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roosterforme · 1 year

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Batting Practice Part 12 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bob asks you to go out for drinks at the Hard Deck as a thank you for helping out all week, and there's a special someone waiting for you when you get there. After meeting some of Bradley's other friends, the bubble you had been living in bursts, and you're left questioning everything.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing

Length: 3300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

You managed to bumble your way through practice with Bob on Monday, mostly running around in your suit and taking care of whatever he needed. Your phone conversation with Bradley the night before had left you with just a few functioning brain cells, so it was a good thing you didn't need to take charge.

In fact, if you were left to your own thoughts for too long, you started thinking about how wet his voice made you. And you kept picturing the photo of his hard cock that you had shamelessly saved to your phone in a locked folder with personal items such as your tax return.

You felt flustered all week, and to make matters more interesting, Molly surprised you at practice on Thursday.

"I had the day off!" she told Everett, scooping him into a hug when he climbed out of the car. The absence of the Bronco made you frown a bit as you circled your car to where your sister was tickling Everett.

You kissed her cheek. "We had no idea you'd be here!"

She grinned at you as she sent Everett ahead toward the bleachers. "I have a date tonight," she sang in an obnoxious voice. "With Coach Cute Glasses."

"You do?" you gasped, happy Bob had taken the initiative.

"Yep. We're going on a little stroll through the park after practice and then grabbing a late dinner."

"Molly!" you squealed, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her. "Bob is so sweet. Do not ruin him."

She turned to look at him out on the ballfield, and a soft smile touched her lips. "I make no guarantees." You and she started walking, and she held your high heels for you as you changed out of them. "Oh, and actually, Bob has something he wants to ask you, too."

"Me? What?" You had no idea what your sister was talking about, but as soon as you got to the bleachers, Bob came over to the three of you as you changed Everett's shoes.

"Hi, Molly," he said softly, and you watched your sister do the unthinkable. She planted one hand firmly on his chest like it belonged there, and she kissed him on the cheek. You watched him turn bright red, and all of the other moms looked like they were about to reach for their pitchforks.

"Hey, Coach Cute Glasses," Molly said with a laugh that had Bob fiddling with his whistle. "I'm excited for our plans tonight."

Sandra and Tara appeared about ready to rage, looking between you and your sister like the two of you had stolen the most priceless of treasures. But you supposed you kind of had.

When Bob finally recovered, he asked you, "Team Mom? Can I take you out for a drink tomorrow evening as a thank you? I wouldn't have made it through the game last Saturday or the practices this week without your help."

"I'll stay with Ev for you," Molly added, nodding her head. "You deserve it."

"Oh, that's not necessary, Bob," you protested, but then Molly was glaring at you. "Okay, sure," you said, sending Everett out to start warming up.

"Great," Bob said, and you followed him out to home plate as Molly sat down on the bleachers. "There's a Navy officer hangout called the Hard Deck. You want to meet me there after work?"

"Sounds good. Thanks, Bob."

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Bradley felt a little dirty every time he pulled up the photos you sent him, but he really enjoyed scrolling through the progression of seeing you in your bra to seeing you bare for him. You were something else. So sexy. So funny. So smart.

It was Friday morning, and he had one more flight simulation to go. And if he skipped lunch, he could probably get home by dinnertime. Bob had mentioned that he was taking you to the Hard Deck for drinks tonight, and Bradley desperately wanted to get back in time for that. He couldn't wait to see the look on Nat's face when she met you.

Bob had also told him about his date with Molly. He gushed about how much he liked her for fourteen messages in the text thread, and Bradley didn't know how Bob managed to pull this one off.

Bradley hit the road for the long drive back to San Diego, deciding to skip changing out of his uniform. His khakis weren't the most comfortable thing in the world, but at least he'd get back sooner. He wound along the coastal roads, passing some ballfields on the way. He was pretty sure Everett would be able to make a real pitch team by next spring, but Bradley was definitely going to have to work on some things with him before then. It was okay, they had almost a year to get him there.

Bradley had also been thinking about what he could tell the kids in Everett's class about aviation during his career day speech. The fact that Bradley was looking forward to that still kind of shocked him.

The sun was setting when Bradley pulled into the Hard Deck parking lot, and he spotted your car right away. Then he spotted you, heading for the entrance in your tight, black skirt and heels.

"Kitten!" he called out the open window, and you spun around to face him with a smile on your face. He quickly found an empty parking space and barely had the Bronco in park before you were there. "I missed you," he said, climbing down and closing his door.

Your arms were instantly around his neck, and you were kissing him so sweetly. "I didn't know you would be here," you whispered against his lips. Your hand trailed down his chest to play with his pins while you nibbled on his lips.

"I drove straight through to get back to you sooner, Kitten." That seemed to do something to you as you parted your lips and tasted his tongue.

He turned and pinned you against the Bronco, licking and kissing his way up your neck. "You look hot in your uniform," you moaned.

"You wore my favorite skirt," he mumbled, and you gasped as he ran his palm down the front of it. You were rubbing yourself against him with your fingers tangled up in his hair, and Bradley was hard as a rock for you.

"Bradley," you whimpered as he nuzzled his nose down the front of your blouse. He kissed and tasted the tops of your breasts while you scraped your nails along his scalp. You were so sweet. His mind was flooded with thoughts of getting you in his bed with your tight skirt bunched up around your waist and your pussy overflowing with his cum.

He kissed you hard, making the back of your head tap the side window. "Can I take you home, Kitten? Skip the bar?"

You eyed his face in the dim, dusk light. "Yes, but I need to have one drink first," you promised him, running your fingers along his mustache. "I told Bob I'd meet him."

Bradley groaned and kissed your fingertips and then your palm and the inside of your wrist. "Just one drink. Then I get some alone time with you."

When Bradley wrapped his arm around your waist, you snuggled in next to him, kissing his bicep just below his uniform sleeve. "I can't believe you wear this out in public," you muttered, running your fingers along his pins again. "I think I changed my mind. Let's leave now."

Bradley chuckled and held the door open for you, guiding you inside the noisy bar with his hand at your lower back. "One drink," he reminded you. "Then you're mine, Kitten."

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You felt warm and flushed all over as Bradley guided you through the crowded bar. There were people in uniforms and some in civilian clothes, and you spotted Bob near the pool table as he waved to you.

"Team Mom!" he announced as you and Bradley neared him. "And Rooster, you made it back," he added, fist bumping Bradley. You had never heard anyone use his call sign before, and it made you laugh.

"I forgot your name was Rooster," you said, smiling up at his face as he lazily rubbed your back. "What's yours, Bob?"

You watched his cheeks flush in embarrassment. "It's actually just Bob."

"Oh," you said, thoroughly confused as you were immediately introduced to a beautiful woman who went by Phoenix.

"So, she's the Team Mom," she said with a devilish grin in Bradley's direction. "I think that would be your aviator call sign. Team Mom. Also, I'm still pissd you don't have another sister." Phoenix sighed and shook her head at you.

You laughed as she offered to buy you a drink, but then Bob stepped in. "No, it's on me! It's the least I can do since you gave up so much of your time this week to fill in for Bradley. What do you like?"

Bradley leaned down and kissed your temple and murmured, "Expensive champagne." He was making your tummy feel warm, the way he was being so affectionate in front of his friends and colleagues. You turned to look at him and he kissed you softly.

You pulled away, suddenly feeling shy; five more minutes in the parking lot with him and you'd have been fucking on his backseat, but apparently this was too much.

"I'll have a beer. Thanks, Bob," you managed, cuddling up next to Bradley's side as Bob headed to the bar.

"Hey, Rooster. You playing us a song tonight?" drawled a handsome blond man who was smirking at you.

Bradley glanced down at you. "You like Great Balls of Fire?" he asked.

You gave him a strange look. "As long as you're talking about the song and not some sort of medical condition, then yes, I do."

Bradley started laughing with his head tipped back, and you grinned as the handsome blond laughed, too. "You're funny. My name's Jake," he said, shaking your hand as Bradley meandered a few feet away to sit down at the piano.

You introduced yourself to Jake and listened to the tinkling sound of the keys as Bradley warmed up. You had no idea he was musically gifted, but you were excited to hear him play. He was probably one of those severely annoying people who was good at everything. He started playing the song, and even his singing voice was good.

"So, how do you know Rooster and Bob?" Jake drawled, drawing your attention back to him just as Bob handed you a pint of beer.

You thanked him and took a sip. "My son is on their tee ball team."

"How old's your kid?" Jake asked, smiling at you in a way that had you a little flustered.

"He's almost seven." You were still distracted by Bradley, and now he was looking at you as he played. He winked only at you, even though he was starting to draw a crowd.

"I love kids," Jake informed you. "Hey, when you're done that beer, let me buy you another one."

"Oh, okay," you agreed, and then Bob called over to Jake.

"Come on, Hangman. Leave our Team Mom alone!"

Jake looked at you with renewed interest as you drank your beer. "Oh shit. So you're the Team Mom. I've heard a lot about you."

You were really surprised. "You have?" you asked as Bradley finished playing the song. You clapped for him along with everyone else, and then he was making his way back over.

"Yeah," Jake replied with a laugh. "You're the hot mom that Bradley is never going to date, because moms aren't his thing."

Your smile immediately vanished from your face. "What?"

Jake waved his hand in the air while he sipped his drink, as if you were supposed to know exactly what he was talking about. As if you weren't immediately on high alert and having a difficult time breathing. "You know...too much baggage. Complicated. Not worth the aggravation. That sort of shit."

You were frozen in place, barely able to speak. "He said that?" Your voice sounded tiny and your throat was tight. You ran your fingers along your neck, trying to make sense of this.

"Yeah, he went on and on the one night we were all hanging out."

Bradley had told his friends he would never date you. He had said you were too complicated. He told them you weren't worth his time. And now he was walking your way, smiling at you like you were still expected to go back to his place after this and let him fuck you. That had been his plan the entire time.

"But listen," Jake added. "I don't feel that way at all. If you're interested, I'd love to take you out to dinner." You thought maybe Jake was a little drunk, because he couldn't stop talking and then he reached out and stroked your cheek with his knuckles.

You gently grabbed his hand and guided it back to his side, just as Bradley rushed over with an irate expression.

"The fuck?" he asked Jake.

"Hey, it's cool, man. I get it," Jake replied. "She's so hot, I can't believe you won't date her just because she has a kid. But good for you for getting her to agree to come out tonight. No reason you can't enjoy her."

You gasped and took a step away, knowing you needed to escape now with your dignity intact, but Bradley was immediately focused solely on you.

"Kitten."

You handed your pint glass to a random person, and then you were stumbling over your own feet, trying to get to the door as quickly as you could. Time seemed frozen, and you felt like you were going to throw up as you rushed past people who were happy and laughing. You could vaguely hear Bradley's voice behind you as you tried to get away.

Once you were outside, you sucked in a deep breath of the salty air and fumbled in your pocket for your car key as you started running.

"Kitten!" he yelled, and you could hear the crunch of his boots on the gravel, and you knew that you would never be able to outrun him. So you skidded to a halt and rounded on him instead. A lot of things in your life were scary, like paying your bills, and making sure Everett had everything he deserved. But you would not be too afraid to stand up for yourself. You would not let another arrogant asshole determine your behavior for you.

As Bradley stopped abruptly in front of you, his face was illuminated by a street light, and you hated him for being so handsome. "Kitten. I can explain," he promised, holding up his hands in surrender. His brown eyes were wide as he searched your face.

"Did you tell your friends I'm too complicated to date?" you asked, voice steady as you stepped into his personal space.

"Yes, but-"

You stomped your foot, effectively silencing him. "Did you refer to my son as baggage?"

"Yes, but Kitten, I can explain."

You slapped him hard across the cheek, but his gaze never wavered.

"I don't need you to fucking explain anything to me!"

"Please." He was pleading, his chest rising and falling as his expression was filled with panic. "Kitten."

"Stop calling me that. I can't believe you were just leading me on for fun."

"I wasn't," he insisted. "I wouldn't do that."

You just scoffed at him and shoved his chest. He grabbed gently for your hands, but you yanked them away and took a step back as tears filled your eyes. "I can deal with getting played, but not Everett! His dad already bailed on him, and I won't let him feel unwanted by anyone ever again! We come as a fucking package deal!"

Bradley was running his hands through his hair in dismay. "I care about both of you." His voice sounded choked up, and you wanted to believe him, but now you knew better.

You jabbed him in the chest with your index finger. "You're a liar," you told him as your tears finally spilled over. "Stay away from us outside of tee ball practice."

"Kitten." He tried reaching for you again, but you backed away, bumping into a parked car which made you cry harder.

"I need to figure out how to deal with Ev," you sobbed. "And don't you dare ever speak to me again."

You ran for your car as you tried to take gulps of air into your burning lungs, swiping away the tears that were obscuring your vision. It took you a few tries to get the key in the ignition with your shaking fingers, but when you did you cranked the engine and pulled away. You could see Bradley in your rearview mirror as he dropped down into a squat in the dark parking lot with his head in his hands.

The short drive back to your house was filled with the sound of you sobbing, and you stumbled out of the car and up to your front porch. You leaned against the railing and tried to compose yourself. But this was where you and Bradley had been making out less than two weeks ago after you had one of the best orgasms of your life. So you paced the length of your porch instead, wiping your tears and making sure your breathing was even. Because even though it was late enough now that Everett was surely in bed, you were going to have to contend with Molly.

"Hi," your sister said as you walked inside. She was snuggled up on the couch reading a book, but when she got a good look at you, she jumped up. "What happened? I thought maybe you'd be staying out later? Or all night since Bradley is back."

You pressed your lips together to try to prevent them from shaking, but Molly knew you too well. She was across the room collecting you in her arms immediately. When you started crying again, she didn't stop you, rather she just let you get it out of your system.

Finally, you were able to whisper, "Bradley told all of his friends that he'd never date me, because I have baggage."

Your sister's loud gasp was vindication to your soul, but you didn't like the price it came with. "That fucking prick. Does Bob know about this?"

"Probably," you said softly against her shoulder. "He must."

"I'll call him right now," Molly said, but you grabbed her tighter.

"No, please don't. You had an immaculate first solo date with him last night which ended in a hot makeout session. I don't want the three ring circus that is my life to start messing up yours."

Molly kissed your cheek and promised, "Your life is not a three ring circus. And Everett is not baggage. And Bradley isn't worth your time if that's what he thinks. Now let me help you get changed for bed."

Molly helped you out of your black skirt, something you had hoped Bradley would be doing just a few short hours ago. And then you washed your face and brushed your teeth while shaking your head at your puffy eyes in the bathroom mirror.

You ended up climbing into bed in your bathrobe while Molly plugged your phone in. "You have thirty missed calls and seventeen text messages from Bradley."

"Ignore him," you whispered, pulling your covers up to your chin. "What am I supposed to do about Ev, Molly? He's so attached. Oh my god, I can't believe I did this. I knew better!"

"Shh," she replied, climbing into bed next to you. "I'll sleep over and take him to the game in the morning. And I'll deal with everything."

Eventually your exhaustion took over, and you fell asleep next to your sister, holding her hand in yours. Your last waking thought was a feeling of thankfulness that you had only mostly fallen in love with Bradley.

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Wow, Jake. I mean, he's not wrong, but still. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32!

PART 13

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philosophicalparadox · 2 years

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An educational post for writers: the effects of malnutrition/starvation:

Malnutrition/starvation has a bunch of really fucky effects, and I see whump people use malnutrition/starvation from time to time, (i am utilizing it now, hence the post) but rarely do they depict the horrific suffering. I have actually starved before, so here's my medically accurate advice on what that looks like:

Among the most prominent of effects of lack of food/lack of nutritious food ironically not depicted, for it is the most common nutritional deficit on earth, is anemia - lack of iron means your body doesnt produce blood like it used to, which at a point makes you cold all the time! It also messes with your bodily sense of blood pressure, making you more likely to notice tiny changes, which in turn can trigger dizziness, severe anxiety, heart palpitations, fainting, and vascillations between cognitive clarity and a foggy feeling. Lack of iron causes lack of red blood cells, which means you can't distribute oxygen as efficiently. This causes fatigue, a general sense of unwellness, called "malaise", and causes you to breathe and your heart to beat faster than they normally should. This, in turn, can trigger more anxiety! Anemia is a very anxiety inducing deficiency on its own because your body knows it's in trouble and it definitely wants to tell you about it!

It only takes about 3-4 days without food to develop anemia to this degree, though it can take as little as 2 if you already have deficits. If you are eating food but it's lacking in iron this transition can take 2-3 weeks, as your body uses up its iron reserves located in your liver, spleen and bone marrow (where red blood cells are produced).

Malnutrition and especially starvation also screws with your electrolytes, making you prone to dizzy spells and vertigo, and can seriously affect the myelin sheathes around your nerves and the delicate proteins in your brain, which combined with electrolyte imbalance and probable anemia can cause anything from blurred vision, headaches, fatigue and cognitive impairment (pervasive brain fog), at best, all the way up to the moderate landing of muscle spasms and ataxia (loss of coordination) and functional loss of senses like sight and hearing, to the severe landing of seizures and total organ failure. Also, malnourished muscles hurt!!! They hurt to touch, they hurt to move, it hurts to exist!

I once went 8 full days with little to no food, so I know this stuff from experience. Let me tell you, hunger pains are God fucking awful and paradoxically make you feel very nauseous and can cause vomiting, (your body wants to get rid of the concentrated stomach acid) and are truly indescribable in their instinctual ability to instill desperation, depression and terror. You would eat a lot of things you never thought you would after just three days without food. At 8, I was very strongly considering eating my pet birds. I had already begun eating their seeds. The only thing that saved them was one measly bag of potato chips, the very last thing resembling human food in the pantry (the vending machine size chips) on day 6, which gave me just enough salt and fat to rethink that idea.

Anyway, muscles! Hurt!!! Especially if you don't eat a lot of protein to start out. Muscular degeneration or "digestion" (ketosis) can happen surprisingly fast if you arent eating anything at all. 5-7 days usually if you are healthy, though 3 is not unheard of, especially if you are expending a lot of calories and have very little fat. It's quirky hallmark? A strangely sweet and metallic taste in your mouth. Like a penny coated in sugar water. The ache is hard to describe, but it is constantly there, and honestly wore me down psychologically more than the hunger pains, which curiously went away after day 4, only coming back with a vengeance when I tried to eat anything. It hurt to move, it hurt to think about moving, and the constant low level pain was absolute torture. The fatigue didn't help. I normally slept about 6-9 hours. During that time after day 3 or so, I started sleeping 15 or more, in bursts, and had very little energy to do anything but rest. Every now and then I'd get a burst of restlessness, my body pushing me to find food or drink water. It was unpleasant. The headaches were pretty bad too, at first.

Malnutrition, and specifically a lack of protein, also causes pervasive muscle aches and all the neurologic issues mentioned above.

My experience led me to the development of ataxia that has never completely gone away. I remember the panic of nearly blacking out while trying to stand too, and not being able to cognitively focus on anything, much less visually focus. (Started about day 5). Mind you, I was 15 years old and weighed only 89 lbs prior to this period, with a fast metabolism and very little fat. After it I weighed 81 lbs. 8lbs in 8 days is a lot of weight to lose, and boy did my body hate me for some time after that. But my insomnia was cured for a while!

Anyway, i hope this proves insightful for all your whumping and torturous needs. I didn't plan on making it so personal, but hey, I've lived through that, so it seemed relevant to add that here.

Happy writing!

#writing advice #whump

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limeebunnee · 8 days

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**Hi I'm obsessed with Miguel OHara so have the first half of something I've been thinking about for a few weeks now! If you like it let me know and I'll add the smutty bits!**

Annoyed didn't even cover it. You were down right pissed. Not only were you missing one of the most important dates of your life, but you were being held against your will. And no, it didn't matter if said date was a farce and actually a publicity stunt. No one knew that except four-now five people. You, your agent, Octavius Brown (one of Hollywood's hottest up and coming movie stars) and his agent. And now, your bodyguard, Miguel.

Miguel had been weird all day since you told him about the ‘date’ that was set to happen this evening. Albeit, he was his normal quiet and stoic self, ever large and imposing. However, ever since you mentioned the excitement for the date, his grumpiness leaked out of him in constant silent rage. As you heard him either sighing loudly or clenching his jaw to the point you were worried he’d press his molars into dust every damn near fifteen minutes, you had finally asked him to speak his mind.

When he did, however, he simply looked at you with a frown and said, “You aren't going tonight”. You had laughed his comment off, moving on through your apartment bedroom to finish getting dressed. You decided on a backless black dress that hugged your curves in all the right places and showed just the right amount of cleavage. That was two hours ago. Now you stood in the doorway of your bedroom, hands on your hips, wearing your highest come hither pumps and feeling fine as hell, as your mountain of a bodyguard stood in your way.

“Miguel-” you said, huffing out his name as you breathed hard through your nose and pinched it. ‘“You cant be fucking serious”.

“Language” he said, his deep voice ever calm and even toned. “And yes- I'm serious. You aren't going tonight”. You stare up at him, and he stares back down at you. Even in five inch heels he still had inches over you. Your brain slowly starts to function again. You hadn't spent the last five years of your life making a name for yourself after technically running away from home and leaving your fathers name and money behind, just to have another man try to step into and control your life. “I think you've lost your damn mind. You work for me” you remind him. Miguel arches one thick eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a small smirk. “I do ... technically" he says simply. You roll your eyes, and then glance at your phone in your hand. You had two messages from your agent-one stating a car was outside for the date that was in 10 minutes, and a follow up text asking if you were on your way to the restaurant. You shuffle your feet again, and look up at Miguel.

“Okay this is a funny joke and all, but I really need to leave. The towncar is waiting for me downstairs. This is huge for me Miguel” you say, hands expressive as you talk. You give him a pleading, pouty look. Even poking out your bottom lip. You see Miguel shift only slightly, and his eyes soften a fraction. His arms that are crossed over his chest flex as his hands tighten into fists.

“...You don't need this, you are better than this and…” he hesitates, his calm deep voice fluctuating a bit.

Your brows furrow, and you scoff. “I know you have been my bodyguard for three years, I hear you Miguel I do,kinda, but this could be major” you try to explain. Then your cell phone starts vibrating and you groan softly. “You don't have to come, you can have the night off! You deserve it and Octavious’ bodyguards will be there, I'll be fine” you say, attempting to squeeze past him.

You make it one step out of the doorway when a firm, large hand grabs your upper arm. It's not hard, but it clearly feels like Miguel wasn't moving his hand anytime soon. He sighs. “Please," he says softly. You groan again, brows furrowing together. “No, you. Please let me go ""I can't do that ""Why?” “It's-not safe" “How?” you press. What the hell was going on? Miguel was the perfect bodyguard-quiet and always cool, calm and collected. He did his job well, and honestly you had become quite comfortable with him. Before him you didn't have anyone guarding you and things got dicey as you became more and more popular with modeling gigs, small interviews and influencer deals. Today was the first time he had ever exerted any sort of force or control over you. And you weren't having it.

You tug at his hold on you, but he doesn't budge. “You are hurting me” you lie. Miguel huffs- his version of a laugh. “No I am not” he counters flatly.

You tug your arm again, harder this time. “ I swear I will fire you," you say. You were annoyed you were now late, you were worried about what Octavious and his agent would think, you were worried about your own agent as your phone buzzed almost non stop now, but mostly you were pissed off because you couldn't think or figure out why Miguel was suddenly acting like this.

“[name] please…por favor escuchame” he says, his voice dropping lower, like he was about to tell you a secret. “Why? Why should I listen to you?” you ask fervently. Then Miguel pulls your arm so that you spin and fall against his chest. When he has you close enough to feel his heat through the black cashmere shirt he was wearing. One of his large hands slides to your side and holds you steady as the other comes up to your face and caresses your cheek lightly. He looks at you intently, his deep amber eyes burning hot with a sudden passion you hadn't noticed before. His sudden movement and close proximity takes your breath away. Sure, you've had moments and interactions with men, but they had either been curated for photoshoots or as personal as a business interaction. The way Miguel looked at you now made butterflies tickle your stomach as you momentarily forget how to think.

“You can't go because I refuse to let anyone date you, even if it's fake. I refuse to watch another man who isn't worthy of you waste your time. Especially to just use you like you are only some object to enhance him and make him seem better. Because you….” he sighs, thumb caressing the soft skin of your cheekbones. His eyes take in all the features of your face, and for a moment, you see a flash of a furrowed brow and an almost pained expression- like he was holding something back, barely.

“Eres mucho mas” he says, barely a whisper. His eyes glance down at your lips and you swear that you suddenly feel like the heat was turned up in your apartment. You stutter softly. “W-where is this…coming from?” you ask, trying to make sense of the sudden situation you found yourself in as well as the sudden feelings you felt stirring deep within you.

”It's always been there, I just, I cant hold it back anymore. You are…too important to me” he says softly as he glances at your lips again. His hand that was caressing your cheek softly moves to the back of your neck and cradles your head. “If you feel nothing, tell me to stop…but… se que sientes algo carino” he breathes.

You shiver, before the tickling heat in your core combined with your curiosity pushes you over the edge. Your hand comes to his firm and broad chest and you pull him into a soft kiss. As your lips meet his, he sighs softly, his hand gently tilting the back of your head to deepen the kiss. His touch was firm, overwhelming,loving and full of reserved emotions. Your head was spinning as he pressed against you softly before you pushed him away softly, and he let you break the kiss and pulled his arms away.

You steady yourself on your feet, touching your mouth gently as you stare at him. Your bodyguard. Your comfort. Your safety. And the butterflies increase five times before you turn away. “N-no, we-this can't be happening” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kissed you” you say, though realizing that you fully had wanted him to kiss you at that moment. And quite honestly, maybe even more.

Miguel lets out a soft groan, already missing your warmth. From just that simple kiss his heart thudded in his chest and he subconsciously licked his lips, eyes still burning as he looked at you. He felt the swell of emotions in his chest- from having a taste of you. And he wasn't going to waste it. He decided at that moment there was no going back.

“Why are you sorry?” Miguel said, voice calm and controlled again. But there was that fire in his eyes, and that proved that the calm he executed was barely holding back a storm. He took a step towards you, following you. He needed to have you in his arms again.

“I-i, I don't know because you are my bodyguard?? You can't, just-we can't Miguel” you say, trying to take back some control of this situation. You take another step back, knowing if he touched you again, there would be no stopping the sudden desire rising in you.

Miguel made a sound somewhere between a groan and a growl. “You think I give a damn about my reputation? About what other people might say or think?” he asked. He took a step toward you, stepping into your personal space and consuming it. “The only thing I care about is you, carino. Protecting you, caring for you…tasting you again. Nada mas importa” he says, his voice wavering from the sudden admission. Then his hands came up to grasp your face gently.

“If none of that matters to you ...then tell me and I'll leave right now” he breathes.

Your eyes search his and find nothing but the startling truth. Realization hits you as your mind speeds through the last three years with Miguel by your side. All the soft touches and small gestures. The times where groceries were suddenly in your kitchen, or meals would arrive when you were too focused on work to eat. The time your favorite chocolates and feminine products would suddenly be in your bathroom the day before your period happened to start, or how your phone was always uploaded with audible books or podcasts that you didn't remember downloading but ended up liking. You release a deep breath you didn't realize you had been holding after he held your face.

“...it matters” you say softly. Then you pull him into a searing kiss. Miguel groaned. The moment your lips touched his, he knew he wasn't going to be able to stop himself this time. It was like pouring gasoline onto a fire. His desire for you had finally burst into flames, and he was going to show you. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as his hands gently caress up and down your body, feeling your curves. The thin fabric of the black backless dress you had worn for the date now caused delicious friction as his hands explored your body gently.

Find me on AO3 for the smutty chapter two 😈

#miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara au

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genossingrimm · 1 year

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Rant abt Reichblr

I’ve tolerated Reichblr for a while, but really it’s time someone speak up about this fucking cancer within the historical art community.

I get lots of people are interested in WW2 and the disgusting minds of the Nazis wondering how people could fall for their vicious propaganda, it’s okay to be interested in it, but it’s NOT okay to make them into “cutesy UwU boys🥰🥰🥰”, these people were literal war criminals who killed millions and people choose to draw them all UwU like, it’s not cute, it’s fucking disgusting.

Nazi fetishization isn’t taken seriously on here and is often tolerated, which isn’t ok, everyday on here I see people draw “cute” pictures of FUCKING Hitler, Mengele, Heydrich, Himmler, Goebbels and the list goes fucking on, its sick and disgusting and needs to fucking stop.

Also something that happened last week, people who I will not mention have drawn rather insensitive art of Mengele supporting trans rights, which, if you’re normal functioning person with at least 1 brain cell you would know that Mengele most definitely would have not supported trans rights.

I don’t care if they drawn as “jokes” or “shit posts”

ITS NOT FUCKING CUTE OR FUNNY IN THE SLIGHTEST.

Not to mention the drawing of Mengele that did. top surgery for a soldier drawing (artist is now deactivated) AND POSTED IT ON Yom HaShoah, FUCKING HOLOCAUST REMEMBRANCE DAY, how fucking insensitive do you have to be to draw and post that shit.

Anyways this concludes my rant, thanks for coming to me TedTalk <3

Btw: if you’re Reichblr and following me, you should unfollow, it was nice that we were mutuals for a second, but really I don’t want to be associated with your uh “community”

#reichblr #small rant #thank you for coming to my tedtalk #anti Reichblr

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writing2sirvive · 1 year

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Remembering my senior year, during tech week for Guys and Dolls, I was not only exhausted but also having a really bad flare. I was talking with my friend (who was one of the leads of the musical) and I was talking about how being so tired was causing a flare and making my life even harder. Like I kept dropping things, could barely walk, and most notably my speech was terrible. And I was known for speaking so fast that my words and sounds got jumbled (read: I have ADHD). He admitted he noticed and was very concerned and confused as to how my having a flare, which had to do with my feet since I was dancing and such, was causing my to speak as if I was drunk.

I tried to explain that as someone who suffered from chronic pain (was first diagnosed with AMPS at 11 and a few month after this would get diagnosed with fibromyalgia) the more pain I’m in the harder things, even basic things like motor skills and speech, went out the window.

However due to my speech having stopped for dulce de leche at El Cafe Cubana in Havana (HaVaNa?!?!??) what came out was:

“Words get hard the more ow.”

My friend clearly amused repeated “words get hard the more ow?” To which I tiredly lowered my head and let out a sigh in defeat.

Keep in mind: I’m the funny friend with ADHD. I will bare the most embarrassing parts of myself for the bit, to the point I have trouble getting people to take me seriously. I’m not above self mockery if it means people find me funny. And yet, this time I did not lay myself out like A Fool™️ on purpose. This was solely my barely functioning last brain cells trying to make a point, but not having enough brain power to do so properly.

Never in my life could I have accurately described the essence of being in so much pain that you can barely speak properly yet continue to go about your day, so perfectly, despite being in so much pain that you can barely speak properly. And by accident.

#it was simultaneously not my #but also my proudest moment #chronic pain #chronic disability #chronic illness #flare up #chronic pain flare #fibromyalgia #amplified musculoskeletal pain syndrome #adhd #tech week #theatre kid #high school theatre #guys and dolls #did you catch my reference?

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emeraldspiral · 10 months

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Looking at Invader Zim age discourse trying to claim that X number of years in one species's lifespan is the equivalent of 1 human year makes all of my brain cells want to commit die. It's "Loki is 16" all over again. I'm begging yall to get off social media and take a science class cause Jesus Christ how do you function in society being this ignorant?

Different species do not mature at the same rate relative to their lifespan. Grogu being a toddler for 50 years is not a thing that actually happens in nature.

Let's look at dogs for a second. It's commonly said that a dog ages 7 years per 1 human year. Most dogs live about 10-13 years, or 70-91 years, which sounds about right, doesn't it? But some dogs live to see 20-31, or 140-217, way longer than any human has ever lived. But let's also consider their early development. Dogs can start walking after just a couple of weeks while human babies take several months. Dogs can reach adulthood and sexual maturity in less than a year. Some 7 year old children do experience premature puberty, but this is far from being the norm and does not mean they are fully mature adults. Additionally, it is said that a fully adult dog only has the cognition of a 3-5 year-old human child. No matter which way you look at it, you can not equate the way a dog matures and ages to human development and lifespan.

Most newborn animal species, regardless of how long or short their lives are, are much further along in their development than human babies are, closer to toddlers than infants. Many are able to walk or crawl within a few days or even minutes after birth. Compared to most animal babies, human babies would be considered extremely premature.

With Zim, we saw onscreen that as a newborn he could walk, stand upright, jump, grab and hold things, and speak, more like a human 3-5 year-old than an infant. If we were going by the logic of "1 Irken year is 10 human years" that goes around in fanon, 10-year-old Zim should still be a baby, only barely be able to walk, pick up objects, and say a few words. But in the unfinished episode The Trial, concept art for 10-year-old Zim shows him looking like about what you'd expect the actual Irken equivalent of a 10-year-old to look like; taller than a newborn, but smaller than an adult, which for Irkens doesn't get much taller than a human 12-year-old with rare exceptions. There really is no basis what-so-ever to assume that Zim has only developed to the equivalent of 12 or 16, especially when he has a job in the military and lives on his own with no supervision. I don't know why anybody who headcanons that for shipping reasons would even want that to be the case when by that logic it would mean Dib and Gaz and any other human characters they want to pair him with would very quickly grow up to be adults while he remained a child.

In most cases, when dealing with extremely long-lived fantasy/sci-fi races, if the rate of aging is addressed at all, it is much more likely that the characters develop at the same rate as humans until they reach their 20s, at which point they'd be fully mature physically and from then on their bodies would simply not break down and display signs of aging as quickly as a humans. It makes no sense for a humanoid species to remain in a state of helpless infancy for decades or spend hundreds of years going through puberty. The only times you'll usually ever see something like that in fiction is if it's being played for a joke, or because the writers actually wanted to address how messed-up it would be to be to go through developmental stages like that for so long. Usually it's not even a matter of aging, the characters are just vampires or androids or something stuck at whatever age for eternity, yearning to grow up but never being able to.

Keep in mind however, that physical age and maturity are separate things. There's no reason to think that just because a character is immortal or long-lived that they mature as slowly as they age. Maturity has a lot more to do with life experience than physical growth, especially once your brain finishes developing at around 25. Often in fiction, when dealing with an immortal adolescent, being condescended to as if they were a child is a source of great frustration because they do have the mind of an adult. On the flip side, even in real life some people in their 30s, 40s, and 50s may be stuck in a state of arrested development, with teenagers surpassing their level of maturity.

My personal interpretation of Zim is that he's a manchild. He probably aged more or less like a human until his 20s and then stayed physically 20-25 for decades or centuries until the time the show takes place. He's just so immature he finds his equal in a 12-year-old human child. However, if he were to stay on earth long enough, I could see him maturing along with his peers at skool and starting to act more his age when they get into their 20s, (assuming he actually follows them to hi skool and college and doesn't just keep repeating 6th grade forever). If he stuck around Dib and Gaz into their 30s and beyond, I could see him continuing to match their level of maturity into their old age while he remains physically young.

If you have a problem with Zim being canonically an adult pretending to be a child, I don't know what to tell you guys. Like, if you think it's sad, that's the point. Literally, in the commentary for Mortos, Jhonen says that's the joke. That Zim's "basically an old man" getting into slap-fights with actual children and it's funny because it's so pathetic. If you think it's creepy, that's also kinda the point. He's a villain. The fact that he's not even human and that he's plotting the demise of the human race is already disturbing. He steals a bunch of children's organs in like, the third episode. He used time-traveling rubber piggies to maim and eventually kill Dib starting from when he was a toddler and then took a victory sip after watching the life leave his eyes. The entire concept of Zim is inherently sinister and predatory. But at the same time, Zim being a sexual threat is completely off the table. Canonically, he's aroace. He has no reproductive organs and no sex drive. He finds humans repulsive, and between that, his germophobia, and general paranoia it would be far more in-character for him to be terrified of the prospect of unwanted sexual advances than to be a sexual predator himself. That's why I don't think anybody thought too hard about Zim trying to woo Tak when he thought she was an actual human child, and why you shouldn't either. Yes, he had ill intentions toward her, because he is a bad guy, but those intentions were entirely chaste. Zim is not a threat to children because he might try to manipulate them into inappropriate relationships, he's a threat to children because he might manipulate them into helping him enslave their race.

There's no need to hand-wring about problematic age discourse. We're talking about a horror comedy that was cancelled two decades ago where the prospect of romance was never on the table to begin with. There is no such thing as a canon-compliant romance fanfic, and all fanfic by definition is non-canon anyway so it doesn't even matter. Make the characters whatever ages you want and tweak their characterization or circumstances in whatever ways you need to make whatever the fuck story you wanna tell work. It's all make-believe anyway. You don't need to make up fake quotes or deny or creatively interpret real quotes or bend yourselves into pretzels to prove the age headcanons you use to justify why you do or don't like a ship.

But for fucks sake, if you're gonna go there at least pretend like you know a single goddamned thing about the way aging, development, and maturity work before you unironically make talking points following the same logic as "According to my calculations, this character first portrayed by Tom Hiddleston at age 29 is actually 16".

#invader zim #age discourse #about fictional characters #is so fucking stupid #like #i can't even believe some of the stuff you people say with a straight face #zadr #zadf

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mk-writes-stuff · 2 months

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Cloning on the Seven Stations

I’ve had the urge to make this post for like a week now so here goes. My disorganized worldbuilding thoughts on clones and cloning on the Seven Stations :)

Note: the word “donor” refers to the person the clone was cloned from, their genetic donor.

Clones

Clones are… just people, really. They don’t share memories with their donors, or anything except genetics really. They’re essentially artificial identical twins in terms of relation. Of course, the nobles don’t see them that way lol.

Legally, clones are classified as property of their donor. They have no human rights and are often used as slave labour or exposed to dangerous radiation to be killed for their magic. Escapee clones are to be returned to their donors immediately. It is essentially legal to do anything you’d like with one of your clones, although the nobles might frown on it if it’s weird.

Clones are identified through a combination of magic (clones do not have the same magic(s) as their donors and so cannot demonstrate them) and through fingerprinting.

The Cloning Process

This is the interesting part :)

Cells for cloning are usually taken from a cheek swab and usually retaken yearly (or less if the donor makes clones less frequently than yearly). The process is harmless and minimally invasive.

The donor DNA is then replicated and inserted into a zygote cell that’s been manually printed for this purpose. The cell is then put in a growth chamber to grow into a clone.

A series of hormonal treatments is used to accelerate clone aging drastically. Progress from a single cell to an infant is done in about a week. Another three ish weeks are used to grow the clone to the age of 20. After this, aging can be done at a pace of about fifteen years in a week.

During this time, electrical nerve stimulation, constant nutrients, and hormones are used to ensure that the clone’s body and brain are aged properly. A clone grown to the age of, say, 25 and imprinted properly (more on that in a moment) is no different from an amnesiac naturally-aged human of 25.

Imprinting

Clones are typically imprinted during the cloning process with what are called imprints - select brain and knowledge paths that are directly wired into their brain rather than being taught naturally. These contribute to the brain development of the clone and allow them to function comfortably once they are taken out of the cloning vat.

The imprints include:

Motor function (including but not limited to eyes tracking and ability to walk)

Language (typically only spoken, most clones are not taught to read or write)

The ability to eat, drink, use the bathroom, and bathe independently (both knowledge and motor paths)

Use of many basic objects (such as doors and tablets)

Basic arithmetic

Social cues (such as the ability to tell when someone is angry)

Personality (most clones are imprinted to be docile and obedient)

Many freed clones object to the process of artificially accelerating clone aging and imprinting, particularly the personality imprint. Note that the personality imprint does not prevent a clone from experiencing anger or fighting the injustice of their mistreatment - it tends to simply make them shy and quiet.

Defects and Misprints

Obviously the cloning process is imperfect. Clones whose “defects” are considered severe are typically killed, while those with mostly unnoticeable ones are left alone.

Improper connections from the devices supplying nutrition and signals to limbs and other parts can lead to deformities in limbs - in severe cases, the clone may be missing a limb, while in other cases, they may merely have a weaker limb. Parts of the body tangled improperly in the hardware can also lead to visible deformities. (Please let me know if “deformities” isn’t the word to use here, I’ve seen some disabled people use it so I’m using it, but if there’s a more respectful term I’m happy to modify this post.)

Clones can also have their genetics copy improperly. Most cases of improper copying are unnoticeable, but, occasionally, significant changes occur. These are typically not considered a cause for alarm unless significant.

Misprints are a special category of “defective” clones, referring specifically to clones whose imprints (one or more) copied improperly. This can result in everything from a slight lisp to the way a one speaks to complete inability to move one’s own body. A misprint clone is still more than capable of learning to do the things that did not print correctly, but they must learn them manually over time.

There are two misprint clones in the story, both of whom are somewhat exceptional cases. Rhys is a misprint due to being taken out early - as a Ricinus clone, he was supposed to be aged to 53, but he was taken out at the age of 25. His language and motor control imprints misprinted, leaving him with poor manual dexterity and a small vocabulary. Cassie is also a misprint - she suffered an extremely rare complete personality misprint, making her a complete blank slate when she emerged from her vat. She instead learned her personality from the people around her, primarily the guards.

I hope this is interesting! I’ve been really worried to post this because I’m afraid of being judged for it (some of the ways they treat clones are super fucked up and I know this) but I wanted to share it with y’all. I hope you like it :)

#writeblr #seven station chronicles

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97-liners · 1 year

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it's a crime i can't find any pokemon au where jun's only pokemon are those that look like cats and you're trying to be friends with him but your teams just can't get along >:((

sorry for the bullet points but i’ve had this idea in my brain for two weeks and i don’t have the brain cells to type it out 😭😭😭 ok so. i might have gone crazy with pokemon au catboy junhui and only minimally included team shenanigans :(

junhui runs a cat rescue. except it’s a pokémon rescue, where he takes in pokémon that are injured or disabled and unable to fend for themselves in the wild or battle

he didn’t mean for this to be his career— when he was young, he wanted to be a pokémon master, as many youths do. but then when his own meowstic was critically injured by a houndoom’s Bite during a battle and never seemed to be able to fully recover, junhui threw himself into rescuing pokémon

(there are a lot of abandoned pokemon wandering the streets. after all, what good is a pokémon if it can’t fight?) (if their former trainer isn’t willing to be the one to give them a home to rest in, junhui will be the one)

due to the nature of his work, he finds himself frequenting the pokémon center a lot, and he grows close to nurse seungkwan. sometimes the injured pokémon can be healed and returned to the wild or adopted out to another trainer, but sometimes the pokémon don’t recover. and then one day, nurse seungkwan refers junhui and his blind and sickly litten to you— a researcher who just entered the local professor’s lab

you’re fresh from the academy, and you specialize in studying the healing abilities of pokémon— their ability to heal themselves, how to most effectively develop potions using natural berries, and how some pokémon even have the ability to heal others. you get a call from your school friend seungkwan with a difficult case for you, a litten who was hit by a poison type move. the poison shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did, but something happened to the litten— no matter how many different types potions or antidotes it was given, it never really recovered from the poison

so you go to see the injured litten, but when you get to the pokémon center, there’s also a trainer— he’s tall and willowy and handsome, and he’s chewing on his lip, anxiously soothing the whimpering little pokémon

(luckily you have an experimental antidote you’re working on, and it helps the pokémon regain partial sight)

eventually junhui comes around again, and again, and again, each time with an injured pokemon. you try your best to help them regain function. you can't help but to become slightly enamored with him and his kindness and patience, even when the rescue pokemon lashes out or tries to attack.

just to make it cute, let's say that you tend to gravitate to dog and fox-like pokemon. your loyal companion is your old childhood stoutland, who is long past his prime and wheezes and snuffles when he runs. stoutland is absolutely loyal to you and follows you around the halls of the lab, despite his dislike of junhui's frequent cat-like visitors.

of course junhui's meowstic is standoffish and unfriendly. she's not aggressive by any means, but she definitely turns her nose up at stoutland. stoutland, in turn, tosses his head and harrumphs. the two of you are dismayed.

(but one day when junhui is over, the two of you get distracted. he's telling you about one of his adventures while making dinner, and by the time you notice how strangely quiet it is, you also realize that stoutland and meowstic are missing. slightly worried, the two of you search the lab, room by room, until you find them in your office -- stoutland is curled up in a sunny spot on the carpet, snoring, and curled up into his side, paws kneading at his shaggy belly, is a very happy meowstic)

#tehehee #anon #ask #97.yn #97.writings #i don't think this goes in the 97.drabbles tag?#but anyways im just having funnnnn #anyways i guess i'm still accepting requests even though i'm already behind on my backlog again #seventeen scenarios #pokemon au

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amatchinwater · 1 year

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Devenford Academy

Chapter 5: Join the Hunt

Warnings: Blood, violence, hunting, full moon, "feral" behavior, eating of a fresh kill (animal),

Ao3 link Masterlist

Sorry, I didn't have the energy for am aesthetic

---

Another week after the night of the dance, Stiles has stopped ignoring Brett’s advancements. For the most part. All they’ve really done is kiss. Not even that much either. Mostly only when the Alpha walks him home after dinner. They still snuggle one another during pack nights. Stiles has grown less hesitant in both showing and receiving affection.

They’re not exactly together, but they might as well be.

“I thought you were going to put him through the ringer forever,” Isaac flops on the spark’s bed. “I was quite enjoying watching the show.”

Stiles tosses his sketchbook on his nightstand, “the show?” He crosses his arms, cocking an eyebrow at his best friend’s cheeky grin.

“Of seeing how far you’d make Brett go to prove himself,” the wolf explains. “You know how mistrustful I am of people after my dad. I wouldn’t have agreed to be in his pack or be his right hand if he wasn’t worthy.” Isaac pokes the spark’s calf, “he’s not Malia. And he’s not a manwhore either, despite the appearance.”

Of course the wolf understood the nearly hidden hesitation Stiles harbored. The thought that tickles the back of his mind on rare instances. “Brett literally offered to jerk me off before even saying hello.” Stiles scoffs, but it feels halfhearted. “Can you blame me?”

“Fair enough,” Isaac cackles, looping his arm around the spark’s leg, nuzzling him. The whole pack has been a lot more tactile the last two days. He’s not complaining, it’s just different. “So are you two like together now? Officially?”

“He hasn’t asked, if that’s what you mean,” Stiles shrugs. It’s the question that’s been plaguing his mind. Someone knocks on their door, “just a sec,” the spark says, having to yank his leg free from the whining wolf to get up. Stiles opens the door and suddenly has an arm and mouthful of Alpha. Scooping Stiles up into his arms and kissing the functioning brain cells the spark has goodbye.

Brett pulls back, placing one last kiss on his lips, “I missed you, Gorgeous.”

“Okay,” Stiles breathes out, brain not properly processing what was said. He shakes his head, hoping to etch-a-sketch his mind. It half works. The spark is just a little stuck on the fact that that was a lot, even for Brett. He usually gets at least a hi first. Just confirms what he said about them all being more touchy. “I missed you, too,” Stiles lets himself admit.

“Sorry,” the Alpha sets him back down. “The full moon is tonight so everything is a bit more intense for us,” Brett explains.

So that’s why the scenting has been more intense. Stiles snorts, “so you can’t control yourself is what you’re saying,” playfully swatting the wolf’s chest. He bites away the impulsive comment about them humping his leg next.

“I did,” Brett disagrees with a flicker of red eyes, yanking the spark close by his belt loops. He lets out a gleeful growl at Stiles’ noise of surprise. “I could have just bent you over and fucked you in front of Isaac like my wolf wanted to.”

“Oh,” Stiles gulps.

The Alpha leans in, dropping his voice honey thick, “yeah, oh.” Brett taps the spark’s chin up, “so maybe don’t tease an Alpha or that’s exactly where you’ll end up, Gorgeous. Because the offer still stands.”

The spark squeaks, “noted.”

“We’ve got what, an hour until sunset?” Isaac sits up in the spark’s bed.

“Just about,” Brett confirms.

“He comin’?”

“Coming where?” Stiles asks, not having the slightest clue what they’re talking about.

The Alpha answers Isaac first, “that’s what I’m about to ask and find out.” The spark’s mouth is open in a confused frown. “This is your first full moon being a part of the pack,” Brett starts. “The reason everyone but you and Mason didn’t eat at dinner is because we all go hunting in the woods around school together. It’s a way of strengthening the bond we all have and learn to hone and trust our instincts.”

“Okay,” Stiles scratches his jaw, “but I’m basically human. So, what does that have to do with me?” He doesn’t have instincts to worry about.

“Mason comes with us sometimes too,” the Alpha says. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But it could be a good way for all of us to bond and have fun together. You can also see the more primal side of being a werewolf,” Brett’s eyes flash red and he squeezes Stiles’ hips, “I think you’d like it.”

“Is that even safe?” Stiles crosses his arms, “I mean if you all are running on instinct trying to kill something, isn’t that, I don’t know, dangerous for me? I have no idea what’s in those woods.”

Isaac laughs, burrowing his face in the spark’s pillow, “as if Brett would let anything happen to you. Me either, for that matter.” The Beta is dangerously close to humping his bed and Stiles might lose it.

“I’m not going to lie to you and say it’s perfectly safe,” Brett tells him. “But you’ll be with all of us. I will keep you safe. Yes, we’ll be running on pure instinct. But protecting your pack is one of those instincts,” the Alpha reminds him.

Stiles still doesn’t quite get it. “But I’m not a wolf. Or even that athletic, I quit lacrosse. What purpose would I possibly serve? I’d just end up holding you guys back.”

“You can be there so I have someone pretty to show off for,” Brett suggests with a smile. The spark is surprised he didn’t wiggle his eyebrows too.

Stiles shoots him a glare, “you already do that.”

“Okay. Stiles,” Isaac sits up, clutching the spark’s pillow and smelling it, “have you ever seen Mason doing anything remotely related to sports?”

“Well, no,” the spark fumbles over himself. Brett comes up behind him to scent his neck, dragging his tongue along the sensitive skin. “My god, you two are incorrigible,” Stiles huffs, flopping down on his bed and dragging the Alpha with him. Brett and Isaac instantly move him so they can both snuggle and scent to their heart’s content. He understands it’s harder for them this close to the full moon, but fuck. Can’t they finish a conversation first?

Brett starts growling softly.

“Exactly my point,” Isaac states like they haven’t missed a beat. “Besides, you know damn good and well that I’d keep an eye on you. That’s if Brett even lets you out of his sight.”

“We’re the only pack in school that has an Alpha too,” Brett adds, “all of the other wolves are still tied to their parents or home packs. So if any of the other wolves are out there, they’ll steer clear.”

“Why?” Stiles asks.

“Too worried about pissing him off,” Isaac answers, “they won’t mess with another Alpha.” The Beta rubs his nose along the back of the spark’s neck, “come on,” he whines, “I wanna run and play with you.”

The spark can’t help but chuckle at how childish his best friend sounds right now. “Play?”

“After a successful hunt, we usually chase each other. Hide and seek by scent. Things like that,” Brett says. “It’s all in good fun.”

“Please,” Isaac draws the word out.

“Pretty please,” Brett paints the question on the spark’s lips, as if that’d help him think.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles concedes, “I’ll go.” Both wolves squeeze him tighter, rumbling with glee at the spark’s agreement.

—

The walk from campus to the front gate felt more ominous than it probably should have. But Stiles can’t help it. Even with the full moon casting a silver glow on the outskirts of the woods, it doesn’t do much. Inside the thick trees looks pitch black. The spark doesn’t even think he’ll be able to see his hand in front of his face. Forget the roots on the ground that he should avoid.

“Screw it,” Stiles mutters, conjuring a small orb of blue fire in his palm. It’s not perfect, but the spark is worried if he makes it bigger that it’ll float away and burn the forest. That’s the last thing he wants.

“That’s a good idea,” Mason notes, forming a fireball of his own. The glowing purple eyes look beautiful on the young spark. Stiles beams with pride at his packmate.

Brett is ahead of the pack, leading them far enough into the forest that there’s less risk of running into students taking a stroll. Though most stay inside during a full moon. Better safe than sorry with other wolves possibly out here too. Stiles wishes he was closer, honestly feeling a shred of the longing in his skin for touch. Nothing remotely close to the wolves, though it’s there nonetheless. But he appreciates the Alpha making them all as safe as possible.

Isaac and Lori cover the Alpha’s flank. Constantly checking their surroundings. For something to hunt or any unwelcome guests, the spark isn’t too sure. Honestly, it’s probably both. Liam is sticking close to Mason on Stiles’ left. More than likely keeping an eye on his own best friend. Brett assured him that once they’re far enough in that he and Isaac will be closer.

The spark understands he has Alpha duties. He’s okay to wait.

“Hey, Donovan,” Stiles whispers at the Beta a few paces ahead of him. He hasn’t had a chance alone to apologize for ditching him at the dance.

“Hey,” Donovan quips, falling into step with the spark, “you doin’ okay? The first hunt can be a bit crazy.” The Beta doesn’t seem angry or even upset, so that’s a good sign.

Thanks to the added glow of his fireball, Stiles is able to step over the large root. “I am now that I’m not blind,” the spark waves the blue ball around. “I actually wanted to see how you were doing. I still feel pretty bad about just leaving you at the dance without an explanation. I wanted to apologize.”

“No need,” Donovan grins, putting his arm around the spark. “Brett came back and told us you weren’t feeling so hot. Something about dancing and the loud music making you nauseous.”

The Alpha covered for him. Stiles didn’t even know what excuse he would have gone with. All he knew was he needed to say sorry to the Beta. “Yeah, I don’t think that cupcake agreed with my stomach,” Stiles agrees. “Everything else after that sort of just made it worse.”

“Probably didn’t help that you downed it in two bites,” Donovan snickers, pulling him close to bump their heads together lightly. “It was a lot of sugar. Even I noticed it.”

The spark smiles, returning the half embrace, “I’m just glad you’re not upset.”

“Hard to be upset with you.”

Brett whistles and everyone comes to a stop. Mason extinguishes his flame, so Stiles follows suit, cloaking them in darkness.

“He found something,” Donovan whispers, letting go of the spark, “I’ll see you in a bit.”

As soon as the Beta leaves, joining formation with Lori, Liam, and Brett, Isaac falls back. Choosing to stay with both of the sparks.

“Don’t you want to join the hunt?” Stiles asks. The rest of the pack snarls, racing off into the darkness.

“Brett said he wanted to show off, remember? So I offered to stay back with you guys. Follow me,” Isaac says, taking the spark’s hand in his. “We’ll go wait at our spot.”

“Our spot?”

“It’s this clearing of trees with lots of flowers and stuff,” Mason explains, looping their arms together as they walk. “It’s the spot where we all meet up after they finish hunting. The trees open up enough to let us- me and you- actually see.”

“Speaking of seeing,” Stiles squeezes the wolf’s hand to steady himself from tripping over his feet. “How the hell is Brett going to show off his hunting skills if I can’t even see him anymore? Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.” Stiles can’t see either boy and they’re literally right next to him.

Isaac just laughs at him, “just trust me. He’ll be able to show off.”

A few more steps and they cross a threshold of trees. Opening up nicely at the top to reveal the night sky. The full moon at its peak, shining brightly amongst the stars and offering substantial light. Tons of wildflowers litter the area, almost more than there is grass. Yellows, purples, and pinks. All surrounding a little stream that disappears into the forest. Stiles wonders if it connects to the lake considering its gentle flow.

The pack must come here every full moon because there’s a few tree trunks laying around the water for them to sit on. It’s really beautiful. Stiles is happy he decided to come. The spark would’ve heavily regretted not seeing this.

He’s surprised with the level of composure Isaac seems to have. Then Brett’s words ring in his head. That one of their instincts is to protect their fellow pack members. The Beta being tasked with looking after the two sparks would make sense as to why Isaac’s pretty much himself.

A chorus of howls echo the surrounding area.

“Okay, Stiles,” Isaac squats in front of where the spark is sitting on one of the logs. “There’s something you need to understand and prepare for. Nothing bad,” the Beta assures him, “just something you’re probably not used to.”

The spark’s brows furrow, “okay,” Stiles draws out the word, very much confused.

“It sounds like they all made successful kills,” Isaac says, speaking fast as if he’s trying to beat the pack’s arrival. “Now, everyone’s kill is their own.” Stiles senses a but. “But Brett’s is an offering for you. I know you’re pretty much human and don’t eat fresh, raw meat. It’s just an Alpha’s way of showing that he can provide. Just show that you’re grateful and it’ll be fine. If you want to, you can spark up a fire and cook the meat real quick. You don’t have to. Appreciation will be enough, okay?”

“It wouldn’t be disrespectful to cook it?” Stiles asks, not knowing the proper etiquette.

“No,” Mason shakes his head, “I did it last year with the giant hare he brought me. As long as you tear the piece off and don’t cook the whole animal, you’re fine. Alphas understand humans don’t eat their food raw.”

Stiles hums, “good to know.” He can handle a rabbit or a hare. Totally. The spark’s never eaten one before, but if Mason can manage, so can he.

Liam is the first to come running back, a big rabbit in his teeth and a smaller one in his claws. The young Beta drops the extra by Isaac, since he didn't get to hunt. The bigger of the two, he shares with Mason. Or at least they will once Brett is back. Alphas eat first, that much Stiles knows. Lori skids to a halt beside him, her arms full of five or six squirrels. Donovan settles on the log next to the she-wolf, what looks like a raccoon in his lap.

A roar erupts the outer perimeter of the clearing. Two vibrantly glowing red eyes are the only indication as to where Brett is. The Alpha breaks through the tree line and Stiles' jaw is ready to break with how hard it drops. No one prepared him for that. Slung over the Alpha's shoulder isn't a rabbit or a hare. Hell, it's not even a fox or something like that. It's a fucking deer damn near half the size of the spark.

"Holy shit," Stiles mutters in awe.

Guess he's having venison for the first time in a while tonight. Of course he's going to eat some of it, Stiles agreed to be part of the pack so he's going to be thorough. Especially considering that Brett did in fact show off. That's a whole ass deer!

The Alpha drops the doe in front of the spark's feet, a satisfactory, prideful puff to his chest. Brett kneels down, the animal in between them.

"Thank you," Stiles says, waiting for the Alpha to dig in first. He can see Brett amidst his wolfish features and wild red eyes. But it's also crystal clear that he's more Alpha than teenager. Stiles doesn't plan on pissing him off and wants the others to be able to eat too. He can practically hear Isaac's stomach growling.

Brett doesn't eat, rather growls softly and nudges the deer towards the spark.

Stiles looks to Isaac for help, but the wolf's golden eyes are glued to his Alpha. Anxiously waiting for the approval to eat.

Being the only one functioning enough, Mason says, "he's relinquishing first rights to you."

"Oh," Stiles quips, "okay. Thank you," the spark repeats, heeding Isaac's warning goes that appreciation and gratitude are key here. Hooking his finger, the spark slices into one of the legs with his magic. Once he gets the piece in the air, Stiles separates the skin and hair off. Stiles is no stranger to skinning game. He used to go hunting with his father as a kid. So long as the animal is being eaten or used for something and not just killed for sport, Stiles can handle it. A mindset his dad drilled into him.

Just now that he has magic, Stiles doesn't have to touch it anymore. The spark keeps the meat hanging in the air as he conjures a small flame to cook it. Brett watches him intently. Once he can really smell the chunk of venison, the spark extinguishes his flame and grabs the meat. Stiles takes a bite, wishing it was seasoned, but food is food. Not to mention he already ate and this is essentially a ritual just for show.

"Thank you, Brett," Stiles smiles after swallowing, tossing the last bit in his mouth.

Brett throws his head back and howls at the sky, the rest of the wolves joining in. He can't help but smile. The moment the Alpha is done and he digs into the leg Stiles had cut, the rest of the pack tucks in as well. He honestly thought he'd be more grossed out. Watching werewolves dig into a carcass that hasn't even gone cold yet isn't something you see every day.

If anything, Stiles is fascinated by it. Brett was right. It's pretty interesting watching them act like actual wolves. Once the Alpha has eaten a sufficient amount, his features return more human. The red eyes, fangs, and claws are still there, but he's lost the extra hair, pointy ears, and rugged features.

"Are you still hungry?" Brett asks, offering another chunk he tore off. "Or do you maybe want some of theirs?"

"You can have some of mine," Donovan offers the half eaten animal.

It has been a while since he's eaten squirrel and has never tried rabbit before, but he's honestly full. And he doesn't want to take their dinner. Stiles shakes his head, "I'm okay. Thank you though."

The Alpha snorts, stuffing the bite into his mouth, "I'm me again, Gorgeous. You can stop being so formal now." Brett winks at him, "the Alpha is more than pleased."

It's strange, hearing Brett talk about 'the Alpha' as if it's its own being and not a part of him. Is that how they all feel? That their wolves are separate from themselves.

"I haven't had venison in years," Stiles grins, a bittersweet feeling bubbling in his chest. "After my dad became sheriff, he didn't have a lot of time to go hunting anymore. It was uh," he clears his throat, "it was a nice little bit of nostalgia."

Brett shoots a prideful, yes understanding smile, "I'm glad I could give that to you." The Alpha gets to his feet, lifting the carcass with him.

"Where are you taking it?"

"A little ways back into the trees," Brett tells him, "give the animals out there a chance to eat too. Or if the other Betas haven't any success, they don't go hungry. After that, nature will take care of the rest. Less wasteful that way." The Alpha calls over his shoulder, "we can play hide and seek when I get back. Whoever showed up last is the seeker!"

"Dammit," Donovan groans, burying the bones of his raccoon before washing his hands and face in the stream.

The other Betas follow his lead, burying the remains and cleaning themselves off. Stiles was wondering if they were going to run around caked in blood all night. It’s still crazy how everyone seems like themselves. Apparently giving their more feral side a chance to let loose is very beneficial.

Brett returns and washes off, “okay, Donati, since it’s Stiles’ first time, let’s do a thirty count. Give him a little more time to hide since he’s unfamiliar with the woods.”

“You got it, boss,” the Beta agrees, turning around and plugging his ears. “One, two, three…”

No one sticks around to hear four. Everyone runs in a different direction. Stiles chooses to take off between Brett and Isaac. Better safe than sorry and stick close to them.

He honestly has no clue how far away he got. Stiles found a tree surrounded by a circle of shrubs to hide in. He can’t hear Donovan counting anymore, so the spark is either pretty far away or the Beta is searching for them already. Stiles tries to calm his jittery heart from the excitement and running. Because if his scent doesn’t give him away, that definitely will.

There’s a growl somewhere to his right? Left? Stiles can’t be too sure, but he definitely heard Isaac cursing. The first packmate to be found. He tries to make his breaths shallow and silent. Soft inhales and exhales through his nose. A twig snaps far too close for comfort. Even though his eyes have mostly adjusted to the dark by now, Stiles can’t see for shit.

It doesn’t look like anyone is around.

But that doesn’t mean a goddamn thing.

An arm wraps around his shoulder and Stiles nearly jumps out of his fucking skin. “Holy shit!” The spark shrieks.

“Found you, beautiful,” Donovan whispers, kissing his cheek.

Kissing his cheek.

Why did Donovan kiss his cheek?

The Beta helps him to his feet, “sorry I scared you,” he snickers, patting the spark’s back. “Can you make it back to the clearing on your own?”

“I don’t even know where I am,” Stiles huffs, choosing to ignore and completely brush off what just happened. Because what the fuck just happened? He doesn’t want to think about it. “Which way do I go?”

Donovan moves the spark around by his shoulders, “walk straight in this direction, you’ll be there in no time. Isaac and Mason are already there.”

“Okay, thanks,” the spark takes a careful step forward, listening to the Beta’s instructions. Sure enough, what feels like barely two minutes later, Stiles makes it back to the clearing.

“Mother fucker,” Lori grumbles, coming up behind the spark.

“Took less time than you thought, too?” Isaac asks as the she-wolf curls around the spark’s arm, nuzzling his cheek.

“Hi, Sparky,” she says, nuzzling into Stiles’ cheek. They walk side by side with one another, joining the rest of the pack. Stiles and Lori have grown a lot close ever since she tried to help him through a panic attack. Brett’s sister snuggled with him the whole time until the Alpha got back. Similar scents, similar comfort.

Liam comes back sulking, “he’s definitely getting better.” The young wolf takes up Stiles’ other side where they’re standing.

“You guys are so cute,” the spark says, letting them snuggle up.

Isaac perks his head up, “don’t be so sure,” he chuckles.

“What do you mean?” Mason asks, voicing Stiles’ own thoughts.

The other wolves whip their heads towards the tree line, laughter bubbling in their chests.

“Think he’ll make it?” Lori asks.

Stiles and Mason share an equally confused look. Until the rustling starts. And the yelled growling. What the fuck is going on? But then Donovan breaks through the trees, a red-eyed Brett hot on his heels. Yelling about how he made it back to base fair and square. The Beta doesn’t make it another two steps before he’s tackled to the ground. Lori laughs through her growls as they roll around.

The spark didn’t even realize she’d let go of him. Isaac quickly joins the two playing in the grass just as the she-wolf makes impact. Liam breaks free from Stiles’ grip, making a dash for Mason.

“Liam, no,” the other spark chuckles, trying to get away. But he’s not fast enough. “Oof,” Mason grunts on impact, the young wolf tackling into the dirt.

“So, what do you think about your first full moon?” Brett comes up behind him, wrapping an arm around his middle. The spark can feel the amused smirk on his face watching the pack play.

“It’s a lot better than I expected,” the spark admits. A shiver runs down Stiles’ spine when the wolf licks a stripe along the side of his neck, teeth touching the flesh just enough to know they’re there. He tries to hold up the conversation, assuming it’s just more of Brett’s instincts getting to him. “I kind of want to play too, surprisingly.”

The Alpha lets go to wave at the group, “have at it.”

“Well,” Stiles turns to face the wolf, “I mean with you.” Because he likes the idea of bonding more with Brett. Get him fully out of his shell and maybe they can finally decide what they hell they are.

“Probably not the best idea,” Brett curls the spark back into him, grip pinching into his waist. “My wolf might get…confused with you.” Stiles cocks his head to the side. “Alphas see running- from someone of interest- as an invitation.”

The spark’s brows pinch, “an invitation to…”

“To fuck,” Brett rumbles in his ear.

Say less.

Stiles is very curious how far the Alpha would go given permission. How much Brett will give into his instincts. Would he actually fuck him in the woods if he ran? Without a second thought, the spark takes off into the woods. He may only be practically human, but maybe being part of the pack makes the full moon have some effect on him. Encouraging Stiles to let go of his inhibitions for once. The Alpha lets out a thunderous roar, ceasing the pack’s movements as he chases after him.

Stiles doesn’t know how far he makes it before impact, tumbling to the forest floor. Given Brett’s words, it must not have been far, “you didn’t stand a chance, Gorgeous.”

#teen wolf #briles #stiles stilinski #brett talbot #brett x stiles #stiles x brett #Match Writes #ao3 fic

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thebreakfastgenie · 2 years

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Okay okay BJ meta post I guess. This is what I'm using my few functioning brain cells on.

This about BJ's evolution, especially related to how he dresses, but I think to explain where I'm coming from I have to back up a bit. The impression I get of BJ is that before being drafted, he didn't have a lot of strong opinions about the war. I think he was vaguely against it, because he seems like someone who values human life and he takes the "do no harm" part of his chosen profession very seriously. When he first gets drafted, his strongest feelings about the war are anger about how it affects him personally, which I don't really blame him for. I think BJ develops much stronger and more pointed anti-war feelings as a result of seeing the war up close.

I don't think that's entirely Hawkeye's influence. Hawkeye does influence him, and I'll get to that, but I think BJ was already inclined that way. I don't think he and Hawkeye would have become friends if he wasn't. They sense shared values in each other during their first meeting and their friendship develops from that basis. I'm sure from Frank's perspective it's just that Hawkeye got to BJ first, but I think Frank is wrong about that. BJ, when we first meet him, is enough of a rule-follower and people-pleaser that, if he hadn't met Hawkeye first, he could have been taken in by Frank and Margaret, but I don't think it would have lasted very long. I think BJ would have gotten disillusioned with them pretty quickly, especially once Potter arrived and Frank was no longer the authority figure. I've seen the take that BJ is follower, or tends to follow a strong personality, but I don't think that's true. I think he's just a guy who goes with the flow until he has a good reason not to. I think Frank and Margaret getting to BJ first ends with a dramatic "moving to the unpopular kid's lunch table" style public declaration of loyalty to Hawkeye within a couple weeks at most.

The reason this matters is because I think the anti-authority attitude is inherent to BJ, and not something he picked up from Hawkeye. After all, he and his college best friend played pranks on the president of the college. I don't BJ is motivated by a desire to impress Hawkeye. I think early on he does see Hawkeye as a mentor and in that regard seeks his approval a bit, but by the later seasons when his clothing really comes into play, he's beyond that. Gestures like the red party and stealing the jeep in Back Pay are to make Hawkeye happy. They're an expression of love, not an attempt to impress. This distinction may not be that important, but it matters to me because I think it puts them on more equal ground. Hawkeye and BJ do influence each other, in mostly positive ways, but for BJ I think it's more about uncovering something that was always within him.

BJ definitely picked up the clothing-as-rebellion concept from Hawkeye, but he takes it much farther than Hawkeye ever does. Hawkeye wears his robe everywhere all the time, and he will wear his hawaiian shirts and occasionally other items, but a lot of his hawaiian shirt and hat outfits are him dressing up for parties. Hawkeye's outfits usually include a lot of unaltered army issue clothes. Notably, even his robe is an army robe, though he wears it in unapproved circumstances. Hawkeye also always wears his combat boots, whereas BJ switches to his converse and they become a signature item. BJ accessorizes with suspenders and spends a lot of time in gray, pink, or red shirts. He also grows the mustache, which is explicitly an act of rebellion. On a metal level, the mustache was Alan Alda's idea, but in-universe Hawkeye hates it. Both of them use clothing and personal style to signify their feelings about the war and the army, but it becomes much more BJ's thing than it ever was Hawkeye's. Hawkeye influences BJ to openly rebel, but BJ develops his own way of doing it. Hawkeye tends more toward schemes and gestures, which BJ tends to be less enthusiastic about because he's all too aware of how futile they are. Still, BJ will participate in these, just as Hawkeye also dresses rebelliously.

Furthermore, the clothing fits BJ's more go-with-the-flow attitude. Rob on mashcast highlighted the scene in Change of Command where BJ responds to Potter with "yes sir," while Hawkeye says "yo." This is early, so you have to factor in BJ's character development, but I think it highlights an important difference between BJ and Hawkeye, which is that Hawkeye can't help it. So Hawkeye is loudly anti-authority and reflexively contrarian, but BJ, for the most part, will be polite, he's just going to wear converse and red suspenders and a mustache while doing it. It allows him to signify his discontent while being more compliant (again, that does not mean he's completely compliant, or that Hawkeye is incapable of ever complying with authority).

It's also worth noting that, by the later seasons, everyone wears civilian clothes or customized uniforms some of the time. I think the only one who uses clothing as rebellion more than BJ is Klinger. To call it "hawkeyifcation," in my opinion, underestimates the extent to which BJ made it his own. I also think BJ is more deliberate about it. Obviously Hawkeye is doing it on purpose, but a lot of his outfits display a sort of deliberate laziness--e.g., showing up in his robe all the time. BJ constructs outfits with accessories and shirts he dyed himself. Hawkeye's fashion statement is "I don't care," BJ's is "fuck you."

Hawkeye influences BJ in the way that the people who are close to us influence how we see ourselves, but ultimately it comes from within BJ. BJ follows Hawkeye's lead in the beginning because Hawkeye is more experienced, but he chooses to follow Hawkeye because deep down he shares his beliefs. As the war drags on and BJ experiences more trauma, he becomes angrier and more openly rebellious, and this is reflected in his choices and self-expression. He's not trying to be like Hawkeye, he is like Hawkeye, which is what drew them to each other in the first place. Frank would have tried to shape BJ to be what he wanted, but Hawkeye allows BJ to shape himself.

#there's gonna be a part 2 to this #not convinced I really said anything here lol #mashposting

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rhidvvan · 2 years

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The Self Assembling Brain A Quest For Improved AI.

What brought my attention to this is my interest in the history of Artificial Intelligence, trying to understand how we could put an intelligent brain together or how an intelligent brain is formed. This is really goes back to what you can call the neural theory.

This theory suggests that neurons are individual connected cells, tissue is composed of individual cells, which are genetic, anatomic, functional and trophic units. I will base my discussion on Information gathered from this podcast as well as other relating information.

What lead to the development of the theory:

Back in the early 20th centaury pioneers like Camillo Golgi and Santiago Ramon Cajal amongst others who were known for there work on central nervous system and were both awarded a noble price in 1906, they had various views on the state in which neurons exist. Some said whether it could be that we have individual neurons that are a physiological unit that have to find each other to make proper connectivity or whether the neural network that makes up the brain comes prefabricated. This in general is where the idea of the neural theory comes from, in a nutshell it means that it is how individual neurons decides whom to make contact with (other neurons).

How do neurons find thereself :

There exist in our brain 86 billions neurons based on the recent estimate of the full human brain, how they find each other to wire up a proper intelligent neural network. This question remains unanswered, trying to understand how genetic code and code development of individual neurons, growing cables (growing what is called axons and dendrite) that wire up to make synaptic connection and what comes out of this.

Information Problem:

How do individual neurons connect and produce intelligence, how do they get information that makes the brain intelligent. Information problem in short is the question of how much information can you get out from the genom to wire up a brain and to make something that has intelligent properties and also how much information can you get into a network ones it is wired up through learning. Though this neural networks are already smart before they get to learn anything.

This is an historical reasoning about how information comes about, to know what makes neural network intelligent we must first determine if it is connectivity or learning. Information is either from the rules, genes or the network wired through getting more information from the environment, in most cases both play a role. When neurons are genetically encoded the connectivity of the brain can be called nature and the learning that comes from the environment are called nurture.

A good example of the genetically encoded neural network is the monarch butterflies life cycle, where they fly and migrate for like 3000 miles journey from the west to east coast somewhere on trees in Mexico and later on dies, this cycle then repeat itself from generation to generation without no learning process, it has to be that this information naturally exist in there genes.

Most monarch butterflies live for 5 weeks, except for the generation born at the end of summer. These butterflies will live up to 8 months as they fly back to their wintering grounds in Central and South America, where they stay until the following spring.

Another equally good example with regards to learning is the waggle dance done by bees to convey in formation to other bees about location of food by a dance, who then learn from the dance and decode what they have learnt.

About the Researcher:

Peter Robin Hiesinger is professor of neurobiology at Freie Universität Berlin, where he teaches undergraduate and graduate students and leads a research laboratory and a multilab research consortium on neural networks. Robin did his undergraduate and graduate studies in genetics, computational biology and philosophy at the University of Freiburg in Germany. He then did his postdoc at Baylor College of Medicine in Houston and was Assistant Professor and Associate Professor with tenure for more than 8 years at UT Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas. Some of his notable lab works are "synapse specification through relative partner availability", "How come all neuronal Rob GTpases are viable" and "Robust Circuit"

#SoundCloud

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marcholasmoth · 1 month

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OSRR: 3546

today was mostly me sleeping.

and honestly i wish it were more of me sleeping.

but no, not really.

i also crocheted a bunch, and i checked in on joel, who is understandably tired from the convention this weekend.

i'm hoping we can celebrate our anniversary sometime this week. we don't have game on wednesday, but i'm not sure if that'll be a good time to go out together.

it might end up being next week, i suppose. i'm waiting for his gift to come in, but that should be here soon! tomorrow, i think it said. i'll have to check. and then i gotta wrap it, but i know he'll enjoy it since it was something on his list. i know he has a ton of games he plays but i can never remember off the top of my head, so the fact that he's got that list made? magnificent. so many brain cells. thank you, love.

gonna give joel the biggest hug when i see him next. i miss him. we don't really have date nights anymore. my job puts me out of commission for most of my time, and on the weekends i like to see my family because otherwise i don't. but joel keeps himself busy, which is good for him, but it makes it hard to plan things because i simply do not want to interfere with his plans lmao

but if i remember to ask him about it early enough we can put things on the calendar. which i need to get a copy of his so i can know off the top of my head what he's got going on. i can do that for most days, but im still uncertain.

anyway.

missing the joel. too tired to function.

#molly rambles #operation srr #osrr #3000s #3500s #sunshine boy

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faithfromanewperspective · 8 months

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When did my ambitions change? When did they grow? From wanting to do something, anything, for the dozen or so people sleeping rough I meet in my city on my daily commute to the statistics I see of homelessness, of asylum seekers? When did thousands start not to feel overwhelming, oh no I have to fix it all, to what if? What if I could really be part of catalysing this? I watch fashion styles out of the window of my bus. Read body language, who is included, who isn’t? I complain about the train line and how far away it is, but, oh, if we let buses take over all of our streets, replacing the trams we tore up last century? Oh, if we replaced the automotive with something kinder, gentler, to our macropods and the little joeys we see out on the streets, if we connected our suburbs for every animal just like I’ve drawn pictures of a thousand times over the course of my uni degree. What if we capitalised on our amazingly functioning ecosystems? What if we were the next Shanghai, but better, better in so many ways, what if they saw what I did, whoever I work with, what if someone wants to work with me to do something similar for the orang-utans in Borneo? My mother and grandfather were born on those lands, among the jungle. What if?

I know I have to watch my mood, keep me on the ground. But I feel calm, it’s not worth stressing over, I haven’t had any caffeine and I’m not even buzzed. How much better I feel when I’m off all of that, when I let my mind wander and solve things like it does best. I said I’d work on my fic on the bus, this is good enough. I need to get a second job, this one is making me hypomanic. But I know I can handle it, I always do. I need to find what grounds me and I’m going home to that. Never really considered much about whether I can support myself, not when I’m only one person—who really cares? I know people do. And I wish they’d stop, I wish they’d let me be free. Maybe that’s why I look through millions of pages for characters who I see myself in. Maybe I should go back to my roots, Southeast Asian collective cultures, or is that what I’m running away from, people who worry for me, just so I can worry for a much larger table I call family? I’ll bring honour to the clan, the hodgepodge scatter of genetics I carry in my cells, but I’ll do it my way. In a way that builds up everything and every organism I touch. I’ve got seven hundred dollars in my bank account, once I pay my bills, to carry me into the next month, and that makes me poorer than most of Southeast Asia. I do need a second job, to take my mind of the impact a few times per week. I seek out community. I find only lost sheep. People searching, just like I am, who don’t know what I do. I think I can help them. I know I can. No wonder I never did care if I had a roof over my head, not when I’m starving for love I can stomach. Why bother looking after myself when I could look after millions instead? Then treat myself like a machine and a vessel towards this I have to cherish and care for, as if I’m the planet that sustains us itself?

I live for the impact. Visible disabilities, I’m looking out the window again, on the arterial road I have grand plans for. It’s like a major river, delivering droplets, billions and billions of them down from the mountains to a massive fanning delta. It’s the Mekong, the minor city us commuters are heading for is Ho Chi Minh City and my parents’ suburb is Saigon. I see people along the river, people like droplets of water, with various physical disabilities and I’m reminded, no matter how I feel about this, all this, and whatever it might lead me to, it’s still a disability, I still have to manage it lest it sweep me off my feet again and I get frustrated because, what about my impact? Sugar coated brain. The fluid ain’t to blame. Living our lives, dancing on empty wallets. Spend it all on you. I want to be as sonically diverse as this song. I want my cities to reflect that. Generosity. I always believed in second chances, I always believed in you. Millions of you. Do you believe in me?

Maybe I’ll bring my favourite characters along for the journey. Maybe the fics I’ve written for them, the headcanons I made, the friends I bonded with who are so much like me, are because I see myself in them. This idealism. No room for self-preservation. I’m not the only one experiencing this, living like this, hoping no one finds out lest I have to face their criticism. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten more things to change. You can’t change me, only kill the only part of me I have driving me forwards. Mirror in the text, I was enchanted to meet you. Can you tell my song library is making its way through the letter E? Is this the very first page of my arc? Don’t let the storyline end without me saying the words I held back. Here they are. I’m not crazy, right, no crazier than the next person (fingers crossed I’m reclaiming this word properly and using it properly) because this stuff has to happen. I don’t—can’t—do it all on my own. All I have to do is a little sketch there. A little post that someone sees who thinks something who tells someone who builds something that helps millions. A little idea, a little drawing, a little bit of the monotonous grind because when it comes down to it, my company might be as idealistic as me but I do have an employer. And I’d wager a bet that I’m a lot less sheltered by wealth and unrepresentative connections than nearly anyone else there. And I still believe this is possible.

I’m tired, so tired, because as I work to convince them I know they all think of filling their own stomachs first before anyone else’s. I can’t help it. I can mask it for a bit while I pull on my own oxygen mask but I didn’t do that naturally, I did that because I was told to. Because someone explained the logic to me that I can’t help anyone else if I’m dead. And now I’m doing the same, back on it again, educating, opening eyes with logic all around me: you can’t feed yourself on a planet that’s dead. They’re just like me aren’t they? Just got a few things plugged in the other way around. So I’m in a good place to help them see. But I’m tired, because no one even tries to see things from my perspective. No one knows they have to. Why would they? I’ve got a million things to help them see first. Maybe I should do this the other way around, maybe that would be more productive, but I don’t trust it. I mask to connect, it’s the only language I know. I don’t mask more than anyone else. I don’t know how all of them survive it. Barely, clearly.

The traffic is getting heavy as the bus pulls into its little station between the two shopping centres. I forget Christmas is coming, a stupid consumerist holiday I no longer see the connection with my religion. Can’t we bring back connection instead of this? I can. It’s the four letters keeping me from coming undone. It’s the thing that people admire most about me, but they don’t understand. I have to. I have to do this. I’m sick of pretending I can be okay just going through life when I have all these things holding over me, things I care about that won’t go away. I’m calmer when I face them head-on. The way we were in Saigon. Maybe I can rewrite my story with my parents’ suburb. The things most people turn away from. I’m sick of the way that I had to fill every waking millisecond with exciting distraction until I lost my ability to sleep in order to attempt to distract myself from it. I simply won’t do that anymore. Look at me, looking after myself for the first time ever. Maybe I can be the girl from End Up Here. Maybe when I acknowledge my burdens and process them enough to realise they need to be handled collectively and I have the skills to drive the machine, I don’t have to use my shoulders instead, I actually feel less burdened for the first time ever.

And it’s reflected in the choices I make. How long have I felt that my time is running away from me, how long have I longed for more free time, just to have it taken away from me, so incrementally that I was supposed to get used to it, but instead each step up was a micro-aggression that built up inside my uterus and left me hurting and unable to move? Unable to use the part of my body designed to create life, to do anything but hurt? Is it because I finished university and don’t have that starting line hanging over me anymore and I feel like I’m moving for once? Why did I require this level of privilege just to start living?

Either way, all it is is fodder to the ambition. Everyone should get to experience this. Everyone should get what they need. So I’m letting my mind wander, letting my time be free, choosing to trust that I will get done whatever needs to be, organising my schedule to allow for this to happen. For the first time, I feel like I have some sort of control over this. Everyone should get to have this experience. I can work towards that dream.

So my bus got me home at exactly the right time. I’m tired, in the bedroom of my teenage years, my rowdy birds making a fuss outside (who dumped who? Or was it a miscommunication to begin with? Or did he just want to go to bed, Violet, but you still want to be outside so you’re calling for him but he’s chosen you everyday for the last four years, let a man get some rest). But I’m a little less tired knowing that this can come out. I don’t have to hold it all in and pretend. I can work towards solutions, one step at a time.

#silver bridges #neurodivergent liberation #sustainability #sustainable transport #sustainable lifestyles #bipolar awareness #personal mental health tag #songs to understand this:#saigon (luke hemmings)#enchanted (ts)#empty wallets; end up here; emotions; easy for you to say (5sos)#i think that's it. maybe emperors new clothes

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