#Data Structures and Object

[cementcornfield]

I don't know that I've seen a quarterback exerting that kind of pressure on the organization....Joe Burrow has been incredibly consistent and vocal about wanting to keep Tee Higgins around...

Burrow's contract has already forced Cincinnati to start doing some things that they don't normally do. He has already broken rules that the Bengals have typically had in terms of how they handle their contracts. Like his deal is the type of deal that they don't sign previously. So they've already made exceptions...started to modernize...started to act the way the rest of the NFL does, because Burrow is so special...so if he was able to make them do that for his own contract, is he able to make them do that to keep Tee Higgins in the building? To go in a different direction than they would normally do?

[snaildotexe]

Software Technical Interview Review List

Data Structures

Arrays (and Java List vs ArrayList)

String

Stack

Queue

LinkedList

Algorithms

Sorting (Bubblesort, Mergesort, Quicksort)

Recursion & Backtracking

Linear and Binary Search

String/Array algos

Tree traversal

Dynamic Programming

Graph algos (DFS, BFS, Dijksta's and Kruskals)

OOP fundamentals

Polymorphism

Inheritance

Encapsulation

Data abstraction

SOLID and GRASP

Explanations & example questions:

Strings and Arrays [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 ]

Stacks and Queues [ 1 | 2 ]

LinkedList [ 1 | 2 ]

Sorting & searching [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 ]

Recursion and Backtracking [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 ]

Dynamic Programming [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4]

Graphs [ 1 | 2 | 3 ]

Tree [ 1 | 2 ]

General DS&A info and questions [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 ]

OOP review & questions [ 1 | 2 | 3 ]

[cubicalseo]

If you know about search engine optimization (SEO), you've probably encountered with schema markup. But what is schema markup, and why does it essential? More importantly, how does it impact your search engine rankings? In this guide, we'll break down everything you need to know about schema markup and explain why it plays a important role in boosting your SEO performance.

[agent4justice]

Scammers sophistication technique have reached a new apex, making Banking Fraud just like a walk in the park to this crime syndicates with richer background helter-skelters depositors and has been keeping most retirees that reinvested most of their retirement plan sleepless after words of the threat that swept the streets does not seem to have not weakened at all.

Masses are appealing for a more stringent countermeasure to be in place as soon as possible, such are adding more authentication request. Although retina scanner can slow down the process with the amount or rather the size of the data, but it also gives us an opportunity of having time to lockout perpetrators. The size of the data makes it at least 70% better than an iris scan and many more folds multiplied compared to a fingerprint.

Several years ago, I foresaw that the mCommerce (mobile commerce) would be ruled out as the mainstay of electronic processing for the sole reason that it is the most affordable business appliance that can serve the majority, representing the poor to medium class and the trending plot of global economic structure just like a triangle.

Having mCommerce | Mobile Technology as our economic transport offers the possibility of catering and adding the biggest chunk of our global population to pitch in the global trade for us to achieve having reserves and surplus will be more conceivable.

To make it a little impenetrable and globally under tighter scrutiny, I proposed that we adopt the universal identification system. We will integrate every other form of identity attached to it using our mobile number as the key index that will permanently our lifetime phone number. In the event of loss, the telco will make a SIM based on a secret code given to the subscriber upon the receipt of your subscription and issuance, which will be honored and will be service by other Telcos if subscriber opt to change carrier. The number coding of telcos should also compliment tracking effort, narrowed down within the radius and range of a few kilometers apart where the last signal was received or transmitted. The succeeding successful connection recorded by cell sites would enable us to speculate the linear direction as it trends.

We will enable the mobile technology to be a conduit of payment gateways or as a payment gateway itself. Our objective is to open the global trade and cover a larger scope and as far-reaching it could service most specially the marginalized poor a chance to lift their social status getting connected and finally be able to join our bandwagon to the brighter future. The fact can't be denied that they have been left without an adequate means to tap the convenience and business opportunity through eCommerce. Through the mobile payment gateway, even in the absence of a banking system in their region, they can now fulfill the checkout process by loading or charging it from your telco which is even less intricate than having a debit card or as to many known financial credibility.

#mobilepaymentgateway

#mobiletechnology

#mCommerce

#onlinefraud

#RetinaScan

Scammers sophistication technique have reached a new apex, making Banking Fraud just like a walk in the park to this crime syndicates with richer background helter-skelters depositors and has been keeping most retirees that reinvested most of their retirement plan sleepless after words of the threat that swept the streets does not seem to have not weakened at all.

Masses are appealing for a more stringent countermeasure to be in place as soon as possible, such are adding more authentication request. Although retina scanner can slow down the process with the amount or rather the size of the data, but it also gives us an opportunity of having time to lockout perpetrators. The size of the data makes it at least 70% better than an iris scan and many more folds multiplied compared to a fingerprint.

Several years ago, I foresaw that the mCommerce (mobile commerce) would be ruled out as the mainstay of electronic processing for the sole reason that it is the most affordable business appliance that can serve the majority, representing the poor to medium class and the trending plot of global economic structure just like a triangle.

Having mCommerce | Mobile Technology as our economic transport offers the possibility of catering and adding the biggest chunk of our global population to pitch in the global trade for us to achieve having reserves and surplus will be more conceivable.

To make it a little impenetrable and globally under tighter scrutiny, I proposed that we adopt the universal identification system. We will integrate every other form of identity attached to it using our mobile number as the key index that will permanently our lifetime phone number. In the event of loss, the telco will make a SIM based on a secret code given to the subscriber upon the receipt of your subscription and issuance, which will be honored and will be service by other Telcos if subscriber opt to change carrier. The number coding of telcos should also compliment tracking effort, narrowed down within the radius and range of a few kilometers apart where the last signal was received or transmitted. The succeeding successful connection recorded by cell sites would enable us to speculate the linear direction as it trends.

We will enable the mobile technology to be a conduit of payment gateways or as a payment gateway itself. Our objective is to open the global trade and cover a larger scope and as far-reaching it could service most specially the marginalized poor a chance to lift their social status getting connected and finally be able to join our bandwagon to the brighter future. The fact can't be denied that they have been left without an adequate means to tap the convenience and business opportunity through eCommerce. Through the mobile payment gateway, even in the absence of a banking system in their region, they can now fulfill the checkout process by loading or charging it from your telco which is even less intricate than having a debit card or as to many known financial credibility.

#mobilepaymentgateway

#mobiletechnology

#mCommerce

#onlinefraud

#RetinaScan

#FraudAlert

#FraudAlert

[shubhamresearch]

Pet Grooming Products Market -Global Industry Analysis and Forecast (2023-2029)

The objective of the report is to present a comprehensive assessment of the market and contains thoughtful insights, facts, historical data, industry-validated market data, and projections with a suitable set of assumptions and methodology. The report also helps in understanding Global Pet Grooming Products Market dynamics, structure by identifying and analyzing the market segments and project the global market size.

[nasa]

25 Years of Exploring the Universe with NASA's Chandra Xray Observatory

Illustration of the Chandra telescope in orbit around Earth. Credit: NASA/CXC & J. Vaughan

On July 23, 1999, the space shuttle Columbia launched into orbit carrying NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory. August 26 marked 25 years since Chandra released its first images.

These were the first of more than 25,000 observations Chandra has taken. This year, as NASA celebrates the 25th anniversary of this telescope and the incredible data it has provided, we’re taking a peek at some of its most memorable moments.

About the Spacecraft

The Chandra telescope system uses four specialized mirrors to observe X-ray emissions across the universe. X-rays that strike a “regular” mirror head on will be absorbed, so Chandra’s mirrors are shaped like barrels and precisely constructed. The rest of the spacecraft system provides the support structure and environment necessary for the telescope and the science instruments to work as an observatory. To provide motion to the observatory, Chandra has two different sets of thrusters. To control the temperatures of critical components, Chandra's thermal control system consists of a cooling radiator, insulators, heaters, and thermostats. Chandra's electrical power comes from its solar arrays.

Learn more about the spacecraft's components that were developed and tested at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama. Fun fact: If the state of Colorado were as smooth as the surface of the Chandra X-ray Observatory mirrors, Pike's Peak would be less than an inch tall.

Engineers in the X-ray Calibration Facility at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama, integrating the Chandra X-ray Observatory’s High-Resolution Camera with the mirror assembly, in this photo taken March 16, 1997. Credit: NASA

Launch

When space shuttle Columbia launched on July 23, 1999, Chandra was the heaviest and largest payload ever launched by the shuttle. Under the command of Col. Eileen Collins, Columbia lifted off the launch pad at NASA’s Kennedy Space Center in Florida. Chandra was deployed on the mission’s first day.

Reflected in the waters, space shuttle Columbia rockets into the night sky from Launch Pad 39-B on mission STS-93 from Kennedy Space Center. Credit: NASA

First Light Images

Just 34 days after launch, extraordinary first images from our Chandra X-ray Observatory were released. The image of supernova remnant Cassiopeia A traces the aftermath of a gigantic stellar explosion in such captivating detail that scientists can see evidence of what is likely the neutron star.

“We see the collision of the debris from the exploded star with the matter around it, we see shock waves rushing into interstellar space at millions of miles per hour,” said Harvey Tananbaum, founding Director of the Chandra X-ray Center at the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory.

Cassiopeia A is the remnant of a star that exploded about 300 years ago. The X-ray image shows an expanding shell of hot gas produced by the explosion colored in bright orange and yellows. Credit: NASA/CXC/SAO

A New Look at the Universe

NASA released 25 never-before-seen views to celebrate the telescopes 25th anniversary. This collection contains different types of objects in space and includes a new look at Cassiopeia A. Here the supernova remnant is seen with a quarter-century worth of Chandra observations (blue) plus recent views from NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope (grey and gold).

This image features deep data of the Cassiopeia A supernova, an expanding ball of matter and energy ejected from an exploding star in blues, greys and golds. The Cassiopeia A supernova remnant has been observed for over 2 million seconds since the start of Chandra’s mission in 1999 and has also recently been viewed by the James Webb Space Telescope. Credit: NASA/CXC/SAO

Can You Hear Me Now?

In 2020, experts at the Chandra X-ray Center/Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory (SAO) and SYSTEM Sounds began the first ongoing, sustained effort at NASA to “sonify” (turn into sound) astronomical data. Data from NASA observatories such as Chandra, the Hubble Space Telescope, and the James Webb Space Telescope, has been translated into frequencies that can be heard by the human ear.

SAO Research shows that sonifications help many types of learners – especially those who are low-vision or blind -- engage with and enjoy astronomical data more.

Click to watch the “Listen to the Universe” documentary on NASA+ that explores our sonification work: Listen to the Universe | NASA+

An image of the striking croissant-shaped planetary nebula called the Cat’s Eye, with data from the Chandra X-ray Observatory and Hubble Space Telescope.  NASA’s Data sonification from Chandra, Hubble and/or Webb telecopes allows us to hear data of cosmic objects. Credit: NASA/CXO/SAO

Celebrate With Us!

Dedicated teams of engineers, designers, test technicians, and analysts at Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama, are celebrating with partners at the Chandra X-ray Center and elsewhere outside and across the agency for the 25th anniversary of the Chandra X-ray Observatory. Their hard work keeps the spacecraft flying, enabling Chandra’s ongoing studies of black holes, supernovae, dark matter, and more.

Chandra will continue its mission to deepen our understanding of the origin and evolution of the cosmos, helping all of us explore the Universe.

The Chandra Xray Observatory, the longest cargo ever carried to space aboard the space shuttle, is shown in Columbia’s payload bay. This photo of the payload bay with its doors open was taken just before Chandra was tilted upward for release and deployed on July 23, 1999. Credit: NASA

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space: http://nasa.tumblr.com

[hrrtshape]

you can manifest literally anything. full stop.

not because the universe is your barista or because "alignment!!!" or "vibrations!!!" or because some instagram witch told you the moon wants you to have clear skin. no. you can manifest anything because your assumption is the only constant. i'm not saying that in a disney channel way. i'm saying that in a quantum decoherence theory way. i'm saying your interpretation writes the rendering. the world is not fixed. it is responsive. it is made of probability states until observed, until decided.

this is called the observer effect. not spiritual fluff. actual quantum theory. until something is observed, it's a waveform, a soup of all possible states.

only when measured does it collapse into one outcome. this isn't poetry, more so the double slit experiment. electrons literally behave differently when you're watching. particles perform. reality trims itself to fit the assumption you've brought into the room.

now zoom out.

apply that principle up the scale. consciousness doesn't just witness, it edits. interpretation becomes architecture. you think that's dramatic, let's talk about how the placebo effect alone proves it. you believe a sugar pill is medicine and your body heals.

belief overrides chemistry. that's clinical data. belief changes blood pressure. hormone levels. immune response. cells obey narrative.

now add cognition.

your brain is a filter, not a camera. you are not receiving reality, you are constructing it from probabilistic fragments.

thalamic gating, hippocampal priority, dopaminergic valuation, it's all conditional. perception isn't passive. it's curated. the "real world" is just what your nervous system has decided is relevant enough to show you. the rest gets black-boxed.

meaning: your assumption is the algorithm. you assume wrong, you perceive wrong. and perception is reality, because that's all you'll ever interact with.

so when we say "you write the rendering," we're not being mystical. we're being disgustingly literal. your interpretation of reality becomes the blueprint your senses and brain then work to confirm. you're not stuck in a shared objective truth. you're running a custom simulation based entirely on the lens you're holding. change the lens. change the world.

which means: you are not "tapping into" power. you are the origin point. if you assume something is real, it is, because there is no shared objective anchor without your consciousness confirming it.

this is not magic. this is observer effect. heisenberg. the copenhagen interpretation. it's also the gospels. it's also berkeley's immaterialism. it's also every single philosophical system that isn't moronic. assumption is not wishful thinking. it's the only epistemological mechanism you've ever had.

you've literally never confirmed anything was "real" without believing it first. santa, cancer, gravity, your name. all of it's scripted by belief loops. and belief isn't "oh i hope this is true," it's "this is true and i will notice every detail that proves it." your mind filters for agreement.

confirmation bias.

neuroplasticity.

the thalamus as epistemic gatekeeper.

not metaphor. this is neurobiology. this is how propaganda works. how trauma works. how religion works. how capitalism works. if belief weren't a generator, the advertising industry would not exist. the cia would not use sigil-based psy-ops. cults would not function. your childhood wouldn't have ruined you.

so when people say "you are god," it doesn't mean you're a sparkly celestial daddy with a clipboard. it means there is no world without you. you do not "observe" reality. you generate it, composition, focus, structure, all of it. it's reactive architecture. if you think you're unwanted, the world will produce evidence accordingly. if you decide you're irresistible, it recalibrates. not because it "likes" you more, but because it doesn't exist without your parameters.

there is no neutral. there is no objectivity. if you assume it, it is. that's it. that's the mechanism. you are not manifesting through effort. you are manifesting by default.

you've always been doing it.

you're just doing it badly because you think it's meant to feel earned. you think godhood is a personality trait. it's not. it's default mode.

it works because nothing else ever has. you've never lived in a world you didn't believe in first. and you never will. so assume better. not because you "deserve it," but because your consciousness is the only axis this entire plane spins around.

manifesting isn't hard. unlearning the lie that you're powerless is. but that's not a cosmic test. it's just bad programming.

rewrite it.

you are god because there is no proof otherwise. and if there were, you'd be the one perceiving it. which means: it would still be you. still yours. still scriptable.

[jannah-software]

Developing software with artificial intelligence (machine learning) and blockchain capabilities.

[sad--tree]

what do u do when u tell ur parent in no uncertain terms Thank You For The Offer But I Do Not Want A Tutor For This Course It Will Not Help And I Am Deeply Uncomfortable With It Do Not Get Me One

and then they go and book u with an online tutor. without asking. what the fuck.

[plaidos]

ooh! people got big mad when we said ''maybe dropout should have more transfem people who aren't in drag-focused episodes or series'' and sent us suicide bait abt it so. you know. Extremely Normal response to very low-level transfeminism discussion.

yeah, the same thing happened to me — it’s because Dropout has curated its content & hosts in a way that has made the Dropout & Dimension 20 fandoms structurally hostile to trans women/transfems specifically. like a transfem friend of mine who is actually a data analyst posted graphs literally showing the dramatic gap between even transmasc and transfem content and she was told to stop whining, and that the data was objectively wrong, and that she hated men etc.

When pretty much every gender demographic except transfems get regular and recurring appearances across multiple dropout shows, but transfems get majority drag queens and maybe a guest appearance of a trans woman a couple times a year (if we’re lucky) then naturally you’re going to collect an audience of people who are comfortable seeing every gender demographic except transfems.

we really should be asking for better, and it really isn’t acceptable that transfems asking for better and more consistent representation are consistently treated as shit-stirring, bitter, jealous haters. in fact, it’s pretty obviously a (trans)misogynistic stereotype. all we’re doing is pointing out that we feel uncomfortable where things are at. i don’t see any reason that should make anybody uncomfortable if they aren’t a bigot.

[cobbled-peach]

˗ˏˋ જ⁀➴ camisado

"can't take the kid from the fight, take the fight from the kid, sit back, relax, sit back, relapse again"

Part 1 | [Part 2]

cw: GN!reader. Pure angst for this one baby, literally zero comfort (I'll make it up to you in pt 2 xx). Talks of addiction, taking drugs, anxiety + panic attacks and withdrawl symptoms. (pls let me know if i missed something!!!). Both reader and Spencer sort of cannot communicate and are not slaying but they mean well a/n: this started as just a character study but I kinda fell into the deep end and got quite caught up in it so its inadvertantly a LOT more than just a character study, sand so I divided it up into something more cohesive. w/c: 5.4k

It’s impossible to prove a hypothesis.

You can run an experiment a thousand times, collect a thousand successful results, only to watch the 1001st experiment fail. Empirical data only takes you so far, giving the illusion of certainty. Until it doesn't.

Science deals in probabilities, assumptions – not guarantees. Spencer Reid knows this better than most.

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when he started thinking of his addiction like a science experiment.

Maybe it was easier that way. A coping mechanism – reduction as self-defence. He could lessen the weight of it, condense something so vast and devastating into variables and charts and numbers in a feeble attempt to soften the struth. An attempt to strip it of its emotional weight and file it away under “manageable.” As if the cravings could be measured or quantified. Understood.

He frames the parameters in his mind with clinical precision. Independent variable: the drug. Dependent variable: his behavior. Control group: the version of himself from months ago, when the spiral hadn’t yet begun. Before the late nights. Before the secrets. Before the lies.

Addiction is just a problem like any other. A system which he can study, decode and master.

He creates his hypothesis: he can control it. He can use one more time, and still be fine. Each addition to his hypothesis only strengthens his willpower:

If I time it right, no one will notice. If I maintain structure, I won’t lose control. If I’m careful, my life will reman intact.

But addition doesn’t care for logic, nor does it follow the rules of scientific inquiry. It doesn’t operate within a sterile lab, patiently waiting to be measured.

There are no constants. No peer-reviewed journals to validate his pain or explain it away. There’s only the truth: the shaking in his hands, the crawling of his skin, the nausea that comes in waves, the sleepless nights that stretch into oblivion. Only the raw data of his descent: chaotic, unquantifiable and unforgiving.

The data never replicates, and the experiment keeps failing.

Again. And again. And again.

The variables start to mutate. The outcome blurs. The method falls away.

Still, he clings to the process. Records the collapse like data points, hoping objectivity will save him.

Day 6: Forgets to eat.

Day 9: Lies to Garcia about the bags under his eyes.

Day 12: The first time he brings it into the building. Doesn’t use. Just wants to know its there.

Day 16: Snaps at Prentiss mid-briefing. Doesn’t apologize.

Day 19: Blanks on a case. Morgan has to cover for him.

Day 22: Tells you it’s “just anxiety.”

Day 25: Uses before a profile. Feels sharper. Lies to himself and says it helps.

Day 28: Uses again. No excuse this time.

By now, he knows he can’t control it.

Fine. He can create a new hypothesis.

Compartmentalization. He tells himself he can seal the chaos in a box, keep the infection contained. Let the rest of his life remain untouched.

His work. His friends. You.

Especially you.

He tells himself that love and addiction can coexist, as long as they don’t overlap. As long as the two worlds remain separate. He can maintain the boundaries.

But love isn’t a constant either.

And addiction… it leaks. It slips through the cracks to taint everything it touches.

He forgets to reply to your messages. Forgets what day it is. Forgets to tune in when you speak.

He tells himself he’s tired. You tell him you’re worried. He smiles. Lies. Makes promises. You both watch as love falls into the contamination zone, becomes tangled in the variables he can’t control.

Watch as it starts to fail.

It starts like most mornings.

Spencer wakes to sunlight bleeding in through the blinds. Amber-toned light, catching dust motes in midair – it makes the room look almost serene. The sun streaks across the hardwood, illuminating coffee stains and the faded outline of where a rug used to be. Gentle, unassuming. The morning is pretending like nothing is wrong.

Outside, early traffic hums. A low, steady drone overlayed with birdsong and the sharp, impatient honk of a horn. Somewhere inside the apartment, a faucet drips in an uneven rhythm. He thinks of it like an erratic metronome, counting down time he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

He shivers. The sheets are tangled low around his legs – his doing, no doubt. He’s been tossing again. Restless, even in sleep. Maybe even more so in sleep. Dreams come with sharp edges now. Inescapable.

Your leg is resting lightly over his calf. Casual. Trusting. As if your body still believes in him, even if your mind has started to doubt.

You stir beside him, just a stretch. Your fingers graze his hand in a featherlight gesture, asking a question without a voice. He curls away in response. Rolls onto his side. Pretends to be asleep.

You don’t press. You never do. Not anymore.

You just rise, silent and soft, padding across the cool floor toward the bathroom. There’s the familiar clink of your toothbrush, a muffled yawn, the gentle hum when you finish. He used to join you for this. Brushing teeth side by side, heads bowed under the mirror light, elbows bumping and smiles shared. He always thought that was one of the most intimate things a couple could do – a quiet, unspoken routine shared between two people.

Today, he just stays in bed, weighted by guilt. Anchored to the mattress, hoping it’ll keep him from drifting. The drug is still in his system, softening the world and smoothing the edges that keep cutting him open.

You move to the kitchen next. Cupboards creak and mugs clink. The coffee machine whirs, beginning its little dance. The scent of coffee reaches him moments later. Overly sweet – his favorite. You always remember. He never asks.

He pushes himself upright, legs over the edge of the bed and feet meeting the cold floorboards. He imagines walking into the kitchen with you. Imagines wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder the way he used to. Imagines you leaning into him, whispering a song under your breath.

Instead, he stays where he is. Elbows on knees, head in hands. The light seems colder now that he’s facing it directly. Less gold, more white-blue. Less morning, more mourning.

He strains to hear you. The soft thud of your footsteps, the sound of cups and cabinets, your soft breath. The peaceful repetition of a ritual he used to be a part of, but now avoids and observes from afar.

Spencer wishes you would hate him. It would make things simpler. Cleaner. He wishes you’d scream, or cry, or slam the door and tell him to go to hell. Wishes you’d throw a mug just to watch it shatter.

But you don’t. You never do. You just remain; quiet and present.

Hopeful, maybe. Or resigned.

Last night had been bad.

The tremors came again, starting in his fingers and crawling up his hands and arms like static. He blamed the case. Said he felt “off.” The lie came so easily, as they all did lately. He crawled into bed, trying not to vomit or shake the mattress.

You didn’t say a word. You left a glass of water o the nightstand. Crawled in beside him. Pressed a kiss to his shoulder. The gesture broke him a little more.

He could hear the unspoken questions, the palpable worry in your body despite you saying nothing.

But what help can you offer someone who won’t accept it? How can you save a man who insists he isn’t struggling?

His mind feels quiet now, though. Usually spinning in overlapping questions and unrelenting memory, it’s finally still. False peace. A chemical silence.

He tells himself that his planned retreat is love. Letting you go before he destroys you completely.

He’s rehearsed it in his mind like a script. Over and over. A breakup: surgical and precise, a clean and final incision.

Version one: He says, “I can’t do this. It’s not your fault.” You cry quietly. Nod. Let him leave. He walks away without looking back.

Version two: You already know. You’ve known he was planning this for weeks. You tell him it’s okay. That you understand. That you love him. He ends up on the floor, sobbing. Can’t let go. Doesn’t leave. Prolongs the pain even more.

Version three: You scream. You throw something – maybe a glass. You call him a coward. He welcomes it, embraces the heat. It makes him feel real. Makes the leaving easier. Makes him feel like he isn’t the only villain in the story.

He’s practiced every scenario.

A thousand internal rehearsals. Different lines. Different outcomes.

Only one of them will break the cycle.

He doesn’t hear you come back in, but suddenly you’re there, setting his coffee down on the bedside table with the softest clink, like you’re trying not to wake him even though he’s already up, stiff-spined and quiet.

‘Spence?’

Your voice is thick with sleep, but still laced with warmth. It twists something deep in his chest.

He swallows. His mouth is dry, like he’s been breathing through it all night. Almost like his body is trying to cough out whatever truth he keeps trying to choke down.

‘Sorry,’ he says, though he doesn’t know what for. A pre-emptive apology, maybe. A reflex. ‘What time is it?’

‘Almost eight.’

The sheets rustle as you sit beside him. The mattress dips beneath your weight, and he feels the subtle pressure of your presence before your chin touches his shoulder. Light and familiar, just resting against him.

He flinches. Barely, but enough.

You feel it. Don’t pull away.

‘Is everything okay? Is this about the case?’

It’s not. You both know its not.

He considers lying anyway. Considers giving you numbers. He could offer up statistics about trauma and cognitive decline. Something familiar and in the realm of fact, clean and clinical and easy to categorize.

But nothing comes out.

Silence answers for him. It stretches between you, getting thinner by the second.

He counts seven seconds exactly before you shift away from him. He records it like a data point, adding it to the line in his ever-growing graph of failure.

You lean back against the headboard, wrapping your fingers around your mug. You sip it slowly. The smell of his own coffee reaches him again. Sweet and familiar. Grounded in a time before everything broke.

Your movements are careful. Each shift, every breath, calibrated around him like you’ve mapped his problems and have built your mornings around avoiding them. You’re not naturally quiet in the mornings. He knows that. You’d sing sometimes, badly and too loud, and bang drawers open without care. But now you measure each movement, minimizing the noise because you know it unsettles him when he’s wound too tight.

Another thing he hates. You adjust, without even being asked.

He joins you after a long moment, settling beside you. Not close enough to feel the warmth from your body. His eyes fall to the mug you selected for him. His mug, in your apartment. The faded yellow one, that’s more a dull cream than anything now.

He left it here by accident over a year ago, when weekends were tentatively spent in each other’s presence. Fresh and new. He remembers when he first found noticed it tucked in your cabinet between your own mismatched sets. His chest had gone still and warm.

Now it just feels like a piece of evidence. Proof that he’s infiltrated a life he doesn’t belong in. An outlier in your apartment.

He doesn’t reach for it right away. When he finally does, his hands tremble.

Your eyes flick down. That’s all it takes.

And suddenly you’re both back there. Three months ago. His apartment. Your hand wrapped around his wrist. Eyes wide with something deeper than fear. You were crying, but so softly that he almost didn’t register it. The needle had been on the counter, hidden beneath a tissue like something sacred and shameful all at once. A relic he didn’t know how to bury.

There had been begging. On both sides.

You telling him that it was dangerous. That you were scared. That he was killing himself slowly.

Him promising (over and over and over) that this was the last time. That he’d stop. That you couldn’t tell his team.

You’d desperately searched for solutions, tried to jump hurdles and find ways to help without exposing the situation to his team, to the world. You’d lost count of how many times you’d hit dead ends.

He continued with his promises. Seemed to get better for a while, but inevitably sunk down again. You wanted to believe he could get better. Maybe part of you did.

‘So,’ you say, voice softer now. It drags him back to the present like a lifeline, though he wishes he’d remain drowning. ‘You didn’t sleep?’

It’s phrased as a question, but it’s not. It’s a gentle accusation.

‘I slept some,’ he lies.

You don’t believe him. How could you? The evidence is all there. Red-rimmed eyes, sunken cheeks, a slow, syrupy fatigue that not even coffee can fix.

You nod, but your silence screams.

He sips his coffee. Too sweet. Perfect.

It tastes of normalcy. He watches the sun paint your shoulder – still cold, but warmer now it’s touching you. For a second he wants to pretend. Pretend this morning is just like any other, that he’s still the man who deserves your soft kindness.

But then you say, suddenly and very quietly:

‘I found something this morning.’

You don’t say what. You don’t need to.

He freezes. The blood drains from his face. The bathroom bin.

He’s been sloppy lately. Too tired to be cautious. Except this time it was perfectly planted. An excuse to initiate the end.

‘Do you hate me?’ he asks.

‘No.’ It’s immediate. Truthful. Your voice cracks anyway.

Your body folds in on itself, curling your arms around your knees, mug forgotten on the nightstand. Forging a shield around yourself. It makes you look smaller than usual. More fragile.

And in that shape, he sees it. Not anger. Not resentment. But heartbreak.

A slow, dull heartbreak. Bruised and tarnished. Despite it, you’re still here. Still hoping. Still loving him through the destruction.

Spencer stands abruptly. The weight pressing down on his chest has become too heavy, the consequences of his actions gaining in on him. Your apartment suddenly feels too small, Suffocating. He escapes to the kitchen, clutching his coffee mug.

‘Spence—’

You rise immediately and follow him. The way you say his name is tentative and fragile, like the first crack in a piece of glass. The first real fluctuation in his carefully controlled experiment.

He ignores you, pretending not to hear, and allows himself to be carried by the momentum of his own restlessness and panic. The ceramic of his mug feels too heavy, his nerve endings too attuned to the realness of it. When he sets it down, the sound echoes unnaturally loud. A shout in the silence.

‘Spencer.’

Your voice holds more weight this time. It’s a deliberate attempt to break through the barrier he’s created.

He exhales sharply through his nose. ‘What?’

You take a cautious step forward. Not accusing, just trying to close the ever-widening space between you.

‘Talk to me. Please.’

‘I am.’ His words are hollow as he gestures between you. ‘We’re talking.’

‘No, you’re avoiding,’ you correct, unwilling to back down. ‘I want to know what I can do for you. I can find you a new support group—’

His hands rise as he blocks out the rest of your words, pressing his palms firmly to his eyes. An attempt to press his feelings back inside. He fights the rising tide of panic and shame. Fights all the words threatening to spill out. Fights himself.

Fails.

‘I’ve tried!’ The calm snaps as his voice cracks, a sharp edge to his words that surprises even him. He pulls inward again, as if shielding himself from his own confession. It’s out in the open.

He feels sick – whether it’s the drug wearing off, or the anxiety squeezing his chest, he can’t tell.

‘I know…’ you begin, gentle, trying to reach him.

‘I tried,’ he repeats. His voice is softer. Desperate now. Raw. ‘I really did try. You think I wanted this? I don’t—’

‘Then let me in,’ you cut in, voice measured despite the frown on your face. ‘Let me help. Stop trying to get through this on your own.'

He grits his teeth. ‘I’m trying to protect you.’

‘From what? From you? You’re not the danger here, Spence. The silence is. Your lack of communication is. I don’t want to get you in trouble but you’re not leaving me with many options—’

He shakes his head. Starts pacing the kitchen like an animal in a cage. ‘You don’t get it.;

‘Then help me get it.’

‘You can’t!’ His voice cracks, and his hands tremble at his sides. He worries that he’s going to start crying. They already feel glassy, starting to sting, but he refuses to break down so early on.

‘Can’t what?’

‘You can’t understand what it’s like in my head. It’s loud. All the time. Noise and chaos and—’ His voice falters. He blinks away the building tears. ‘And I can’t get it to be quiet. The only time it’s silent is when I—’

He cuts himself off too late. The words hang in the air.

When I have it in my veins.

It’s not news. It never is. But it still hears to hear. Still lands like a punch to the gut.

You close your eyes, steading your breath and swallowing the sting of it. A moment to process, and then you exhale shakily.

‘I love you,’ you say, voice trembling. The truth, used as a mechanism to get him to see reason. A desperate attempt to pull him back to safety.

‘Don’t.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t say that right now.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it makes this harder,’ he says.

‘This?’

He doesn’t answer.

The fierceness that takes over you then is startling. Shocking even to him.

‘No.’ You straighten, and your hands ball into fists at your sides. ‘Tell me. Tell me what you mean. Because I’m so tired of trying to decipher your half-sentences and prematurely ended conversations.’

He swallows hard. The silence suffocates the two of you.

‘I think we should break up.’

The wors fall like shards of glass. Sharp. Brutal. Irrevocable.

No rehearsed sincerity. No apology. Just the brutal truth. The 1001st experiment – failing harder than he could’ve ever predicted.

‘You’re really going to do this?’ you ask, voice breaking as you stare at him like he’s morphed into a stranger in just a few seconds. ‘You’re really going to do this now?’

Behind the hurt in your expression is confusion. You don’t understand. How can he push you away when he needs you the most? When he needs the support and guidance?

He nods once. Empty. Silent. The air seems to vanish, completely sucked from the room.

‘You think walking away is protecting me?’ It comes out as a demand, bottom lip trembling so hard it’s difficult to speak. ‘That—what? Making me sit here alone, wondering what I could’ve done differently—is going to help me?’

‘It’s not about you.’

‘That’s bullshit.’ The words bite, and he feels like he’s been struck by a whip. ‘Everything you do affects me, Spencer. Every time you lie. Every time you shut me out. I’m constantly hoping you’ll throw me just a scrap of truth. Just one honest thing.’

He takes a moment to look at you. To observe the cracks in your armor, the exhaustion behind your eyes.

And he knows: he’s breaking you.

‘I’m trying to protect you,’ he repeats. His voice holds no weight now, feeling threadbare.

‘Then talk to me,’ you plead, your voice breaking around the edges. ‘Let me in. Let me be in it with you. That’s what a relationship is, Spencer.’

‘I can’t.’ His jaw tightens. ‘I don’t want you to watch me fall apart.’

‘I already am watching. I have been. For months.’

The words land like a punch. He doesn’t outwardly flinch, but you see something change behind his eyes. It’s like the breath has been knocked out of him, and he’s trying not to show it.

If he could rewind time, he would.

Five minutes – so he could stop himself from saying the words that fractured this moment.

Five weeks – so he could prevent himself from taking and erase every relapse he never told you about.

Five months – to a Monday morning where he didn’t curl away from your touch, but welcomed you against his chest with open arms.

But time isn’t a variable he can control.

So he stays frozen. Like the stillness will ground him. If he doesn’t move, maybe the moment won’t progress forward.

Your face is unreadable now. He hates that. That’s what cuts deepest, he thinks. He used to be able to read you like a book. Once, he could even name every emotion before you even spoke it aloud – guilt in the twitch of an eye, love in a half-formed smile. Now, all he sees is distance. A stranger across the room. A closed door where open windows used to be.

‘I don’t want to fight,’ he says quietly. Final.

A beat of silence.

‘So that’s it?’

‘I can’t keep pulling you under with me,’ he says it. That line is rehearsed. It comes out sounding practiced, like it’s been spoken too often in the mirror. Even so, it lands jagged and half-shattered, just like everything else he’s touched lately.

There’s no screaming. No slammed fists or doors. Just something hollow. A quiet devastation. You feel it crack open your chest, the silence louder than any argument.

You take a step back. Not from anger, but from instinct. A recoil. He watches the moment with a clenched jaw, eyes misty like he’s already halfway gone.

Maybe if he yelled, things would make more sense. Maybe if he cried, you could believe that breaking up was hurting him too. But he just stands there. Still. Detached. Resigned.

‘Breaking up…’ You say the words carefully, like it physically hurts to speak them. ‘You don’t mean it.’

‘I do.’

‘No, you don’t.’ He’s unsure if you’re trying to convince yourself or him. ‘You’re just scared.’

He shrugs. Defeated. ‘Maybe. But that doesn’t make what I’m saying untrue. I’m breaking up with you.’

‘I don’t need you to be perfect, Spencer,’ you say, stepping toward him. ‘I just need you. The you who spoke to me. The you who let me carry even a little bit of the weight.’

He shakes his head. The words fall out bitter and painful. ‘You think this—’ he gestures vaguely between you, hand faltering mid-air, ‘—is a relationship? This is a time bomb. Every relapse, every lie – I drag you with me. And I can’t keep doing that to you.’

‘You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle.’

‘Yes, I do,’ he says. His voice cracks under the strain and his hands tremble now. ‘Because when you look at me like I’m breaking your heart by just existing—’ He stops. Swallows hard. ‘It kills me. I’m not putting you through that again.’

You throw your hands up. Not angry, just wrecked. The tears come slow at first, before you can even realize you’re crying, like your mind is still trying to pretend things might be okay, but your body knows it’s not.

‘Stop acting like what you’re doing is noble, Spencer,’ you whisper. ‘Stop weaponizing love to justify walking away.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

The silence after is deafening.

You don’t say what you’re thinking. Too late. You already have.

Instead, the two of you just stand there, not touching, not moving. The faucet drips lamely behind you. The birds continue singing outside. Oblivious, out of place – not caring that your world is falling apart.

‘Please.’

It comes from you finally. Your voice is so low it nearly disappears into the air between you. You aren’t begging. Not really. It’s something smaller than that. A final chance.

‘I don’t know how to be better,’ he admits, voice as quiet as yours. ‘I want to. I swear, I want to. But I don’t know how.’

‘Then let me help.’

You close the gap between you. A few fragile steps that feel like miles. When you stop, it’s with your heart wide open and bared. Your hands lift, almost touching him, but not quite. He leans in, forehead resting against yours.

His hands remain clenched into fists at his sides. He knows that if he touches you, really touches you, he’ll stay. And if he stays, he’ll keep breaking your heart into smaller, sharper pieces.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs, tone just shy of grief. ‘I wish there was a gentle way to leave you.’

And that’s when you feel it. The subtle shift. The air in the room changing. A certain ending.

It doesn’t end with a scream. It doesn’t end with a slammed door. It ends in the space between your bodies. In barely held restraint. In the inch he keeps between your hands.

Then he steps back, and the moment breaks.

You don’t follow. He doesn’t look back.

When he leaves, you let him go.

He doesn’t slam the door, though he wishes he could.

He wishes there was a clean, decisive sound. Something loud enough to match the shattering in his chest. Something final.

But there’s only a soft click as the door eases shut behind him, the apartment trying not to wake the grief sleeping in its corners.

He stands in the hallway. Motionless. It smells faintly like burned toast and over-watered plants. A dog barks from a floor below. The banality of it – the normalcy – makes him want to scream.

He counts his steps, just to drown out everything else in his mind.

Seven to the elevator. Ten seconds down. Twenty-four more to the front door of the building. The mundanity makes him cringe. Something should be stopping him from walking out. It shouldn’t be this easy.

He catches his reflection in the glass of the door. A brief flicker. He looks away before the mirror can accuse him, before he can see the guilt in his eyes.

You’re still upstairs. Maybe on the couch. Maybe still standing where he left you. He hopes you’ve stopped crying. Knows the tears are probably still falling.

When he steps out onto the street, the morning hits him harder than expected. Too bright. Too warm. The lightness feels unfair. A child is laughing down the block. Somewhere, a child laughs. A care radio blasts a pop song. The world is still going, indifferent to how he’s feeling.

The world hasn’t ended. Not for them.

He takes a deep breath, hoping the air will ground him. Fill his lungs and center him. It doesn’t. So he walks. Not fast, and not with purpose.

He just moves, one foot in front of the other, and hopes the momentum will save him. Like distance will undo the damage.

Still no particular destination. Work, maybe. He’s due in, he thinks. He just knows he can’t go back to you, even if that’s where his heart wants to go.

The air bites at is skin. Colder now that he’s moving. Maybe it just feels that way because he’s raw, stripped of the warmth that lived in your voice, your touch, your home. He starts to move faster, hoping the breakup won’t catch up with him.

Halfway down the block, it starts.

A too-shallow breath. A heartbeat that comes too fast. A tremor that doesn’t start in his hands, but originates from somewhere deeper. Somewhere ungraspable. He blinks rapidly, trying to control the way his chest won’t open up properly.

He rounds a corner too sharply. His vision warps at the edges. Every footstep feels like it echoes, the street unstable beneath him.

His own name flickers in his mind like static. He tried to ground himself in language, in familiarity, pleading for it to pull him back from whatever this is.

I’m not okay. I’m not okay. I’m no okay.

His pulse thuds unevenly. His ribs feel like they’re contracting, his chest turning to stone. The air won’t come in properly. He opens his mouth, gasps in ragged drags of oxygen. It feels like he’s breathing through a piece of gauze.

Somehow, though he doesn’t remember the walk there, he finds himself outside the BAU building.

He grips the brick wall beside the entrance like it’s the only thing holding him upright. His knees buckle and his slides down, curling in on himself. His arms brace across his knees – still clothed in soft pajamas – and he hangs his head low.

He’s trying not to fall apart in public. Trying not to be a problem. But the breaking inside is too loud. He looks insane, probably. Can’t bring himself to care.

He gasps again, and presses a hand to his chest. The other grips at his hair.

Parasympathetic regulation. He knows the terms. Tells himself he can breathe. Four-count inhale. Five-count exhale. He keeps losing count.

He digs his palms into his eyes. He wants to vanish into the dark behind his eyelids, wants the pressure to stop the noise. He wants to erase the world. Wants to go back.

A sound escapes him. One that is part breath, part sob. Low and fragile and unfamiliar.

Then:

‘Reid?’

He doesn’t respond. Just keeps breathing – or, trying to.

Footsteps. Quick and purposeful.

The voice again, closer. ‘Spencer?’

He hears it clearer this time. Morgan.

And then Morgan is there, crouched beside him without hesitation. Morgan doesn’t say much. He doesn’t freak out of panic. He just stays. Solid and steady.

‘Hey,’ he says gently. ‘Breathe. You’re okay. You’re right here with me, alright?’

Spencer wants to nod. Wants to speak. But his breath stutters again, getting caught. Morgan mirrors a breath. Slow. Deliberate. Exaggerated.

‘In and out with me, Pretty Boy. One—two—three—’

A pause. Breathing in unison.

‘That’s it,’ Morgan says, voice softly coaxing. ‘Keep going. I’ve got you.’

Spencer latches onto the rhythm. Not perfectly. Not easily. But slowly. His heartbeat begins to come down from its frantic pounding.

He leans his head back against the cool brick wall. Lets it ground him. Still shaky, but better.

‘I can’t… I can’t go in,’ he rasps. His voice sounds foreign in his own mouth. Dry and hoarse and cracked.

‘That’s okay,’ Morgan says immediately. ‘We don’t have to move. We’ll just sit here.’

And they do.

The silence between the isn’t empty. It’s full of everything Spencer can’t say yet. He grips his knees until his knuckles turn white.

‘I think…’ He swallows. ‘I think I broke it. Whatever I had, I ruined it. I told them…’ his voice catches as he takes another gulp of air. ‘I just left them.’

Morgan doesn’t ask questions. He just listens.

Spencer closes his eyes again, not to shut Morgan out, but to try and hold something inside. He feels it cracking anyway. Slowly. A quiet and ruinous cave-in.

No tears fall. He doesn’t have the energy left for that. He just sits with the ache. The guilt. The weight.

Someone walks into the BAU behind them. The buzz of the door opening and closing. Footsteps fading away. Spencer keeps his head down throughout.

Morgan rests a hand on his shoulder. It’s not heavy. Just present. And Spencer doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t recoil. Just breathes.

They sit like that as the sun rises higher, casting long shadows on the sidewalk. The world keeps going. The day unfolds without waiting. They remain together. Breathing in sync. Still and unmoving, because motion might shatter what’s left of Spencer’s composure.

Spencer thinks about his hypothesis again.

You can run the experiment a thousand times and get the same result.

But it only takes one failure to prove you were never in control.

if you made it this far, thank you for reading!! I rewrote and edited this so many times i think i went crazy and decided this was the best it would be!!! I have a taglist now! Please comment if you want to be added, or go to this post here. taglist: @abbyy54 @curatedbylucy @cynbx @enchantedtomeetcoffee @goobbug @internallysalad @jeuj @leparoleontanee @mrs-cactus69 @readbyreid @redorquid @santinstar @shortmelol @thoughtwriter @whitenoisewhatanawfulsound @written-in-the-stars06

[owlobservation]

Itoshi Sae Profile from Egoist Bible Vol.2 (2024)

"Only the idiots who can keep up will get to see what comes next."

Team: Japan U-20 National Team

Position: Offensive Midfielder (OMF)

Weapons: World class kicking accuracy, world class technique, world class tactical vision, and world class physical ability.

Birthdate: October 10th.

Age: 18 (Third year high school)

Zodiac sign: Libra.

Birthplace: Kanagawa Prefecture (Kamakura City)

Family structure: Father, mother, himself, younger brother.

Height: 180 cm.

Foot size: 26.5 cm.

Blood type: A.

Previous team before he returned to Japan: Re Ale Youth FC.

Dominant foot: Left.

Favorite Soccer Player: Álvaro Recoba. "The left-footed player who creates a rainbow on the pitch."*

Age started playing soccer: 1 year old. "Before I knew it, I was already playing soccer."

Nickname: Treasure of Japan.

Strengths: Being able to see things objectively. "I'm often told that I'm a dry person but who cares."

Weaknesses: I don't know anything except about soccer. "Don't live like this, you guys."

Favorite food: Salted kombucha. "Because I can return back to zero."**

Disliked food: French fries. "It's so delicious that I could die, but it's also so unhealthy that I could die."

Best rice accompaniment: Salted kelp. "They don't have it in Spain so I got it sent from my parents' home."

Hobby: Analyzing data of soccer players and teams. "It's nice to see things visualized as numbers."

Favorite season: The end of summer. "I feel like the whole world has become lonely."

Favorite show: Chibi Maruko-chan. "It reminds me of my parents' home."

Favorite music: Suisei by Tofubeats feat. Seira Kariya. "I listen it to cool down."

Favorite movie: Taxi Driver. "This De Niro guy is the coolest."

Favorite manga: Gegege no Kitaro.

Character color: Azuki Red.

Favorite animal: Seagull. "I like migratory birds that don't stay in one place."

Favorite brands: All the brands that sponsor me. "They have good eyes for betting on me."

Best subjects: No idea because I didn't really pay attention in class and only focused on soccer. "I've never seen my report card."

Fetish: Butt. "You can tell an athlete's ability by the shape of their butt."

What makes you happy: A play beyond my imagination.

What makes you sad: Being forced to carry the weight of Japanese soccer on my shoulders. "Yes, I'm talking about you guys."

The first time someone confessed to you: I don't even remember which one was the first time, dumbass.

Last year's valentine day chocolates: Around 2.000. "My manager told me."

Sleep time: 8 hours. (7 hours+1 hour nap)

Where do you wash first in the bath?: Bangs' hairline.

Mushroom or Bamboo shoots?: Depending on the mood.

What made you cry recently?: Why would I tell you, idiot.

At what age did you stop receiving presents from Santa?: 10 years old.***

What did you ask for a Christmas present from Santa?: My undiscovered talent.

What would you do on your last day on earth?: Give the world's best striker the world's best pass.

What would you do if you received 100 million yen?: I'm not interested. It's just a small change.

What do you do on your days off?: Gazing at the sea.

What would you be doing if you hadn’t discovered soccer?: Living a normal, happy life. Maybe my personality wouldn't have turned out like this.

Who is your favorite historical figure?: Copernicus. He was the man who overturned the world’s common knowledge.

If you could only bring one thing to a deserted island, what would it be?: No need. I’d live the way I wanted without any rules.

Where would you go if you had a time machine, to the past or the future?: Not interested in either. I have no pointless expectations or regrets for my future or my past. Just live in the moment. You guys are so tepid. 

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World-class Offensive Midfielder With Boundless Parameters

Aiming to become the best midfielder in the world, Sae is a super player with the complete package of mind, technique, and physique. Isagi’s best play which he pulled off with “reflex” was stopped with just a light tackle. He killed The Direct Shot flawlessly, showing the big difference between the two.****

He’s Only Interested In Blue Lock! The One He Chose Was Shidou?

Sae was only interested in Blue Lock and paid no attention to his younger brother Rin or the U-20 Japan National Team. The world he sees and the place he aims for are clearly different from those of the U-20 National Team. Sae chose Shidou from Blue Lock as his teammate. With a series of super plays, they managed to corner Blue Lock.

The reason for Sae's sudden change... What on earth happened in Spain!?

Sae went to Spain and promised his younger brother Rin that he’d become “The Best Striker In The World”. However, when he returned home four years later, his attitude had changed completely . He declared that he would become “The Best Midfielder In The World” instead and pushed Rin away, calling him "tepid".*****

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Sae's Ranking on "Best 3 of Everything: Players seriously voted each!"

1. Ranked #1 The Best at Crossing (Centering)

Hiori’s commentary: "Well, all of Itoshi Sae’s kicks are perfectly designed. I admire him."

2. Ranked #2 The Most Likely To Succeed As Coach

3. Ranked #1 Who Doesn't Cry Easily

Aryu’s commentary: "If Itoshi Sae were to cry, it would be when he became the world’s best. That would be the moment of ultimate styl."******

4. Ranked #1 The Least Family-oriented person

Isagi’s commentary: "If you look at those two, you would assume so. But if they really hate each other… It means that they also think about each other."

5. Ranked #2 The Most Likely To Thrive In The Sengoku Period

6. Ranked #2 The Most Leader-like (or has the qualities of a leader)

7. Ranked #3 Longest Eyelashes

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

Notes:

*Álvaro Recoba (El Chino) is a midfielder from Uruguay known for his "rainbow-like" curved kicks.

**Return back to zero=being refreshed.

***In early 2021 twitter Q&A, he said he stopped getting Christmas presents when Rin stopped believing in Santa. His answer is revised in Egoist Bible to just "10 years old."

****The original sentence is “...a super player who possesses everything– mind, technique and physique (心技体)”. 心技体 or Shingitai refers to the three qualities an athlete must have: 心 is heart/mind, 技 is technique/skill, 体 is body/physique/strength. It is said that an athlete needs 3 of them to succeed. If they only have the right mind and skills but not the body to support them… well you’ll know what will happen!  So from our understanding Shingitai is an ‘inseparable set’. We translated it as a “complete package” to let you know that those 3 qualities are inseparable!

*****Here the word used is 突き放す (tsukihanasu). Tsukihanasu is 'to push away', to push someone (or something) away and make them leave. It can also refer to an attitude of  treating someone without love, sympathy, or emotions. Please check my notes on Rin’s profile page, because there is a connection!

******What Aryu originally said isファ イナリーオシャ final osha. "The moment where Itoshi Sae finally cried would be the moment of ultimate/final styl.” is most likely what he meant! We personally think ‘ultimate styl’ had more feel than ‘final styl’ (?), that’s why we went with ultimate osha!

Check Sae's profile from the first volume of Egoist Bible here!

[etrnvlr]

Ꞌꞌ bnha dr quirk ! ? ꒷꒦

　 ──　﹒quirk name: aetherdrive

─　quirk type: emitter

─　quirk desc: ﹒ my quirk allows me to instantly manifest, alter, and manipulate physical weapons or constructs through tactile sensory input. my body becomes a living forge, drawing from both the surrounding environment and my inner energy to create custom, aether weapons that adapt to my emotions, surroundings, and combat data.

─　strengths: ﹒ i can manifest any weapon or object i've touched or seen before, meaning i'm never out of options.

﹒i can adapt to my weapons, stance, and strategy mid-fight based on my emotions, surroundings, and enemy behavior.

﹒my skin literally feels molecular tension, motion shifts, vibrations in the floor, the emotional feelings of my opponent.

﹒i can sense incoming threats through the ground, map surroundings through contact, feel an enemy’s next move, and manifest a weapon to match it all before it even happens

﹒the more emotionally connected i am to a weapon/object/situation, the more powerful, durable, and responsive the construct becomes.

﹒my brain treats all input (sight, sound, sensation, memory) as blueprints.

﹒i can control multiple forged weapons/constructs in the air, redirect mid-flight, have them orbit, defend, attack, or spin.

﹒i can instantly manifest weapons and constructs without a delay.

﹒i excell in close combat, short and long-distance fighting, and no matter the terrian i can easily adjust.

─　drawbacks: ﹒ since my quirk processes thousands of micro-inputs every second like touch, emotion, vibration, tension, and instinct, if too much data floods in, i risks having a synaptic overload, migraines, blackouts, and nosebleeds.

﹒ my quirk is emotionally reactive meaning i have to keep my emotions in check so if i'm feeling detached or upset my weapons/constructs may take on an unstable form, glitch, shake or just flicker out.

﹒ my quirk works from external materials but also drains internal energy if needed for speed or for large scale attacks.

﹒ i need to physically touch or observe a weapon/material to replicate and manifest it properly.

﹒ if im using telekinesis to control too much objects it gives me a mental overload.

﹒ since my hypersensitive input allows me to feel a lot but that also means even a mild hit feels way worse.

﹒ the more intense or complex a weapon/construct, the more it strains my muscles and bones.

─　xtra: ﹒considering touch is my "main" input but my eyes..i can understand a weapon/building/material weakness just from looking at it and taking in its structural flaws to which gives me an advantage. i can lowkey see air pressure movements, micro twitches, vibrations in the environment.

﹒by touching a person i can feel micro muscle tensions so like lie detector who?? and i can pick up on emotions as well as their kinetic memory, emotional residue, or muscle memory signature so like how a person fights.

[nasa]

Setting Sail to Travel Through Space: 5 Things to Know about our New Mission

Our Advanced Composite Solar Sail System will launch aboard Rocket Lab’s Electron rocket from the company’s Launch Complex 1 in Māhia, New Zealand no earlier than April 23, at 6 p.m. EDT. This mission will demonstrate the use of innovative materials and structures to deploy a next-generation solar sail from a CubeSat in low Earth orbit.

Here are five things to know about this upcoming mission:

1. Sailing on Sunshine

Solar sails use the pressure of sunlight for propulsion much like sailboats harness the wind, eliminating the need for rocket fuel after the spacecraft has launched. If all goes according to plan, this technology demonstration will help us test how the solar sail shape and design work in different orbits.

2. Small Package, Big Impact

The Advanced Composite Solar Sail System spacecraft is a CubeSat the size of a microwave, but when the package inside is fully unfurled, it will measure about 860 square feet (80 square meters) which is about the size of six parking spots. Once fully deployed, it will be the biggest, functional solar sail system – capable of controlled propulsion maneuvers – to be tested in space.

3. Second NASA Solar Sail in Space

If successful, the Advanced Composite Solar Sail System will be  the second NASA solar sail to deploy in space, and not only will it be much larger, but this system will also test navigation capabilities to change the spacecraft’s orbit. This will help us gather data for future missions with even larger sails.

4. BOOM: Stronger, Lighter Booms

Just like a sailboat mast supports its cloth sails, a solar sail has support beams called booms that provide structure. The Advanced Composite Solar Sail System mission’s primary objective is to deploy a new type of boom. These booms are made from flexible polymer and carbon fiber materials that are stiffer and 75% lighter than previous boom designs. They can also be flattened and rolled like a tape measure. Two booms spanning the diagonal of the square (23 feet or about 7 meters in length) could be rolled up and fit into the palm of your hand!

5. It’s a bird...it’s a plane...it’s our solar sail!

About one to two months after launch, the Advanced Composite Solar Sail System spacecraft will deploy its booms and unfurl its solar sail. Because of its large size and reflective material, the spacecraft may be visible from Earth with the naked eye if the lighting conditions and orientation are just right!

To learn more about this mission that will inform future space travel and expand our understanding of our Sun and solar system, visit https://www.nasa.gov/mission/acs3/.

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[blueishspace]

Mostly canon Watcher Grian powerset.

Access to commands:

Teleportation (access to /tp)

Time manipulation (with /time and random tick speed)

Weather manipulation (with /weather)

Matter and energy creation (With /place and /structure and /fill)

Life creation (with /summon).

Blessings and curses (with /effect)

Locate anything (with /locate)

Changing rules of reality (with /gamerule)

Banning (with /ban)

Nature manipulation (with a mix of /gamerule and biome set)

Enchanting (with /enchant)

/Kill

Summoning fire balls and lightning (/summon)

Access to creative.

Canon watcher specific abilities:

Nigh-omniscience.

Telepathy (as shown multiple time)

Mind control. (Limited Life)

Control over celestial objects (like when they crashed a meteor into evo)

Force updates (Evo).

Manipulating player stats.

Resurrection.

Bonding player souls creating soulmate couples.

Emotion draining.

Inducing Amnesia/Apathy (depending on the interpretation of the life series)

Eye summoning (not canon but I would be disappointed if watchers weren't able to summon eyes)

Ability to speak in galactic.

Limiting players life in time.

Server/World creation and destruction.

Light modding.

Canon Grian abilities, some might be watcher related we have no way to know:

Avian abilities (not canon but basically canon):

Flight.

Higher speed.

Wing attack.

Super sense.

Pre-Hermitcraft :

Demon summoning.

Creation of living AI.

Building skill.

Demise s6:

Manipulation of player deaths.

Manipulation of player data and appearance.

Sherlock Grian s6:

Super intuition.

Infinity Gauntlet s7:

Portal creation, telekinesis, matter manipulation. (Space stone)

Energy blast able to destroy a planet. (Power stone)

Reality manipulation, transmutation, illusion creation. (Reality stone)

Time manipulation, creation of timeloops. (Time stone).

Mind manipulation, energy manipulatiom. (Mind stone)

Soul control, personality manipulation, soul absorption, spirit summoning. (Soul stone)

Black hole summoning. (Space + Power stone)

Implied super resistance to the power of the gauntlet.

Hippie s6:

Ground manipulation.

Plant creation.

Mother Spore s7:

Spore diffusion.

Mycelium and mushroom manipulation and spreading.

Boatem s8:

Invisibility. (From that time he was invisible and pranked Mumbo)

Entity s9:

Giving life to inanimate objects.

Creation of interdemensional rifts.

Immortality.

Manipulation of player height.