh. “Right. Right.”

Max doesn’t blink. Just lifts his beer and takes a long, steady sip.

You lean back in your seat, finally grinning. “Where do you think I’m meeting people? The break room? Am I supposed to flirt with the espresso machine?”

Danny’s shoulders are shaking now, head tilted back in open laughter. “Listen, I don’t know your life.”

“No. But you should. Because it’s deeply, profoundly celibate. Probably for the best. I don’t really plan on doing the whole distance thing.”

Danny’s still grinning when he gestures with the rim of his pint toward you. “Okay. No distance. Fair enough. So, theoretically- if someone not married, not a minor, and not mean,” he says, throwing a glance at Max that’s almost too quick to track, “were to, say… express interest. Someone from F1. That’d be off the table?”

You raise an eyebrow. “From F1?” The suspicion in your voice is thick enough to chew on. Profound. Amused, because this is a joke, clearly.

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “What? We’re not all emotionally stunted.”

You snort. “Okay. Let’s break that down.”

Danny lifts his hands. “I’m just asking questions.”

“Uh-huh. Let’s fuck one of my new coworkers,” you say dryly, “whose dating pool is a puddle. Like, I have seen more water on the floor of my shower.” Danny nearly spits his beer, but you keep going. You’re on one, now. 

“Yeah, fantastic idea. Let me join the glorious tradition of passing around the same three girlfriends like a paddock carnival prize. I’ll get murdered in my sleep by a group of jealous ex-WAGs and my tombstone will just say ‘should’ve known better.’”

Danny’s howling now, and even he looks slightly ashamed about how funny he finds it. Max hasn’t said a word, but you can feel it- the bristle, the shift in his posture. That thing he does when he’s trying to stay above it and failing completely. Like he does not want to appear to be enjoying this conversation in any manner, yet can’t quite help it.

And then he speaks. Mistake. “They’re not all like that,” he says, quiet but pointed.

You both turn to look at him. Just one of those slow, synchronized movements that would be funny if it weren’t so precise. Danny raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” You just sip your beer, staring at him over the rim.

Because if Max Verstappen- the reigning king of WAG turnover- is about to defend the honor of the grid, you’re going to need another drink.

And you both wait.

And Max?

He says nothing. Because he can’t. Because his most recent ex was literally the mother of his former teammate’s child. Kelly. Kelly fucking Piquet.

She was with Daniil. Had a baby with him. Then moved on to Max like it was a change in season. And Max, to his credit- or to his utter lack of shame- never said a word. Just took what he wanted, like he always does.

The silence stretches.

Danny takes a sip of his beer. You take another.

And the look you both give him- matching, amused, pointed- is louder than anything either of you could’ve said. Max doesn’t flinch. But the muscle in his jaw ticks.

Yeah. That’s what you thought. Down, boy. 

The conversation drifts. Eventually, even Max and Danny start talking- about tire strategy, about something ridiculous Christian said in a meeting last month, about a simulator bug that made the steering rack twitch even under a full shutdown like a haunted marionette. You know the one. You had to unplug the wheel entirely each night just to keep it from scaring the shit out of you after 9 pm. 

You half-listen, sipping your beer, watching the crowd thicken near the bar. Observe the slow turn of a face or two across the room- but everyone goes back to their own beers, their own conversations.

You’re part of the table, but not the conversation. Just a warm body holding one corner down. And honestly, it feels kind of nice. To not be the one driving the story. To let your posture soften, to let your brain go quiet for a minute.

Max is talking to Danny now- something about the setup in Brazil and how god-awful the outside line was that weekend. You’re half-listening, enough to track the rise and fall of his voice, the occasional gesture of his hand, but your mind drifts.

Danny is still nodding along. Still laughing in the right places. But you notice it- once, twice, then again.

His eyes keep darting over to you.

The first glance is quick. Curious, even. The second lingers longer. Long enough that you glance up and catch it. He doesn’t look away. By the third time, he’s full-on watching you.

Like you’re the most interesting thing he’s seen in weeks. Like maybe he’s not just being polite anymore.

You glance down at your drink, the rim of your glass smudged with a faint print of gloss, and try not to fidget. It’s not romantic. Not exactly. But it’s focused. Intentional. He’s looking at you like he forgot what Max was even saying.

And Max notices.

You feel it in the fractional pause in his cadence. The way his voice flattens slightly at the edges. His story loses shape. His next sentence tapers off like he’s forgotten the punchline or just doesn’t feel like delivering it anymore.

There’s a lull- brief but open- and Danny jumps on it like he’s been waiting all night for the gap. Turns to you fully.

“You really are fun, you know that?” he says, leaning a little closer, the kind of grin on his face that usually means trouble- but not in a mean way. Somewhere between beer two and beer three, and all of him just buzzing with charm and distraction.

You blink, startled out of your haze, but smile anyway. “I hope so. Would hate to be boring on top of everything else.”

Danny’s smile softens. His voice drops half a register. “No. Not just fun. Like- bright. You glow when you’re around people you like.” That makes you pause. It’s sweet. Really sweet. And unexpected. You’re not exactly sure what to do with it.

Not in a romantic way. Not really. It’s just Danny being Danny- charming, loose around the edges, ADHD running the conversation like a DJ with a broken crossfader. You’ve gathered that he’s always this side of a flirt, especially after a couple drinks. But still, something about the way he says it lands. The way his attention keeps snapping back to you like a rubber band.

You smile, wide and sheepish. “You’re just saying that because I got the drinks,” you tease, nudging his foot under the table.

Danny laughs. “Maybe. But it’s still true.”

Max, across from both of you, exhales like he’s trying not to audibly gag. And then- because he cannot help himself- he drops the hammer. “Right,” Max says, voice flat. “Just wait ‘til you see her lose it in a meeting. Then you’ll really see her glow.”

You blink.

Danny turns.

Max sips his beer, casual. Lethal. “Full meltdown. Everyone stopped talking. I think someone apologized to her, which was insane, because she was the one yelling.”

You can feel the flush rise up your chest like a fuse.

Because how dare he. You stare at him. Stunned. Furious. You can’t even speak yet.

Because he left out everything.

He left out the weeks of poking and prodding. The whispered digs. The anonymous feedback dropped into your reports. The pointed questions in front of senior staff. The deliberate redactions in your sim notes that made you look wrong even when you weren’t.

The mother-fucking-Diet-Coke.

He left out how he made you snap. Just this. This version. You, unhinged. Overreacting. Embarrassing. And now he’s feeding it to Danny like you’re some unhinged liability who just couldn’t keep her pretty little mouth shut in a meeting.

Max takes a slow sip of his beer. God, he looks so fucking pleased with himself.

But then- Danny laughs. Hard.

You blink again, confused.

Danny’s eyebrows go up. “No way. Her? C’mon.”

He looks at you, grinning. “You? You’re the meltdown type?”

Your mouth opens, words fighting their way up your throat, then closes again. Because what are you supposed to say? That it’s true? That you did raise your voice, that you did storm out, that you did send a stack of paperwork flying over the top of Max’s head and let it rain down like confetti? 

That Max got what he wanted?

Danny leans back. “Nah. Don’t believe it. Not Hollywood. Not our girl.” He says our girl, like Max might share a claim to any part of you but your absolute contempt. 

You glance at Max. He’s still staring into his glass. But his jaw is tight now. Just slightly. Like the moment didn’t go the way he planned. Danny bumps your foot under the table again, teasing. “You’d have to be a menace to get her to snap.”

You lean forward slightly, eyes still locked on Max, voice just loud enough to cut through the hum of the pub.

“Yeah,” you say. “A real fucking menace.”

Max doesn’t flinch. But his next sip of beer is sharp, and silent. But you can’t gloat on it for long, because there’s something about the room, the bar, the energy that’s… changing. You sneak a glance over the boys.

A couple glances from across the pub. Someone nudging someone else. A phone tilted in your direction, not discreetly enough. The laughter from your table a little too loud, your faces a little too familiar.

You’re not famous-famous. Not like them. But you’ve got enough edge now that your name rings a bell. And when you’re sitting across from two men who look very much like Max Verstappen and Daniel Ricciardo on a Friday night, wearing a shirt that fits a little too well and a bow in your hair that people seem to notice more than they should- it adds up.

You clock it before either of them. So you slide your empty glass across the table and say, “Time to go.” No one argues.

Outside, the air is colder than you expect. Your breath fogs. Max shrugs into his coat without a word. Danny smiles, easy and relaxed, spinning his keys once before offering them to you.

“You good to drive? We can get a cab if we need to.”

You nod. “One beer. You guys had, what, two? Three?”

Max grunts. Danny grins, a little shrug, boyish. “I was thirsty.”

You slide into the driver’s seat. Max takes the passenger side without asking, which- yuck. Bad manners. Danny climbs in back. The plan’s simple: drop them off at the hotel. You’ll take Danny’s rental car back to the factory, bring it back to him tomorrow.

Easy.

But when you pull up to the curb, the quiet lingers just a little too long. You put the car in park. Danny leans forward between the seats, voice low and warm.

“You want to come in? Just for a drink. Hotel bar or my room- whatever’s less weird.” You blink. Not thrown off, not uncomfortable- just surprised. Max stiffens beside you. Danny’s smile doesn’t waver. “Just to hang out. You’ve been in factory jail for weeks.”

You glance at him. Then Max. Then back again. “I mean- sure,” you say, casual. “I’ll come in for a little.”

And that’s when Max says it. “I’ll come too.”

You turn.

Danny blinks.

Max’s expression doesn’t change. Still casual. Still detached. “If we’re doing a nightcap. Why not.”

Danny hesitates. Just a beat. “You literally said you were going straight to bed.”

Max shrugs. “Changed my mind.”

You stare at him. “You really don’t have to- ”

Max cuts you off. “I want to.”

And that’s it. Decision made.

You press your lips together, amused despite yourself. Danny sighs, a little dramatic. “Alright. Boys’ night plus you, then.”

You shake your head and kill the engine. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Max’s jaw ticks as he gets out. He’s already regretting all of it. But the idea of Danny and you alone- in a hotel bar with mood lighting, or on a couch, or anywhere near a bed- is worse.

If Danny falls for you, Max won’t survive it. He is not losing custody of his best friend to you.

So tonight?

He’s not letting either of you out of his sight.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

One drink turns into four.

You’re not even sure how. One minute you’re perched on the edge of the couch in Danny’s hotel suite, shoes still on, sipping something floral and deceptively strong. The next, you’re flat on your back on the carpet, legs splayed out under the coffee table, laugh-crying into your forearm.

You can’t breathe. You cannot breathe.

Because Max- Max- is pacing the room, red-faced and animated, shouting over Danny while they argue about whose fault it was that the side of Max’s caravan sheared off halfway through their marketing stunt at the RedBull Ring five years back.

“No, no, no- you hit me!,” Max says, pointing aggressively with his gin and tonic like it's a laser pointer of truth. “You always do this- !”

“I was being cinematic!” Danny yells, already wheezing. “It was for the shot!”

“For the shot?! It was a caravan, not a drone sequence! You tipped my caravan over!”

You’re howling.

There are tears streaming down your face. Your stomach hurts. You’re half convinced you might actually piss yourself on the floor of a Milton Keynes hotel if they keep going. And you don’t know if Max is actually funny or if you’re just drunk enough to believe he is- but either way, this is the funniest thing you’ve heard in weeks.

Maybe ever.

You manage to lift your head just enough to wheeze, “Please stop talking- I can’t breathe- ”

Danny falls off the arm of the couch, landing next to you in a heap. ““I was winning!!” he gasps again, absolutely beside himself.

Max throws his hands in the air, grinning like a lunatic. “You were going to kill us!”,

You’re laughing so hard now that it’s silent- just your mouth open, body shaking, face buried in the hotel carpet.

You should not be this happy. Not here. Not now. Not with them. But God, for the first time in months, the ache behind your ribs isn’t heavy. It’s light. Not this isn’t terrible, not this is actually kind of enjoyable, but genuine, rib cracking fun. 

You can’t help but think it again, horrifyingly, as he gears up for another round of arguing with Danny. Max Verstappen- stone-faced, growling, rage-fueled Max Verstappen- might actually be funny. The world is upside-down. And you’re just drunk enough to love it.

At some point following drink four, Danny tries to scoot closer to you on the couch.

It’s not dramatic- just a lean-in, knee bumping yours, shoulder dipping slightly in your direction as he cracks open another story. You don’t really clock it. You’re still laughing, still breathless from whatever Max just said about how fucking terrible the sausages they cooked at the end were.

But Max sees it.

Max clocks it immediately.

And before Danny can even shift his weight again, Max moves- fast and thoughtless, dropping down right between you like he’s claiming a spot that was always his. “I mean, you could taste the propane,” he cuts in, reaching across you both for a half-empty can of tonic. “I think that’s when I realized I am an awful cook.”

Danny blinks. His arm is still outstretched where it was trying to find the back of the couch behind your shoulders.

Now it’s hovering awkwardly in midair behind Max’s neck.

You blink too, a little disoriented, because now Max is suddenly close- like really close- one leg pressed against yours, his shoulder brushing yours every time he gestures. He’s not even looking at you, just ranting about how Danny “none of it was the same after he left,” but the space between you has evaporated.

Danny tries again a few minutes later- after he stands to make another round of drinks, another bout of story-laugh-shouting that has you giggling into your wrist, head thrown back against the couch cushion. 

Danny drops on the arm of the couch as he hands you your drink, shifts toward you. Barely. Just trying to close the distance. Maybe bump your shoulder. Maybe nudge his knee next to yours again.

Max leans back.

Elbows wide. Legs spread. Like he’s stretching- only somehow, his stretch ends with his knee fully pressed against yours and his arm slung behind you on the couch. Not quite touching you. But close enough that the heat of him is a presence. Enough to make you stand too, vacate the space Max clearly needed to manspread into, and drop down on the far side of the couch. Max between you and Danny. Again. It’s fine. It’s better even, because you can kick your feet up.

Danny narrows his eyes. Clears his throat. Mate, you are fucking this up for me. 

Max doesn’t even glance at him. Doesn’t notice. Or rather, he pretends not to.  Just keeps sitting there.

Because as far as he’s concerned, he’s just protecting his friend. That’s all. Keeping things in check. Hogging Danny, maybe, but only because he doesn’t want him tangled up with someone who ruins everything she touches.

That’s the reason.

And it keeps happening. You’ve noticed, even through the gin haze.

Every time Danny leans in- just slightly- Max inserts himself like it’s a sport. When Danny shifts toward you on the couch, Max shifts further. When Danny makes a joke, Max cuts in before you can answer. When Danny starts a story, Max finishes it.

You’ve moved to the armrest. Then the cushion beside it. Then leaned onto the floor with your back to the couch.

Each time, Max finds you.

It’s gotten to the point where you’re halfway through a laugh and suddenly there’s a knee pressed into yours and Max is talking again, louder, sharper- about you, at you, through you.

Like just by existing, you’ve ruined something that was his.

You try to ignore it.

Try to keep drinking. Keep smiling. Talk less, if only it means trying to hang onto the little bit of joy left in the night.

But the last straw comes when Danny tosses an arm across the back of the couch, joking about some fucked up F1-themed wedding he saw on Instagram- complete with matching helmets- and Max just has to cut in.

“Hey, maybe you can sell your wedding to SkySports,” he says, all casual menace. “Or maybe not. Wouldn’t want a public meltdown broadcasted when you go full-bridezilla.”

Your entire body stills, because what normal fucking person would ever say that? 

Danny freezes, stares at Max. You stare at Max. Danny stares at Max. You stare at Max. Danny stares like his favorite dog just shit on the floor of the White House. And for a long moment, the room is just… quiet.

Then, you turn your head. Slowly. You speak. Too sweet. “Max?”

He glances over, cocky as hell.

You smile. Bright. Lethal. “I would rather lick the inside of a fucking racing boot than sit next to you for one more minute.”

Danny chokes on his drink. You stand, grab your phone, and type out a rideshare request in record time.

Max shrugs, already halfway smug. “I’m just-.”

You cut whatever bullshit he had loaded up off at the knees. “-you were just shutting the fuck up, thanks.”

You don’t even wait for a reply. Just turn to Danny- softening your expression, letting the warmth return. “Thanks for tonight,” you say, and mean it. “I had fun. I’ll see you around.”

And then you’re gone. Door swinging gently shut behind you.

Danny stares at it. Still holding his lowball glass of ice. Still seated on the couch, still half stuck in the dream where he was supposed to be the one walking you out. Getting a real date set. Maybe a kiss, if he’s being wishful. At the very least, not ending the night like this.

Max exhales. “You’re welcome.”

Danny turns slowly. “Sorry?”

Max shrugs. “You were about to make a mistake. I saved you.”

Danny just stares. “You think she’s a mistake?”

“I know she is.”

“Right.” Danny nods, lets it hang for a moment. “Cool. Cool cool cool.”

Silence.

Max sits back like it’s a game he just won. Like he didn’t just gut the night with a single, well-placed knife between her ribs.

“I liked her,” Danny says, finally. Quiet. Not for sympathy. Just the truth.

Max doesn’t say anything. Because he could see Danny liked you, at least a little. And he did fuck it up. On purpose. He watched Danny lean in- watched him light up like you were something precious- and he couldn’t let it happen.

Not because he wanted you. But because Danny did. And something about that felt too threatening. Too unstable. Too real. So he ruined it.

And he’s still not sorry.

Because in Max’s mind, he didn’t sabotage Danny’s shot with a good thing- he saved him from a bomb that hadn’t gone off yet. He just doesn’t know how to explain that in a way that doesn’t make him sound like the jealous asshole he refuses to believe he is.

So instead, he leans back. Folds his arms. And lets the disappointment settle between them, thin and quiet and heavy as sleep.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

Series Masterlist

A/N: Back from the dead with a 31 pager! Definitely struggling a little bit recently, and I hate that feeling of being 'in debt' to you guys with chapters, so I am going to try to make a push for a few releases this week, don't hate me if it doesn't go accordingly.

On my hands and knees begging for feedback and your commentary on the story as it quite literally is my only mental reward for the hours I am putting in. It makes my little ADHD brain go brrrr

[the-nox-syndicate]

SysNotes devlog 1

Hiya! We're a web developer by trade and we wanted to build ourselves a web-app to manage our system and to get to know each other better. We thought it would be fun to make a sort of a devlog on this blog to show off the development! The working title of this project is SysNotes (but better ideas are welcome!)

What SysNotes is✅:

A place to store profiles of all of our parts

A tool to figure out who is in front

A way to explore our inner world

A private chat similar to PluralKit

A way to combine info about our system with info about our OCs etc as an all-encompassing "brain-world" management system

A personal and tailor-made tool made for our needs

What SysNotes is not❌:

A fronting tracker (we see no need for it in our system)

A social media where users can interact (but we're open to make it so if people are interested)

A public platform that can be used by others (we don't have much experience actually hosting web-apps, but will consider it if there is enough interest!)

An offline app

So if this sounds interesting to you, you can find the first devlog below the cut (it's a long one!):

(I have used word highlighting and emojis as it helps me read large chunks of text, I hope it's alright with y'all!)

Tech stack & setup (feel free to skip if you don't care!)

The project is set up using:

Database: MySQL 8.4.3

Language: PHP 8.3

Framework: Laravel 10 with Breeze (authentication and user accounts) and Livewire 3 (front end integration)

Styling: Tailwind v4

I tried to set up Laragon to easily run the backend, but I ran into issues so I'm just running "php artisan serve" for now and using Laragon to run the DB. Also I'm compiling styles in real time with "npm run dev". Speaking of the DB, I just migrated the default auth tables for now. I will be making app-related DB tables in the next devlog. The awesome thing about Laravel is its Breeze starter kit, which gives you fully functioning authentication and basic account management out of the box, as well as optional Livewire to integrate server-side processing into HTML in the sexiest way. This means that I could get all the boring stuff out of the way with one terminal command. Win!

Styling and layout (for the UI nerds - you can skip this too!)

I changed the default accent color from purple to orange (personal preference) and used an emoji as a placeholder for the logo. I actually kinda like the emoji AS a logo so I might keep it.

Laravel Breeze came with a basic dashboard page, which I expanded with a few containers for the different sections of the page. I made use of the components that come with Breeze to reuse code for buttons etc throughout the code, and made new components as the need arose. Man, I love clean code 😌

I liked the dotted default Laravel page background, so I added it to the dashboard to create the look of a bullet journal. I like the journal-type visuals for this project as it goes with the theme of a notebook/file. I found the code for it here.

I also added some placeholder menu items for the pages that I would like to have in the app - Profile, (Inner) World, Front Decider, and Chat.

i ran into an issue dynamically building Tailwind classes such as class="bg-{{$activeStatus['color']}}-400" - turns out dynamically-created classes aren't supported, even if they're constructed in the component rather than the blade file. You learn something new every day huh…

Also, coming from Tailwind v3, "ps-*" and "pe-*" were confusing to get used to since my muscle memory is "pl-*" and "pr-*" 😂

Feature 1: Profiles page - proof of concept

This is a page where each alter's profiles will be displayed. You can switch between the profiles by clicking on each person's name. The current profile is highlighted in the list using a pale orange colour.

The logic for the profiles functionality uses a Livewire component called Profiles, which loads profile data and passes it into the blade view to be displayed. It also handles logic such as switching between the profiles and formatting data. Currently, the data is hardcoded into the component using an associative array, but I will be converting it to use the database in the next devlog.

New profile (TBC)

You will be able to create new profiles on the same page (this is yet to be implemented). My vision is that the New Alter form will unfold under the button, and fold back up again once the form has been submitted.

Alter name, pronouns, status

The most interesting component here is the status, which is currently set to a hardcoded list of "active", "dormant", and "unknown". However, I envision this to be a customisable list where I can add new statuses to the list from a settings menu (yet to be implemented).

Alter image

I wanted the folder that contained alter images and other assets to be outside of my Laravel project, in the Pictures folder of my operating system. I wanted to do this so that I can back up the assets folder whenever I back up my Pictures folder lol (not for adding/deleting the files - this all happens through the app to maintain data integrity!). However, I learned that Laravel does not support that and it will not be able to see my files because they are external. I found a workaround by using symbolic links (symlinks) 🔗. Basically, they allow to have one folder of identical contents in more than one place. I ran "mklink /D [external path] [internal path]" to create the symlink between my Pictures folder and Laravel's internal assets folder, so that any files that I add to my Pictures folder automatically copy over to Laravel's folder. I changed a couple lines in filesystems.php to point to the symlinked folder:

And I was also getting a "404 file not found" error - I think the issue was because the port wasn't originally specified. I changed the base app URL to the localhost IP address in .env:

…And after all this messing around, it works!

(My Pictures folder)

(My Laravel storage)

(And here is Alice's photo displayed - dw I DO know Ibuki's actual name)

Alter description and history

The description and history fields support HTML, so I can format these fields however I like, and add custom features like tables and bullet point lists.

This is done by using blade's HTML preservation tags "{!! !!}" as opposed to the plain text tags "{{ }}".

(Here I define Alice's description contents)

(And here I insert them into the template)

Traits, likes, dislikes, front triggers

These are saved as separate lists and rendered as fun badges. These will be used in the Front Decider (anyone has a better name for it?? 🤔) tool to help me identify which alter "I" am as it's a big struggle for us. Front Decider will work similar to FlowCharty.

What next?

There's lots more things I want to do with SysNotes! But I will take it one step at a time - here is the plan for the next devlog:

Setting up database tables for the profile data

Adding the "New Profile" form so I can create alters from within the app

Adding ability to edit each field on the profile

I tried my best to explain my work process in a way that wold somewhat make sense to non-coders - if you have any feedback for the future format of these devlogs, let me know!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Disclaimers:

I have not used AI in the making of this app and I do NOT support the Vibe Coding mind virus that is currently on the loose. Programming is a form of art, and I will defend manual coding until the day I die.

Any alter data found in the screenshots is dummy data that does not represent our actual system.

I will not be making the code publicly available until it is a bit more fleshed out, this so far is just a trial for a concept I had bouncing around my head over the weekend.

We are SYSCOURSE NEUTRAL! Please don't start fights under this post

[bodybeyondstories]

The majority of cases are mild - 1

A mysterious virus is spreading through the city, leaving men with, among other symptoms, disproportionate bubble butts. Mayor Tan speaks in a press briefing while his team debates how long they can keep the situation--and their boss's posterior--under control; Devon, before he ever makes it to the clinic, comes to realize the treatment may not be working with his severe case; and Neil, an ardent journalist, goes to the lab determined to get some information about the crisis.

0 (initial prompt) | 2 (next)

[ ass expansion // bubble butt ]

3102 words

I decided to keep playing around with the ass expansion virus idea (see: previous rambles). I thought a 'triptych' approach might be kind of fun, with three vignettes that are part of an interconnected moment. Which leaves room for a different combination of perspectives told with each part (assuming I ever get around to continuing this). A close second for the title was (thanks to @embarrassedanon !) "Flattening the Curve."

- - - - -

I

“My team has been monitoring the situation, and they assure me, there is nothing to worry about at this time. The majority of cases are–”

“Mayor Tan!” came an insistent voice at the back of the press briefing. “Mr. Mayor, have you seen the latest data about infection rates? What’s your response to the uptick we’re seeing in…”

“Ugh, this guy again,” Ana muttered to the lanky man hovering next to her, both of them posted up just off stage.

Her attention could only last so long for this particular reporter who’d been incessantly crying wolf about this mysterious virus for months. She kept her focus on Mayor Tan, her lips moving along with his response, carefully scripted by her.

“Our rapid response team is world class and will move accordingly when specific thresholds are passed, came the mayor’s voice, as if through Ana’s soundless lips. “Until then, we encourage folks to be careful, but currently there is no need to panic.”

“That’s the guy from The Herald, right?” asked Jay, visibly unused to being even proximate to the spotlight. “He’s been maintaining this super useful data viz dashboard keeping track of the outbreak–”

“Not outbreak,” Ana corrected in a harsh whisper. “It is technically not an outbreak. We’re monitoring the situation until we can determine the appropriate designation for the spread of this…medical anomaly. We don’t need some journalist sowing panic before then.”

Jay, a full head taller than his superior, still managed to collapse in on himself under the heat of her side-eye. “I just think,” he stammered under his breath. “I mean, as the Public Health Advisor to the mayor’s office, I have some…concerns…”

“And as the Chief of Staff of the Office of the Mayor, I will let you know if, how, and when your concerns become the mayor’s concerns.” Ana graced him with a half turn of her face and a practiced, professional smile before turning back to the briefing.

“...like I’ve said repeatedly, we will let you know everything we know as we know it,” said Mayor Tan, hands held out in reassurance. “It’s still early days with this situation, and I know we’ve got plenty other things to cover in this briefing. How about one more before we move on to more pressing matters?”

“Mayor Tan,” began a reporter, “your team was still intimating that this was a hoax just last week. Why have you shifted that stance?”

He rested his palms on the podium and chuckled to himself. “I don’t think that’s the word we used, but our team believes in science, not pseudoscience, and we act on concrete data, not social media theories.” He shifted his posture, his fitted suit jacket bunching up over an eye catching posterior on the thirty-five year old politician. “As reliable data becomes available and new…developments occur, we shift our messaging and our strategies.”

Ana whispered along verbatim. She’d been guiding the mayor through his entire political career, knew him better than anyone else at this point. Working class beginnings, son of immigrants, got into a prestigious college, came back to the city to become a community organizer, got a Masters in Public Policy, won a City Council seat through a brilliant grassroots campaign–organized by her–and now sat in the Office of the Mayor. He was starting to get national attention, not just for his policies, but also his engaging demeanor, whip smart discursive abilities, and the toned, 6’0” frame on display during games of pickup soccer at his local community center. He was an eligible bachelor racking up social media views and a humble public servant who still took the bus to City Hall every morning. He was the kind of young, progressive leader that people needed to believe in right now, and both their sights were already set higher.

“I just,” Jay snapped her out of her reverie. “I just think we could be a little more proactive about this.” He showed her his phone, which displayed the latest statistics visualized by The Herald. Her eyes traced a line that had been lazily rolling up over the past several weeks, but was beginning to crook upward at a worrying angle.

“Look,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’re taking this seriously, we’re all taking this seriously. But the last thing this city needs is panic over some…BBL virus.”

“That’s not–the official terminology is–”

“Male Gluteal Hyper–yeah yeah yeah, I know,” she said with a subtle, sharp wave of her hand. “I also got that memo. But there’s a lot at play here and a lot at stake. We’re about to get our signature public transport expansion through the council, we’re finalizing contract negotiations with the municipal workers’ union, we’ve almost got the affordable housing plan through the budgetary process. We haven’t even announced the gubernatorial campaign yet and the polls are already showing a tight race. I know you care deeply about this and you’re brilliant at what you do, but so am I. You have to trust me to play this carefully and play it right. Imagine what we could accomplish from the governor’s mansion, let’s not let this…absurd situation derail everything.”

“Yes…yes, ma’am,” said Jay. He refocused on the briefing, the mayor having taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves as he settled into his usual rapport with the press, shifting his hips back as he leaned over the podium. “But do we have a plan in place for…that?” He gestured slightly with his chin to the prodigious bubble butt straining the young mayor’s fitted slacks. 

“For what,” replied Ana with a quirk of her lips. “The Mayor’s last physical was, as you know, just last month, and, as you know, he’s in excellent condition.”

“Yes,” said Jay carefully, “but that physical was several…pant sizes ago.” The mayor was famous for staying physically active and notably in great shape, but his glutes and hamstrings looked disproportionate compared to just a few weeks ago, crammed into a pair of slacks that had already been adjusted multiple times but still looked liable to burst at any second. “Has he been diagnosed yet?”

“Mm mm mm,” Ana playfully scolded, her attention still locked in to the mayor’s practiced responses. “We don’t use that word until we need to. Fluctuations that may or may not happen with the mayor’s weight are not public concern, his personal tailor signed a solid NDA, and besides…” she once again synced up with the mayor as he gave  his parting thoughts and began to walk off stage, carefully controlling his gait to de-emphasize the overdeveloped cheeks switching back and forth behind him.

“The majority of cases are–”

- - - - -

II

“--mild! Mild. I know, I get it, you’ve said that plenty of times.” Devon held his phone at arm’s length out of frustration as the disembodied customer service voice continued to reassure him that there was little to worry about. “Look, I’ve been taking the over the counter meds for three days, and I’m not…” his voice lowered, “I’m not seeing any improvement.”

“We suggest you take those for a week at the onset of symptoms. You started noticing the gluteal swelling three days ago?”

“Closer to three…um…weeks…ago,” he muttered, resting his face in his palm. “I just didn’t know…didn’t think that…didn’t want to…”

“Ask about the clinic!” came his roommate’s voice from the next room.

“Right, the clinic! There’s a clinic, right? Do I need to get a referral?”

“Unfortunately,” responded the voice. “That’s for our more severe cases, and capacity is very limited.”

“Well this case feels pretty severe,” Devon hissed, exasperation entering his voice as he gripped his morning coffee. “I only have so many work from home days and I…” he breathed deep, “I’m ripping through all my office slacks. If I can even get them over my…my–” 

“Yes, well that’s to be expected. There are some great online forums popping up for men with your condition. DIY sewing on the fly, retrofitting your car, fashion inspo, the best supportive accessories, office furniture tips…”

“I don’t think I need to–I just don’t think the…symptoms are weakening. Maybe there’s a stronger treatment?”

A drawn out pause on the other end, until finally a pensive breath out. “Okay. Let me see what I can do. Keep taking the medication and we’ll get back to you.”

Click.

Devon punched the air. He’d accomplished basically nothing but at least he had the illusion of some solution to the hefty buns ballooning behind him. He felt acutely the jiggle of his cheeks as he strolled into the living room, where his roommate, Leo, was reading emails while the local news played in the background.

“...we encourage folks to be careful, but currently there is no need to panic…”

“Since when are they livestreaming the mayor’s press briefings?” asked Devon.

“Since that.” Leo pointed toward the corner of the screen, which featured The Herald’s graph of new cases, ending with that worrying upward curve.

Devon sighed, rested his hands on his oversized glutes. He gave them a squeeze, sending a shiver of pleasure up his spine. “Then I guess it’s fitting I’m working from home again.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah dude, I assumed based on what’s not fitting,” said Leo, holding up the tattered remains of Devon’s pants, strewn angrily to the floor. “Did you get into the clinic?”

“Ugh, no. Maybe? I don’t know. Probably not.” Devon, clad only in striped bikini briefs and a button down, flopped onto the couch harder than expected. “They mostly gave me tips about…retrofitting my car?”

“Oh, I have a cousin that could help with that. He caught it last month right at the beginning of some trip with his friends, then everybody caught it, and they couldn’t find the meds at a pharmacy anywhere until they got back. They almost got in trouble for public indecency on the flight back because none of their pants…you know…anyway, he like, got a more spacious setup installed in his car. It looks pretty sweet.”

Devon groaned.

“But you won’t have to do that!” Leo rubbed his roommate’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I mean, he looked like he was smuggling beach balls last I saw him. You’ll be fine, you’re nowhere near that stage.”

“Not yet,” Devon sighed. Three weeks, he scolded himself. After his pancake butt suddenly started putting on mass after years of working out, those first several days were great. He was riding the high of attention and compliments as his perky bubble butt steadily inflated into a donk. After a week, Leo was the first to suggest that maybe it wasn’t just the new leg day routine causing him to fill out his pants so well. Devon demurred, enjoying his fat ass so much that he didn’t notice the attention begin to shift, the stares taking on a different tone, comments becoming mixed with concern, mockery, lust. By the time he was staring down at a positive test, the melons stretching his briefs to the limit were evidence enough. The hemispheres of his backside were now comical, quickly approaching colossal, and nothing seemed to be slowing them down. If that wasn’t severe enough, what was?

Extricating himself from the couch was becoming an ordeal because of the constant shift of his center of gravity. His cheeks bounced wildly as he shuffled to his room, peeling off the bikini briefs with relief so he could slip into a more comfortable pair of extra spacious harem pants. Before he could open the drawer, his eyes locked on to the ten inch teal tower of floppy silicone cock on top of the dresser.

His back arched in anticipation, hole twitching with need as he fell onto the bed, the globes of his ass jiggling out of control and sending waves of pleasure. Of all his symptoms, the increased sensitivity had hit almost as hard as his skyrocketing libido, leading to a newfound enthusiasm for all manner of large and unique toys. Silver linings, I guess, he said to himself with a wry smile, reaching for the lube.

As he lost himself in a pool of morning pleasure, which, he had to admit, was becoming a more than daily thing, his phone sat abandoned on the kitchen counter. Occluded by his muffled moans face down in his pillow, he couldn’t hear it ring.

- - - - -

III

“Hello Devon, this is Randi–with an i–at Phantasy Labs. I’m following up from your call. We may have an option for cases like yours. One of our satellite clinics opening up is specializing in severe infections that aren’t responding to the over the counter meds. Give me a call when you get a chance!”

Randi tapped her left earbud, ending the call, and–with her most adept customer service face–turned her attention to the man anxiously tapping his fingers along the edge of the reception desk.

“Our favorite reporter, back again,” she beamed. “How can we help The Herald, today?”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “The mayor had an impromptu press briefing this morning, I had to run across town. I was supposed to meet with someone from Epidemiology about the latest numbers?”

“As you can imagine, the Epi labs are swamped, but I’ll see if I can get you in.”

“Seems to always be the case,” he sighed. “Would it be possible to talk to someone about your data transparency? Research into the virus is publicly funded, if I’m not mistaken.”

“And we are just so grateful to have the support, trust, and financial partnership of the municipal government to tackle the spread. How about I redirect you to our IP specialists in Legal–”

“No, no, that’s fine!” he exclaimed. “Not again.” For months he’d been a fixture at that reception desk, with limited success in getting through to anyone actually working on epidemiological research or vaccine development. But the legal team was a rabbit hole he didn’t want to go back down.

Randi perked up as the earbud in her left ear pulsed with a lavender and green glow.

“It’s the Office of the Mayor,” she said, holding a finger lightly to the device nestled in her ear. “Official business, you understand.”

“Right. Well, if I could just–”

“I’m really sorry,” she cut him off with the gentlest wave of her hand. “Just give me a few moments. Go ahead and have a seat in the lounge. They just restocked.” She turned away and redirected her attention to the screen built into her side of the desk, tapping lightly as she whispered into the air.

Neil was familiar with every option of coffee, tea, and snacks that Phantasy Labs had to offer, having spent many mornings relegated to the waiting area, acutely aware that he would not be making it past the front desk. They're always changing this place around, he thought, wandering through the curvilinear architecture of the main lobby space. The undulating walls and bulbous pillars always looked strangely organic, as if the space was shifting its shape and growing new structures according to its own logic. It had never looked the same from one week to the next, but he had always managed to find the low seamless coffee table surrounded by oddly plush cushions made of a material he still could not figure out. 

This morning, however, it was nowhere to be found. In the spot where he felt it should be, he saw only a sheet of paper, placed flat on the floor, with an arrow drawn in permanent marker. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He had never seen any sort of analog technology used in this place, let alone pen and paper. Nor had he ever had any encounter here that felt outside the realm of a fully coherent, seamless, organic efficiency. Maybe he was finally getting somewhere.

He looked up to find that the arrow pointed to a smooth, blank wall. As he walked up to investigate, a barely perceptible seam appeared at the height of an average door frame, and the wall unfurled further and further with his proximity. He stepped through, finding himself in the middle of a hallway, the door silently shutting behind him. 

“Well, shit,” he muttered, unable to reopen the portal he just stepped through, or even detect the seam itself. Instead of the glowing dots he was used to leading him along, he saw the same nondescript pieces of paper with carefully drawn arrows, leading him deeper into the maze of the massive facility. “Okay Neil. You’re a journalist, this is what journalists do,” he told himself. He followed the trail of breadcrumbs to–to his relief–an actual door with a real handle, with the word “UTILITY” printed at the top.

He entered to find row after row of closely packed floor to ceiling shelving, full of what looked like all manner of lab equipment, supplies, and meticulously labeled containers. He wandered in, looking for another arrow, eventually beginning to worry as he came to the conclusion that he had gone on this quest for nothing and simply meandered into a supply closet in the middle of a labyrinthine research complex that he may never escape from.

“Hi.” The quiet voice behind him caused Neil to jump, bumping into a drawer of measuring tape. 

Between him and the door was a mousy man holding several sheets of paper, featuring the arrows that had led him here.

“Oh, sorry!” His face a contortion of apology. “Communication is really tight here, I had to find a way to get your attention. I’m Sai,” he added with a helpful smile. He looked like he generally spent most of his waking time in a lab, but the disheveled hair, unkempt stubble, and dark circles under his eyes told Neil he hadn’t gotten much sleep recently, let alone made it home. 

From the waist up, he looked petite enough to shove out of the way in a pinch, but Neil’s gaze immediately fell to the pair of globes hovering behind him, stretching his plaid leggings to the limit, rotund enough to see from the front. His svelte waist ballooned into a pair of gargantuan ass cheeks and thick thighs, so comically hefty they effectively blocked any hope of escape. “You don’t know me. I’m just one of the R&D interns. But some of us have been following your work with the, uh, virus, and…could we, um, talk?”

“Yeah,” said Neil, unable to take his eyes off of Sai’s wildly disproportionate posterior. “Yeah, definitely.” He pulled out his voice recorder from his messenger bag. “I have so many questions.”

[jcmarchi]

AI Costs Are Accelerating — Here’s How to Keep Them Under Control

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/ai-costs-are-accelerating-heres-how-to-keep-them-under-control/

AI Costs Are Accelerating — Here’s How to Keep Them Under Control

Cloud usage continues to soar, as do its associated costs — particularly, of late, those driven by AI. Gartner analysts predict worldwide end-user spending on public cloud services will swell to $723.4 billion in 2025, up from just under $600 billion in 2024. And 70% of executives surveyed in an IBM report cited generative AI as a critical driver of this increase.

At the same time, China’s DeepSeek made waves when it claimed it took just two months and $6 million to train its AI model. There’s some doubt whether those figures tell the whole story, but if Microsoft and Nvidia’s still-jolted share prices are any indication, the announcement woke the Western world up to the need for cost-efficient AI systems.

To date, companies have been able to treat mounting AI costs as R&D write-offs. But AI costs — especially those associated with successful products and features — will eventually hit companies’ cost of goods sold (COGS) and, consequently, their gross margins. AI innovations were always destined to face the cold scrutiny of business sense; DeepSeek’s bombshell announcement just shortened that timeline.

Just like they do with the rest of the public cloud, companies will need to manage their AI costs, including both training and consumption costs. They’ll need to connect AI spending with business outcomes, optimize AI infrastructure costs, refine pricing and packaging strategies, and maximize the return on their AI investments.

How can they do it? With cloud unit economics (CUE).

What is cloud unit economics (CUE)?

CUE comprises the measurement and maximization of cloud-driven profit. Its fundamental mechanism is connecting cloud cost data with customer demand and revenue data, revealing the most and least profitable dimensions of a business and thus showing companies how and where to optimize. CUE applies across all sources of cloud spending, including AI costs.

The foundation of CUE is cost allocation — organizing cloud costs according to who and/or what drives them. Common allocation dimensions include cost per customer, cost per engineering team, cost per product, cost per feature, and cost per microservice. Companies using a modern cost management platform often allocate costs in a framework that mirrors their business structure (their engineering hierarchy, platform infrastructure, etc.).

Then, the heart of CUE is the unit cost metric, which compares cost data with demand data to show a company their all-in cost to serve. For example, a B2B marketing company might want to calculate its “cost per 1,000 messages” sent via its platform. To do this, it would have to track its cloud costs and the number of messages sent, feed that data into a single system, and instruct that system to divide its cloud costs by its messages and graph the result in a dashboard.

Since the company started with cost allocation, it could then view its cost per 1,000 messages by customer, product, feature, team, microservice, or whatever other view it deemed reflective of its business structure.

The results:

Flexible business dimensions by which they can filter their unit cost metric, showing them which areas of their business are driving their cloud costs

An illuminating unit cost metric that shows them how efficiently they’re meeting customer demand

The ability to make targeted efficiency improvements, like refactoring infrastructure, tweaking customer contracts, or refining pricing and packaging models

CUE in the AI age

In the CUE model, AI costs are just one more source of cloud spending that can be incorporated into a business’s allocation framework. The way that AI companies disseminate cost data is still evolving, but in principle, cost management platforms treat AI costs in much the same way as they treat AWS, Azure, GCP, and SaaS costs.

Modern cloud cost management platforms allocate AI costs and show their efficiency impact in the context of unit cost metrics.

Companies should allocate their AI costs in a handful of intuitive ways. One would be the aforementioned cost per team, an allocation dimension common to all sources of cloud spending, showing the costs that each engineering team is responsible for. This is particularly useful because leaders know exactly who to notify and hold accountable when a particular team’s costs spike.

Companies might also want to know their cost per AI service type — machine learning (ML) models versus foundation models versus third-party models like OpenAI. Or, they could calculate their cost per SDLC stage to understand how an AI-powered feature’s costs change as it transitions from development to testing to staging and finally to production. A company could get even more granular and calculate its cost per AI development lifecycle stage, including data cleansing, storage, model creation, model training, and inference.

Zooming out from the weeds a bit: CUE means comparing organized cloud cost data with customer demand data and then figuring out where to optimize. AI costs are just one more source of cloud cost data that, with the right platform, fit seamlessly into a company’s overall CUE strategy.

Avoiding the COGS tsunami

As of 2024, only 61% of companies had formalized cloud cost management systems in place (per a CloudZero survey). Unmanaged cloud costs soon become unmanageable: 31% of companies — similar to the portion who don’t formally manage their costs — suffer major COGS hits, reporting that cloud costs consume 11% or more of their revenue. Unmanaged AI costs will only exacerbate this trend.

Today’s most forward-thinking organizations treat cloud costs like any other major expenditure, calculating its ROI, breaking that ROI down by their most critical business dimensions, and empowering the relevant team members with the data needed to optimize that ROI. Next-generation cloud cost management platforms offer a comprehensive CUE workflow, helping companies avoid the COGS tsunami and bolster long-term viability.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Opinion: Better protecting schools from COVID is within reach - Published Aug 17, 2022

This article was incredibly well sourced and correct: Why are these simple procedures not being implemented to keep children and teachers safe two years from publication?

Welcome to the “Live with COVID” era, where living with the virus means not talking about it at all. We’ve been told to pretend it’s over, though those “weird summer colds” and “lingering symptoms” indicate otherwise. Rising case rates, hospitalizations, and deaths. Best Summer Ever 2.0 is ending, which means kids are about to return for their third pandemic September.

Article content In the beginning, we were told that 1) kids don’t get COVID, 2) they do, but it’s mild, 3) vaccines alone will protect us, and 4) COVID does not spread in schools. While true that fewer children die from COVID than adults, they’re generally not supposed to die.

And kids are experiencing disabling long COVID, with estimated rates between two and 25 per cent of all infections, not counting reinfections. While vaccines mitigate the worst outcomes of COVID, they don’t completely stop transmission, and additional measures are required. And of course, as every parent knows, children don’t keep their germs to themselves. They go on to transmit to their teachers, parents and grandparents. Furthermore, outbreaks in schools do spread to the community.

Schools need to be safer for all students and staff, including those with medical concerns and vulnerable family members. Worker shortages are everywhere, education included. Sick teachers can’t teach, and more worryingly, may go on to develop long COVID, resulting in time away or even retirement.

It’s also harder for kids to learn when they’re sick and more absences means losing more time when so much has been lost to the pandemic. Looking at the Calgary Board of Education’s absence data, 6.3 per cent of students were away in April 2022, compared to 2.8 per cent in 2019. This is unsurprising, as there were essentially no protections in schools by June, despite low vaccination uptake and no vaccines for kids under five. No testing, mask mandates (Education Minister Adriana Lagrange outlawed those), enhanced ventilation nor in-room filtration (again, banned by the CBE). Yes, hand sanitizer was plentiful, but that doesn’t stop a virus that spreads through the air.

We can make schools safer for kids and their communities, but it means we have to talk about COVID. We need to acknowledge that COVID transmission is predominantly airborne, so that citizens have a framework for understanding risk. The smoke analogy, used by the Public Health Agency of Canada, and chief public health officer of Canada Dr. Theresa Tam, is an excellent metaphor.

There are multiple ways to make schools safer. Adequate ventilation, with a minimum of six fresh air changes per hour, mitigates build-up of viruses floating around in the air. Even opening windows/doors can be effective. Ventilation can be monitored through measuring the CO2 concentration in the room, essentially showing how much air one may be breathing in that was exhaled by someone else. Boston Public Schools is doing this and even has a public dashboard to share data. Upgrading filters in ventilation systems helps too, but as of May, the CBE has not completed this at any of their schools.

An additional intervention is filtration units like HEPA filters, or even homemade Corsi-Rosenthal boxes, to remove and trap virus particles. The CBE’s own risk management consultants acknowledged the effectiveness of this intervention.

Article content And we need to reinstate universal masking in zones where high community spread is identified, emphasizing respirator-style (N95 or KN95) masks for everyone. Information released in Alberta showed that schools with no mask mandates had three times more outbreaks than those with masking, confirming similar data from Arkansas and Massachusetts.

Pretending that COVID is over doesn’t it make it so. And it doesn’t help us “live with COVID” either. Yes, people are tired, we all want to move on. But making schools safer is fully within our reach. And until COVID is actually over, we can’t pretend our way out of it. So Alberta parents must demand the safety of their children and their teachers, or our leaders will simply go on pretending.

[webtualglobal]

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[rathockey]

Have some COVID resources!! I recently started looking into the current state of COVID when I saw that cases were surging again and realized I was pretty uninformed about the current state of things, so I figure other people might be too.

So I‘m linking a few resources I‘ve bookmarked that has some good info about COVID and how to protect yourself and others.

Few things that stuck out to me:

1. We should all be masking at the very least indoors and in crowded outdoor settings (like concerts/festivals/etc)! PLEASE please mask if you are able to. N95/KN95 if you can! Surgical masks and cloth masks are better than nothing, but really try to get the respirator masks. You can reuse them as long as they don‘t get wet or crumpled.

2. The vaccine helps with severity but is actually not that great at preventing infection. Another good reason to be masking up - reducing the viral load you get exposed to helps the vaccine out.

3. Advocate for air purifiers in indoor spaces. We should be breathing clean air!

4. All COVID infections are severe or should be treated as such- ‚mild‘ cases included. Any infection is going to do damage to your body, and repeated infections increase your risk of Long COVID.

5. If you get COVID and you are able to, REST! Mind and body. This will go a long way to preventing long COVID. I know not everyone is in a position that they can do this, but take whatever time you can and let your body rest and heal.

And here are the resources I‘ve found:

This has a great PDF with a lot of good info and sources for all of it, as well as a small zine version you can hand out - https://linktr.ee/act_up_mask_up

This is a map with wastewater data, so you can see how things are trending nationwide (US only sorry!) and in various regions. Check and see if your state or city has its own tracker as well - I know Chicago does.

And here is a site that provides information to some questions/statements people say in attempts to get people to „move past“ COVID. This also has a lot of good information about the current state of COVID.

In conclusion (because this is a middle school paper now i guess)

MASK!

Get the boosters! There are new vaccines being developed that will hopefully help us stay ahead of these variants that keep evolving, but the best way to help those are to mask! Less infections mean less variants :)

AND ADVOCATE FOR BETTER COVID PROTECTIONS AND PROTOCOLS!!! We can only do so much as individuals, we have to lobby for governmental and systemic changes.

Also pls reblog this (and feel free to add your own resources! especially if you have resources for non-usamericans, mine are all pretty US focused unfortunately)