#Spatial Memory Training

[presswoodterryryan]

🏠 From Blocks to Bricks: Using Minecraft to Plan a Real-Life Home

By Ariel Have you ever built an awesome house in Minecraft and thought, Wow, I wish I could live in this!? Well, guess what? Minecraft is more than just a game—it’s an amazing tool for learning real-world architecture and home design! While many players enjoy the thrill of survival and exploration, the creative aspect of Minecraft opens up incredible possibilities for aspiring architects and…

[the-penguin-of-baskervilles]

Chapter 31

Summary: Princess slowly recovers from her brain injury. Nguyen refuses requests for an interview, leaving many lingering questions hanging over the case. Lloyd makes a rash decision. 

Word Count: 3,175

Masterlist

Warnings: Depiction of healthcare settings and brain injury recovery.

Chapter 31

Sunlight filtered in through the casement window of the rehab center and warmed the back of your neck. You sat on the edge of a chair and focused on the buttons of your sweater. First, tilt the button to the side…slip it through the hole… your fingers trembled as you fastened the top button of the cardigan.

“Very good,” the nursing assistant said.

You hated her bright, cheerful tone. It was more suited to training a puppy than addressing an adult. The worst part of it was that the assistant appeared to be even younger than you. For some reason, that rubbed salt in the wound.

“How about you try the next button?” she coaxed.

It was on the tip of your tongue to refuse and say you liked it better with only the top button fastened, but you knew that statement would wind its way back to your occupational therapist before breakfast was served. So, with unsteady fingers, you began to work on the second button.

Dressing on your own was a victory in itself. A month ago you’d graduated from a hospital gown to your own pajamas. This month you’d reached the greatest pinnacle of success possible in a place like long-term rehab: wearing real clothes. It was a huge improvement over being tethered to beeping machines in a sterile white room at the far end of the hall, which was where you’d started your rehab journey before being slowly downgraded through the different levels of care at the center.

The weeks you’d spent in the ICU were hazy, and your memories of that place were colored with an intense feeling of frustration.

Those feelings came back in full force when the nursing assistant spoke. “Good job!”

Your eyes flicked toward her, and your lip curled up in one corner. It was rude, but controlling your emotions—and facial expressions—was still a work in progress. While in the ICU, you’d learned there was a term for that condition: emotional lability. Basically, it meant that your feelings were intense and volatile. Emotional regulation was a natural state for you, something you’d learned so young it was almost an innate ability. Not having that skill post brain injury was a new experience—an unpleasant one.

The nursing assistant went to the bathroom and collected your makeup bag while she rattled off your morning schedule and filled you in on who was coming to visit you today. Lloyd would be here in the afternoon, and so would your mother and Vivian.

You took the makeup kit and carefully unzipped the bag, mindful of your movements. It took focus to keep your hand steady, applying the correct amount of pressure. Everything was slow these days, and it was hard not to slap the makeup bag off your lap and scream. Or maybe cry. You’d spent quite a bit of time alternating between both reactions, but at least now you could button a sweater. Hopefully, the results would compound, and you’d finally get your independence back.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“You’re saying we can take her home?”

Lloyd cut through the long-winded social worker’s analysis, stating what he’d understood.

The social worker clasped her clipboard to her chest. “Provided there are no stairs to navigate and she has someone available to assist her during the day. She’s made significant progress, but there are still areas where she’ll need support—particularly with fine motor tasks and spatial awareness. It’s not ideal for her to be alone for extended periods.”

Lloyd glanced at your mother. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. Vivian, her hand resting on her pregnant belly, which was just starting to show, shifted uncomfortably. The tension in the room was palpable as the practicalities of Princess’ care weighed on everyone’s mind.

“There’s a bedroom at my house on the main floor,” Lloyd said. “There would be no need for her to deal with stairs.”

Your mother frowned. “I don’t want to impose. You’ve already done so much.”

“It’s not an imposition. It’s what makes sense. She’ll have the space and the supervision she needs.”

Vivian hesitated, glancing between them before she finally spoke. “Mom, there’s steps leading up to my house. Your guest room is in the basement. Neither of us could take care of her. Not safely.”

The doctor nodded. “Given her current limitations, Mr. Hansen’s home is better suited for her recovery. She’ll have outpatient therapy here at the rehab center three times a week, but I do think she’ll make more progress in a less regulated environment where she can relax and practice the therapy skills at her own pace.”

“She would,” your mother was quick to agree.

It was true that you’d reached the end of your patience with the structured routines of rehab. The daily therapy sessions made you cranky, not because you didn’t want to make progress, but because you resented constantly being told what to do and it was hindering your improvement.

“Then it’s settled. She’ll come home with me.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Getting you discharged took three days. There were requirements to fulfill, like having a hospital bed installed in the guest room and arranging for in-home therapy equipment to be delivered. Lloyd handled it all with efficiency. By the time the paperwork was signed and your belongings packed, you felt more like a package whose delivery required a team of logistics experts rather than a human being.

The ride to Lloyd’s house was quiet. You spent it in silence, hoping that you’d start to feel like you were reclaiming your independence at some point along the journey. When you stepped into the guest room and came face to face with the hospital bed that had replaced the luxurious queen bed that used to dominate the space, you wanted to sit down and cry. This didn’t feel like a stop on the way back to normal. It felt like the rest of your life would be spent fighting for every zipper to unzip and every button to fasten.

“Princess?” Lloyd spoke from behind you as you stood in the doorway to the guest room.

“Did you put the bed in storage?”

“It’s downstairs in the basement. The hospital bed is just temporary, I promise.”

He wrapped his arms around you and the solid mass of his chest pressed against your back. “You know, graduating from rehab calls for a celebration.”

You snorted derisively, unable to stop yourself.

Lloyd released his hold on your waist and turned you around by the shoulders to face him. You lowered your gaze, but he took your chin and tilted your head up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…” you broke off and closed your eyes. “I’m sorry. Thank you for doing this. I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he pressed.

Your eyes filled with tears, and you shook your head, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

“Come here.”

You sank into Lloyd, sagging against him, and soon the front of his shirt was soaked with tears.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said again when you’d cried yourself out.

This time you forced yourself to put the emotions into words, even though it was harder to express yourself that way now. Everything was harder now.

“I was thinking that celebrating couldn’t involve me eating because I can’t use most silverware right now. I imagined myself trying to cut a bite of food, and then I felt… upset. We can’t go out for martinis because I can’t drink on my medication. If we went somewhere I’d just get tired and fall asleep, regardless of the fact that I’ve had three naps today. I’m just feeling… hopeless. I’m sorry.”

Lloyd’s lips brushed your ear. “You are not hopeless. In fact, you’re the furthest thing from it.”

You bit your lip and choked down another sob.

“Luckily, my celebration doesn’t involve eating or drinking or going out. In fact…”

The rustling of tissue paper had you lifting your head from his chest. He’d reached around you to pick up a gift bag from the dresser beside the door. It was bright red and stuffed on the top with silver paper.

“Open it.”

You tore out the paper and dug into the bag to find a velvet box. It was large, surprisingly so. Definitely bigger than any jewelry box you’d received for your birthday or a holiday. Instead of trying to open it yourself, you handed it to Lloyd.

He lifted the lid of the case and revealed a pearl choker nestled in the middle of the silk-lined box.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Want to try it on?”

In answer, you turned around so he could access your neck.

The cool weight of the pearls settled against your skin as Lloyd fastened the clasp. You reached up instinctively, your fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the choker. It felt elegant and timeless. For a fleeting moment, you could almost forget the hospital bed dominating the room or the tremor in your hand as you felt the jewels.

“Perfect,” Lloyd murmured. He slid off the bed and stood to face you, inspecting the necklace. “It suits you.”

You looked in the mirror above the dresser to see your reflection. The pearls caught the light from the window, gleaming against your skin, and for the first time in ages, you felt like you recognized the person in the mirror. It wasn’t exactly the same person as before, but you weren’t as different as you’d thought you’d become.

“Thank you,” you said.

Lloyd smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. You wondered at the expression and then your own smile faltered at the realization that perhaps he was seeing the same thing you were—the lack of similarity between who you were before, and now.

“I thought you deserved something beautiful after everything that’s happened.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers still tracing the pearls. “It’s perfect. I love it.”

“That’s all I care about,” Lloyd murmured.

There was something on his face you couldn’t figure out, but you could sense there was more to this gift than just what he’d said. Unfortunately, your brain was too tired, and a headache was forming in your left temple. You promised yourself that you’d puzzle it out later, but right now your body was too tired, your brain too fragile to process anything. His words hung in the air between you, their weight heavier than the necklace.

“You need a nap, don’t you?” Lloyd asked.

“Mmmhh.” You rubbed your left temple, sighing. “I’m sorry. I’m not very much fun right now.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll celebrate once you’re fully recovered. I promise. Now go to bed. I’ll tuck you in.”

“Tuck me into my hospital bed,” you grumbled.

“Suck it up,” Lloyd said, smirking when you pouted.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Weeks turned into months. The hospital bed in Lloyd’s guest room became a distant memory as grueling physical therapy sessions eventually turned into real progress. At first, the exercises were agonizing, breaking you down before you could rebuild. Small victories marked the way—cutting food without fumbling, fastening buttons without trembling, ascending stairs without clinging to the railing like it was a life preserver. Each milestone was hard-won, but by the time you were cleared to return to work, you’d reclaimed most of your independence.

In January, stepping into your office for the first time since the accident felt like slipping into a favorite coat that had been left hanging in the closet too long. The fit was the same, the fabric still warm with familiarity, but there was a stiffness to it now, a faint scent of dust that made it feel a little less like home. The hum of voices from down the hall, the rustle of papers, and the faint smell of coffee grounded you. Flowers waited on your desk, accompanied by a card signed by the paralegals. For the first time in months, you allowed yourself to hope for a normal day.

Lloyd had seemed genuinely pleased to see you thriving, but the shadow you’d glimpsed in his eyes the day he gave you the pearl choker lingered in your mind, like a storm cloud on the horizon. In the four months since Shun Nguyen’s arrest, Lloyd had been busy with new cases and relentlessly pursuing an elusive interview with Nguyen, who was now a full-time resident at the Keen Mountain Correctional Facility. Despite Lloyd’s weekly requests, Nguyen refused to break his silence. 

Meanwhile, you’d been preoccupied with therapy and the slow crawl back to normalcy. Lloyd’s caseload meant he’d been working long hours, during which your mother or sister had stayed at the house. The gaps in your time together had felt like mere coincidences rather than anything more significant, but tonight’s dinner was meant to change that. You were back at work and that meant you wouldn’t just have your normal routine back, you’d also have Lloyd again, too.

The French restaurant near Logan Circle was dimly lit, its ambiance all soft candlelight and muted conversations. The semi-private booth Lloyd reserved offered a semblance of intimacy, but the space between you felt heavier than usual. He picked at his coq au vin, while you tried to fill the silence with stories about your first day back at work, therapy, and plans for the weekend. His responses were polite but distant, each word carefully measured.

“I’m proud of you,” Lloyd said abruptly, cutting into your rambling story.

You blinked, caught off guard. “For what?”

“For everything,” he said, setting his fork down. His gaze locked with yours, and for a moment, the shadow you’d seen before was unmistakable. “For how hard you’ve worked to get back here. For everything you’ve overcome.”

Your heart swelled, but before you could respond, he sighed, the sound heavy with regret.

“I wanted to wait to do this,” he began, his voice low. “I wanted to do it differently, but if I keep putting it off, it’ll never happen. And I can’t keep avoiding it.”

A chill ran down your spine. “Avoiding what?”

Lloyd’s mouth tightened as he looked away. His voice, when it came, was calm but unyielding. “We’ve been holding onto something that’s run its course. There were a lot of extenuating circumstances, and after what happened to you in September… you needed support. But this relationship was never meant to last this long or become so… involved. It’s not right.”

“Not right?” you asked, disbelieving. “You mean it doesn’t feel right to you.”

His face betrayed nothing. “It’s not about how it feels. It’s about what’s best for you, for both of us. We can’t keep pretending those are the same thing.”

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “What are you saying? If you’re breaking up with me, just say it. Don’t dance around it.”

Lloyd was maddeningly composed. “I care about you, but this relationship isn’t working for me. And it’s not working for you, even if you can’t see that yet. I can’t give you what you need—what you deserve. And I don’t want to keep holding you back.”

“This relationship is over. That’s what you’re saying,” you said. “You invited me to dinner to tell me this?”

“No, I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” you hissed, your voice low to avoid drawing attention. “Don’t tell me you care about me and then say you can’t give me what I need. That’s bullshit, Lloyd. I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

“We need to be realistic about what our future looks like.”

You scowled. “It sounds like you’ve already decided what it looks like.” 

“Think about it. Right now I’m forty-one and our physical relationship is good, but what happens in ten years, when I’m fifty-one? In twenty years?” Lloyd shook his head. “You might be attracted to me now, but when I’m sixty and my age starts to show, that’s another story. It’s going to happen sooner than you think, so ending this now is for the best.”

“What about when I’m in my forties? Will you be attracted to me?” 

“Forty is way different than sixty. Trust me, I’m in a lot better shape now than what I’ll be when I’m sixty. My expiration date is a lot earlier than yours, for looks, energy, and time.” 

“That’s ridiculous!”

“I’m sorry,” Lloyd said, his voice firm. “This is my decision and I need you to respect it. Please.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The ride back to your apartment passed in a blur. That night, you lay in bed, the scene at dinner replaying on an endless loop in your mind. By the time the sun broke through the blinds, you’d given up on sleep. You showered, dressed meticulously, and spent an hour perfecting your makeup to ensure no trace of the night’s turmoil showed on your face.

At the office, the cheerful bouquet on your desk felt like a cruel joke. The hollow ache in your chest burned with an intensity you couldn’t ignore. You felt like an open wound, raw and exposed. Unable to bear it any longer, you climbed the stairs to the top floor. Outside the patent department, you checked your watch. Ten minutes to seven.

The door swung open behind you. Bishop stepped in, brushing snow from his lapel. His brows lifted at the sight of you standing outside his office.

“Princess? How are you? How’s your second day back? You’re here early. Is something wrong?”

You drew a deep breath. “I would like to resign,” you said. “Effective immediately.”

Bishop froze, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. “Princess, I hope this isn’t about Lloyd. Let’s talk about this—come into my office.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Your words came out clipped, final, but you couldn’t stop the sting of tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. “I just… I can’t do this anymore.”

He sighed, motioning for you to sit down in one of the chairs in front of his secretary’s desk. “Look, I get it. Things have been… difficult. But you’re one of the best researchers I’ve got. What if we found a way to make things easier for you here? A different role—less overlap with Lloyd’s team? How about working for Andy? He’d give his left arm to have you on his staff.” 

The offer was tempting, but every fiber of your being rejected the idea of staying at Bishop & Howard. “I appreciate that,” you said, “but this isn’t about Lloyd. It’s about me. I need to go.”

His frown deepened, but he nodded. “If that’s your final decision, I won’t stand in your way. Just know you’ll always have a place here.”

You rose to your feet and extended your hand. Bishop clasped it firmly, his grip tinged with the same reluctance that lined his face. No matter how much it hurt, this was the right decision. You knew Lloyd too well to hope that he’d change his mind and if you didn’t walk away, you’d never heal.

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Bishop.”

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Next - Chapter XXXII

Masterlist

Tag List: see the replies

[clementineofmine]

What if...

What if...

Five, in a last fit of rage and defiance, summons the energy to attack Reginald in the Oblivion machine. With only one arm, dizzy from lack of blood and loss of his marigold, Five's desperate attack is swatted away like a flea. When Allison pleads with Reginald for clemency, their father makes the split second decision to throw Allison into the furnace instead of the nearly depleted Five. The addition of her marigold gives the doomsday machine enough power to achieve its purpose.

Five's last vision before he fades into oblivion is the image of his siblings dying in front of him, once again helpless to save them.

Sometimes later, to Five's surprise and horror, he wakes up. He is in a hospital bed, tended by competent but cold nursing staff that call him "Mr. Hargeeeves" politely and never answer any questions. Late at night, he pulls at his powers, but with only one remaining hand nothing happens. Eventually, he leaves the hospital, simply walking out in the middle of the day, and finds himself in the midst of a city that is Not Quite like the one he remembers.

He wanders the strange City, heading as best he remembers towards the Academy. It's not there. A nondescript housing block sits in its place. Griddys is gone too, as is every recognizable place from the dusty memories of Five's childhood. His entire life is erased, except for the name Hargreeves, which he finds engraved in stone on every municipal building and etched in metal and glass on many of the corporate ones.

Five finds guards with Hargeeeves stitched on their uniform lapels are everywhere in the city, but each of them ignores Five, silently watching as he commits petty theft, then a series of increasingly public crimes and antics. There is one, and only one, exception to their imposed silence. Time after time, Five tries to get close to Reginald, first demanding, then bargaining, then sneaking, then assaulting his way into the ominous tall guilding bearing his father's name. None of these tactics work. Five is rebuffed again and again by the well trained guards who politely but firmly send him away.

Alone, truly alone, Five eventually leaves the City. He finds a small hunting cabin with worn but comfortable furnishings covered in a thick layer of dust. Life is harder out here, but Five isn't so far removed from his survival days, and the skills come back quickly. Over time, he sees Reginald's goons less often, and eventually stops seeing them at all.

One winter day, Five begins doing the math again, the stiff fingers of his one remaining hand hesitantly, reluctantly, then angrily scratching wobbly notes on random scraps of paper. These scraps grow and multiply over years until the creaky table, then most of the cabin itself, is filled with his writings. These tombs of equations, scratched out in increasingly confident strokes over decades, will eventually be catalogued and preserved by his followers as history, but for now, they are simply the proof of a solitary one-armed man accepting his destiny.

Eventually, Five wanders away from his self-imposed isolation, seeking out those who will serve his purpose - academics and engineers and malcontents and even the whack doodle conspiracy theorists - those are the most important ones actually, the ones who can almost see where the lines between realities blur, those threads of space time that are now hidden from Five. With his followers, Five eventually, painfully, finds those lines again and crack them open, using manual technology that recreates the spatial-temporal ripping that used to come as naturally as breathing to Five. Digital would be easier, he knows, but he purposefully chooses technology that can't be tracked, can't be traced by Reginald.

Five is once again turning the corner towards old age when they finally leave this world he never called home and set up shop in a pleasant and non-descript corner of reality. By this point, and by design, his team functions without him, creating a bureaucracy that quickly takes on a life of its own, living and breathing, but most importantly, finally freeing up Five to pursue his own interests.

He barely takes notice when they place the shiny new plaque on his desk. He never turns it around, never mentions it, perhaps because he already knows what it reads: Temps Commission, followed by Five Hargeeeves, Founder.

[reverieshifts]

𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆

𝒔𝒄𝒊-𝒇𝒊 𝒅𝒓

Estimated Frequency: ~1 in 1,000 Velari

Velari Term: "Sha’lurei" 

Offworlder Term: “resonance”

𝒃𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒔

Lumen Node Function: The foundation of resonance-based abilities lies in the lumen node, a specialized neural cluster located near the upper spine, unique to the velari species. In resonants, this node exhibits hyper-synchronous neural oscillation, allowing it to function as a localized psionic amplifier. It contains an unusually dense lattice of iridesium-aligned neurofilaments—a bio-reactive crystalline structure found only in velari tissue—which enhances long-range synaptic cohesion and sensory processing far beyond baseline parameters.

Cognitive Resonance Field (CRF): Rather than emitting force, resonants interface with the ambient energy of space-time through a passive psionic field—an extension of their consciousness that subtly syncs with biological, emotional, and electro-mechanical rhythms in their environment. This “Cognitive Resonance Field” allows them to perceive, interpret, and gently manipulate localized energy patterns without direct contact.

Empathetic Feedback Loop: Resonants process external stimuli through a layered empathic interface, enabling them to “feel” spatial tension, neural dissonance, and even emotional signatures. Many describe the sensation as “walking through thought” or “hearing the world breathe.” This heightened feedback loop enables rapid threat detection, environmental awareness, and non-verbal communication through emotional echo.

𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔

Psychokinetic Manipulation: Through fine-tuned modulation of their CRF, a Resonant can exert subtle kinetic influence on physical objects. Rather than brute force, this manipulation stems from temporary energetic entanglement—an induced alignment between their own neural patterns and the vibratory signature of nearby matter. Movement appears fluid, almost instinctive; objects float, twist, or halt midair as if persuaded rather than forced. Precision scales with emotional clarity and environmental quietude, while range is limited by both psionic focus and spatial density.

Resonant Drift (Self-Levitation): By finely tuning their CRF to the kinetic frequencies of the immediate environment, a resonant can initiate a state of partial anti-kinetic equilibrium—a passive suspension that allows them to float or drift gracefully above the ground. Unlike propulsion-based flight, this “resonant drift” feels more like weightlessness anchored to emotional and spatial awareness. They tend to float instinctively when calm, contemplative, or emotionally overwhelmed. The effect becomes more stable in low-gravity environments or when they are barefoot and in full skin contact with their surroundings. Movement during drift is smooth, gliding, and eerily silent.

Neural Interface Override (“Soft Sync”): By attuning their CRF to simple electronic fields, a Resonant can override low-grade or analog electronic interfaces, such as doors, terminals, scanning systems, and older AI systems without neural shielding. This isn’t hacking—it's resonant subversion: they convince the system it’s already received proper authorization. The process is not instantaneous and requires direct proximity and focus. More complex or modern systems—especially encrypted or military-grade��typically resist this technique or trigger failsafes if improperly tuned.

Emotional Signature Mapping: Resonants perceive the emotional imprint of nearby sentients as complex tonal signatures within their field. These signatures fluctuate with mood, intent, and neural activity, enabling a trained Resonant to distinguish lies, detect concealed aggression, or sense psychological distress before it becomes visible. In groups, they can navigate emotional “weather,” identifying tensions, loyalties, or fractures long before they escalate.

Memory Resonance Touch: With direct skin contact and sufficient emotional synchronization, a Resonant can access echoes of memory embedded in living beings or objects with long-term energetic exposure. This is not a perfect playback, but a fragmented, emotional reconstruction—flashes of fear, joy, grief, or pain layered into the subject like a psychic fingerprint. They typically use this carefully, as overwhelming memories can bleed into their own consciousnesses, leaving them shaken or dazed.

Proximity-Based Thought Echo: While full telepathy is rare and unsustainable, Resonants are capable of passive thought-echo reception within close proximity. This typically manifests as fleeting impressions—unspoken words, images, or urges bleeding across the resonance field. Such impressions are strongest during heightened emotional states or direct physical contact. With deep bonds, this effect can intensify into partial shared cognition, allowing them to communicate without speech under stress.

Environmental Sensory Overlay: The CRF interfaces with a Resonant’s perception as an augmented sensory overlay, mapping environmental tension, motion, and energetic flow in real time. They can detect concealed movement, identify stress fractures in structures, track electromagnetic shifts, or feel malfunctioning machinery before failure occurs. In high-focus states, this field awareness extends through walls, into wiring, and along conduits—turning the space around them into a kind of living schematic.

Energetic Residue Tracing: Every living being and powered device leaves behind a faint resonant signature. A resonant can “listen” to these echoes in a given space to determine recent activity—detecting where someone stood, what systems were accessed, or what emotional state they were in. It works best on unaltered environments and within minutes or hours of the initial event. Older traces become distorted or overwritten. This ability makes them invaluable for post-incident analysis, tracking, or infiltration prep.

Neural Dampening Field (Perceptual Obfuscation): By dampening the outward frequency of their own resonance field, a Resonant can slip beneath the notice of most passive sensors and casual observation. This creates a soft perceptual blind spot, blurring details or delaying recognition in both sentient and synthetic awareness. It doesn't render them invisible—just forgettable. Useful for slipping past scanning systems or lingering unseen in plain sight, especially when paired with stillness and low emotional output. Stronger AI or high-alert targets may still detect them with effort. The effect is brief, typically measured in minutes.

Syncwalk (Micro-Teleportation Glimpses): In moments of deep focus or crisis, a resonant may “blink” across very short distances—instantaneous resonance displacement over a few meters. This is not true teleportation, but a momentary phase-skip, where their field synchronizes so tightly with space that it temporarily collapses and reforms their physical presence along a natural energy seam (such as a corridor, high-voltage conduit, or psionic turbulence vein). Side effects may include nausea, temporal dissonance, or mild electrical charge.

Psionic Disruption Pulse (“Breaker Note”): In moments of acute distress or self-defense, a Resonant can release a burst of destabilized resonance—an involuntary psionic shockwave that disrupts electronic systems, weakens mental shields, and disorients nearby sentients. This “Breaker Note” is not a weapon they control, but a side effect of violent resonance collapse. Systems flicker, glass fractures, and unshielded minds may experience vertigo, nausea, or blackout. Recovery varies by species and exposure.

Energetic Stabilization ("Resonance Sink"): In environments with fluctuating electromagnetic or psionic interference (e.g. hyperspace tunnels, collapsed sectors, psychic storms), a Resonant can act as a stabilizing presence. Their CRF naturally harmonizes nearby fields, creating a calm “bubble” that resists disruptive effects. This function is subconscious and limited in radius, but invaluable for helping allies stay grounded in unstable conditions. In prolonged crises, they often become the centerpoint others unconsciously gravitate toward—emotionally and physically.

Resonance Bonding (Selective): Through sustained exposure and mutual trust, a Resonant can form a biopsionic link with a specific individual. This bond allows for continuous emotional tracking, rapid non-verbal communication, and increased stability of both parties' CRFs when in close proximity. Such bonds are rare, often instinctive, and potentially permanent. Once formed, it is a two-way tether—one that transcends normal distance thresholds and occasionally manifests as shared dreams, dual-state reflexes, or unintentional synchronization.

𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒔

Energetic Depletion: While the CRF operates passively at low levels, active resonance manipulation consumes considerable neural and metabolic energy. Prolonged or intensive use—especially heavy psychokinesis, neural dampening field projection, syncwalking, or the release of a breaker note—can lead to symptoms of acute neural exhaustion, including dizziness, tremors, blurred vision, tinnitus, and spatial disorientation. In advanced stages, overextension may trigger nosebleeds, loss of motor coordination, unconsciousness, or psionic seizures caused by synaptic misfiring within the lumen node.

Emotional Instability: A Resonant’s power is intertwined with their emotional state. Intense emotions—fear, rage, grief—can amplify resonance uncontrollably. While this may grant temporary surges in power, it often results in field bleed, where the CRF spikes erratically, disrupting electronics, disorienting allies, or unintentionally projecting thoughts and memories outward. Emotional overload may also trigger the breaker note reflexively, endangering nearby personnel. Thus, Resonants are trained to regulate their emotional output carefully.

Cognitive Noise Threshold: Environments with high energetic interference—such as densely populated city centers, military command decks, or battlefields—can overload a Resonant’s sensory field. The constant barrage of emotional signatures, EM fields, and kinetic motion can produce a sensory “hum” that drowns out their fine-tuned perception. In these conditions, abilities may become muted, erratic, or outright disabled unless they can find stillness or an anchor point (such as a bonded individual).

Field Range Limitations: The Cognitive Resonance Field is localized, typically extending only a few meters from the user’s body. Precision psychokinetics and soft-sync interfacing require proximity within arm’s reach or line-of-sight. Emotional and sensory mapping is strongest within a 10–15 meter radius, and drops off sharply beyond that. A resonant cannot affect or perceive distant targets unless a direct bond has been formed—and even then, range is variable and unreliable.

Bond Vulnerability: Resonance bonds, while powerful, are also liabilities. Through them, a Resonant can experience echoes of pain, fear, or emotional collapse from a linked partner—and they from them. In moments of physical trauma or mental instability, the bond may destabilize both parties simultaneously, amplifying stress responses or creating shared disorientation. Severing a bond—voluntarily or by death—can trigger a complete CRF collapse, with unknown long-term neurological impact.

𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂

Ok, so there's a lot of information shoved into here, so sorry about that, but I love making myself overpowered, so yeah. Like with my description of the velari species, I tried to make this sound a little more scientific to fit with the whole sci-fi theme, so again, it may read like a bit of a report. But anyways, all this basically comes down to the fact that resonant velari are able to sync up with the world around them, and sort of convince reality to act as they please. Because resonance isn't control or manipulation, it's a discussion with the universe itself.

@aprilshiftz @lalalian

[compneuropapers]

Interesting Papers for Week 19, 2025

Individual-specific strategies inform category learning. Collina, J. S., Erdil, G., Xia, M., Angeloni, C. F., Wood, K. C., Sheth, J., Kording, K. P., Cohen, Y. E., & Geffen, M. N. (2025). Scientific Reports, 15, 2984.

Visual activity enhances neuronal excitability in thalamic relay neurons. Duménieu, M., Fronzaroli-Molinieres, L., Naudin, L., Iborra-Bonnaure, C., Wakade, A., Zanin, E., Aziz, A., Ankri, N., Incontro, S., Denis, D., Marquèze-Pouey, B., Brette, R., Debanne, D., & Russier, M. (2025). Science Advances, 11(4).

The functional role of oscillatory dynamics in neocortical circuits: A computational perspective. Effenberger, F., Carvalho, P., Dubinin, I., & Singer, W. (2025). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 122(4), e2412830122.

Expert navigators deploy rational complexity–based decision precaching for large-scale real-world planning. Fernandez Velasco, P., Griesbauer, E.-M., Brunec, I. K., Morley, J., Manley, E., McNamee, D. C., & Spiers, H. J. (2025). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 122(4), e2407814122.

Basal ganglia components have distinct computational roles in decision-making dynamics under conflict and uncertainty. Ging-Jehli, N. R., Cavanagh, J. F., Ahn, M., Segar, D. J., Asaad, W. F., & Frank, M. J. (2025). PLOS Biology, 23(1), e3002978.

Hippocampal Lesions in Male Rats Produce Retrograde Memory Loss for Over‐Trained Spatial Memory but Do Not Impact Appetitive‐Contextual Memory: Implications for Theories of Memory Organization in the Mammalian Brain. Hong, N. S., Lee, J. Q., Bonifacio, C. J. T., Gibb, M. J., Kent, M., Nixon, A., Panjwani, M., Robinson, D., Rusnak, V., Trudel, T., Vos, J., & McDonald, R. J. (2025). Journal of Neuroscience Research, 103(1).

Sensory experience controls dendritic structure and behavior by distinct pathways involving degenerins. Inberg, S., Iosilevskii, Y., Calatayud-Sanchez, A., Setty, H., Oren-Suissa, M., Krieg, M., & Podbilewicz, B. (2025). eLife, 14, e83973.

Distributed representations of temporally accumulated reward prediction errors in the mouse cortex. Makino, H., & Suhaimi, A. (2025). Science Advances, 11(4).

Adaptation optimizes sensory encoding for future stimuli. Mao, J., Rothkopf, C. A., & Stocker, A. A. (2025). PLOS Computational Biology, 21(1), e1012746.

Memory load influences our preparedness to act on visual representations in working memory without affecting their accessibility. Nasrawi, R., Mautner-Rohde, M., & van Ede, F. (2025). Progress in Neurobiology, 245, 102717.

Layer-specific control of inhibition by NDNF interneurons. Naumann, L. B., Hertäg, L., Müller, J., Letzkus, J. J., & Sprekeler, H. (2025). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 122(4), e2408966122.

Multisensory integration operates on correlated input from unimodal transient channels. Parise, C. V, & Ernst, M. O. (2025). eLife, 12, e90841.3.

Random noise promotes slow heterogeneous synaptic dynamics important for robust working memory computation. Rungratsameetaweemana, N., Kim, R., Chotibut, T., & Sejnowski, T. J. (2025). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 122(3), e2316745122.

Discriminating neural ensemble patterns through dendritic computations in randomly connected feedforward networks. Somashekar, B. P., & Bhalla, U. S. (2025). eLife, 13, e100664.4.

Effects of noise and metabolic cost on cortical task representations. Stroud, J. P., Wojcik, M., Jensen, K. T., Kusunoki, M., Kadohisa, M., Buckley, M. J., Duncan, J., Stokes, M. G., & Lengyel, M. (2025). eLife, 13, e94961.2.

Representational geometry explains puzzling error distributions in behavioral tasks. Wei, X.-X., & Woodford, M. (2025). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 122(4), e2407540122.

Deficiency of orexin receptor type 1 in dopaminergic neurons increases novelty-induced locomotion and exploration. Xiao, X., Yeghiazaryan, G., Eggersmann, F., Cremer, A. L., Backes, H., Kloppenburg, P., & Hausen, A. C. (2025). eLife, 12, e91716.4.

Endopiriform neurons projecting to ventral CA1 are a critical node for recognition memory. Yamawaki, N., Login, H., Feld-Jakobsen, S. Ø., Molnar, B. M., Kirkegaard, M. Z., Moltesen, M., Okrasa, A., Radulovic, J., & Tanimura, A. (2025). eLife, 13, e99642.4.

Cost-benefit tradeoff mediates the transition from rule-based to memory-based processing during practice. Yang, G., & Jiang, J. (2025). PLOS Biology, 23(1), e3002987.

Identification of the subventricular tegmental nucleus as brainstem reward center. Zichó, K., Balog, B. Z., Sebestény, R. Z., Brunner, J., Takács, V., Barth, A. M., Seng, C., Orosz, Á., Aliczki, M., Sebők, H., Mikics, E., Földy, C., Szabadics, J., & Nyiri, G. (2025). Science, 387(6732).

[emdashbitch]

100% crack theory that is NOT supposed to be taken seriously, it's really just a combo of Bucky's absurd location hopping and coincidence.

Bucky's serum that Zola gave him was adapted using the Space stone and just happened to be compatible with Bucky's naturally high spatial awareness so it worked. It spatially locked him, ie making him immune to other people's spatial powers, and gave him the ability to slip in and out of space as flashy or subtly as he likes, and being Bucky/WS he's always gone the subtle route. It's how the Winter Soldier gained a reputation for being a ghost, and how Bucky seems to just disappear in a blink in scenes or implausibly show up in entirely different locations at speeds too fast for even a super soldier to be capable of.

Maybe he isn't really aware he can do it either and it escaped Hydra notice because it's bending space and reality in a specific way that mortals don't tend to be able to compute unless they're Wanda or a trained sorcerer. He uses it way more as the Winter Soldier because in that state he uses everything available to him to complete the mission, even powers he's only subconsciously aware of/uses like muscle memory or instinct. But as Bucky he's not so one track minded and can't consciously use something he's not aware he has.

Bucky can teleport in the comics but it's through the use of technology. It wouldn't be the first time Marvel has changed its characters' power sets and origins around, just look at the Maximoffs, Kamala and even Sam, who can talk to birds in the comics and has a real bird companion, but only has a drone in the MCU.

It really made me laugh rewatching CACW where he's just constantly showing up out of nowhere, popping up in completely different locations with not enough time for even a super soldier to get there and disappearing into thin fucking air so quickly it's frequently a running bit with the other characters doing double takes over where tf he just went. (I've seen so many commentators and reactors call out how the fuck he moves through the building so fast in CACW, and his dramatic exits? Where he's just gone? Outta nowhere? Even for a big scary elite Hydra super soldier that's ridiculous. It's not just editing weirdness either, it's something that's acknowledged IN UNIVERSE by multiple characters.)

On a final note it's fucking hilarious to imagine Bucky either somehow never noticed or just assumed it was something every super soldier could do too so never brought it up since they don't exactly go around stating their powers out in an itemized list lmao

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Memory Case ~Rita Calhoun xFem Smart!Wife!Reader

Summary— Some at-home fluff, Rita is working on her case that’s he’s taken home, while talking with her wife. Thoughts and conversations about memory ensue.

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: all fluff, some science talk, talk of trauma, kissing, happy endings, etc.

Enjoy (;

It was the evening, and you and Rita had found a comfortable routine of doing your late night work at the dining table together, that way you two felt like you were still spending some time together as your jobs ate away your free time.

As you were nose deep into some paperwork, the sound of your name on the other woman’s tongue pulled your gaze up towards her.

“Mmmmm…?” You hum.

Rita paused for a moment, paper and pen in hand, tilting her head at something she was looking at. Your brows raised in curiosity.

“What’s up, babe?” You verbally asked.

“What’s the earliest memory you have…?” The brunette asked out of the blue, obviously having a train of thought behind her words, but having not yet revealed her thinking to you.

You thought about it for a moment, leaning back in your chair.

“Ummmmm… probably my childhood home… when I was around 2 to 3 years old… I remember the street I used to live on, and all the leaves falling because it was fall.” You replied.

Rita finally meets your gaze with a curious look on her face, her contemplation running deep.

“Huh. Interesting…” she commented, before scribbling something down on her notepad.

You put your things aside for a moment, your attention now grabbed.

“Why…?”

“I’ve been thinking about memory a lot recently…” she hummed, going back to her files.

You nodded along in intrigue.

“For a case?”

Rita took a prompt breath and nodded.

“What about it…?” You asked.

The woman then stopped what she was doing to collect her thoughts and meet your gaze once more.

“It’s correlation with how we process… how we remember certain things… how trauma can block certain memories…” She paused for a moment, “I’m thinking of using it as a defense…”

You nodded along, listening to the woman, as she went back to working.

“What do you know about memory?”

Rita snorted a little. Her snorts always made you melt.

“Not much. You?”

“A good deal.”

At your words, Rita put her things down and looked at you once more.

“Really?”

“Baby, I’m a therapist. Memory is like my domain.” You chuckled with a shrug.

Her hands then came forward above the table, nonchalantly prompting you to fill her in.

“Do tell.” She said, cocking her brow in wait.

You chuckled lightly and nodded, pursing your lips and thinking of where to begin, already picking up your hands in preparation to lecture the brunette on your expertise.

“Ok so firstly, Memory can be defined as the faculty by which the mind stores and remembers information. Now there are generally four different kinds of recognized memory— those are sensory memory, short-term memory, working memory, and long-term memory.” You explain, waving your hands about in the way you always did when you were teaching.

Rita tilted her head and listened with intent, nodding along to show her understanding. Her eyes softened at the sight of your hand gestures. She found them to be the cutest rhing.

“Alright, I follow.”

“Good. So according to Baddeley and Hitch, the following is how memory works. First comes the input, this is filtered through our sensory memory, which is where the processing starts. Then with attention, the information moves to the short-term memory, this is where information can be stored for a brief period of time. Another word for this hold is the Central Executive, this is the function of working memory that delegates what information should be retained and processed and what should be forgotten. From there, the information stays in the working memory, able to go to the Visuospatial Sketchpad or the Phonological Loop, the former is for visual and spatial processing, the latter for auditory processing. Still following?”

At this point, Rita had started taking notes, and she eagerly looked up and nodded, prompting you to continue.

“Good good. So from there from the working memory, the information can go to the episodic buffer and then to long-term memory. That’s the basics, it can get more complicated easily, but that’s what I would teach anyone interested in starting to understand memory.” You explain.

Rita lets out an intriguing hum, and you can see the cogs turning in her brain behind those dazzling eyes.

“So what if someone can’t remember what they did…?” The brunette asked.

“Well sometimes it’s because you forget the exact neural pathway, the recollection to the memory. Memory goes through the episodic buffer, something that helps you recall things in episodes or in correlation. When you trigger memories near the one you’ve forgotten, you can recall the one you don’t remember.”

“Hmmmmm I see.” Rita mused aloud, “And trauma?”

You pursed your lips and nodded with a sigh.

“That’s more complicated… Trauma has a way of building blocks or obstacles let’s say for you to access the traumatic memories. It’s best to uncover those with a professional.” You explain.

“And how do you know if it’s just forgotten or if it’s trauma…? I want to make a case for trauma but I don’t want it to bite me in the ass if he suddenly remembers it all.” Rita explained.

You nod again.

“I see. Well then I would say get him clinically evaluated. They should be able to tell you if it’s suppressed, repressed, or just forgotten.”

Rita smiled lightly at your words and nodded in agreement. She didn’t respond immediately, seemingly in thought.

“You okay, babe?” You asked, sitting up a little.

Rita nodded, standing up and making her way over to you. She came up behind you, wrapping her arms around your frame.

“I love you. You know that?” She purred.

You blushed and squirmed in your seat a little. Even to this day, your wife using the L word made you all giddy.

“I love you too, Rita” you hummed.

The woman then swiveled your head to the side and gently connected your lips together. You pressed into the light, caring kiss with a hum of contentment.

“How’d I get so lucky with a genius like you?” She chuckled into your lips.

You shrugged accompanied by a little giggle, as Rita drew you out of your seat and into her close embrace. She literally kissed your breath away. You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect partner.

~~~

Rita Calhoun Masterlist

[hedonistpoet06]

What If The Storm Ends? - Part 3 Five Hargreeves x Female OC

'What if Five's time during that first apocalypse was slightly different, what if he wasn't alone for all those years?'

Chapter synopsis: Five is plagued by the downfall of his own hubris which got him stuck in the mess of the apocalypse in the first place. Meanwhile, Octavia learns that the strange boy she stumbled across has kept some odd company in the shape of a plastic mannequin. Octavia soon realises that Five's attachment to Delores is no laughing matter, and now Five has to deal with two women living under his roof.

Author's Note: I've started making fic edits on my tik tok 'hed0nistpoet06' so feel free to check it out! <3

Word Count: 3367

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

iii. Octavia, meet Delores

Five successfully time travelled for the first time on the 11th of November, 2002.

The boy’s abrupt departure was charged by the dispute he had shared with his adoptive father, eccentric billionaire and certified asshole, Reginald Hagreeves. As Five opened the obnoxiously grand wooden doors of the academy that he had called home he felt relieved at how easy it was to leave.

For 13 years Five and his siblings had endured the abuse regimented training implemented by their father and during that time simply leaving had never felt like an option to himself or the others. Where would he go? His name and face was plastered all over cheap merchandise throughout the city so if he did hypothetically leave it wouldn’t be long until some recognised him. Then he would have to deal with the repercussions of his father and he knew the man didn’t believe in the concept of mercy.

Five recalled the painful memories that plagued his childhood, all of which shared a common denominator, his father. Reginald trained them to the bone, they were more like working dogs than children to him. Both Five and his siblings had all been conditioned with the same purpose, to save the world. Five thought about the hours they spent being unethically disciplined into becoming the perfect superhuman team.

He thought about it all, the way his lungs would burn from over exertion, the metallic stench of blood which filled his mouth and the suffocating silence of his siblings after they returned home from a mission unsuccessful, terrified of their fathers wrath which was guaranteed.

But Five was finally free.

He had made the choice to ignore Reginalds dismissal of his desire to time travel, after all Five remembered that he was the one who obtained the ability to spatial jump, not his father, so what could the old man possibly know?

However, he was surprised by the fact that neither his father nor any of his siblings had made an attempt to chase after him. His father had called his numerical title from his position at the head of their dining table but made no effort to stop him from leaving. The only one of his siblings that showed any intrigue in his departure was his sister, Vanya, who softly shook her head as he proposed time travel to his father.

He tolerated her the most out of their siblings most likely due to the fact that she was powerless and therefore wasn’t driven by their ego unlike Luther who took his position as Number One within the family extremely seriously.

As Five strode through the street front he had walked down many times before he became elated at this new sense of freedom which consumed him. Because physically leaving was so easy he also grew slightly enraged that he hadn’t thought of fleeing the bounds of this time earlier.

He was ready to time travel, he knew it.

Five had dedicated an obscene amount of blood, sweat and tears into perfecting his spatial jumps, ensuring that his calculations were just right. And when the boy had conquered travelling through space effectively, he yearned to travel through time.

Five focused his energy into performing a spatial jump but instead of fixating on the distance he would cross, he focused on projecting himself forward in time.

He needed to start small, months first, then years.

Then he was suddenly absorbed in that familiar blue light and when he opened his eyes he was thrilled to see and feel the seasonal shift in the atmosphere. From the bright colours that people wore, the humidity of the city air which melted through his academy blazer and the sound of amiable chit chat, Five knew that it was summer.

“Not ready, my ass.” He mumbled under his breath, cursing his fathers previous sentiment.

He had proved him wrong and Five swore he had never felt so content with himself before, and that was saying something.

Feeling adventurous and intoxicated from his own adrenaline high, Five decided to jump again.

The success of his second attempt was confirmed when he found himself on the same street front, only it was surrounded by snow. Five recognised the winter chill amongst the gentle falling of snow and the absence of people.

One more time, Five wanted to jump one more time. Then he would be completely satisfied with himself.

Oh how Five desperately wished he could have stopped himself there. To tell himself that he did not need to make that third, fatal jump. He could practically hear his fathers voice taunting him as the old man recited the Greek myth of Icarus and Daedalus once.

“Must I remind you, Number Five of the tragedy of Icarus. The boy did not heed his father’s warning regarding the fragility of their feather and wax wings. Driven by his own self perpetuated ego, the boy flew too high. Thus, the sun melted his wings and he plunged into the sea.” Reginald had explained this the first time Five had questioned the legitimacy of time travel to him.

Five did not agree with his father but he did wish that he had acknowledged the man's wisdom instead of feeding his own hubris.

When Five jumped he was met with nothing but death and destruction. The silence that surrounded him was harrowing. The only noise that filled his ears was that of burning debris and the reverberation of his own heartbeat.

Everything was destroyed. The buildings which Five had known his whole life had been obliterated into rubble, leaving the street unrecognisable to the boy.

Five panicked as he ran through the remains of the street. Ash was falling from the sky like snow and it filled his nose and mouth, he could taste the annihilation on his tongue but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. His thoughts were consumed by one thing, finding his family.

He sprinted and hurled himself over chunks of concrete until he reached the academy, or at least what used to be left of the academy.

What stood in front of Five was now a mere skeleton of the building he used to call home. Despite all the painful memories that inhabited those four walls, Five never wished for it to be completely eradicated.

“Vanya!” She was the first to appear in his mind as he called out into the empty space before him. He heard nothing in response except for the small flickering of flames that consumed some parts of the house’s remains.

“Ben!” Five then thought about his brother who he renowned as the least idiotic of the siblings, second to himself of course. But not even Ben could outwit the grim reality of this current situation Five had found himself in.

“Dad!” He finally called out for his father, his voice breaking slightly. He expected his father to miraculously appear before him and give him some grand ‘I told you so’ lecture and then return home for him to receive his punishment for disobeying him.

He would gladly take the fury of his father over the desolate scene he was witnessing.

“Anyone!” He turned to the street and called out, silently hoping that a lone survivor or two would call for help from under the wreckage.

Once again, Five was met with silence. His own voice appeared to get lost in the endless void of grey industrial butchering.

Five tried to compose himself enough to conjure his energy into his palms and focus on shifting himself back in time. Even if he couldn’t get back to the exact point in which he left, Five wouldn’t care, he just needed to get the hell out of there.

He needed to hear the bickering of his siblings, the god awful jokes that Klaus made, Ben's cynical commentary or the sweet harmonies of Vanya’s violin which embedded itself into every corner of their house.

As Five’s hands were encapsulated by that familiar blue light his hope quickly died when he was met with physical resistance.

An invisible force was lodging itself against Five when he tried to use his power and no matter how he tried or how deeply he concentrated, he couldn’t jump. He felt like two brick walls were closing in on himself, he was suffocating. Five found the simple act of breathing difficult which only hindered his concentration.

His academy uniform was excruciatingly warm compared to his blazing surroundings and ash had wedged itself into the back of his oesophagus, only contributing to his laboured breathing.

Any attempt of using his powers to propel himself backwards proved to be futile. There was absolutely no way of rewinding his actions and erasing this decrepit, lifeless landscape from his mind.

As Five turned to face the remains of the academy once again he was met with the gut wrenching realisation that he was completely and utterly alone in this very moment.

Five crumbled to his knees, ignoring the way the concrete scalded and grazed his skin. The ash then began to rain down even heavier than before, it stuck to his hair, his hands and his skin. It was like he was being absorbed by the end of the world itself.

And at that very moment, Five Hargreeves began to cry.

— -- —

Octavia had left her base with Five the following morning to start their newly forged companionship.

She packed the few belongings that she had into her backpack, Five had so generously offered to carry some too. Octavia didn’t need to take much, mostly clothes, the few knives and other objects she had collected over the two years alone. Nothing really obtained any sentimental value to her anymore, everything which she did own was what she had found out of necessity for survival.

The only tangible object that had remained consistent throughout her time in the apocalypse was a dainty silver necklace her parents had gifted her on her 12th birthday. It wasn't incredibly fancy or expensive, just a simple silver chain and a matching heart shaped pendant and on the back her initials 'OM' had been engraved in italic writing. It may have sounded pathetic but the small piece of jewellery was her last connection to home, to her parents and physical proof that she lived a life before the world had caved in on itself.

Sometimes she found herself running the pad of her thumb over the backside of the pendant just to feel the grooves of the engraving. The silver itself was scratched due to natural apocalypse related wear and tear but she could still clearly feel and trace over the two letters which constituted her initials.

She was honestly impressed the dainty thing had lasted this long.

Despite being somewhat relieved to leave the concrete shack she called home, Octavia couldn’t help but feel a slight heaviness overcome her when she turned around to say one last goodbye to her shelter for the past two years. It kept her safe, protected and somewhat warm during the time she inhabited it and ultimately helped to sustain her survival.

However as she looked towards the boy who was already a few steps ahead of her she felt a twinge of relief knowing that she would no longer be alone.

The walk to Five’s base took the two of them half of the day to complete.

It turned out that Five resided on the complete opposite side of the city. Octavia vocalised her annoyance as the two of them hiked through the rubble of the city, the spring warmth was particularly intense that day. Five rolled his eyes and told her to suck it up and reminded her that there were far worse conditions to be in.

However, Octavia caught him complaining under his breath about why he had agreed to this deal. She didn’t take his remark too seriously, she knew well enough that he wanted this just as much as she did. Their two years of respective solitude was gruelling and unforgiving. A small intrinsic part of Octavia was almost excited to be in the presence of someone else's company for the foreseeable future, especially since Five was just about her age and easy on the eyes, although she wouldn't admit that out loud.

After what felt like an eternity of walking in the spring heat the two finally made it to Five’s base. Upon their arrival, Octavia finally understood what Five meant when he said that his place was more developed than her own. Five had sought refuge in the remains of an old library. Octavia deciphered the battered metal sign that read ‘Argyle Public Library’. The building itself consisted of a circular concrete structure that had somehow withstood the end of the world. Although some of its brick walls crumbled down, leaving it exposed to the elements, Octavia could see where Five had so evidently tried to patch it up and make it liveable. However, half of the ceiling was open, meaning there was still some exposure to the elements.

Octavia stood still in awe of the building, it was almost metaphorical how this cylindrical structure had combatted the apocalypse and somewhat succeeded. The circular architecture reminded her of something from antiquity, like one of those marble temples you’d see in ancient Greece. Only this place was made out of concrete and brick and not elegant marble. It stood proudly amongst the rubble of the city and she was slightly surprised that she hadn’t come across the building before in any of her travels throughout the city.

“Wow.. Five. It’s incredible.” She said, processing it's shockingly decent state.

“It’s not awful. It was the only building I could find that was somewhat standing.” Five walked towards what Octavia presumed was once the doorway, now replaced with a piece of fabric that acted as a curtain.

“It’s impressive.” She followed shortly behind him as he drew back the sheet but stopped abruptly.

Five shifted his weight and turned to look at Octavia. A serious expression painted his face as Octavia shot him a questioning look.

“Before you come in there is something I need to tell you.” He said sternly.

“What is it?” Octavia folded her arms over her chest, eager to hear what the boy was about to reveal.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you.” Five confessed. Truthfully, the whole walk home he had been mentally debating with himself how he was going to approach this situation.

“Five, you’re being weird.” Octavia knew that being weird wasn't exactly out of the ordinary for Five but something about his sudden shift in behaviour had irked her immensely.

“I haven’t exactly been alone all this time.” Five stated and Octavia felt her face flush with rage. She recalled their conversation only two days ago now when the two of them shared their experiences about being alone for two entire years, only to discover that the boy had lied to her.

Octavia secretly hoped that Five was hiding some stray dog and that was what he considered company. Her anger would dissipate if that were the case, Octavia loved animals, she had been surrounded by them every summer she spent on her grandparents farm. There were the usual chickens, pigs, cows but the lambs were her favourite. She especially when the lambs had just been born, no older than a few days and her grandfather allowed her to nurse them a bottle of milk and run her fingers through the soft tufts of wool.

“What the hell do you mean?” Octavia spoke up as she pulled herself out of her own memory which began to cloud her mind.

Five didn't respond. He instead drew back the curtain and gestured for her to step inside. Octavia, although weary, quickly followed suit.

She had almost forgotten about his peculiar revelation when her eyes landed on the interior of his base. It was so incredibly fitting to Five’s character that she almost had to hold a small giggle back.

The base consisted of one large, open circular room. His mattress planted in the upper portion of the room, surrounded by stacks of books. The remaining walls that weren’t completely blown out were covered in equations, the very equations Five had told her about the previous day. Octavia tried to decipher some of the formulas but this level of mathematics was beyond intelligible, it could have resembled scribble to the untrained eye. On the opposite end of the room there were two more guns leaning up against the wall, much like the rifle he wore on his back when the two of them first met. Across every inch of the room were towers of books, some in better condition than others but there was an abundance of them. Octavia almost wanted to cry tears of pure joy when she saw them sitting just a few mere feet away from her. In the centre of the space was a table, she presumed it was once some grand wooden dining table but it had obviously been destroyed. She silently chuckled at the idea of Five trying to fix it, opting for a piece of metal to substitute one of the missing table legs.

Octavia noticed that on top of the table's surface sat a mannequin. She only had the upper half of her body intact and she was missing an arm. Despite her absent appendages she was in somewhat decent condition, only a few scratches and dirt covered her bald head and she was dressed in a black and white polka dot blouse. Octavia shifted her weight between her feet as she waited for Five to say something, to maybe make a joke or laugh it off, instead he stared at its plastic beady eyes with an almost longing look in his eyes. It was honestly the softest, most unguarded expression that she had seen in the two days that she had known him.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long dear, I know you hate it when I take off like that.” Five dropped his bag and rifle by the doorway and strode over to the table. He gently reached out a hand and began to rub the mannequin's plastic cheek.

Octavia quickly realised that it was neither a dog or another human person Five was referring to it was a plastic mannequin. She could only describe her as the type of mannequin you'd see in those cheap department stores with the uncanny faces that make you uncomfortable if you stare at them for too long.

“I know. I know. I didn’t mean to worry you.” He mumbled to the mannequin and Octavia was dumbfounded at his sudden shift in behaviour.

The tender and almost affectionate tone of his voice was completely foreign and seemingly out of character. She cleared her throat awkwardly, feeling as if she was interrupting a deeply intimate moment between Five and the mannequin.

Five looked back at Octavia before he gestured a hand to her direction.

“Octavia meet Delores, Delores this is Octavia. Our new roommate.” Octavia couldn't believe that the boy was introducing her to a non sentient piece of plastic.

“Are you telling me you’ve been shagging a mannequin for the past two years?” Octavia had concluded that this wasn't just an act Five was performing to get a rise out of her, he was being entirely serious.

“Don’t talk about Delores like that!” Five quipped back. His voice dramatically shifted from its previously affectionate tone to that of defensiveness.

Five found Delores during his first few weeks into the apocalypse. He considered Delores a real person, she was the closest thing to real which he could find in the debris. Her face was still mostly intact aside from a few scratches and Five was relieved to see something that mildly resembled another human being.

At first he just spoke to her in an attempt to keep himself sane, then he started to wheel her along in his metal trolley which he used on supply runs. Soon, Five wasn't exactly sure when but somewhere along the way she became Delores, it was like the name had just miraculously came to him and it suited her.

Octavia put her hands up in defeat, “Jesus, I guess you really did lose your mind.”

“Don’t listen to her, love. She doesn’t mean it.” Five said softly and Octavia rubbed her forehead in thought. Perhaps this was one quirk she would have to ignore in the name of survival.

“I swear to god Five if I have to hear you two getting it on.” She smirked at the livid reaction that spread across Five's face.

[sirmontague48]

Have my Sir Handel AuDHD headcanons.

Firstly though, these are all my own opinion (as usual) for my own version of Sir Handel. These are not official, and I am not attempting to diagnose anything, these are just light hearted headcanons.

Also a content warning for mentions of self injury in the context of a meltdown and violence in the context of a tantrum. I've tried to describe it as briefly as possible, but I'll give a heads up anyway.

Returning to the headcanons (I'll put them under a cut since there are so many):

Sir Handel has AuDHD (autism and combined type ADHD) and dyspraxia. He was diagnosed with all three when he was 20. His family was fine with it, and they thought that it explained a lot. Had they have known about neurodivergent conditions, they would have gotten him diagnosed a lot sooner. They understand him a lot better, since before they thought that he was just eccentric and had odd behaviours.

•He sometimes uses a cane to help with his balance. The others joke that he needs his cane to balance his big head.

•He has very intense emotions and struggles to control them.

•He really struggles with change.

•His special interets are fashion, gaming, horses, vintage trains and royalty (historical and modern).

•He sensory seeks a lot, often in different ways.

•He has his own rage room. It helps him a lot.

•He makes sound effects a lot (which is him both stimming and sensory seeking).

•He struggles to control the volume of his voice, especially when he is excited or angry.

•He has both tantrums and meltdowns. If he can be easily calmed after getting what he wants, then it is a tantrum. If he cannot be easily calmed, even after being given things that he likes, then it is a meltdown. His behaviour is also different for the two. For tantrums, he shouts, hits and kicks things, stands or sits where he is, refusing to move and mocks those who try to reason with him. For meltdowns, he repeats the same words or sentences over and over, mainly of the things that are overwhelming him, hits or scratches himself, runs off, sits on the floor in a ball, rocks back and forth, starts crying and becomes unresponsive and unable to speak. It can take a while for him to recover from a meltdown. He has learned how to adapt to his environment and understand when he is overwhelmed, so he often walks off to prevent a meltdown. However, this does not always happen due to him getting carried away with what he is doing and not noticing that he is overwhelmed.

•He is forgetful, especially with things that he is not very interested in.

•He did not speak until he was four years old.

•He is either very social or not social at all, there is no in between. Most of the time though, he is not social.

•He has his own way of socialising, which is considered odd by some.

•When he meets someone for the first time, he says "hello, who are you?" and then once they introduce themselves, he then rambles on and on about himself and his interests.

•He has poor pain perception and spatial awareness.

•He is not brilliant at social cues.

•He has a poor short term memory.

•He does not have the best social battery, and gets grumpy and leaves when he has had enough of socialising.

•He prefers to be alone.

•He prefers to live alone, and does so in his large mansion.

[nileshdeshpande]

The Role of Abacus in Developing Mathematical Confidence

How the Abacus Boosts Mathematical Confidence

The abacus, a tool with origins tracing back thousands of years, remains an invaluable instrument in modern education. Far from being obsolete, this simple yet powerful device has proven to be a cornerstone in developing mathematical confidence, especially among young learners.

Building a Strong Foundation

At its core, the abacus transforms abstract mathematical concepts into tangible, visual, and tactile experiences. For many students, numbers and calculations can feel overwhelming, especially when introduced in traditional formats like equations or symbols. The abacus bridges this gap by offering a hands-on approach. Moving beads to represent numbers allows learners to physically interact with math, making concepts like addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division more accessible and less intimidating.

Improving Concentration and Focus

Using the abacus requires concentration and precision. As students manipulate the beads, they learn to focus on each step of the calculation, developing discipline and patience. This repeated practice not only sharpens their mental math skills but also instills a sense of accomplishment with every correct answer. Over time, these small wins boost their confidence in handling increasingly complex mathematical problems.

Enhancing Memory and Visualization Skills

One of the unique benefits of the abacus is its ability to train the brain to perform mental calculations. As students become proficient, they often transition from the physical abacus to an imaginary one, visualizing bead movements in their minds. This practice enhances memory retention, spatial awareness, and cognitive flexibility—skills that extend beyond math to other areas of learning and problem-solving.

Breaking the Fear of Math

Math anxiety is a common barrier for many students. The abacus, with its playful and interactive nature, removes the fear associated with numbers. It reframes math as a game of patterns and strategies rather than a rigid subject. This shift in perspective transforms reluctant learners into enthusiastic participants, empowering them to approach math with curiosity and confidence.

Lifelong Benefits

The skills developed through abacus training—focus, visualization, memory, and problem-solving—are not limited to mathematics. They lay the groundwork for analytical thinking and decision-making in everyday life. Whether a student pursues a career in science, business, or the arts, the confidence gained through mastering the abacus becomes a lifelong asset.

In conclusion, the abacus is much more than an ancient calculating tool; it is a gateway to building mathematical confidence. By simplifying complex concepts, fostering focus, and encouraging mental agility, the abacus empowers learners to conquer math with self-assurance and enthusiasm. In a world increasingly reliant on technology, the abacus reminds us that sometimes, the simplest tools can make the most profound impact.

[licensed2faint]

Hey everybody! I'm a pro battler, currently on break and at home!

I tend to go by a lot of different names for personal reasons, but you can call me Laser! If we include my break, I've been battling for TWENTY-ONE YEARS THIS YEAR (wow!) but honestly I've been around trainers and battle-trained 'mon my entire life.

I'd love to connect with people here, whether for battling tips, advice for pokemon in the home, or anything else!

I have/had a LOT of pokemon (I ended up opening a preserve/ranch with my S/O with our prize money for the pokemon that didn't want to be released into the wild or become a housepet at the end of our journeys, so please rest at ease that everybody is being taken care of!) so I can answer questions about most any types.

I'm Hoenn native, and my Blaziken is my best friend. I've taken the gym challenge in: Hoenn, Sinnoh, Johto, Kanto, and Unova, so that's where my knowledge lies. I'm not very familiar with fairy types, sorry!

At home, feel free to ask about any of my 'mon! I've got a bunch, so don't feel shy about asking!

And now I have Sponge Cake the Feebas as a non battling mon (atm!) I'll see if he wants to evolve and maybe enter him in battles or contests, but it's definitely too early to force him into anything.

Newest Ranch Arrivals:

Popstar the Sneasler

Bokeh the Metagross

Amanda the Aerodactyl

Michael the Flareon

Custard the Lillipup (just hatched!!!)

((ooc stuff under the cut!))

(If any of my backstory doesn't fit your blog's canon, I am A-OK with saying that we somehow connected internets through a spatial rift!)

I am totally and fully okay with 'is the picture cute?' style blogs interacting! In fact, I encourage it!

I have memory issues, so I apologize if I don't recognize your blog or remember where you are in your storyline

I am slightly less likely to interact with blogs containing canon characters from Gen V or before, mostly bc I don't know what to say haha. Feel free to interact first tho!

The games that are canon to Laser's life are Ruby, Platinum, SoulSilver, and Black! I'm definitely counting other games as having 'happened' but Laser did not live through them, and only sort of knows what went down.

Laser has defeated the Elite 4 in those games, but takes pains to disguise itself in each new region it takes the challenge in, to avoid too much publicity. However, after beating the league, it doesn't care to maintain the disguise, leading to being kind of a famous cryptid type character.

Because of this, it will be cagey about its life, but may let things slip accidentally!

As a side note, I want to play the emotional ramifications of the events of those games somewhat seriously! Laser was in therapy for a good long while, both because of said events and also a tragedy that occurred at some point which it was struggling to cope with.

I don't wanna expound too much on its backstory yet, but I will keep record of anything discovered here for ease of access to newcomers! Feel free to poke a bit at it, but please keep in mind it will react like a real person!

pelipper mail is off while Laser is traveling, but on while at home, magic anons are always off, but musharna mail? I think is crazy funny so that is ON. Mystery gift is tentatively on, will make a concrete decision once I catch the vibe better. Union Circle is sooooo on!

BACKSTORY UNLOCKED:

-Has serious beef with Giovanni and Ghetsis, but seems to give the other teams wiggle room...

-Knows Maxie well enough that he calls it out on its bullshit and bad habits

-big thing happened sometime between leaving kanto and going to unova

-makes occasional trips to the Distortion World, but is hesitant to speak on that

-started its journey early, back when ten years old was the standard

-Someone named Thomas lives in a cave on preserve grounds

(i follow from @tigirl-and-co)

CURRENT PLOT: Old Wounds!

-laser has just pulled Cyrus out of the distortion world! he is in a catatonic state, occasionally interrupted by extreme emotional outbursts

[karasong]

get to know your mutuals!

thank you my love for tagging me @moonlight-prose 💗🌸

🌱what’s the origin of your blog title? my friend called me ''meme queen'' in german & i loved it so much, so i put it on my blog :D

🌱favorite fandoms: star wars, the good place, borderlands, & portal (i don't dig discourse, i ignore it a lot)

🌱OTP(s)/shipname: clerith, zutara, cheleanor, charah, murven, hellcheer, & rick/evie

🌱favorite color: green & all shades of green

🌱favorite game: the curse of monkey island :) i've played that game since i was a kid so many times that i could play it blind

🌱song stuck in your head: heaven up there by palace. such a beautiful song, my goodness

🌱weirdest habit/trait? i don't ever sleep with tidy sheets. i'm only comfortable if the duvet is crumpled and the blankets are everywhere but where they're supposed to be. do NOT tuck me in, i find that to be a hate crime

🌱hobbies: cooking, writing, video games/board games/card games, songwriting, video editing, gif making, jewelry making, & professional pirate insulter

🌱if you work, what’s your profession? desk job in admin. not fun at all, but it's a good spot, so i can't complain

🌱if you could have any job you wish what would it be? tbh i would rather be unemployed but still getting paid, but if i had to choose... maybe an employee at smosh or a chef in a test kitchen

🌱something you’re good at: making hyperspecific memes at the drop of a hat

🌱something you’re bad at: replying to text messages, remembering anything in general, & feeling comfortable in crowds

🌱something you love: my friends (hi eastview hiiii), homecooked meals, & laughter

🌱something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: nbc's chuck, nicholas podany's lucids, any of my ocs, & the stewjon au i wrote back on my fic blog (it's literally nestled a home in my heart)

🌱something you hate: people who dump on other's interests & who don't treat children kindly

🌱something you collect: any sort of ticket (train, plane, concert, etc.) i keep them in a tin box

🌱something you forget: literally everything, i have terrible memory & zero spatial awareness

🌱what’s your love language? quality time. i adore parallel play & feeling heard

🌱favorite movie/show: so many good stuff. i've always said my movie is labyrinth & my tv show is chuck

🌱favorite food: potato bake & scacciata

🌱favorite animal: bats!! i think black fur is beautiful

🌱are you musical? i think so. i used to play the flute & tried the guitar, piano, & kalimba. i sing, but not very well, & i write songs

🌱what were you like as a child? a chaotic gremlin that threw fists first & asked questions later

🌱favorite subject at school? english, film making, & drama

🌱least favorite subject? math (mainly because no teacher seemed to care that my level of learning was slower than others)

🌱what’s your best character trait? empathy, i suppose. i'm a shoulder & listening ear, & i'm going to try to comfort you in the way you need

🌱what’s your worst character trait? i need my alone time, which usually results in isolation

🌱if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be? that i'm home instead of working

🌱if you could travel in time who would you like to meet? probably beatrix potter. she'd be great to sit by a stream & chat for hours with

🌱recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!): omg recently "I'll Hold My Breath & Count To Ten" on ao3 by the incredible harbour. such a fantastic piece by a fantastic person <3

np tags: @obixwan @blushingfish @harbours-lighthouse @justbeingbuck @veneskaa @bongilicus & whoever wants to join

[darkmaga-returns]

Apr 24, 2025

🛸 00:00 - Introduction to Trey Hudson and the Meadow Project

Trey Hudson, author, military veteran, and paranormal investigator, joins to discuss his book and research into a high-strangeness area known as "The Meadow" in the southern U.S., a location compared to Skinwalker Ranch.

🌌 00:10 - Bob's Orb Transformation Incident

During a 2016 investigation, a team observed Bob, a field operative, inexplicably transform into an orb of light on thermal imaging—while Bob claimed he simply walked across the area.

👣 00:20 - Encounters and GPS Anomalies

Team experienced encounters with hominid-like figures and odd GPS tracking data showing impossible straight-line paths. Bob’s data later disappeared from his SD card. Hypnotic regression failed to recover his memory.

🔲 00:30 - February 2017: The Thermal Cubes

Team observed man-sized heat signatures and bizarre thermal-only visible cubes appearing in the meadow. A volunteer entered one, vanishing from thermal view and encountering an altered reality. Two people from that encounter later died.

⌛ 00:40 - Temporal and Spatial Anomalies

Trey experienced a profound disorientation near a creek, unable to recognize familiar terrain. Found an unusual sapling bent into a perfect oval—possibly a natural marker or dimensional portal.

💡 00:50 - Equipment Dreams and Consciousness Experiments

Discussed desire for advanced monitoring tools like lasers and EMF/radiation loggers. Team also uses techniques like the Estes Method, meditation, Monroe Institute principles, and the God Helmet to enhance encounters.

🔮 01:00 - Abductions, Entities, and Ultra-Terrestrials

Mention of classical abduction symptoms, shadow entities, and dogman tracks found near Trey's home. Discussed theory of ultra-terrestrials—entities that manifest in different forms (UFOs, Bigfoot, ghosts) depending on how they interact with our dimension.

📦 01:10 - Hitchhikers, Cubes, and Spiritual Implications

Team members have experienced poltergeist-type activity post-expedition. Trey's team is exploring simulation theory and notes thematic overlaps between high-strangeness sites like Skinwalker Ranch and ancient esoteric symbols (e.g., cubes, sacred geometry).

🧠 01:20 - Precognition and Remote Viewing

Touched on mainstream acceptance of precognitive dreams. Explained military’s remote viewing programs and correlations with high-strangeness areas. Trey’s team trained in controlled remote viewing; plans to use AI for future pattern recognition.

📚 01:30 - Wrap-Up and Promotions

Trey promotes his second book, “Return to the Meadow,” due May 27. Emphasizes the importance of preserving the meadow site and continuing to share these stories with the world.

[satire420]

Void Slugs

A draft for the first to be raptured By the true vine’s observant friends Was held for every species

Requiring an involvement of the speed At which they could approach new talents Particularly upon the formalities Of the human perspective on their death

Though even under a most empathetic circumstance & the avoidance of a constant sliming

It were unlikely that these prerequisites Of a future evolutionary popularity For their consumption of the narcotic reverie Would be anointed by one That did not speak their language

Because to not imagine them beneath you An assurance for the majority

The pace at which a response accounted for An improved literacy might be reached, eventually Again by man when their sound barrier Has been physically boxed Into a zero-gravitational environment

The answer assuringly positive From those floating towards outer-space On the basis of a burgeoning celestial employment

Of total escape in the metaphysical emptiness Of the ego-driven vortex Which would be the road Into a rehabilitation of their public image

The windows from where the soil Of communal entertainment Is made into a righteous filth Would be cleansed by these under-appreciated & “out of their time” species

How a neutral obliviousness could wash over The instinctual gullets of those sucking fish From the plastic of their hunger for soul

To remain in the control position Over old social orders Yet to accommodate the elitist lifeforms

As a shape able to leave What technology can only moderately capture Stricken with an ill at ease filing Of their possible class of augmented research

There is also a feeling of detachment From associating what might disgust some With a purifying of excess impulse & subsequent compulsion 
Stemming from a slacking Towards non-spatial reality Of a euphoric connection

To the limits of your own procession Of thoughts that must be seen into For what can be built upon

As a larger imposition of their own edicts As to manage our sanity’s numbing stress

By the light of a travel Between the ground and the world’s removing The accursed & useless patterns That are pushed into the visions We could defend if not for the masterplan

Like tears upon the spinning plates To hide the cracks of our parallel subordination To a routine that causes such decay As to stop us from breathing, eventually

With the potential for a word Left like smeared ink made clear

As a supernatural confiding In the environment itself But only when viewed from the inside out

Like the thoughts themselves were lacing The webbing of the sludge that resinated So casually into being remembered Like a bullet that grew a forest Of a billion eyes

Trained to document the code Being passed like it were the glue We’ve yet to use to sew up a place in eternity

Of which this membership is engrained Into their every responsibility While avoiding the salted inexplicable dimensions Offered by the dead stars shaken upon the cosmos

-

Bunny Sabretooth Chameleon

There’s an anguish To being conceptually beheaded By your own comprehension

That seeks to appeal to carrying Those of a similar material Outside where a past levitation’s reduced to memory & not what the monotony liberates in our patience

In these colors absorbed from within a pile of towels That pause their hallucinatory defilement To take a photograph of what will be bitten next

Like sawing wings of an airplane That are creating films of a movement Away from melting the earth below

Merging into an island upon their back The victim is causing such mutations to alter The already jettisoned but frozen correspondence

At gestation’s reproach To a permanent state of transfiguration

The essence of dreams lost Only to be magnified by a fortress of a rabbit That’s allowed its particles to shift

Depending on the karmic individualism Of our response to sleeping Under its gentle takeover Of nearly the entire sun

Unable to move when not brought upon the screen Utilized by a sympathetic sculptor Who is then likely disposed to await The destruction of said creation When appearing off of any electric channel

Through a belief in accordance With this latest blasphemy Upon a supposed historical accuracy of our origins That writes itself in place of science

Of which this entity owes to the cellular signal Any further clarity & ambition

How many bodies will be integrated Into its jagged coat before it becomes impossible To feed one’s self?

In every burst out from the clutches of females Attempting to stave off an invasion That would not only be viral but entirely hypothetical

Its menace in an attributive ubiquity Towards the possibility of its existence representing A miscalculation that might defile the air itself

Until becoming pronounced enough To stare into the nothingness of life’s initiation Into the promises of a unique framework

That we each invent until unusable in a watery abyss Of a clotting always threatening To eat the light itself

Aware or not of its holy epicenter from the idea Which cannot be divided except evenly In a mirroring that makes replication by our hands An absurdity and a cheating

Toggling like a motorized drill Between its power status

As the drip that its mustache must then represent To the manufacturing of this rarest crossing over From the theater and from which facial hair Tends to be a novelty to hide a lack of talent…

There is no other combustion of a foreign agency That deserves such a mysterious addition To their fragmented performance

-

Heroin Trolls

Illusive as the scams of the missionary Between the countries & their cameras Where data is sold for its legal history To be stored in a laboratory beneath the dam

A slab of scannable ink For the artists to sell a buzzing death From the creative brink of bugging out

The ocean has its lows but not to stay down And drowning slow amongst a crowd of chum Seems like only the sun’s idea of a comfortable cold

Framed forever by the orbital wisdom sold Of bouncing towards prisms Like save points for your light beams To never have listened

Bask in the possible cases like laced brownies Way too pungent to have been cooked properly Bringing people off of their face’s immediate pain

The reinvention of a classist reign After the teacher failed the entire bleachers America won’t stay the same For long enough to drink its beers

What trust can be acquired From major motion pictures & the system’s invasive interrogation lights?

As dusty as the spirit’s haunting These liar’s clumsy oversea’s fights With what’s just honest corporate war-clucking?

A peaceful, tortured bum but lovely When the remote is turning internally Quicker than its coat was being thrown Over the water for a female soccer player

Stunning the fear of any mental violence crowd With a sound as loud as the fence crashing out

Like what more can a bent wire pick-up From the nearby store or in a white van?

…It’s where the vision is composed most A signal penetrating from the coast…

A childhood where the voices were more pedophiliac Than a gymnastic’s coach That won’t let you leave their house And stayed like that were my choice Until I was legal to vote…

If I tied a knot around the hope As it learned to bleed dope?

Maybe they were not being abusive enough To be have introduced us to their idea of love… …Which was what I didn’t want to think of at all…

Who in the room awaited a call From child protective services more? Than when I was kid that didn’t need Another cracked symptom of loss to be poor?

Is it not clear enough that I understand How good it feels to fade in front of the drop? Like everyone I know has been made by cops? And I was the last of us that knew when to stop?

-

Squid Chateau

When its defenses are being raised Like the killers each with their own oil To be shot from any patio That yawns itself into existence

Before the architecture converts From a many-colored monster Into a leafy flower arrangement

& the view in its guts is darkened Further by the paranoia

As lights of jellyfish hardly breaching The skin’s wallpaper of the remnants From the floor in a stuck position… With even the depressed fish Trying to avoid the predator…

Beckoning them home For a chance to see the ultimate vacation To smoke whatever in the trailer they’re allowed Since heaven was taken over

As though they’d reached the crashing waves Only to realize that they wouldn’t be saved

The sprawl of the tentacles react to their every school Forming with a hunger that doesn’t only rule But forces them to conform

This corporation will never let you go anywhere If you’re not clever enough to invent a threat To its very infrastructure…

With even the bones melted by the one-eyed lore Unseen alive but definitely with enough vacancies To sleep well in the gold of the dead That made their bed in the dirt

But it’s not just open for the armed & wealthy This is an industry where you can be anybody And still get vacuumed into its infinity

Shamed as announcing your efforts In larceny to a court through the brilliant ideas

Meant to distort your innocence Into a check that can be sent to the occupants Its design causing slightly more fear of the depths

A falling spineless pageantry To present the uninhabitable areas Of the trenches through a suffocating build-up Of descending mentions in a hushed reservation

To be noticed by security as next in line For a hospitable detention

-

Volcano Shark Monks

Bred from their fire-resistant relative’s skin For their theoretical organs

Only surviving thanks to constant supply of vitamins In the mineral pool where they’re held Meant to represent a somewhat dirty spring

This tamed, introverted & solemn variation Supposed to offer an extension of human life Has inherited the protection Without historical precedent

It has caused the nervous self-examination Of those who eat when they are unhappy To calm their intuition towards analyzing The disgrace that’s inevitably cured By a directly unrelated consumption’s disassociation

Which has elevated their stress and weight To where they’ve difficultly in open water

But as they are just the end from which new life Will be able to heal from their operations Into gathering rare species existing In the purest energizing warmth of their exotic meals

They can be placed on any number of weight-loss aids That will ensure their parts of long-term prospects While killing them off in time for the next batch

It was not expected From the predetermined stages of its origins That they would develop psychic strength, however

In possibly failing to mimic the original genetics It has overgrown an incomplete branch of desire

Where such internal communication is engaged To prevent any divine action From being dispersed alone

Of which they are able deploy a stinging vibration Through collecting the brain-waves of any around That shakes the targeted area until it can be expelled

And as it neither generates gas nor installs liquids The only fix is dying as soon as possible Before you are driven mad

From the resharing of your own knowledge Placed back inside while out of order & layered Unable to recognize any of the actions In attempting to save yourself

That in wanting to be made anew We lost the ability to damage all that we see Without biological consequence

While in recreating others The subjects have they accepted our impersonation As a chance to idealize themselves For the battles their weakness might get approved

-

Hollow Fish Rain

…I’m only engaged With the weather’s reaction to pollution Because of these emotion’s falling out Like a trash-can dragged behind a truck…

How honest can people be As they switch themselves Into a tidal wave of opinion?

Does nature not remember the lakes Which were laughed dry?

…The psychosis in presenting a funeral For the freezer aisle…

…Are we convinced yet? That a spirit can attach itself to belief For long enough to attain to a friendship at least?

This isn’t an acting gig, however My demons starve that you might Have claimed victory over them Enough to be spoken to as an equal

A heart stomped on that’d been revealed In exchange for the heaven neither could trust

That they’d rather something less sacred To demolish like a business That sells an invading of your well-being

As a legal outlet for people To ignore innate psychic-barriers Meant to promote love

…This method from which to seek another’s style…

We don’t get to break each other And watch the consequences Like an engineering project of trains & dominos

There’s only the feeling of their pain As a foreign object

I wanted to write exactly what you had As it manifested sickened framework From which to prove The theory of apathy’s entertainment as a vessel Of our environment’s dejection and distracting

How many others shared in that idea Where we must leave or fight over sentences Until one falls asleep without saying “I love you…” Enough times in the previous hour

The original basis for a need To fake the reoccurring doubt As somehow less real for the observers

Was in denying an attraction To the forests & rivers & isolation ever existed

Maybe we’ll not have figured one another out For a truer reality possible Of which an infinite billion or two Will always live on in this particular time & place

Doesn’t matter The water was not ours anymore Blessed as what might survive instead

Which is to imply we’re a death-wish From the shredding of the molecules That could’ve warned another hand Being held by the fin of a thankful creature

As it goes lifeless in the meditation-level event Of candles and the unforgotten Brought over through the sorrow That’s now temporarily removed

Which they’d sprayed on their previous headstone For its not caring at all if a single artifact Of their eventual discovery continued to remain

I cannot resist being in agreement For an instant longer

Bring on the landfill of a marriage Destined to feel eternal remorse For the death of a co-conspirator

-

The Last Polar Bear

It would be possible To be buried by the oncoming rush Of a landscape which hasn’t stopped stealing

Throughout their dreams Of a decent meal But it’s sadder on this sinking path

Having grown-up alone The preparation helps block out any chance That they’d have to search through the waters For a more dominant family

As the worldly, assured pleasure is removed From sharing in the rewards of the slaughter

In having controlled the outcome With a definitive blood-drenched iceberg & plate To document with their prey’s intestines Images of solace from the authentic beauty

To reveal itself like a street of parties Bouncing off of each other

The commercials that migrate from an emptied pool As a killer to the wars you might never have lost Without intervention of The Great Hunger

Where no connection will arrive Outside of the legacy being faded away With the future as unaffected

Learning where its competition will replace The signals causing the ocean to alter its waves Through a lesser dominion

As though they’d earned aid to have swam Directly into a smaller system From an adapting to their reflection in the water

A makeshift resilience To note which reactions they might expect

Mostly it’s peaceful to be delegating To a purest cause of closing down This endeavor’s success

Towards the wisdom Finalized & giving over the blanket That protected their land

From the attentive greed which builds The guilt in bricks of poisoned history

Through not asking for a specific result There’d be no changes to the joyous seconds They might catch mid-stride

…None too altered by death…

How devastating that a child of weather Might never return

If reincarnation held true It’s a charade to become nearer Only in the approaching extinction

…And who else could have waited?

Perhaps, they might train to run Upon any surface to be welcomed Into the unstoppable collisions

Like they’re tragic flowers Removed in their anger From a creation that could’ve remained unseen

If not for a pressing upon the heat To remember at a cost To not understanding As a way back to sleep

-

The Skeletal Jellyfish

As volunteers for a living orgasm To possibly annihilate their muscle-mass As it were only theoretical as well

This cryptographic cycling of a recorded inner-world For those tethered to a strand of urgency From being prodded by lapses in entertainment Where such voids to be filled like egg cartons

Added to a program following their personal history Whilst demanding the packages be resent On account of an underdeveloped education Creating a paranoia of their see-though scalp

Leading to textual control over a frequency Amassing prior psychic chemicals Broken down into their routines of growth Like a garden of starts that mean only to stack

As if they were timelines Representing a rarified quantum scenario Quantified until relative in their training Towards a new mathematically-dynamic host

A nature-aversion belayed By the whipping of the controller Into a violent vibration Against the ground to approach goodness & without their leash, they become anarchic

& indulge in processed foods, perhaps In their familiar, seemingly bottomless alterations For when the organic seen as detrimental To the sipping from your oxygenic seeds Sent into the extreme edifying of confidence

Not requiring to learn but only recall When unable to initiate a look away From their biologic ownership In such an androgynous post-science Having known all sides of our suffering

The focus framing the subliminal flashbacks Into a literal narcotic displacement

If not from the gathering Of a lifetime’s non-perishables Then in the solutions going unused

Having defamed other strains of thought In a contest over which will get more hits For the elimination of doubt and shame In that order

Even through reading As where it were necessitated Had been removed through a blasphemous faith

With the ability to be deconstructed daily Into a universal but healable image of man

& in over-sharing’s messianic response Their mercifully killed & unseen contributions To an electric above-ground ocean Held down by the end of our feathered mimicry

…Of recoupable cells shedding their weight With each evaporation of an attention-span…

We must access their attempted charms As though they were possible soul to burn Into the synapses being separated like recyclables

From the output with which to overload areas Of the soil with nothing but a device Able to deflect brain-activity into a conduit gene Instead of the usual plastic and glass

This self-replicating body of a vile certainty Towards files being streamed to a database Of their former invisibility overcharged

Until a subtraction of a collective Into a temporary absence can rebuild both In a vacuum of gloves & sterilized conditions

What will create the perpetual motion clay Needed to gauge emotional response elsewhere

Passing through the cables in their generative stanzas Based on a chronicling of their activities As they become more regimented & complex

Beware those that were purposefully held back As they’ve mastered how to allocate For every distraction

-

The Frog Viking

Adrift in the galactic nonsense forever But born again, eventually As a hermaphroditical star-collector

From the source code of a lesbian paradise Populated by all manner Of impregnable correlations

That went dormant after crossing the divide Of an after-matter quasi-vaginal portal

Triggering a later gargantuan elemental bomb That brought the conceptualization of the phallus Into the creation of a universe at last

But was it only such power that caused the migration? That such an illusion must have promised A new way of looking in the mirror

As they had always been near-reptilian Causing the guilt that would lead To a chaotic waste management service

From which mankind would be responsible for In nearly every pursuit Towards surviving their own deathless curse

As was likely the laziness incarnate Developed by the future amphibian As requisite for their suffering As a psychedelic plot-device Amongst obsessed mental gardeners

Traveling into their bogs specifically for the memory That their burden housed on both accounts

The entire discovery signed by the power of the void In having the dinosaurs try out this union Between different forms first Successful as they were, spiritually They still resembled what women were

Before exiting through the tears Of a consolidation of an atomic fever Back in the time before creation

Which sent them into a recursive reimagining Of power dynamics they would have to relearn Of their former godhood from their own lawlessness Despite their newly overwhelming beauty 
In the resurrection of rampant sexualization Between different factions Marked for homosexuality as the only option Within the derangement of infinite mutations

That had previously brought about drugs To a state of being as present As an evolutionary integration Of their cannibalism of one another

How many ways of using these sacraments Given their many orifices had they once known?

Their flight above the roots of trees Granting them a soft blanket to drop a blotter upon Like veins to sense thought at every height

But in their copious angelic visions Also sought like moths to the sparkling floor Of a deep water reconnaissance in their throats

Do they still exist as what they were?

Having been remade in the reflection Of a previous heavenly order, possibly?

It would make sense if only through the skin Of a creature that was most identifiable With an ancient race of warring plants Able to capture various insects upon their pollen

These visions might appear to those chosen To collaborate, however briefly With this interstellar secret society To reveal them in their permanent habitat

That’s only touched earth through celestial seeds Of their heroic patch of imprinted usage These unseen damages & recuperations

Contained within their previous flesh Of a multi-color radiance now the essence of light

[compneuropapers]

Interesting Papers for Week 24, 2025

Deciphering neuronal variability across states reveals dynamic sensory encoding. Akella, S., Ledochowitsch, P., Siegle, J. H., Belski, H., Denman, D. D., Buice, M. A., Durand, S., Koch, C., Olsen, S. R., & Jia, X. (2025). Nature Communications, 16, 1768.

Goals as reward-producing programs. Davidson, G., Todd, G., Togelius, J., Gureckis, T. M., & Lake, B. M. (2025). Nature Machine Intelligence, 7(2), 205–220.

How plasticity shapes the formation of neuronal assemblies driven by oscillatory and stochastic inputs. Devalle, F., & Roxin, A. (2025). Journal of Computational Neuroscience, 53(1), 9–23.

Noradrenergic and Dopaminergic modulation of meta-cognition and meta-control. Ershadmanesh, S., Rajabi, S., Rostami, R., Moran, R., & Dayan, P. (2025). PLOS Computational Biology, 21(2), e1012675.

A neural implementation model of feedback-based motor learning. Feulner, B., Perich, M. G., Miller, L. E., Clopath, C., & Gallego, J. A. (2025). Nature Communications, 16, 1805.

Contextual cues facilitate dynamic value encoding in the mesolimbic dopamine system. Fraser, K. M., Collins, V., Wolff, A. R., Ottenheimer, D. J., Bornhoft, K. N., Pat, F., Chen, B. J., Janak, P. H., & Saunders, B. T. (2025). Current Biology, 35(4), 746-760.e5.

Policy Complexity Suppresses Dopamine Responses. Gershman, S. J., & Lak, A. (2025). Journal of Neuroscience, 45(9), e1756242024.

An image-computable model of speeded decision-making. Jaffe, P. I., Santiago-Reyes, G. X., Schafer, R. J., Bissett, P. G., & Poldrack, R. A. (2025). eLife, 13, e98351.3.

A Shift Toward Supercritical Brain Dynamics Predicts Alzheimer’s Disease Progression. Javed, E., Suárez-Méndez, I., Susi, G., Román, J. V., Palva, J. M., Maestú, F., & Palva, S. (2025). Journal of Neuroscience, 45(9), e0688242024.

Choosing is losing: How opportunity cost influences valuations and choice. Lejarraga, T., & Sákovics, J. (2025). Journal of Mathematical Psychology, 124, 102901.

Probabilistically constrained vector summation of motion direction in the mouse superior colliculus. Li, C., DePiero, V. J., Chen, H., Tanabe, S., & Cang, J. (2025). Current Biology, 35(4), 723-733.e3.

Testing the memory encoding cost theory using the multiple cues paradigm. Li, J., Song, H., Huang, X., Fu, Y., Guan, C., Chen, L., Shen, M., & Chen, H. (2025). Vision Research, 228, 108552.

Emergence of Categorical Representations in Parietal and Ventromedial Prefrontal Cortex across Extended Training. Liu, Z., Zhang, Y., Wen, C., Yuan, J., Zhang, J., & Seger, C. A. (2025). Journal of Neuroscience, 45(9), e1315242024.

The Polar Saccadic Flow model: Re-modeling the center bias from fixations to saccades. Mairon, R., & Ben-Shahar, O. (2025). Vision Research, 228, 108546.

Cortical Encoding of Spatial Structure and Semantic Content in 3D Natural Scenes. Mononen, R., Saarela, T., Vallinoja, J., Olkkonen, M., & Henriksson, L. (2025). Journal of Neuroscience, 45(9), e2157232024.

Multiple brain activation patterns for the same perceptual decision-making task. Nakuci, J., Yeon, J., Haddara, N., Kim, J.-H., Kim, S.-P., & Rahnev, D. (2025). Nature Communications, 16, 1785.

Striatal dopamine D2/D3 receptor regulation of human reward processing and behaviour. Osugo, M., Wall, M. B., Selvaggi, P., Zahid, U., Finelli, V., Chapman, G. E., Whitehurst, T., Onwordi, E. C., Statton, B., McCutcheon, R. A., Murray, R. M., Marques, T. R., Mehta, M. A., & Howes, O. D. (2025). Nature Communications, 16, 1852.

Detecting Directional Coupling in Network Dynamical Systems via Kalman’s Observability. Succar, R., & Porfiri, M. (2025). Physical Review Letters, 134(7), 077401.

Extended Cognitive Load Induces Fast Neural Responses Leading to Commission Errors. Taddeini, F., Avvenuti, G., Vergani, A. A., Carpaneto, J., Setti, F., Bergamo, D., Fiorini, L., Pietrini, P., Ricciardi, E., Bernardi, G., & Mazzoni, A. (2025). eNeuro, 12(2).

Striatal arbitration between choice strategies guides few-shot adaptation. Yang, M. A., Jung, M. W., & Lee, S. W. (2025). Nature Communications, 16, 1811.

[davidkirkpatrick]

The Science Behind Speed Reading Techniques

Neuroscientists remind us that reading is a remarkable ability because our brains never specifically evolved for it.

Reading wasn’t a natural evolutionary skill for our ancestors—it’s something our brains adapted to over time.

This key neuroscientific insight changed how I approach teaching reading improvement.

Unlike walking or talking, reading isn’t hardwired into our neural circuits. It’s a complex cognitive skill that requires dedicated adaptation.

What does this mean for entrepreneurs? Struggling with reading isn’t a personal shortcoming—it’s simply the result of using a brain that wasn’t originally designed for this task.

With the right science-based reading techniques, anyone can significantly enhance their reading ability.

Table of Contents

The Science Behind Reading Comprehension

Eye Movement Patterns

Neural Activity Differences

Breaking Down Sub-vocalization: What the Research Actually Shows

The Peripheral Vision Advantage

The Scientific Case for Physical Books

The Working Memory Connection

Attention and Focus: The Prerequisites to Memory

My Research Integration Process

Quantifying Reading Performance: Beyond Gut Feeling

Conclusion

The Science Behind Reading Comprehension

Fascinating research shows that skilled readers don’t just read faster—they process text differently at the brain level.

Here’s what happens neurologically in skilled readers:

Eye Movement Patterns

Researchers such as Keith Rayner used eye-tracking to find clear differences between skilled and unskilled readers:

Fixation time: Slower readers fixate on each word for 300-500 milliseconds; skilled readers average 200-250 milliseconds.

Saccades: Skilled readers make longer jumps between fixations, taking in more text per movement.

Regression rate: Unskilled readers reread words 30-40% of the time; skilled readers only 10-15%.

These findings aren’t just trivia—they provide actionable ways to train more efficient reading patterns.

Neural Activity Differences

Functional MRI scans show striking contrasts:

Skilled readers activate phonological processing areas less, relying less on “sounding out” words.

They have greater activation in visual word form areas, recognizing whole words instantly.

Stronger connectivity exists between language and visual processing regions.

In essence, skilled reading is about brain efficiency—using fewer resources for better comprehension.

Breaking Down Sub-vocalization: What the Research Actually Shows

Sub-vocalization—the inner voice pronouncing words—is often misunderstood in speed reading.

Many programs insist on eliminating it entirely, but research shows a more balanced reality.

Sub-vocalization is natural and even necessary for complex material.

The key is minimizing and streamlining it, not removing it altogether.

Studies measuring vocal cord activity during silent reading found:

Unskilled readers activate their vocal cords more, “speaking” every word internally.

Skilled readers have reduced but present activation, especially with difficult words.

Completely eliminating sub-vocalization reduces comprehension in lab tests.

This explains why some exercises—like counting “one-two” while reading—help: they train the brain to rely less on sub-vocalization without removing it.

The Peripheral Vision Advantage

Peripheral vision training is another exciting frontier.

Skilled readers use peripheral vision to:

Preview words before focusing on them directly.

Process multiple words simultaneously.

Maintain context for better prediction and understanding.

Training can expand peripheral vision by about 42%, making group-word recognition exercises highly effective.

The Scientific Case for Physical Books

Research on digital versus physical reading favors books for deep learning.

A 2009 University of Sussex study found that reading reduces stress by 68% in six minutes—300% more effective than walking.

Reading books activates different neural pathways than screens, including:

Enhanced spatial memory (knowing where info is on the page).

Stronger episodic memory (contextual recall).

Improved tactile memory (linking info to physical sensations).

These aren’t just preferences—they’re measurable brain processing differences.

The Working Memory Connection

Working memory—the ability to hold and manipulate info temporarily—is critical to reading comprehension.

Studies show people with stronger working memory comprehend complex texts better.

The exciting part? Working memory can be improved through targeted exercises.

My method includes:

Teaching entrepreneurs working memory enhancement techniques.

Providing progressive challenges to expand capacity.

Optimizing reading protocols for better information chunking.

Attention and Focus: The Prerequisites to Memory

Memory formation requires focused attention. Without it, info doesn’t transfer to long-term memory.

That’s why I emphasize focus training alongside speed reading.

I recommend three key science-backed resources:

ADHD 2.0 – Understanding and optimizing attention.

Focus by Harvard Business Review – Practical applications.

Hyperfocus by Christopher Bailey – Techniques for deep concentration.

These aren’t optional—they’re foundational.

Research shows just 10 minutes of focused attention meditation daily can significantly improve reading comprehension in weeks.

My Research Integration Process

Clients often ask how I stay updated with reading science.

Unlike anecdotal speed reading programs, I rely on systematic research integration.

I immerse myself in original research—reading thousands of pages of academic journals and books.

My process includes:

Primary source analysis: Reading original cognitive neuroscience and psychology papers.

Meta-analysis reviews: Synthesizing findings across many studies.

Applied testing: Validating with client exercises.

I also use AI tools to help synthesize data, identifying patterns across hundreds of studies.

This combination of human expertise and tech keeps my methods cutting-edge.

Quantifying Reading Performance: Beyond Gut Feeling

A key to my approach is objective measurement.

I developed software that lets readers measure their skills precisely.

Clients read a set number of words, and the system calculates reading speed instantly.

For example, 1,000 words in 5 minutes equals 200 words per minute.

Benchmarks include:

Average adult reads ~238 words per minute.

Audiobooks are around 150 wpm.

Skilled readers often exceed twice audiobook speed.

These empirical baselines help entrepreneurs set realistic goals.

Conclusion

When reading techniques align with how the brain processes information, remarkable progress happens.

Entrepreneurs I work with don’t just read faster—they think differently.

Reading skill isn’t fixed—it’s trainable at any age.

Understanding the science behind reading transforms how you engage with knowledge.

In a world flooded with information, efficiently processing and retaining knowledge is a powerful advantage.

I’m passionate about sharing these research-based methods because I’ve seen how they elevate reading, decision-making, innovation, and ultimately, business success.

The science of reading isn’t just academic—it’s your competitive edge in an increasingly complex world.

—David Kirkpatrick