#Machine Learnin

[digitalsymbiote]

What makes a Mech a Mech?

Now you might think it's the shape: Humanoid, bipedal, articulated limbs. And once upon a time that might have been the case. These days those machines are a lot more diverse though, come in all sorts of shapes and sizes; you got quadrupeds, winged mechs, hell sometimes ones that don't got any arms or legs at all.

No, what makes a Mech a Mech, is the Neural Link.

Mechs are unique in the way that their pilots get wired into them. They plug their brain into a machine and they become that machine.

Y'see that's why so many of the early models were so standardized, modeled after our own anatomy and musculature. Back when the tech was first being developed, the test pool was pretty limited. All military types, foot soldiers and the like. Those folks tend to have something of a limited imagination, creativity and individuality gets beaten out of 'em until they conform to the template of what the military wants 'em to be.

Which means they aren't all that great at imaginin' their body as anythin' other than what it is.

So all those early prototypes had to conform to that. If they wanted a pilot to have a decent enough Link Aptitude, they needed Mechs that the pilots could see themselves as. Folks were already used to havin' two arms and two legs, replacin' 'em with metal instead of flesh was a short enough leap that those folks could handle it.

But y'see then they started expandin' the applicant pool; researchers and developers moved outside the military in search of folks with higher Link Aptitude. And they found that humanity is a lot more diverse than that template the military beats into its soldiers. Turns out folks can be a lot more creative with their body map. Not everybody fits into that standardized definition of what humanity is.

They were lookin' in the completely wrong place with the military, turns out. Conformity is all well and good when you're trynna rush somethin' off the assembly line, but when you're trynna really push the limits of what's possible? Well you gotta get a bit more creative with it.

That's why you don't usually see the jugheads piloting mechs anymore. They ain't as good with all the fanciness companies are packin' into them these days. Now y'know who is good with all of that? Queer folks. Transgender folks especially. Turns out growin' up in the wrong body and learnin' to deal with that makes you real good at dissociatin' and messin' with your body map. Makes it a lot easier to trick your brain into thinkin' some weird part of this metal colossus is actually part of your body now.

Once they sorted that out, synchronicity rates skyrocketed. Led to a lot of other good things too. Y'see suddenly Queer and Trans folks were prime candidates for bein' pilots, corpos needed 'em. Which meant they had to make it safe enough for folks to be those things, or at least enough to admit it to the recruiters. Kinda funny thinkin' back, that that was what tipped the scales, but I suppose you can always trust corpos to do what corpos do.

But anyway, that's why so many Mechs are custom made to their pilots nowadays. That's why they craft the IMPs alongside the pilots through basic training. You gotta build a system that'll fit the pilot's body map, and ideally one that'll make the most of it.

If that pilot's more comfortable with a tail? Give that Mech a tail. Digitigrade legs? Quadrupedal? Fuck it, if it works for the pilot, throw that shit on there. Y'see ultimately, through the Neural Link, all you gotta be able to do is trick your brain into thinkin' that Mech is your body, and then it's off to the races.

And that moment, when your mind slips into that metal monstrosity and suddenly you feel more at home than you ever did in your own flesh and blood? That's what pilots live and die for. That's how you know the engineers did a good job.

And that's what makes a Mech a Mech.

[schemmentigfs]

oi, letiii. tem como você fazer um one shot igual aquela still here, still distant mas ao contrário, ou seja, bem fluffy, comfort onde a r fem descobre que tá grávida ou da mel cuidando dela durante a gravidez ou pós parto com o bebê, sei lá?? plsssssss

The Pregnancy Diaries of Baby Schemmenti.

Summary: After finding out that you are pregnant with her child, Melissa Schemmenti records a tiny pregnancy diary until the labor day.

WC: 5k.

Taglist: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @kukikatt @dopenightmaretyphoon @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr

October 2nd. 8:37 a.m.

Living room is still, actually the whole house is still. Quiet in that sacred, early-morning kind of way. Outside, the sun’s just begun to filter through the windows, casting soft golden beams across the hardwood floors and old family photos. The only sounds are the steady hum of the coffee machine and the occasional creak of the house settling around them—well, that, and the quiet whirr of the camera as it powers on.

The screen flickers to life. At first, it’s just a blurry flash of motion—too close. A thumb over the lens. Then it adjusts, refocuses, and finally settles.

Melissa Schemmenti appears in the frame, sitting back in an old, worn armchair with one knee drawn up under her. Her red hair, a little sleep-mussed, spills over the shoulders of a soft grey Philadelphia Eagles sweatshirt. The collar is stretched from wear; the sleeves are pushed up over her forearms. There’s a pink flush in her cheeks, either from the warmth of the coffee mug in her hand or from something more vulnerable that’s still lingering beneath the surface.

Her green eyes—those warm, fierce, Italian eyes—crinkle just a little as she adjusts the camera one last time. She leans back, gets comfortable, and lets out a breath that seems to come from somewhere deep in her chest. The mug in her hand says ‘World’s Best Mama Bear’, steam curling gently from it in the morning light.

Your wife smiles, crooked, fond and speaks.

“Alright, bubba,” she glances toward the camera, then down at the mug, then back again. “Not you—well, not just you. I mean the baby. Though I guess this can be for you too, if you ever watch this.”

There’s a beat. Her eyes soften as she shifts in her seat, settling in more fully. Something about this—the act of talking into a camera in an empty living room—tugs at her memory.

“Y’know, I did this once before. Back when they had us record those interviews at Abbott. Felt weird then, too. They still record us but not all the time like before.”

She chuckles under her breath.

“But I figured—if I’m gonna keep makin’ these little videos, might as well say the date, huh? October second.”

The second grade teacher takes a sip of her coffee, savoring it, then glances up toward the ceiling with a faint smile.

“She’s still sleepin’ upstairs. Didn’t get much rest last night—poor thing’s been tossin’ and turnin’ like crazy. I think the baby’s learnin’ how to kickbox in there. Or tryin’ to break out early.”

A pause. Her face softens again, fondness bleeding into every line.

“But around four in the morning, she just... curled up next to me. Turned into this warm little furnace and passed right out. Didn’t move after that.”

She chuckles again, quieter this time.

“I didn’t mind. Never do. I like takin’ care of my girl. Always have.”

There’s something about the way she says it—quiet, reverent, a little stunned still. Like she can’t believe how lucky she is. Like she’s still figuring out how to say these things out loud.

“Never thought I’d be the kind of person who’d... sit in a living room talkin’ to a camera about baby kicks and weird cravings. Or rubbin’ somebody’s back while they’re cryin’ over a dog food commercial. Or—God help me—Googlin’ ‘why does my pregnant wife want pickles and watermelon at the same time?’”

Melissa laughs, one hand brushing her hair back as she shakes her head.

“But here we are.”

Her voice goes quiet. She swallows, her throat working around the weight of emotion that’s suddenly snuck up on her.

“And I wouldn’t trade it. Not for anything.”

She sets the mug down on the table beside her with a soft clink. Then she leans forward, resting her chin in her hand, elbow on her knee. The camera catches the shine in her eyes as she looks right into it, like she’s looking through time, right at the two people she loves most.

“Y/N told me she was pregnant a few weeks ago. Right here. In this room.”

Her voice grows quieter still. Measured. Like she’s scared to say too much, scared it might slip through her fingers if she does.

“I thought maybe I’d forget how it felt, y’know? The moment. But... nah. It hit me like a damn freight train. In a good way. Like suddenly, my whole world just tilted into place. Like—‘oh. This is where I’m meant to be.’”

She blinks slowly. Her voice doesn’t shake, but her heart’s right there in it.

“And now we’re here. And she’s got this perfect little belly that I swear I could just watch for hours. And she smiles at me like I hung the moon. And sometimes I still can’t believe it. That I get to be part of this. That I get tolove her like this.”

Melissa sits back for a moment. Runs her fingers along the rim of the coffee mug, her thumb lingering over the word mama.

“I’m makin’ this for the baby. For when they’re here. So they’ll know—right from the start—how loved they are. How lucky they are to have her as a mother. How beautiful she is. Strong as hell, too. Even with swollen ankles and a back that hurts every ten minutes, and the worst mood swings I’ve ever seen in my life...”

She grins.

“Still the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

She takes a breath. A long one. Her voice is hushed when she speaks again.

“And if she ever forgets—if she ever gets tired or scared, or thinks for even a second she’s not doin’ enough... I want her to have this. I want her to see how I looked at her. How I see her.”

Her gaze softens again. She leans toward the camera, eyes never leaving the lens.

“I got you, babygirl.”

A whisper.

“I’m right here. Always.”

She reaches out and touches the camera, fingers brushing over it like she’s touching the future.

The screen flickers.

Then fades to black..

October 11th. 7:52 p.m.

The screen clicks on. This time, it’s not Melissa’s face that appears first—it’s the soft, amber glow of the living room lamp, the quiet warmth of a fall evening settling into the house. There’s a faint jazz record playing some Beatles song in the background, the gentle clink of cutlery against ceramic, and then, slowly, her voice comes in—low and fond, just behind the camera.

“Alright... look at her.”

The camera pans gently to the right, revealing you curled up on the couch, legs tucked under a throw blanket. You are wearing one of Melissa’s oversized t-shirts, your hair loose and a little messy from the day. A small plate of cheese and crackers rests on your belly, which has grown noticeably rounder since the last days. You are carefully balancing the plate like it’s a precious artifact, fingers daintily picking up a square of cheddar and popping it into your mouth.

Melissa laughs quietly off-screen, zooming in just a little.

“You’d think she was at a five-star restaurant, the way she’s savorin’ every bite.”

Another laugh, softer this time.

“She made me get outta bed for this. Said she needed the fancy crackers. Not the round ones, the square ones. ‘The ones with the little seeds,’ she said.”

You pause mid-bite and glances toward the camera, a suspicious little squint in your eyes.

“You’re filming me? Seriously?!”

Melissa grins, her voice teasing but sweet.“Mmhm. Just a moment in history, sweetheart. You and your late-night cheese emergency.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Instead, you pick up another cracker, this time topping it with a slice of gouda and a cornichon from the side dish your wife must’ve prepared just to keep you happy.

“She’s got very specific taste these days,” Melissa continues, the camera now focused on your contented expression as you chews thoughtfully, nodding to yourself like a sommelier.

The baby wanted cheese,” you mumble with your mouth full.

Melissa’s laugh is all love. “Yeah, yeah. The baby. You sure it’s not just you wantin’ cheese every ten minutes?”

You narrow your eyes but grin, licking a bit of brie off your thumb. “Don’t sass a hungry pregnant lady, Schemmenti.”

Melissa zooms in for a close-up of your face, feeling suddenly soft again. “God, look at her. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Every version of her. But this one—this sleepy, snacky, bossy little queen of the couch—she’s somethin’ else.”

You blink at her, flustered, cheeks flushed.

“Are you getting sentimental again?”

“Every damn day.”

She doesn’t stop recording right away. Instead, she lets the moment linger—you popping another cracker in your mouth, shifting slightly to make room for the baby bump, then settling again with a sigh of contentment.

“Alright, bubba,” she murmurs, the camera now back on the plate of snacks balanced carefully on your belly. “One day, you’re gonna see this and know—this is what love looks like. Cheese and crackers at eight o’clock on a Wednesday, and your mama takin’ up the whole couch like she owns it. Which she does. Always has.”

October 15th. 2:14 p.m.

The camera reveals Melissa sitting at the kitchen table, sunlight streaming in through the window behind her. Her red hair is pulled back into a loose braid, a few strands escaping around her face. She’s in a soft flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, looking cozy and domestic. In front of her sits a small box wrapped in floral paper, along with a much smaller package—barely big enough to hold a bar of soap—topped with an uneven bow.

On the table next to the gifts sits Sweet Cheeks, the guinea pig, nestled in a little fleece-lined basket his momma clearly rigged out of a shoebox and an old baby blanket. He is blinking lazily, occasionally sniffing at the edge of the box, fluffy cheeks twitching.

Melissa adjusts the camera, leans into the frame, and grins. “Alright, baby—this one’s for you. And for the baby, I guess. And also for Sweet Cheeks, apparently, ‘cause Nonna went a little gift-happy.”

She picks up the smaller package first, squints at the tag.

“This one says—” she flips it over with a fond eye-roll. “‘To my grandpig, from Nonna Teresa.’”

Melissa snorts but her smile is fond and unmistakably tender.

“She’s lost it. Completely.”

The older woman carefully tears open the paper, revealing a tiny pink fleece hat—clearly handmade, with two ear holes cut out. Sweet Cheeks, oblivious to his fate, is busy nibbling the corner of a carrot.

Your wife holds up the hat to the camera.

“She knitted for the guinea pig. You’re seein’ this, right?”

She glances down at Sweet Cheeks.

“Alright, come on, fuzzball. Let’s try it on.”

There’s a bit of gentle maneuvering, a few squeaks of protest, and then—Sweet Cheeks, now adorned with a slightly crooked pink hat, blinking up at the camera like royalty.

Melissa can’t stop laughing.

“Look at him! Little diva. He knows he’s cute.”

The camera zooms in slightly, capturing the moment.

“Ma’s gonna lose it when she sees this video. She’s gonna think this pig is gonna be ring bearer or somethin’.”

Melissa opens the second, larger package more carefully. Inside, she finds a stack of folded baby onesies—soft yellow and pale green, each one with a different little embroidered patch. A smiling tomato. A clove of garlic. A meatball.

She holds one up and reads the tiny stitching on the front: Little Sicilian.

Her breath catches for just a second—barely noticeable—but her smile never fades. She brushes her fingers over the fabric like it’s made of glass.

“Mamma made these. She still cares enough to make these.”

Sweet Cheeks squeaks, startling Melissa slightly, and she reaches over to scratch him gently between the ears.

“Even if she thought one of ‘em was for you,” she murmurs with a watery chuckle. “It still counts.”

The redheaded woman lifts one of the onesies toward the camera again, her tone softer now.

“You’re gonna be wrapped in love, kiddo. From me, from your mommy, from your Nonna... hell, even from the guinea pig. Look at him—he’s already protective.”

Sweet Cheeks shifts slightly in his basket, flopping onto his side, hat still on.

“Okay, maybe not that protective. But he’s tryin’.”

Melissa reaches out, turns the camera a little so it frames her and Sweet Cheeks side by side. She holds the tiniest onesie up between them, her eyes warm and wet.

“Thanks, Ma,” she says quietly. “You did good.”

She leans in, kisses the top of Sweet Cheeks’ head, and gently taps the camera.

October 20th. 5:11 p.m.

On the Teachers’ Lounge, the usual hum of end-of-day chaos has settled into quiet. The fluorescent lights are dimmed, the coffee pot is mostly empty, and the hallway chatter has faded. In the lounge, only two people remain: Melissa Schemmenti and Jacob Hill.

Jacob sits on the worn couch, a half-finished grading stack next to him, sweater sleeves rolled up, curls slightly askew. He looks up as his former roommate walks in holding a small white gift bag, her expression unreadable but softer than usual.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just sets the bag down next to him and crosses her arms, leaning on the doorframe.

“This for me?” he asks with a smile, looking pleasantly confused.

Melissa gives a small shrug, but there’s a glint of something in her eyes. “Yeah. Thought you oughta have it.”

He pulls the bag onto his lap and peeks inside. He reaches in and pulls out a mug first—handmade ceramic, a little lopsided, clearly painted by a kid. Across the front, in chunky black letters:

Best Godfather Ever. :)

His hands freeze. He blinks. Then looks up at her, confusion beginning to dissolve into realization.

“Wait... wait, what is this?” his voice already shakes. “Mel—what is this?”

She walks over, sits beside him. Quiet, patient. Hands folded, eyes full.

“It means what you think it means, hon. We want you to be the godfather of our baby.”

Jacob stares at the mug in his hands like it might vanish if he blinks too fast. His mouth opens, then closes. When he speaks again, his voice is breaking.

“Are you—are you serious?” his throat tightens.“Me?”

Melissa nods, firm and steady.

“You, Jacob. Of course it’s you.”

He puts the mug down carefully, then buries his face in his hands. Shoulders shaking. It’s not loud—he’s not sobbing—but it’s the kind of cry that’s been building for years. One that comes from being seen. From being chosen.

Melissa doesn’t move right away. She just watches, lets him feel it. Then, quietly, she reaches over and places a hand on his back. Warm. Anchoring.

“You’ve been family since day one. Even when you annoyed the hell outta me. Which, let’s be honest, was most days.”

Jacob lets out a watery laugh, lifting his head just enough for her to see his red, blotchy face. He wipes at his cheeks with the sleeve of his cardigan.

“I just—I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t gotta say anything,” her voice softens further. “I trust you. And she does too. That kid’s gonna grow up knowin’ what kindness looks like ‘cause of you.”

The social studies teacher swallows hard, still wiping his tears.

“I’m gonna be the best godfather, Mel. Like, I’ll research it. I’ll make spreadsheets. I’ll learn how to knit. I’ll—”

Melissa snorts, her eyes shining

“You don’t gotta learn how to knit, sweetheart. Just keep bein’ you. That’s more than enough. For me. For us.”

Jacob nods, lip trembling again as he picks the mug back up and cradles it like it’s sacred.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I love you.”

Melissa doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t joke to deflect. She just looks him in the eye, all warmth and steel.

“I love you too, honey.”

October 22nd. 3:30 p.m.

The camera clicks on, clearly hidden somewhere discreet—probably set up by Jacob, who’s suspiciously lingering near the door, doing a terrible job pretending he’s not part of something. Melissa enters, calm as ever, holding a neatly wrapped rectangular box with a bow and a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Barb sits behind her desk, grading a stack of vocabulary quizzes. She looks up the moment her work wife enters and raises an eyebrow.

“If this is another one of your Italian meatball baby craving deliveries for Y/N, Melissa, I’m afraid I cannot accept bribes.”

Melissa smirks, already halfway across the room.

“Relax, hun. I brought you a gift, not a bribe.”

“Same thing when it’s from you.”

Jacob snorts from the doorway. Melissa shoots him a glare before gently placing the box on the desk.

The kindergarten teacher side-eyes it, suspicious.

“What is this? It’s not another candle that smells like a sandwich, is it?”

Melissa groans. “Nope. Go ahead. Open it.”

Barbara sighs, carefully removes her reading glasses and lifts the lid. Inside is a crisp, embroidered handkerchief with delicate floral stitching in the corner… and beneath it, a white bib.

She picks it up. It reads:

If lost, please return me to my godmother, Barbara Howard.

“...Excuse me?”

Melissa leans her hip against the desk, arms folded, smug as ever.

“You heard me. You’re lookin’ at the official godmother of this kid.”

The brunette blinks. Once. Twice. Then sets the bib down like it might explode.

“Melissa Ann Catarina Schemmenti. Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Jacob bursts out laughing from the door. “She said your full government name, oh my god—”

Barb glares at him.

Melissa just grins and then, responds. “You’re the most level-headed, morally sound woman I know. If anything ever happened to us—and I don’t say that lightly—I’d want someone who’d raise our kid with Jesus, good books, and absolutely no nonsense. So yeah. You’re it.”

She looks genuinely touched for a full 0.3 seconds before her composure slams back into place. “I am honored. Deeply. But let me be perfectly clear—I will not be changing diapers. I did that in the ‘80s and recently with my glamchild. I am done.”

Your wife holds up her hands.

“No diapers. Just wisdom. Discipline. And maybe the occasional terrifying stare that makes them sit up straight from across the room.”

The kindergarten teacher sniffs. “Well… I do have a reputation to uphold.” A pause. Then, softer.“Thank you. Truly. It means more than I can say.”

Melissa reaches over, giving her hand a rare, gentle squeeze.

Jacob claps loudly. “Okay, say cheese for the camera!

“Jacob Anthony Hill, is there a camera in my classroom?” Barb whips.

“NOPE!” he yelps, diving out of the room.

Barbara narrows her eyes toward the suspicious potted plant in the corner. “If this ends up on TokTik, so help me, I will call the Lord and the district.”

October 23rd. 4:48 p.m.

The afternoon sun casts shadows across the cracked parking lot. Most of the teachers have gone home, but Melissa stands by her car, arms crossed and eyes squinting into the light. She’s clearly trying to act casual. It’s not working.

Janine walks out of the building with Gregory close behind, both mid-conversation.

“...and that’s why glue sticks and humidity are natural enemies,” the second grade teacher’s saying.

Her boyfriend just nods, clearly having stopped listening seven minutes ago.

Behind them, Ava struts out in sunglasses and heels she did not wear all day, Mr. Johnson trailing with a suspiciously large duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“You got five minutes, Schemmenti,” the principal says. “I got a facial at six and Mr. J needs to dispose of something that definitely isn’t haunted.”

“It was never proven haunted,” the janitor mutters.

Melissa raises a hand.

“Okay, alright, listen up. I called you over ‘cause I got somethin’ to tell you. Something important.”

Everyone tenses.

Janine’s eyes go wide. “Is it the mob?” she blurts.

Gregory sighs. “Baby, again—no one is in the mob.”

“Not no one,” Ava mutters, eyeing her coworker.

The green eyed woman pinches the bridge of her nose. “No, it’s not the damn mob. Will you shut up and let me talk?” she hesitates for half a second. Then her entire face softens. “She’s pregnant.”

The group goes still. Janine gasps, covering her mouth. “YOU’RE PREGNANT?!”

Melissa stares at her. “No, not me—Y/N. She’s pregnant.”

“Ohhhhh,” her grade partner exhales, and then immediately claps her hands over her mouth again. “Oh my god!” she rushes over and hugs the redhead, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’m gonna cry. I am crying.”

Gregory blinks, then smiles. It’s subtle, but proud.“Congratulations. That’s... wow. That’s amazing.”

“You gonna be a good mom?” Mr. Johnson asks seriously.

Melissa raises an eyebrow. “I’m gonna be the best damn one this school’s ever seen.”

“Then I’ll make a tiny shovel.”

Ava slowly lowers her sunglasses, staring at your wife like she’s analyzing her soul. “So let me get this straight... you’ve been hiding a whole baby this whole time?”

“We weren’t hiding the baby. We were just... enjoying it being ours for a little while.”

“I knew something was going on,” the taller woman says dramatically, pacing. “You’ve been all glowy and less mean. And you didn’t slap me when I called you Soft Mommy Mafia the other day.”

“I should’ve,” Melissa mutters.

“You’re gonna name the baby Ava, right?”

“Not a chance.”

Janine’s already spiraling in a circle. “Wait, wait—can I help with the baby shower? I know this woman who makes custom diaper cakes shaped like dinosaurs and also Jesus. Or both?”

Gregory gently pulls her back by the backpack strap. “Maybe let them process for a second.”

Melissa leans back on her car, arms crossed but smiling, eyes shining. “Just wanted you guys to know. You’re part of this. Whether you like it or not.”

Mr. Johnson nods seriously. “I’ll start making the crib. Outta reclaimed wood from the fallout shelter.”

Janine sniffles. “It’s gonna be the most emotionally intelligent baby in the world.”

Ava snaps a selfie with your redheaded wife mid-sentence. “Tagging it: ‘When the mob wife turns MILF.’”

“Coleman—”

“Too late. It’s on the story.”

November 10th. 7:42 p.m.

Melissa is sitting on the couch in a navy hoodie and sweatpants, hair up in a messy clip. Her face is a little flushed, the kind of tired that says I’ve had a long day but I’m happy to be here.

You are next to her. Well—on her, really. Draped over her side, face half-buried in her neck, arms wrapped around her like a sleepy sloth. A blanket covers both of you, and you are making a soft, satisfied humming sound every time she shifts.

Melissa glances at the camera and smirks.

“It’s November tenth. I wasn’t gonna film anything today, but... this one won’t let me breathe without bein’ attached like a koala,” she nods toward you, then gently nudges your thigh. “Say hi, cling wrap.”

You let out a muffled, sleepy “hi” without lifting your head.

The green eyed woman chuckles, brushing some hair from your face.

“She’s been like this all week. I don’t mind—I like her like this, actually. Kinda nice havin’ a little heater who whines if I get up for water.”

You groan quietly. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby. Just talkin’ to the camera for the peanut.”

Your hand slides under Melissa’s hoodie, cold fingers on her side. She yelps and twists.

“Jesus Christ, would you stop tryin’ to ice me to death?”

“Your skin’s warm,” you smile, snuggling closer.

Melissa looks back at the camera with an exaggerated deadpan stare.“This is what I signed up for, apparently. Cold hands, belly kicks at 2 a.m., and emotional blackmail in the form of sleepy cuddles.”

A beat. Then she smiles—soft and deep and completely in love.

“Nah, but seriously... she’s like this now more than ever. Real clingy. I think it’s ‘cause she’s gettin’ close to the third trimester and her back hurts and everything’s heavy.”

She runs a gentle hand down your spine. “But she still smiles at me every time I walk into a room like I’m the damn sun.”

“You are,” you say, muffled again.

Melissa pauses, touched. She glances down at her, then gently kisses the top of her head.

“You’re ridiculous. But... yeah. I’ll take it.”

A silence settles for a moment—only the sound of the televison playing faintly and your breathing.

She leans forward just enough to whisper into the camera, trying not to wake you up. “She’s gonna see this later and deny bein’ this clingy. But I got it on tape now. Forever.”

A proud smirk. “Evidence.” she reaches forward and taps the camera gently. “Love you, bubba. Both of you.”

November 17th. 2:14 p.m. The camera is not on—it’s shaky footage clearly taken by you on your phone, aimed at Melissa sitting in a chair beside the exam table. She’s got her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, frozen in disbelief.

The sonographer calmly points at the monitor. “And that’s baby A… and right there, that’s baby B.”

Melissa doesn’t move for a full two seconds.

“I’m sorry—BABY WHAT?” She shoots to her feet, knocking her chair back. “BABY B?!”

You are snorting behind the camera, nearly dropping the phone. She turns in a slow circle like she’s trying to physically walk away from the news but keeps ending up back at it.

“Twins? TWINS?!”

She grabs the edge of the counter dramatically. “There’s two of them in there? Like—AT THE SAME TIME?”

The sonographer, very used to this reaction, just nods and keeps smiling.

Melissa throws both hands in the air. “Oh my GOD, I’m gonna need more lasagna.”

November 25th. 4:03 p.m.

The screen shows a softly nursery in progress—walls a pale sage green, with scattered paint swatches still taped up on the far side. A wooden crib stands assembled in the corner, and Melissa is on a small step stool, pinning star-shaped string lights along the wall with quiet concentration. She’s in paint-smudged leggings and an old Villanova t-shirt, hair tied up, humming off-key under her breath.

The bedroom is filled with calm music, faint sounds of laughter from the hallway, and the occasional creak of the old floorboards.

Behind her, you walk in holding two tiny onesies—one with cartoon peaches, the other with little bears. You lean in the doorway for a moment, just watching Melissa.

“You missed a spot,” you tease softly.

She glances over her shoulder. “Yeah? Come over here and say that to my face, smartass.”

Ypu smirk and walk in, wrapping arms around Melissa’s waist from behind, resting your cheek against her back.

“Y’know,” she says, voice quieter, “I never thought I’d get to do this. Paint walls, hang lights, fold baby socks...”

She steps down from the stool and turns to face you, arms loosely wrapping around your hips.

“But now we’re here. And I don’t want to miss a second of it.”

Your eyes shine, and you lean in, gently brushing your noses together before kissing her—slow and warm, the kind that says home.

The lights twinkle softly above you.

March 4th. 9:26 p.m.

The screen jolts on, shaky at first, clearly unintentional. The kitchen lights are on. You can hear the sound of something sizzling on the stove.

Off-camera, there’s a sudden sharp intake of breath.

“Um… babe?”

Melissa, wearing pajama pants and a worn grey hoodie, strolls into frame holding a wooden spoon. “Yeah?”

“I think my water just broke.”

“...You what?” the spoon hits the floor. “WHAT?!”

She spins around like she’s expecting to see water flooding the kitchen. You walk into frame, hands on your lower back, eyes wide but calm.

“I mean—I’m pretty sure. Either that or I peed myself and I’m really committed to the bit.”

“Okay. Okay. Okay. Don’t panic.” Melissa starts pacing, already panicking. “Is it too soon? Wait, no—we’re full term. We’re full term, right? Oh my god. Where’s the bag? Did we pack the bag? Did I pack the bag? WHERE IS THE BAG?”

You, somehow still composed, points toward the hallway. “Closet. Second shelf.”

“Right, closet, second shelf—why would we put it there, what kind of monsters are we—” She runs off screen, and a crash is heard followed by a loud “WE’RE HAVING BABIES, HOLY SH—”

Melissa stumbles back into frame holding the hospital bag and car keys, looking wild-eyed. “Okay, okay, I got it. I’m ready. Are you ready? Are the babies ready? Are we emotionally—actually no, don’t answer that, get in the car.”

“Should I change first or…?”

She takes one look, nods frantically. “Yes. No. I don’t know. Do whatever you need to do, just—do it fast. I’ll be in the car yelling at traffic that hasn’t even happened yet.”

"Okay."

The redhead rushes toward the door, then doubles back just as fast and cups your face, kissing you quickly but fiercely. “You got this. I love you. You’re amazing. Let’s go have some babies.”

She disappears again with a final, muffled “OH MY GOD IT’S HAPPENING—”

The camera is left at a crooked angle, pointed at the stove, where the spaghetti is now boiling over.

March 4th. 11:12 p.m.

The Medical equipment hums quietly. You’re propped up in the hospital bed, pale but strong, one hand on your belly, the other tightly gripping Melissa’s.

She sits at your side, no longer wild-eyed but focused—serious in a way that means she’s feeling everything but holding it together for both of you. Her hair’s a little messy from running her hands through it, and her hoodie’s halfway zipped over the t-shirt she threw on under pressure. Her thumb rubs slow circles over your knuckles.

“Okay,” Melissa says softly, looking up at you. “I’ve calmed down. Mostly. I think. You’re doin’ amazing, bubba. You hear me? I’ve never seen anybody this strong.”

You breathe through a contraction, jaw tight. When it passes, you manages a tired smile.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“I know. Me too,” she swallows hard.“But we’re gonna do this together, alright? You and me. And then we’re gonna have two tiny little people who’ve already stolen my heart and ruined my sleep schedule.”

The monitor beeps gently in the background.

Melissa glances at the camera, then back at you.

“I wish I could bottle this moment. So the babies know how hard you worked to bring them here. How brave you are. How much you love ‘em already.”

You smile, eyes fluttering close for a second.

“Hey,” she whispers, voice cracking. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

A nurse steps in quietly, letting you both know the doctor will be there in a few minutes. Melissa nods, then leans down and kisses your hand.

“Let’s go meet our babies.”

March 5th. 12:47 a.m.

Melissa’s hand is gripped tight in yours as the doctor gives the final encouragement. Sweat clings to your brow, body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline. Your sweet wife is right beside you, eyes locked on her face, whispering fiercely:

“You’ve got this, baby. One more push. You’re almost there. I’m right here.”

A cry.

Sharp. New.

The world stills around it.

The redheaded woman’s head whips toward the sound, her breath catching in her throat as the nurse holds up the first baby.

“It’s a girl!”

The tiniest, angriest human is placed gently in the nurse’s arms to be cleaned off, and Melissa Schemmenti can’t stop staring.

“That’s her,” she whispers. “That’s... that’s our baby.”

And then a second cry. Softer, warbled.

“And here’s her sister!”

Tears are already running down her cheeks as both babies are swaddled and handed over one by one. Your eyes flutter open as Melissa returns, one baby in each arm, shaking and smiling so wide it almost doesn’t fit on her face.

She gently settles onto the edge of the bed, carefully handing you the baby with the stronger lungs, who’s still fussing.

“That one’s Francesca,” Melissa says, quiet and reverent. “This little fighter.”

You stare down at her, blinking through tears, and stroke the baby’s soft cheek.

The older woman turns her gaze to the smaller, sleepier one curled up on her chest. “And this is Amelia. Our quiet girl. Look at her, bubba. She’s so little... but she’s perfect.”

The room is warm now, filled with a silence that hums with love and awe. The kind of silence that only happens after something sacred.

Melissa rocks gently, pressing her lips to Amelia’s forehead. “Francesca,” she murmurs, glancing at the other baby and grinning.

“You know what I’m callin’ her already, right?”

“No.”

She looks back at you. “She’s gonna be my little Chessy.”

“Wait—wait a second. I know that name.”

“Yeah, you do.”

[newtonsheffield]

I know the bee costume thing was surprise Neddy au but like... the image of funeral au Kate making them costumes in the middle of the night to surprise her son who just mentioned it when he was learnin the alphabet and SHE can't get the idea of her little boy as the most precious little bumble bee on the planet out of her head

ps is funeral Kate crafty I feel like shes crafty

Kate is a seamstress, she’s very crafty. And she absolutely does think her little three year old would be adorable in a Bee costume. So there she is, working at her sewing machine in the middle of the night with her husband padding down the hallway. His hair is sticking up at an odd angle and he’s rubbing his eyes, blinking around in the light.

“Babe? What are you doing?”

Kate looked up a little distractedly. “I’m sewing.”

“Why are you sewing at 3am?”

“Your child’s kicking me in the ribs anyway.”

Anthony sighed. “Why are they my children during pregnancy when they keep you awake but your sweet little boy is sleeping down the hall?”

Kate smiled, inspecting a stitch under the light. “Because he’s a handsome little angel who’s grown out of your annoying habits. This one hasn’t learned yet.”

Anthony kissed the top of her head before he sat on the floor beside her. “What are we making?”

“A tiny little bumblebee costume for my handsome angel.”

“Me or Neddy?” Anthony joked.

“Neddy. But I’ll make you a shirt that matches.”

“Did you have time to-?”

“I already hemmed your trousers, yes.” Kate paused, “Gave myself a little treat as well.”

“They’re extra tight at the arse then?”

“They are.”

[deafeninggalaxycandy]

✨️NICHOLE DANIELS HEADCANONS✨️

trigger warning: slight mentions of racism (she lives in south park, did u rlly think I'd ignore the obvious?)

• Nicole Amber Daniels

• She/Her

• Born on March 28th, 2003

• 5'4"

• Pansexual

• Nichole is really such a sweetie and so full of life. She's a ball of energy and brightness, always wanting to do something. Kyle got her interested in basketball and she loves it. The school opened up a female basketball team and she's the best player.

• Tolkien gave Nichole an arcade machine for her birthday that she uses all the time. It has a bunch of 80s games on there and she really likes Super Mario Bros, Tetris, and Ms. Pacman.

• Has a wide collection of Funko Pop dolls.

• Accidently vegan, she's lactose intolerant and allergic to eggs and she was already vegetarian. She also loves avocados.

• Amazing cook but she cannot bake. She's burned herself so much she's not allowed around the oven anymore.

• One of the smartest students in class. She's right behind Kyle and Wendy in terms of grades.

• Borderline obsession with dandelion crayons. She bought a rare pack of them for over $1,000 online. She just adores the color.

• Nichole is very interested in comic books and Marvel superheroes. Her favorite one is Storm from the X-Men

• Likes sunshine a lot. Summer, blue skies, the beach. Sunlight on her skin makes her feel alive and happy.

• Really good ballroom dancer. She tried to teach Tolkien how to ballroom dance, but he has two left feet.

• Kyle acted really weird around Nichole through most of middle school because he still had feelings for her while she was with Tolkien but they eventually talked it out. He got over the crush of course but things were still uncomfortable until around 9th grade. Ultimately, she doesn't love him but she respects him a lot and they hang out frequently as friends.

• Actually really shy and easily embarrassed. New people scare her a bit. But once she gets comfortable she literally never shuts up. She can talk for hours and hours about anything at all.

• Really good at art, likes to paint scenery. Mostly nature like mountains, flowers, lakes, parks, greenery overall.

• Best friends with Red. She has a tiny crush on them but never showed it.

• Really enjoys Kyle's poetry. He even inspired her to write a little.

• Listens to BTS, TXT, TWICE, and FAKY (she's a kpop stan)

• Really likes honey. Her shampoo and condition are honey-scented, her lotion is honey, she drinks honey straight from the bottle. Most of what she eats are Nature Valley Honey granola bars.

• Loves Steven Universe. She's incredibly invested in the lore and cried when Future ended. To this day, she still wrestles with herself about if Pink Diamond/Rose Quartz was really a bad person because she actually loves the character.

• Writes and reads HELLA fanfiction. Wattpad is her home. That being said, she despises book-tok. She actually enjoys reading the story and reads mostly romance with small bits of tasteful smut. She read Haunting Adeline once out of curiosity and vomited.

• Her favorite book is Lovelight Farms by B.K. Borison.

• Nichole is really the only one with a 100% healthy and happy relationship with her parents, specifically with her dad. They hang out a lot, usually playing chess, or watching the Avengers. William roots for Iron-Man, Nichole likes Black Widow because she reminds her of Red.

• She has had problems with her complexion and naturally kinky hair due to being around mostly white girls in South Park (and Cartman's bullying/stereotyping). This led to her having some self-confidence issues and attempts to make herself fit into the European beauty standard.

• Her mom sent her to a therapist for this, and it helped a lot. Mainly because one of her therapy tools was to avoid Cartman for a while (preferably forever). However, she still has a habit of flat ironing her hair as a subconscious effort to "fit in."

• Currently learning ballet from Wendy.

• Really wants to go to Paris one day, she's in love with French culture.

Istg if someone starts calling me racist over this. This took a lot of effort so pls no hate :(

Yall asked for Nichole, I provided with this adorable girlie 💛she's so cuteeeeee I can't even

Red McArthur is up next!!

[heartfullofleeches]

ICE CREAM MACHINE GHOST LORE-

i am so down for learnin more about R 👀👀

Especially the idea of them and fast food reader catchin up on stuff R didnt get a chance to do???

Chefs kiss for R or maybe just even regular smooches for R

R was born June 1st, 1981 and went missing on the 2nd of June, 2002. This is important to mention not just to give a timeline to his short period alive, but also because he was a huge Scooby-Doo fan and really looking forward the live action film coming out around that time [June 14th]

Fast Food Reader unwinds from a stressful day, and rewards R for good behavior (aka going one day without slapping their ass with a dish rag) by wheeling in the tv used for training tapes and popping in a copy of Scooby-Doo - chilling with R as they watch it. Grabs the blankets they keep in their locker and sets up a little fort in the break room with popcorn and everything. Being the saint they are, Reader may offer to let him use their body so he can enjoy the snacks himself, but R wants to experience everything with them and snatches some poor suckers body to use. Reader doesn't understand why any of their coworkers like them, but then they do shit like this that reminds R a little of what he used to be and fall deeper in love with them with the humanity they've restored in him.

If Reader ever shows him what's new Scooby-Doo they would try to kill him again because he wouldn't stop singing the theme song.

-

R watches from behind the counter as you push the tarp covered trolley into the break room. After cleaning up for the day, you've been in and out of the room without saying much to him or answering his questions. The slam of a locker door and your shoes clicking across the hard floor draw you back to his spot as you fling your bag over your shoulder. You present the item retrieved from within, picking off the plastic film wrapped around the box.

"Hey, I'm done with work and still have a couple hours on the clock. Wanna watch this movie with me? Brought it for you."

"For me?" The confusion in his tone is genuine - still laced with that snarky tone he's known for. "What's the occasion? If you wanted to take me out on a date you could've been a little more romantic with your approach."

"Don't play dumb. You've been muttering lyrics to hex girls songs since I started working here when you think nobody is around. Took a while to figure out where they were from, but it's from a Scooby-Doo film so I thought you'd be interested in watching one with me."

R inspects the box art closer. There is something vaguely familiar about the girl with the orange sweater. Had a crush on someone just because they had the same square glasses and brown hair. That lovable, scared-cat mutt and his equally as jumpy human companion. He and his little brother used to have week long fights to see who got to be who for Halloween... They've taken on a different look, but they're still them. And he's still him. The same young adult who lept over the moon when he first saw that poster hung on the wall of his local theater.

"Got some popcorn and junk in the back. You can use my body for a minute if you want some. Try to make me strip in front of the bathroom mirrors and I will call an exorcist."

"While I appreciate the offer, there's no need." Leaping over the counter, R zips pass you and straight for locked front doors - phasing through the glass and into the body of the understandably terrified customer you chose to ignore as you closed up early. Their eyes briefly widen with fear before glossing over. R stretches, popping the stiff joints in his new body as he rounds the building - leaping through the still open drive through window. He strolls over to you, flashing that wide smile that looked bizarre on a living human face.

"I'm sure I'm better looking as I am, but this body doing anything for you?~"

"Whatever - let's just go."

His stolen heart leaps as you take his hand and pull him along with you to the back. It continues to pound in his ears as you enter the bathroom and take your seat on the floor, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him in the little fort you made using chair and old tablecloths. You take a blanket left on the floor and throw some of it in his lap as you pick up the remote.

"Comfortable?"

Reese looks down at his legs. He looks over at your hand still in his and squeezes it tighter. He fainty remembers the warmth of a high school crushes touch, but there's something different about it this time. The angry swarm of butterflies he felt in his stomach then are calm in the same way his mind is whenever he hears your voice.

"Yeah... I am...."

[polo-drone-070]

Losin meself in da footie drill -

First Session – Fukin’ Smashin’ It, Bruv!

Right, so I weren’t exactly a tactical genius when it came to footie, yeh? Like, I know how to run fast, how to shove a lad proper, and how to boot the ball like a rocket. But them plays? All them formations and strategies and fancy fukin’ tactics? Nah, bruv, that shit scrambles me brain. Tried listenin’ to the coaches, tried watchin’ the vids, but it’s like me head just don’t work that way.

So when the bros said they had a solution, mate, I was buzzin’.

"Stick on the helmet, bruv," they said. "Let the kit do the thinkin’ for ya."

Fukin’ brilliant.

They strapped me up—boots tight, gloves snug, compression gear fittin’ like a second skin—but the real kicker? That visor. That fukin’ helmet.

The moment it clicked into place—BAM.

Me brain? Gone. Just... blank.

I weren’t thinkin’, weren’t worryin’, weren’t even tryin’—just floatin’ in me own head, like I weren’t even part of me body no more. Everythin’ faded, bruv, everythin’ but the voice, the commands drillin’ right into me skull.

"Sprint. Turn. Brace. Charge."

An’ fuk me—I moved.

Didn’t even think about it. Legs pounded the turf, arms drove forward, body reactin’ faster than I ever had before. It weren’t me decidin’ what to do—me body just did it. Like a perfect fukin’ machine, every muscle firin’ exactly right, every movement snappin’ into place like clockwork.

Ball flew at me—intercept. Redirect. Reposition.

Me boot swung before I even knew why.

And it was perfect.

The ball soared, straight to me bro, like I’d planned it—but I hadn’t. Coz I weren’t planning shite.

I weren’t playin’ footie, bruv—I was fukin’ footie.

And the feel of it?

Euphoric.

It was smooth, effortless, like I weren’t even in me own body—just floatin’ somewhere above, feelin’ the pleasure of pure, perfect movement without havin’ to do a single fukin’ thing. Me body was just a puppet, reactin’ on command, everythin’ alignin’ with zero thought, zero hesitation.

Fukin’ paradise, bruv.

Then—the visor lifted.

And the crash hit me like a fukin’ truck.

Me legs? Gone. Arms? Shakin’. Chest? Burnin’. Sweat drippin’ from every inch of me like I’d been wrung out like a fukin’ sponge.

Everythin’ hurt, proper hurt, like me body had been pushed to its absolute fukin’ limit—coz it had. Fukin’ spent to the last drop of energy.

I stumbled, nearly toppled, gaspin’ for air, but me brain?

Still fukin’ buzzin’.

"Oi, Max, you fukin’ killed it, mate!" one of the bros clapped me back, grinnin’.

And even though everythin’ fukin’ ached, even though me legs felt like they were made of fukin’ lead, I beamed.

"That was fukin’ SICK, bruv!" I laughed, still buzzin’ like mad. "Gotta do that again—again an’ again!"

Coz fuk me, I never felt so locked in, so purely right. Like I weren’t just **learnin’ footie—I was fukin’ becomin’ it.

And I couldn’t fukin’ wait for the next round.

_______________ To join the Gold Team, contact @goldenherc9, @brodygold or @polo-drone-001.

Links : Session 2 Session 3 Final Session

[spikedupspidey]

Hey, how's it going?

I signed up for really nice classes a month ago. I'm trying to do as many things relating to math right now, I want to do something related to it in university and I need a good background for that. There were many classes to pick from, but the only class that focused a lot on mathematics was a class about how AI works. I'm really against AI, I only signed up for the math part. I didn't even expect to get in, but here I am.

Once you complete the classes, you will be awarded with a certificate. I really don't want people to see my certificate and assume that I condone AI. I want to build connections with like-minded people and that does not include individuals who endorse AI. What do you think? Am I overthinking it, or should I cancel the classes? I do really want to learn more about math/programming.

Nah, you’re not overthinking it, you’re thinking critically --and that’s exactly what punks, artists, and disrupters should be doing.

Here’s the thing, yeah: sometimes we’ve gotta get our hands dirty in the machine to learn how it ticks -- so we can dismantle it better. If you’re in that class for the math, for the skills, and not to parrot AI propaganda, then you’re not sellin’ out -- you’re gearin’ up.

You don’t owe anyone an explanation, but if it helps ease your mind, you can always make it clear why you took the class. Put your own footnote on that certificate. Start convos. Say, “I studied this so I could fight it smarter.” 'Cause the tech’ll keep evolving whether we like it or not -- so better we’ve got folks like you in the know, not just the bootlickers and brand lovers.

Don’t let the certificate define you. Let your actions do that. Keep learnin’, keep questionin’, keep buildin’ somethin’ better. Proud of you for thinkin’ it through.

[lizardsfromspace]

Many people don't know this, so um, let me #do you an educate and do some learnin' up in here!!!

Vending machines are a type of machine that "vends" food items in exchange for money, typically in the form of one dollar bills and 25-cent coins. YA GOT LEARNT!!!

Vending machines come in two major varietals: Pepsi and Coke. Pepsi machines feature Pepsi, Mountain Dew, and 7-Up, while Coke machines feature Coke, Sprite, and Fanta. Wild cards include Orange Crush and Gatorade, but you cannot expect these at every vending machine. OH SNAP, did yo ignorant ass get EDUCATED up in here???

Some vending machines have candy and these are the ones you have to watch out for, because the candy can get stuck, and it's tempting to put your arm in to get it out but that won't work. They won't teach you that in school, 'cause they're too busy teaching "calculus". Now, GO FORTH with your KNOWLEDGE'D UP BRAINS and GO LEARN SOMETHING out there, motherfuckers!!!!

[stringsnwires]

Hi hi!

I'm curious about your interest in engineering. Ever since you started getting into engineering, and building different machinery and what not — was there any particular machine or gadget you liked building? And how was it for you, when you first began studying engineering?

(I wanna be a vet in the future, so I'm interested in other people's learning experiences in different topics :) )

— thank you! Have a good day.

Howdy, Pardner.

First off, I just wanna say I am so damn sorry about lettin' this sit for so long. This mailbox is as knee-deep as Florida after a downpour.

Secondly, I ain't no medical doctor, but I am a doctor. I know that line'a work is damn right soul-crushin'. Good luck, Feller. I know you got it.

Now, about your question.

I might'a said somethin' like this before but I'll go on and say it again. I been known I wanted to do what my daddy n his daddy before him did since I knew I could. I started with little things. Screwin' screws into scrap wood, hammerin' in nails, LEGO sets when I was treated to em. Grew up helping Pa around the house otherwise. Electrical work, HVAC, plumbing, you name it. I ended up really likin' working on Pa's sentries. Even though teleporters were objectively cooler... Then I found some of Grandaddy's old blueprints. Hoowee.

Anyway, I was a part of the Engineering club at school, did all these fancy math, science, and STEM courses when I could. Took all my time.

Or the time I thought was all of it. Once I went into Uni, that place set me straight. Free time I didn't know I had was gone and there weren't no helpin' Pa out anymore. No parties, no friends. School was all I knew n it sucked like hell, but I loved it. Learnin' n all was such a blessing. Tiring, no doubt about it. Don't do what I did, I mean it. Y'all deserve to live like younguns do. Still, I don't regret any part of it. I'm in a place now where I can catch up on all that sleep if I really wanted to.

Anything specific y'all wanna know about higher education?

[mail-me-a-snail]

ill draw something more serious for this eventually but @necro-hamster im considering im loving im machine learnin and livin

[veterantrainerray]

Been real quiet ‘round the ranch. Most of the Gym Leaders are taking some time off now that we’re on the backend of this year’s tournament. Current champ help their spot, but frankly, the younger Gym Leaders all moved up the ranks by my reckoning. ‘Course, the League uses a different system of measurement, and it’s pretty expensive to relocate a gym leader’s whole operation, so we ain’t likely to see too much change there.

Of the lot of ‘em, Allister’s shown the most improvement by a mile. Gordie seemed to suffer a tad, but I reckon that’s a matter of improvements of the court. Hope he don’t take the wrong message from that. It’s good to see the kid starting to show more kindness openly. Them shackles are startin’ to crack. His fans certainly think it’s an improvement.

Bea’s slippin’. Been more focused on her own strength than her team’s, I reckon. Gordie’s mother hasn’t changed much, but the league’s been changin’ around her. The bar’s higher’n she’s used to, and ain’t goin’ down. I already posted a whole rant ‘bout her method’s flaws, I’ll spare yall that here. Reckon I should see ‘bout gettin’ Bea out here for a bit. Remind her of the fundamentals of battlin’. Her own trainin’ won’t suffer none with Mara ‘round to spar with. Only boxer to put me on my backside in the ring. With one hefty straight, too. Heck, she spars with Bruce sometimes when Pyrite ain’t feelin’ it. Without her partner.

Anywho, ramblin’ aside, I’d gotten used to how lively the place was for a while there. Feels like I got a proper pupil out ther ‘stead of just a client. I know she’ll be more’n ready to rumble under old Mustard’s tutelage. And speakin’ of Mustard! He ‘n his missus are both adamant that buildin’ myself a dojo here on the mainland is “a wonderful idea.” Ain’t gonna be cheap, if I go that route. Ain’t got a clue how to go ‘bout it, frankly. Them dojo places are somethin’ from Mustard’s homeland, and I lack a lot of the… Cultural context, let’s call it… Ta do it respectfully, I fear. ‘Sides, up and proclaimin’ myself a master… Ain’t too sure I’m at that level. I ain’t ever even beat Raihan, ‘least since he took his current spot in the League. That kid… He’s a lot like a dragon himself. I’m still learnin’ plenty every day, along with my partners. Maybe I ain’t raisin’ dozens of specially bred battlers like the pros, but every day I’m better’n the day before, and that’s what matters.

For yall who entertained an old man’s rambling, here’s some excitin’ news. I done got myself a Hyper Training permit, got me ‘n the twins some of them Tera Orbs, along with a handful of spares for folks to use in trainin’. Yall don’t wanna know how much of a headache it was gettin’ them past the Customs Office. Turns out the energy they got shows up on just about every sensor known to man. I’m also gettin’ a special machine installed so we can fire up a Power Spot here on the ranch.

That last one’s a prototype, mind. One of that Professor Sonia’s new inventions. Says she hopes to bring Dynamax to other regions. Said I can keep the thing so long as I send her the records the thing makes. And signed the waiver. Workin’ on about a dozen Move Tutor permits still. Every one they’d let me apply for. Short version is, pretty soon yours truly will be qualified to provide dang near any service a trainer might need to get stronger. I may not know how to improve the ranch itself much, but I can sure as heck improve myself in the meantime.

[thestupidhelmet]

Hey there! First of all - I can't begin to say how amazing your work on here is. Your metas, fanfic, comics - as a relatively new 70s fan, it's been so great to peruse. I started watching the show in the autumn last year, and grew up in the 2000s so it still feels nostalgic to me.

It might be a bit of a weird question, but basically I've really been interested in researching the original screenplays, especially the 'scrapped' s7 ending (Aka the original finale) before it was renewed for season 8. I've had no luck so far, and I was wondering if you have had any experience looking for these before? If you have, would it be possible to ask for any pointers on where to start on my journey?

Thanks so much for everything you do, honestly it's amazing to read!!

Thank you for the kind words! I'm happy you're enjoying my T7S works. 😊♥️

Unfortunately, unless you got a hold of the T7S writers' own copies of their original drafts (if they -- or the producers -- still have them), they don't exist online anywhere.

The information I have about them is from the That '70s Show message board at Fan Forum. It was active from the time the earliest seasons first aired until my co-mod and I shut it down this year. The archives are still available to read at Fan Forum.

Before I was part of the board, it was a known quantity to people at That '70s Show. For instance, Wilmer Valderrama posted there a few times.

People who ran T7S fansites (which were a thing before social media sites like Facebook and Tumblr existed) often had connections to the show, and they shared insider info with people on the board, including about the S7 rewrites once S8 was greenlit. One specific example is that Jackie and Hyde were not supposed to reconcile until after Jackie's job offer in Chicago / ultimatum -- in other words, the series finale.

Because the series finale turned into a season finale, Jackie and Hyde's happy endgame was scrapped to give a ready-made story-arc to S8. That also led the showrunners to reconcile J/H temporary to give them a little more time together as a couple, allowing for the cliffhanger of the now-season finale.

J/H's reconciliation episode in S7 is badly written. Probably quickly written, and it shows. It contains no depth, no acknowledgement of their two-and-half years of show time as a couple. It defaults to their status in "Going to California" (5x01) and misinterprets and retcons it to boot.

(Reminds me of how T7S writer and T9S showrunner Gregg Mettler admitted he used Wikipedia to remind himself of the T7S characters' basic characterization and storylines instead of actually watching the show again for the most accuracy.)

When I became co-mod of the T7S board, I read through over fifteen years of posts (did my due diligence so I could be as knowledgeable as possible about T7S, behind-the-scenes info, and the fandom. The number of posts I read is staggering (we're talking close to 100,000), not just from my board but every T7S-related boarding on Fan Forum.

I also followed links to the fansites, using the Internet Wayback Machine when necessary. Found interviews with cast members and producers (transcribed, early podcasts, and filmed). Read through the Live Journal fandom and any other T7S message boards I found. I was beyond thorough. I treated my new post like getting a PhD in T7S.

Talk about hyperfixation (but I had my reasons 😅). My memory for this kind of info is scary. I might not remember how the contents of my dresser drawer have been arranged for over a decade, but I'm the person who naturally memorized her most interesting college classes and could recite their entirety to people (who were interested) for years after I graduated.

So it was with the T7S info I learned. Spoilers from taping reports with alternate takes and scenes ultimately cut from the aired episodes. The words I read while in a grocery store checkout line of the S8 showrunners from a TV Guide (I believe) interview and how unhappy I was upon learning they hated J/H's relationship and were reverting it back to their season-1 dynamic (as they [mis]understood it).

By repeating all this info for a decade to people who asked, it remained with me. I shared some of my findings on this blog with links. But to get the full picture, one would have to read all the posts and fansites, etc., which is a ridiculous task. So I do my best to provide what what specifics I can.

When I was a co-mod of the T7S board, we still had people visit who interacted with T7S creators. One person, for instance, had interviewed Mark Brazill (the man who came up with the major concepts of T7S) for his own site and posted the transcript for us.

I'm sorry that I can't help you find the actual original scripts (I'd love to read them myself), but if one watches T7S's latter half, original parts are still evident -- as are where stories were spliced and rewritten.

[aionlinemoney]

The Impact of Artificial intelligence in Healthcare Industry

Technology has always played an important role in healthcare, but the rise of Artificial Intelligence (AI) is bringing even bigger changes. From helping doctors diagnose diseases to improving patient care, AI is transforming the healthcare industry for the better. It’s making healthcare services more efficient, accurate, and personalized for each patient.

In this blog, we will take a closer look at how AI is used in healthcare, its benefits, and the challenges.

AI in Healthcare: A New Beginning 

AI in healthcare means using computers and smart programs to help doctors look at medical information and make better choices. AI can quickly go through a lot of data and find patterns that people might not see. This makes it really helpful for finding diseases.

Uses of AI in Healthcare:

Diagnostics and Early Detection:

AI is becoming a powerful tool in diagnosing diseases. Artificial intelligence in medical diagnosis can examine medical images like X-rays, MRIs, and CT scans with high accuracy. In some cases, AI can even spot diseases like cancer earlier than human doctors.

AI tools are also being developed to assess a person’s risk of diseases based on their genetics, lifestyle, and environment, making healthcare more personalized.

AI in Drug Discovery:

Finding new drugs is a long and expensive process. Artificial intelligence in medical diagnosis helps speed it up by predicting how different chemicals will interact with the body. This allows pharmaceutical companies to find new treatments faster.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, AI in healthcare was used to repurpose existing drugs to treat the virus. AI helped identify promising drugs quickly, shortening the usual timeline for research.

Virtual Health Assistants:

AI-powered virtual health assistants are now offering patients basic medical advice without the need to visit a hospital. These assistants can answer questions, remind patients to take medications, and help schedule appointments. They also reduce the workload on doctors.

Telemedicine, where doctors consult patients remotely, has become more popular, especially during the pandemic. AI-driven platforms allow doctors to diagnose and treat patients from a distance, making healthcare more accessible and convenient.

Robotics in Surgery:

AI in healthcare is helping doctors do delicate surgeries. These robots can do small, correct operations, which means patients heal faster.

One example is the Da Vinci Surgical System. It helps doctors perform complicated surgeries through tiny cuts, allowing patients to recover quicker and with better results.

Benefits of AI in Healthcare:

The uses of Artificial intelligence offer many benefits:

Increased Accuracy

Artificial intelligence has increased accuracy in the healthcare industry. AI can analyze large amounts of data quickly and accurately, leading to better and earlier diagnoses. This improves treatment outcomes and can save lives.

Personalized Treatments

AI allows for personalized medicine by analyzing a patient’s unique medical history, genetics, and lifestyle. This leads to more effective treatments tailored to individual needs.

Lower Costs

AI can help reduce healthcare costs by speeding up processes, reducing errors, and improving efficiency. Faster drug discovery and better patient management also save money.

Improved Patients Experience 

Virtual health assistants and telemedicine make healthcare more convenient for patients. They allow people to access medical advice and consultations from home, which is especially helpful for those in remote areas or with mobility issues.

Challenges:

Although AI is very promising in healthcare, there are some challenges:

Data Privacy and Security 

AI needs a lot of patient data to work, which raises concerns about keeping that data safe and private. It’s important to protect sensitive patient information as AI becomes more common in healthcare. This is the main challenge for machine learning in the healthcare industry.

Lack of Human Interaction 

While AI can help doctors, it cannot replace the personal care and understanding that human doctors provide. Some patients might feel that AI-driven care is too impersonal, so it’s important to keep a balance between Artificial intelligence speed and the human touch in the Healthcare Industry.

Regulatory Challenges

As AI develops quickly, governments and regulators must make sure it is safe and works well in healthcare. Creating clear rules for AI in healthcare is a complicated process that will take time. These are some challenges in the healthcare industry.

Conclusion 

AI is making big changes in healthcare. It helps doctors find diseases early, give personalized treatments, and make surgeries better. AI is changing every aspect of daily life to prepared in this era or to stay updated you should read AI related news and blogs

In the future, AI will likely become an even bigger part of healthcare, making care better and easier to get. AI isn’t here to replace doctors but to work with them, making healthcare smarter, faster, and better for patients everywhere.

[byanyan]

“ Penny in the swear jar, now. ”

ic quotes from discordㅤㅤㅤㅤ∘ ˚ ( accepting!! )

ㅤㅤ" tch... what are you, my mom? "ㅤthough they sound annoyed, there's a twitch at the corner of their mouth which gives away the amusement they're trying to conceal. a smile which threatens to force its way across their features as they play up the begrudging shove of their hands into the pockets of their pants to search for change.

ㅤㅤ" an' here i thought kids liked swearin'. y'know, when i was your age— "ㅤhe's only like four years younger than them, but that's not the point—ㅤ" we were swearin' up a fuc— ...a storm. we were swearin' up a storm. "ㅤthey have to press their lips together, jut them outward, just to keep the smile from making its way across their face when they catch themself about to curse again.

ㅤㅤ" i was learnin' all the swear words from other languages an' writin' 'em down in my little notebook to use later so no one'd fuckin' know i was cursin'. —fuck, i swore! —shit!! f— dude, i can't. "ㅤdespite themself, their smile finally breaks the surface, a surge of laughter pushing it forth. they can't contain it any longer.ㅤ" i'm a swearin' machine, okay? it's in my dna! "

regardless of what they say, they still pull a cupped hand from their pocket, change jingling within. one finger surfs across the cool edges of the coins until they pluck a nickel free and deposit it into august's hand.

ㅤㅤ" there. s'a little more'n i owe right now, but i'm sure i'll be buildin' up a debt in no time. —so, "ㅤa gesture to the metaphorical swear jar that is the boy's hand,ㅤ" does'is mean you don't want me t' teach ya how to swear in korean? or any other language, for that matter? "

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