#agent-based model

[procurement-insights]

Bain & Company appear to finally get it: but are they getting it right?

[dedtoot]

i didn't really like how elite beat divas portraits have pretty thin lines, compared to other characters, sooo a lil edit

[doctorweebmd]

accidentally* brainstormed a very complete outline for chapters 4-8 for eih, which should theoretically take us through Part 1. which is. you know. a godsend or whatever.

*accidentally meaning i was just eating delicious pancakes and the thoughts happened. usually its me crying screaming and shitting myself in front of an empty word document where ideas manifest. this is notably much more pleasant.

[bagdyernoke]

Using computer simulations, scientists also determined the personality types best suited for stays of up to 28 years on the Red Planet.

To answer these questions and better determine the behavioral and psychological interactions of future Martian settlers, the team employed a computer modeling approach called Agent-Based Modeling (ABM) simulation. 

What personality types function best on Mars

The ABM simulations used by the team allowed them to account for the interactions between settlers by considering four basic personality types based on resilience and coping ability. These four types were defined as agreeable, sociable, reactive and neurotic.

The team defined agreeables as "individuals with the lowest degree of competitiveness, low aggressiveness, and not fixated on stringent routine," while socials were "individuals with a medium degree of competitiveness, extroverted, require social interaction, but are not fixated on stringent routines." People with a medium degree of competitiveness and competitive interpersonal orientation and who are fixated on stringent routines were classed as reactives. The final group, "individuals with a high degree of competitiveness, highly aggressive interpersonal characteristics, and challenged ability to adapt to boredom or a change in routine," were classed as neurotics. 

In the models, Red Planet settlements started with an equal number of these four personality types. In all the tests, the researchers pointed out that the agreeable personality types were the only Mars settlers to last the duration of every single run. 

"We also found that the agreeable personality type was the one more likely to survive," the team wrote. "The stress caused by accidents, as well as from interacting with other settlers, takes a toll, and agreeable personality types were assessed to be the most enduring for the long term, whereas neurotics showed least adaptation capacity."

https://www.space.com/mars-settlements-people-personalities-number

mekkora meglepi: az együttműködő embertípusnak van a legnagyobb esélye a túlélésre ( a Marson is) :)

[rohitpalan]

Agent-based Modeling ABM Software Market set to hit worth USD 2,764.1 million at CAGR 11.5% from forecast period 2024 to 2034 | Future Market Insights Request a Sample of this Report: https://www.futuremarketinsights.com/report-sample#5245502d47422d3139343634

[procurement-insights]

What do Shared Services and the Agent-based model have in common, and why is it important to ProcureTech success?

[aretarers]

who up visualizing a grid of cells some of which are filled with agents with attributes and simple behavioral rules and running for a certain amount of time steps to observe the emergent behavior?

[endlesslytired]

Agent 4 isn’t a “goober” she is literally the only agent with a college education and it’s canon that she didn’t know about the Squid Sisters because she was so busy studying . Fuck you

I... I call everyone a goober??? I use it as a more nouny goofy. I call my friends it, I've called countless characters it. I'm well aware of Agent 4's history. I have the artbooks too. I have a little fact to trade back. On the official Splatoon world map, Agent 4's house is the only player agent's house on there except the S3 player but it's kinda also noting where the Splatlands are. Also Pearl is the only idol to have the same thing but her home is big enough to be visible on the map. It's honestly a really cool image.

I recommend giving a look yourself rather than getting mad that I've called yet another character a goober when my experience with playing S2 was trying to fish every dialogue I could out the Squid Sisters until they would do the silent treatment. Even they give goofy descriptions about what you do. And they were on Team Chaos for goodness sake.

[sustainableyadayadayada]

an agent-based stock market simulator

This agent-based stock market simulator, which was originally programmed in NetLogo and later moved to R, captures the behavior of the market in a statistical sense. Which is to say, it shows how multiple traders following logical strategies can add up to a whole lot of randomness and unpredictability. Also known as autoregressive conditional heteroscedasticity and/or generalized autoregressive…

[river-taxbird]

There is no such thing as AI.

How to help the non technical and less online people in your life navigate the latest techbro grift.

I've seen other people say stuff to this effect but it's worth reiterating. Today in class, my professor was talking about a news article where a celebrity's likeness was used in an ai image without their permission. Then she mentioned a guest lecture about how AI is going to help finance professionals. Then I pointed out, those two things aren't really related.

The term AI is being used to obfuscate details about multiple semi-related technologies.

Traditionally in sci-fi, AI means artificial general intelligence like Data from star trek, or the terminator. This, I shouldn't need to say, doesn't exist. Techbros use the term AI to trick investors into funding their projects. It's largely a grift.

What is the term AI being used to obfuscate?

If you want to help the less online and less tech literate people in your life navigate the hype around AI, the best way to do it is to encourage them to change their language around AI topics.

By calling these technologies what they really are, and encouraging the people around us to know the real names, we can help lift the veil, kill the hype, and keep people safe from scams. Here are some starting points, which I am just pulling from Wikipedia. I'd highly encourage you to do your own research.

Machine learning (ML): is an umbrella term for solving problems for which development of algorithms by human programmers would be cost-prohibitive, and instead the problems are solved by helping machines "discover" their "own" algorithms, without needing to be explicitly told what to do by any human-developed algorithms. (This is the basis of most technologically people call AI)

Language model: (LM or LLM) is a probabilistic model of a natural language that can generate probabilities of a series of words, based on text corpora in one or multiple languages it was trained on. (This would be your ChatGPT.)

Generative adversarial network (GAN): is a class of machine learning framework and a prominent framework for approaching generative AI. In a GAN, two neural networks contest with each other in the form of a zero-sum game, where one agent's gain is another agent's loss. (This is the source of some AI images and deepfakes.)

Diffusion Models: Models that generate the probability distribution of a given dataset. In image generation, a neural network is trained to denoise images with added gaussian noise by learning to remove the noise. After the training is complete, it can then be used for image generation by starting with a random noise image and denoise that. (This is the more common technology behind AI images, including Dall-E and Stable Diffusion. I added this one to the post after as it was brought to my attention it is now more common than GANs.)

I know these terms are more technical, but they are also more accurate, and they can easily be explained in a way non-technical people can understand. The grifters are using language to give this technology its power, so we can use language to take it's power away and let people see it for what it really is.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

What if Steve is a famous model and Eddie is a rockstar, both still pretty down to earth that they move around without bodyguards...

They bump into each other at a corner, and literally bump into each other - Steve somehow lost his contact lenses and he's half-blind without them, his agent Robin is traveling, he'd rather lose both of his eyes than to call his parents, and so he's trying to get to a pharmacy/optometrist/somewhere else just based on memory and touch.

Eddie is walking, not paying much attention and listening to music, when he's knocked back by a very apologetic squinting guy who might as well be very pretty, if he looked straight at Eddie - which is very much not possible, as Steve later explains, Eddie is a very blurry blob to him, although a very kind blob. Also a really nice sounding blob.

When Eddie collects his things and his heart off the streetwalk, he offers to walk Steve to the pharmacy. After asking if it's okay, he offers Steve his arm and leads him carefully to his destination. Steve is still mostly staring at the ground, trying to fight blurry nausea, so Eddie doesn't really know what he looks like, except that his hair is magnificent.

They reach the pharmacy, Steve is so thankful that he wants to invite Eddie for coffee, but before he can do that, Eddie receives an urgent call from his agent and needs to leave.

They both - not without a tinge sadness - think they won't see each other again.

Except the next day there's a wave of tabloid headlines: "CORRODED COFFIN'S EDDIE MUNSON FINALLY SETTLES DOWN?! THE ROCKSTAR SEEN WITH REDKEN'S MODEL STEVE HARRINGTON!" and there are pictures of Steve and Eddie, side by side, and it really looks like a romantic walk rather than what it was.

When Eddie's agent Chrissy calls, half-amused, half-concerned, Eddie stops her with a single sentence: "Can you get me his number?!"

Chrissy snorts in the phone. "Give me an hour."

It takes her 33 minutes in total, and she secures a date with Robin for herself as a bonus.

And as for Eddie? He opens his message with "Hey Steve, how come you never told me it was a date? I would have brought flowers!" and gets an immediate response of "You would have, huh? Then bring some today at seven, the pizzeria next to the pharmacy. I like sunflowers. See you there, Eddie. And this time, I mean really see you."

The "see you" jokes stay with them for the rest of their lives.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Android x Reader (I)

It is the future and you have been tasked to solve a mysterious murder that could jeopardize political ties. Your assigned partner is the newest android model meant to assimilate human customs. You must keep his identity a secret and teach him the ways of earthlings, although his curiosity seems to be reaching inappropriate extents.

Yes, this is based on Asimov’s “Caves of Steel” because Daneel Olivaw was my first ever robot crush. I also wanted a protagonist that embraces technology. :)

Content: female reader, AI yandere, 50's futurism

[Part 2] | [More original works]

You follow after the little assistant robot, a rudimentary machine invested with basic dialogue and spatial navigation. It had caused quite the ruckus when first introduced. One intern - well liked despite being somewhat clumsy at his job - was sadly let go as a result. Not even the Police is safe from the threat of AI, is what they chanted outside the premises.

"The Commissioner has summoned you, (Y/N)." 

That's how it greeted you earlier, clacking its appendage against the open door in an attempt to simulate a knock. 

"Do you know why my presence is needed?" You inquire and wait for the miniature AI to scan the audio message. 

"I am not allowed to mention anything right now." It finally responds after agonizing seconds.

 It's an alright performance. You might've been more impressed by it, had you not witnessed first hand the Spacer technology that could put any modern invention here on Earth to shame. Sadly the people down here are very much against artificial intelligence. There have been multiple protests recently, like the one in front of your building, condemning the latest government suggestion regarding automation. People fear for their jobs and safety and you don't necessarily blame them for having self preservation. On the other hand, you've always been a supporter of progress. As a child you devoured any science fiction book you could get your hands on, and now, as a high ranked police detective you still manage to sneak away and scan over articles and news involving the race for a most efficient computer.

You close the door behind you and the Commissioner puts his fat cigarette out, twisting the remains into the ashtray with monotonous movements as if searching for the right words.

 "There's been a murder." Is all he settles on saying, throwing a heavy folder in your direction. A hologram or tablet might've been easier to catch, but the man, like many of his coworkers, shares a deep nostalgia for the old days. 

 You flip through the pages and eventually furrow your eyebrows. 

"This would be a disaster if it made it to the news." You mumble and look up at the older man. "Shouldn't this go to someone more experienced?" 

He twiddles with his grey mustache and glances out the fake window. 

"It's a sensitive case. The Spacers are sending their own agent to collaborate with us. What stands out to you?" 

You narrow your eyes and focus on the personnel sheet. What's there to cause such controversy? Right before giving up, departing from the page, you finally notice it: next to the Spacer officer's name, printed clearly in black ink, is a little "R." which is a commonly used abbreviation to indicate something is a robot. The chief must've noticed your startled reaction and continues, satisfied: 

"You understand, yes? They're sending an android. Supposedly it replicates a human perfectly in terms of appearance, but it does not possess enough observational data. Their request is that whoever partners up with him will also house him and let him follow along for the entirety of the mission. You're the only one here openly supporting those tin boxes. I can't possibly ask one of your higher ups, men with wives and children, to...you know...bring that thing in their house."

You're still not sure whether to be offended by the fact that your comfort seems to be of less priority compared to other officers. Regardless of the semantics, you're presently standing at the border between Earth and the Spacer colony, awaiting your case partner. A man emerges from behind a security gate. He's tall, with handsome features and an elegant walk. He approaches you and you reach for a handshake. 

"Is the android with you?" You ask, a little confused. 

"Is this your first time seeing a Spacer model?" He responds, relaxed. "I am the agent in your care. There is no one else." 

You take a moment to process the information, similar to the primitive machine back at your office. Could it be? You've always known that Spacer technology is years ahead, but this surpasses your wildest dreams. There is not a single detail hinting at his mechanical fundament. The movement is fluid, the speech is natural, the design is impenetrable. He lifts the warm hand he'd used for the handshake and gently presses a finger against your chin in an upwards motion. You find yourself involuntarily blushing. 

"Your mouth was open. I assumed you'd want it discreetly corrected." He states, factually, with a faint smile on his lips. Is he amused? Is such a feeling even possible? You try your best to regain some composure, adjusting the collar of your shirt and clearing your throat. 

"Thank you and please excuse my rudeness. I was not expecting such a flawless replica. Our assistants are...easily recognizable as AI."

"So I've been told." His smile widens and he checks his watch. You follow his gesture, still mesmerized, trying to find a single indicator that the man standing before you is indeed a machine, a synthetic product.

Nothing.

"Shall we?" He eyes the exit path and you quickly lead him outside and towards public transport. 

He patiently waits for your fingerprint scan to be complete. You almost turn around and apologize for the old, lagging device. As a senior detective, you have the privilege of living in the more spacious, secured quarters of the city. And, since you don't have a family, the apartment intended for multiple people looks more like a luxury adobe. Still, compared to the advanced way of the Spacers, this must feel like poverty to the android.

At last, the scanner beeps and the door unlocks. 

"Heh...It's a finicky model." You mumble and invite him in.

"Yes, I'm familiar with these systems." He agrees with you and steps inside, unbuttoning his coat.

"Oh, you've seen this before?"

"In history books."

You scratch your cheek and laugh awkwardly, wondering how much of his knowledge about the current life on Earth is presented as a museum exhibit when compared to Spacer society. 

"I'm going to need a coffee. I guess you don't...?" Your words trail as you await confirmation. 

"I would enjoy one as well, if it is not too much to ask. I've been told it's a social custom to 'get coffee' as a way to have small talk." The synthetic straightens his shirt and looks at you expectantly. 

"Of course. I somehow assumed you can't drink, but if you're meant to blend in with humans...it does make sense you'd have all the obvious requirements built in."

He drags a chair out and sits at the small table, legs crossed.

"Indeed. I have been constructed to have all the functions of a human, down to every detail." 

You chuckle lightly. Well, not like you can verify it firsthand. The engineers back at the Spacer colony most likely didn't prepare him for matters considered unnecessary. 

"I do mean every detail." He adds, as if reading your mind. "You are free to see for yourself."

You nearly drop the cup in your flustered state. You hurry to wipe the coffee that spilled onto the counter and glance back at the android, noticing a smirk on his face. What the hell? Are they playing a prank on you and this is actually a regular guy? Some sort of social experiment? 

"I can see they included a sense of humor." You manage to blurt out, glaring at him suspiciously. 

"I apologize if I offended you in any way. I'm still adjusting to different contexts." The android concludes, a hint of mischief remaining on his face. "Aren't rowdy jokes common in your field of work?"

"Uh huh. Spot on." You hesitantly place the hot drink before him.

Robots on Earth have always been built for the purpose of efficiency. Whether or not a computer passes the Turing Test is irrelevant as long as it performs its task in the most optimal, rational way. There have been attempts, naturally, to create something indistinguishable from a human, but utility has always taken precedence. It seems that Spacers think differently. Or perhaps they have reached their desired level of performance a long time ago, and all that was left was fiddling with aesthetics. Whatever the case is, you're struggling not to gawk in amazement at the man sitting in your kitchen, stirring his coffee with a bored expression.

"I always thought - if you don't mind my honesty - that human emotions would be something to avoid when building AI. Hard to implement, even harder to control and it doesn't bring much use."

"I can understand your concerns. However, let me reassure you, I have a strict code of ethics installed in my neural networks and thus my emotions will never lead to any destructive behavior. All safety concerns have been taken into consideration.

As for why...How familiar are you with our colony?" The android takes a sip of his coffee and nods, expressing his satisfaction. "Perhaps you might be aware, Spacers have a declining population. Automated assistants have been part of our society for a long time now. What's lacking is humans. If the issue isn't fixed, artificial humans will have to do."

You scoff.

"What, us Earth men aren't good enough to fix the birth rates? They need robots?"

You suddenly remember the recipient of your complaint and mutter an apology. 

"Well, I'm sure you'd make a fine contender. Sadly I can't speak for everyone else on Earth." The man smiles in amusement upon seeing the pale red that's now dusting your cheeks, then continues: "But the issue lies somewhere else. Spacers have left Earth a long time ago and lived in isolation until now. Once an organism has lost its immune responses to otherwise common pathogens, it cannot be reintegrated."

True. Very few Earth citizens are allowed to enter the colony, and only do so after thorough disinfection stages, proving they are disease free as to not endanger the fragile health of the Spacers living in a sterile environment. You can only imagine the disastrous outcome if the two species were to abruptly mingle. In that case, equally sterile machinery might be their only hope.

Your mind wanders to the idea. Dating a robot...How's that? You sheepishly gaze at the android and study his features. His neatly combed copper hair, the washed out blue eyes, the pale skin. Probably meant to resemble the Spacers. You shake your head.

"A-anyways, I'll go and gather all the case files I have. Then we can discuss our first steps. Do feel at home."

You rush out and head for your office. Focus, you tell yourself mildly annoyed.

While you search for the required paperwork - what a funny thing to say in this day and age - he will certainly take up on your generous offer to make himself comfortable. The redhaired man enters the living room, scanning everything with curious eyes. He stops in front of a digital frame and slides through the photos. Ah, this must be your Police Academy graduation. The year matches with the data he's received on you. Data files he might've read one too many times in his unexplained enthusiasm. This should be you and the Commissioner; Doesn't match the description of your father, and he seems too old to be a spouse or boyfriend. Additionally, the android distinctly recalls the empty 'Relationship' field.

"Old photos are always a tad embarrassing. I suppose you skipped that stage."

He jolts almost imperceptibly and faces you. You have returned with a thin stack of papers and a hologram projector.

"I've digitalized most files I received, so you don't have to shuffle a bunch of paper around." You explain.

"That is very useful, thank you." He gently retrieves the small device from your hand, but takes a moment before removing his fingers from yours. "I predict this will be a successful partnership."

You flash him a friendly smile and gesture towards the seating area.

"Let's get to work, then. Unless you want to go through more boring albums." You joke as you lower yourself onto the plush sofa. 

The synthetic human joins you at an unexpectedly close proximity. You wonder if proper distance differs among Spacers or if he has received slightly erroneous information about what makes a comfortable rapport. 

"Nothing boring about it. In fact, I'd say you and I are very similar from this point of view." He tells you, placing the projector on the table.

"Oh?"

"Your interest in technology and artificial intelligence is rather easy to infer." The man continues, pointing vaguely towards the opposing library. "Aside from the briefing I've already received about you, that is."

"And that is similar to...the interest in humans you've been programmed to have?" You interject, unsure where this conversation is meant to lead. 

"Almost."

His head turns fully towards you and you stare back into his eyes. From this distance you can finally discern the first hints of his nature: the thin disks shading the iris - possibly CCD sensors - are moving in a jagged, mechanical manner. Actively analyzing and processing the environment. 

"I wouldn't go as far as to generalize it to all humans. 

Just you."

[aquasoftware]

"HAVE SOME CLASS!"

FT║ Fem!Reader ✘ Sukuna | WC ➜ 624 ♪ ML

Desc | Dating a criminal with zero tech skills as a “high-class” model was your first mistake. ➜ Now, thanks to one accidental upload, the whole world knows exactly what you look like crying his name.

Cw║ (N)sfw 18+, màt!ng press, accidental sēx tape leak (Kuna being a dumbass whoops,) hūm!l!aț!on, degrādatiøn, sp!t k!nk, pøwer imbalance, s!ze k!nk if you squint, model! Reader + criminal!sukuna.

The world knew you as more than a model—a goddess. A vision draped in designer, skin kissed by flashing lights, a body sculpted to be worshiped. Your name carried prestige, once spoken in admiration. Now, it was scandalized like the greatest sin.

The leak had spread like wildfire. A single clip, no more than a minute long, of you folded in half beneath him—knees pressed to your chest, ankles hooked over his shoulders, his weight caging you in as he rutted deep, relentless, possessive.

Sukuna.

An infamous criminal—untouchable, unstoppable, and the last man anyone expected to see fucking you senseless.

The video was grainy, taken from a low angle, but there was no mistaking you. Manicured nails digging into his forearms, lips parted in a wrecked gasp. And him—looming over you, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other forcing your legs further back as he drove into you, each punishing stroke stealing the breath from your lungs.

The way your body arched for him. The way his inked hands owned every inch of you. The way your lips trembled as you whimpered his name, so pathetic “Kuna…”

But the worst part? Your voice—wrecked, needy—cut through the sinful symphony of flesh against flesh. “Spit in my mouth, please.” Sultry, desperate, dripping with desire. And he did—gripping your jaw, tilting your head back before letting a slow, deliberate trail of saliva fall onto your waiting tongue. The moan that followed? Indisputable proof of how thoroughly he’d ruined you.

And the cherry on top? His voice, mocking between every ruthless snap of his hips, calling you his little slut. Filthy words blending into the slick, obscene melody of him stretching you open. Your tight cunt clenched around his thick cock, a creamy ring forming at the base each time he bottomed out—proof of just how devastatingly deep he reached, and how much you craved it.

Your reputation was in shambles.

Your agent’s frantic calls went ignored. Social media was a wasteland, your name drowning in every filthy hashtag imaginable. Some people shamed you; others called you lucky to have a man like him wreck you so thoroughly.

And Sukuna?

That bastard was amused.

You stormed into his penthouse, the city skyline glowing behind him as he lounged on the couch, phone in hand. His sharp eyes flicked to yours, a slow smirk curling on his lips.

“Enjoying your newfound fame?” he drawled, tossing his phone aside.

Your rage surged. “What the fuck did you do?”

Sukuna clicked his tongue, stretching lazily. “Relax, princess. It wasn’t on purpose.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know hitting the wrong button would post the damn thing?” He exhaled, tilting his head back. “They need to make this shit less complicated.”

Your breath hitched. “You’re telling me you accidentally leaked it?”

His smirk widened. “Tsk, I was trying to send it to you.” He rolled his shoulders like this was some minor inconvenience. “Guess I hit the wrong button.”

“Sukuna, you fucking idiot—”

Your words shriveled as he grabbed you, yanking you onto his lap. His grip was firm, unyielding, his breath hot against your ear.

“Listen to me,” he murmured, lips ghosting along your jawline. “The whole world’s seen you now. They’ve watched you break under me, fall apart for me. You think any other man can look at you without seeing me buried inside you?”

Heat surged through you, a mixture of anger and something far more dangerous.

Sukuna’s fingers pressed between your thighs, feeling the warmth even through your designer dress. “Oh?” he purred. “You like that, don’t you?”

His teeth grazed your earlobe, a wicked grin curling against your skin.

“Let them look, princess. They already know who you belong to.”

Divider/Boarder creds | enchanthings-a + miffyvirtuales.

[t-a-a-1]

A Lost Game

Summary: Optimus is jealous and heartbroken.

1k draft

Tfp Optimus x Reader

…

He looks at you from afar and wonders what kind of god was poetic enough to create you.

Because he might start praying to them, if only to thank them for allowing him to be in the presence of his magnum opus. 

When you smile, your skin wrinkles, leaving marks of your happiness on the side of your lips. Your eyes looked tired but the light in them didn’t flare any less. 

Optimus almost lets out a heavy sigh, one filled with devotion and yearning. 

But Optimus' entire day-dream was destroyed when he heard Agent Alex's voice. 

Ever since he had established himself at the base, your attention has been focused on him. He didn’t blame you, after all, Alex was the only human who was around your age that you could talk to. Fowler too but he was too focused on work and not at the base enough for you to establish a friendship with him. 

Everyone seemed to like Alex. The rest of the Autobots enjoyed conversing with him and the kids thought of him as a role model. 

Optimus in the other servo … Was more skeptical about the Special Agent.

Alex has a talent for talking. Words and eloquence were easy to him. He was tall and charismatic. Spoke his feelings easily and most importantly, he was kind. 

He makes you laugh. 

A lot. 

For that, Optimus is thankful, as he gets to hear it often now. 

And yet, he hates how he is not the reason behind your cute giggles.

The Prime tries to look back at the datapad in front of him, trying to distract himself and not think too much about you. 

You and Alex. The closeness. 

He disliked him because he was everything Optimus wanted to be. 

How much he wanted it. He craved it. To be next to you right this moment. To stand beside you and be the one to make you laugh. 

How small you are and how small he is. How, if he truly wanted, could bask on your whole being by just wrapping his arms around you. How easily it could be for him to just reach out and touch your hair–

“You know,” Alex says. “You do have beautiful hair.”

He grabs a string of hair and plays with it in between his fingers before putting it close to his nose. He smells and kisses it. Gaining an evident blush from you. 

Optimus drops his datapad. The sound impacting the floor caught your and Alex’s attention. Your eyes meet his optics for a second, and that’s all you needed to see to know that something was wrong. 

“Prime?” you walk towards him, completely forgetting about Alex’ existence.  “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, yes, I–” Optimus bends down to grab his data pad. You stand next to it. He has a clear view of you. His servo, so big and you, so small. Suddenly, the vast difference between the two of you becomes so clear. 

How stupid was he?

He won’t ever be able to make you laugh. He won’t be able to hold you. Touch your hair nor show you the countless poetry he has written for you. 

Why? 

Why did Primus make him like this? Why did he allow him to meet you, only to make him suffer in silence?

“I– … I–”

It was the first time you saw Optimus struggle with his words. 

And the more you look at him. His expressive optics, his shaking servos and frame. 

He looked like he …  wanted to cry. 

“Op—”

“My apologies,” Optimus quickly picks up his datapad and avoids looking at you. “I’ll have to leave.”

He left before you could say a word.

He walked as fast as he could to his habsuit. He feels his spark beat hard against his chassis. It hurts. Immensely. His optics feel heavy, blue tears tempting to drip from them. And he can’t control it. 

He feels stupid for having hope. For allowing himself to feel such a thing. 

He had lost. 

Picking up the pace to finally reach his habsuit. The door closed behind him. In the privacy of his room, he finally allowed himself to crumble on the floor. 

Memories of you and Alex play again in his processor. It wasn’t a simple interaction. He analyzed you. Your moments and reactions. Pink cheeks, eyelashes fluttering, avoiding eye-contact, fast heartbeat. 

You had liked it, Alex’s action was of your approval. 

You liked him as much as he liked you.

Deep down, Optimus knows that all his delusions were just that. Delusions. From the very beginning, he knew that all of those nights the two of you spent counting stars meant little to you. 

Because it couldn’t be more. 

Of course you would like humans. Why would you ever like a rusted bot like him? So broken … So … him. 

If he just wasn’t him. If maybe … Maybe had he been Orion Pax and not Optimus Prime … would you smile at him the same way you do to Alex?

How many times has he prayed to Primus to experience such a thing? To be the reason for your laugh and happiness. 

But he can’t. He ever won’t. 

You don’t love him. Never will. He had lost.  Yet his spark wouldn’t understand it. It doesn’t want to. 

Why? Primus … Why? 

All he ever wanted … the only thing he ever truly wanted … didn’t want him. 

As much as he doesn’t want to think about it, his processor betrayed him. He thinks about the way you and Alex will get started to get close. Maybe a couple of months from now, the two of you will finally become romantic partners. He imagines, the hand-holding, the kissing, the hugs, the dates, the car rides that he won’t longer be able to give you. 

His servos quickly became a fist, holding so tightly that he thought he might break them. He wasn’t a jealous mech, never knew the feeling could become a part of him so quickly and so effortlessly. 

And he can’t do anything about it. 

Optimus can’t go to you, kneel down and tell you how much he yearns for you. His spark cries your name, his every circuit craves your touch and his processor can’t fathom a thought that doesn’t involve you. 

Oh, how much he loves you. Words are not enough. Silence is not either. He needs you.

And yet all he can think about is about how, after all this time …

You still can’t call him by his name. 

He will always be Prime to you. 

Now and forever. 

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: I was thinking of having Optimus and Alex switch bodies for a day to make things funny. So Optimus finds out that reader doesn't like Alex and Alex is just flirting with reader to make Optimus jealous and finally have him confess to her. A wingman basically. But idk I have many things to write! lol

[procurement-insights]

The Relationship Between1998 RAM's Agent-Based Model And 2025's Model Context Protocol (MCP)

Despite my 40-plus years in high-tech and procurement, I am always curious, so I value the insights I gain from the people in my extended community. Today’s post is inspired by a comment from Hervé Legenvre in one of my most recent LinkedIn posts. How does a procurement professional use or interact with Model Context Protocol, and what improved outcomes does it achieve? How Procurement…

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy XVI

a yandere art professor John Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge. If you haven't seen the movie that's ok, I will fill in the gaps as we go...) warnings: dark adult themes, violence, sex, drugs, obsession, yandere shit. plz don't read if u can't handle it ->chapter map

XVI.

John Wick adjusts his hold on you, gathering you close with his nose in your hair. “I told you, y/n, I would never hurt you. I won’t let anyone else hurt you either.” 

Your pulse thunders like an angry drum in your chest. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you demand, and he lets you turn in his arms again, lets you pound on his chest for all the good it does. “I’ve been driving myself crazy over this for weeks! Why wouldn’t you just tell me?” 

“I thought it was best.” 

“Best?” you snarl, so frustrated you could scream. “For who?” 

“Both of us,” he answers simply, as though it should be obvious. You think about that, and your next question comes with a quaver in your tone. 

“What did you do with them, John?” 

There is a long pause before he answers, “You don’t want to know.” He actually sounds contrite about it, which surprises you to no end. 

“What if I do?” 

“I’m still not going to tell you.” 

“I could tell the police,” you say, if only to be contrary.  

He might sense this when he answers with zero fear, “You have no evidence.”

“I have your mask.” 

He sighs, like you’re being intentionally difficult. “They’re gone, y/n. That’s all you need to know. They’ll never hurt you or anyone else ever again.” 

Is he saying…he killed them? 

He killed them. 

You’re not stupid. You can read between the lines. This man is a murderer and he’s got you in his arms…and all you want to do is argue with him. 

Maybe your survival instincts could use some work.  

Your heart pounds in your chest, but still you have to ask, “John…how?” 

He levels you with a long and piercing gaze that you feel all the way to the base of your spine, your senses clamoring with alarm. Maybe you knew it all along, deep down, that he was a dangerous man. “I wasn’t always a mild-mannered drawing teacher, y/n. And we’re going to leave it at that.” 

You stare up at him, wide eyed as your brain races to keep up as the bombs keep dropping. What could that mean? Was he a government agent? A cop? A spy? …A criminal?

“Y/n…” He sweeps your hair from your face with those long fingers, and you let him, frozen as you stare up at him like some star-struck idiot, trying to process what is going on. “Please, don’t be afraid of me.” There is a fragility in his voice that moves you to your toes. Even if he’s freaked you out tonight, you hate to admit…that deep down, you don’t believe he would hurt you. 

Foolish, perhaps, but it’s the truth. 

You’d wanted to get away so badly before. Why is it now, that all you want to do is hide from that x-ray gaze against his chest? So…you do, and gladly he lets you. Your head feels like a pinwheel, as you try to suss out your emotions from everything you’ve learned tonight. 

You suppose you should be feeling some sort of guilt or remorse–you find you have none. Is there something missing in you? Or are you allowed to be glad that those two creeps can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore? The system failed you. But your savior balanced the scales of justice in a way The Law never seems to when it comes to abusers of women. You find that all you can really manage is relief, and the growing warm glow inspired by being in this man’s arms. 

“John…” You whisper his name like a prayer, tucked under his chin. “I wanted it to be you.” You find it’s a lot easier to admit this, when you don’t have to look him in those anthracite eyes. 

“Did you?” He actually sounds surprised, and it tears you to shreds all over again. 

You grip fistfuls of his shirt, your fingers like claws as you fight to hold on to something solid while the world feels like it's spinning out of control. 

“Why didn’t you just show me your face that night?” you demand, suddenly so frustrated you could scream. All the bad things that had happened could have been avoided, maybe, if he hadn’t been so bent on toying with you. 

“I was going to, later,” he tells the top of your head. “But you were having fun with your friends. I didn't want to take that from you. When I went to find you again…I found those assholes throwing you into their van.” His voice goes dark as he recalls this, the hairs on your body lifting again. There is definitely something dangerous about this man that swims beneath the surface. Something not to be trifled with, you’re beginning to understand all too well. 

“I don’t remember much at all,” you admit quietly. “The big one, Samson. He hit Matt hard enough to knock him out. Right before that, Matt was trying to tell me something about them.”

“You know I looked up the little town where they're from.”

“Yeah?”

“A few years ago, a girl was found dead on the side of the river there. No arrests were ever made. She was in their class.”

“That doesn't mean–”

“Have you ever looked through Matt’s sketchbook?”

You think of that haunting drawing he’d taken out of your hands. Oh god.

“I can't believe Matt would hurt anyone,” you say meekly, tears in your eyes. 

“Maybe not. But I think he knew, y/n. And he nearly got you killed for it. So yeah. I hate his guts.”

You let out a long sigh, leaning against him, your knees gone weak. The truths keep coming tonight. You're not sure you can handle whatever comes next. Your fingers clench in his shirt, your throat swelling shut as the tears well up. 

Your sweet sad Matthew, the boy with the drowning dark eyes… He knew. He knew all along and he didn’t protect you. Maybe not maliciously, but how much complacency can a girl be expected to forgive? They were probably going to rape you, and murder you, and he practically let you walk right into it.

If not for John… He saved you. The true gravity of this finally sinks in. That if he hadn't been looking for you, watching out for you…you’d be another story on the five o’clock news that people shake their heads at before going back to dinner, muttering about the sad state of the world. 

Maybe initially the scope of his obsession had scared you–but no one else cared for you so much. It leaves you reeling in a freefall, and you try to hold it in, but when the first sob breaks it's like the cracking of a dam. “Shh, you’re alright,” he soothes you, holding you against his chest with one of those big hands on the back of your head as though he can shield you from the world. “I’ve got you. You’re alright.” 

“I feel so stupid!” You hiccup between sobs. “I thought you were just being mean…but it's like you knew all along!”

“I've just been around, y/n. I've seen a lot of bad things.”

I wasn’t always a mild mannered drawing teacher.

Who is this man? You don’t have the courage to ask just now. You don't feel like you have the right, after behaving like such a brat.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper against his chest, feeling impossibly small and dumb and raw after this reality check. What a weird fucking night this has turned out to be.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He holds you against his broad chest, letting you cry it out, and as you listen to his strong heartbeat you feel, for the first time in a long time, like you've finally found some sense of peace. 

In fact, you feel so secure that it's possible you go temporarily insane in this man's strong arms. Where do you get the courage, to turn your face up to his so entreatingly? Just minutes ago you were trying to run from him, and now here you are in his grasp, meek as a lamb. 

You are a ridiculous creature. You know it, but you cannot stop now. 

“You know I do remember…that you kissed me.” 

He caresses your cheek with his thumb, his dark eyes fixed upon your mouth. There is a low-burning hunger in his gaze that takes your breath away. 

“Did you like that?” he asks, his bass rumble of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. 

“It was alright.” 

He narrows his eyes at you with mock indignation, no doubt remembering the way you positively melted in his arms. “Alright?” 

“Mmm hmm.” 

He dares to rub his thumb over your lower lip, as though testing your plump flesh for the proper consistency. You've never been more tempted in your life to bare your teeth and bite. Not out of defence–but for taste.

“Sounds like I should try again.” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Brat.” 

He handles you like he owns you now, taking you in hand, turning your face up with his massive paw upon your jaw. Onyx orbs fix upon your mouth, and you close your eyes in anticipation, suddenly certain that you will wither and die if he does not kiss you. 

Yet he doesn’t move, and you are so caught up in the torment of that suspended moment that the most embarrassing little whine squeaks forth from the back of your throat. You open your eyes a sliver, and you realize he’s looking at you, as though he means to memorize every inch of you, down to the pore. It’s flattering, and a little unsettling, and you must make some minute projection that you intend to move away, because his hold tightens upon you. 

“You’re perfect, y/n,” he says gently, as though he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

You are far from it, which you know very well. 

“I’m not, John.” 

“You are, to me.” And finally, he lowers his mouth to yours, sweeping you up in a tooth-counting kiss that curls your toes and at least at the moment, quiets your fears.

TBC...

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*further analysis of this chapter 😅 ->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits