#Scientific Data Analytics

[techtoio]

How Artificial Intelligence is Transforming Scientific Research

Introduction No one ever imagined how artificial intelligence would revolutionize scientific research. At TechtoIO, we look into how AI is not just a tool but the driver behind the rapid advancements in many scientific disciplines. That includes how science is being transformed—from better data analysis to catalyzing discovery, such as areas in health, climate science, physics, particle experimentation, and more. Read to continue link...

[jungkoode]

THE 25TH HOUR | O9

“𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋”

“We’re designed to fit,” he says, and you don’t know if he means your powers, your patterns, or the way your hand doesn’t shake in his.

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 6,7k

content: reality anchors, the quantum physics are quaking, yoongi being bossy again (and hot about it), elevator scene tension 10/10, jumping across buildings like it's casual (it is NOT), spatial distortion flirty edition, golden tendrils 2.0 (they touched... physically and emotionally??), temporal signature matching (yes it’s hot), someone finally says “we’re designed to fit” and i screamed, drone murder attempt ig, jungkook makes a dramatic entrance and is so annoying about it, team regroup ft. unexplained powers and too many secrets, portal time but make it traumatic.

— author’s note

KAY. LISTEN.

I know I say this every chapter but THIS ONE. this one fried several neurons and may have permanently altered the molecular structure of my spine. I started with “hm what if they walked through a reality anchor” and ended with “what if they synchronized their temporal signatures mid-freefall and touched tendrils in public like absolute whores.” I don’t know what to tell you. I blacked out. This is between me and my caffeine addiction now.

Let’s talk about the jump scene. Yes. You clocked it. That moment where Noma is calculating the distance and Yoongi says “don’t think, just need” and then she LAUNCHES HERSELF INTO THE VOID? Yeah. That may or may not have been deeply inspired by Neo’s rooftop jump in The Matrix (1999, my beloved). I am a massive Matrix nerd. That whole visual of someone standing on the edge of a building, trying to defy the physics they were born into, and being told “your mind is the thing in your way”? It’s been living rent-free in my frontal lobe since I was 13 and thought trench coats were peak fashion.

Because this chapter is, like, extremely about trust. And control. And the horror of not understanding what’s happening inside your own body. It’s about Noma confronting the fact that her mind—her beautiful, precise, analytical mind—is what’s limiting her. And Yoongi, who already knows, who’s BEEN like this longer, who knows what it’s like to break through that threshold and feel the laws of reality tilt around your perception, he’s just THERE. Guiding her. Softly threatening to reset time like a feral little guardian angel.

Also… let’s not ignore the fact that she destroys a drone with her brain and he’s like “cool. moving on.” Sir?? She just folded metal into origami. But okay go off I guess.

AND THEN THEY SYNCH TEMPORAL SIGNATURES. don’t even look at me. I wrote that and sat there like “huh. interesting. so that’s what soulmates sound like in science fiction.” I had to go walk around the block. I made them fit on a molecular level. I made their body chemistry harmonize. Why? Because I am unwell and this is my therapy.

Anyway. Thanks for reading I love you all. Scientifically.

— read on

ao3

wattpad

Reality Anchors are alive.

No one ever told you that part. No briefing, no memo, no research paper had ever mentioned that these imposing structures breathe.

The anchor in front of you rises 37.2 meters from ground to apex, its surface composed of quantum-stabilized alloy that shouldn't—couldn't—pulse like that.

Yet it does. Every 7 seconds, a wave of molecular adjustment ripples from base to tip, disturbing air molecules in concentric patterns that register against your skin at precisely 0.3 pascals of pressure.

Fascinating.

Your retinas register the faint blue luminescence emanating from seams in the structure-temporal energy bleeding through containment fields. 

It feels like reality itself is being compressed into a more efficient configuration.

"Mesmerizing," you murmur, cataloging the observable data. "The quantum-stabilized glass panels are oriented at exactly 73 degrees to maximize temporal field distribution. And the energy consumption must be—”

"No."

You blink, neural processes stuttering at the interruption.

Agent Min has stopped walking and turned to face you fully, his stance registering as 37% more rigid than his baseline.

"I didn't say anything," you point out, tilting your head 12 degrees in genuine confusion.

"Didn't have to." His eyes narrow by approximately 0.3 centimeters.

"Then what are you saying no to?"

"You know what."

"I genuinely don't." Your brow furrows, creating a 0.4-centimeter depression between your eyebrows. "It seems statistically improbable that you could accurately predict my thought patterns without established baseline data."

His mouth twitches—suppressed micro-expression, 0.7 seconds in duration.

"Were you or were you not thinking of using a little detour to satiate that insane curiosity of yours?"

Your silence registers at approximately 3.2 seconds. 

Longer than optimal for casual conversation.

"Exactly. No."

"I find your anticipation of my mental processes presumptuous," you counter, eyes returning to the reality anchor when the uppermost floors shimmer slightly—a temporal distortion effect that standard human vision would filter out. “And I do not appreciate it.”

"Get used to it," he says, resuming walking at a pace 7% faster than before. "You will."

You match his stride automatically.

"The probability of you developing accurate predictive models of my cognitive patterns seems—”

"Already developed," he interrupts, checking his modified Chrono-Sync Watch with a quick glance. "Seventh time you've tried to investigate a reality anchor. Always the same pattern."

This statement contains multiple logical inconsistencies. You've never attempted to investigate a reality anchor before. Your security clearance wouldn't permit it.

Yet your temporal analysis centers don't flag it as a falsehood.

"How would you know that?" 

He doesn't answer, instead gesturing toward the adjacent tower—a colossal structure of similar materials that rises at least 100 floors into the artificially blue sky.

"Travel spot is somewhere in the upper levels," he says, eyes scanning the building's facade. "We need to access it through the anchor first."

You process this information, calculating optimal routes.

"Why can't you pinpoint the exact location?" you ask, question emerging from your analytical centers. "Your previous statements implied familiarity with the network."

His jaw tightens by approximately 4.3 newtons.

"Travel spots shift position by 0.7 meters every 73 minutes," he explains, voice roughened. "Quantum uncertainty principle applied to spatial coordinates. Prevents CHRONOS from establishing fixed monitoring."

"That seems inefficient for a resistance network," you observe.

"That's the point." He checks his watch again—third time in 7.3 minutes. "Inefficiency creates unpredictability. CHRONOS systems are designed for pattern recognition."

You approach the base of the reality anchor, where a standard-looking entrance is monitored by temporal signature scanners disguised as decorative elements.

"How do we bypass security?" you ask, noting at least three visible monitoring devices and calculating a 94.7% probability of additional concealed systems.

"We don't," he says, reaching into his jacket and extracting what appears to be a standard CHRONOS identification card. "We walk in like we belong."

The card in his hand triggers your pattern recognition— holographic security features match authorized maintenance personnel credentials.

"Falsified identification carries a minimum penalty of 73 days in temporal isolation," you note automatically.

He almost smiles—left corner of his mouth lifting 0.2 centimeters.

"Only if you get caught."

He approaches the entrance with casual gait, and you follow—still processing the anchor's structure. 

The quantum equations rippling across its surface follow a pattern that suggests...

"I told you to stop analyzing," he murmurs, voice barely audible at 17 decibels. "Your temporal signature fluctuates when you're thinking too hard. Makes you detectable."

You attempt to modulate your thought patterns, an unusual exercise that creates a 0.3-second lag in your cognitive processing.

He swipes the identification card through the scanner, which responds with a soft tone at exactly 432 Hz—the standard confirmation frequency.

The interior of the reality anchor is even more fascinating than its exterior.

The lobby appears standard-neo-minimalist design, temporal-stabilized plants arranged at mathematically significant intervals—but your enhanced perception detects the subtle wrongness of the space.

The air pressure is precisely 0.7 kPa higher than standard atmospheric conditions. 

The lighting pulses at a frequency of 7 Hz, which is imperceptible to normal human vision but clearly designed to reinforce temporal compliance in visitors.

"Maintenance elevator is on the left," Agent Min says, guiding you with a subtle gesture. "Don't look at the central column."

Naturally, your eyes immediately flick toward the center of the lobby.

The sight momentarily overloads your visual processing. 

A column of pure temporal energy rises from floor to ceiling, contained within quantum-stabilized glass. The energy moves in patterns that defy standard physical laws—simultaneously flowing upward and downward, existing in multiple states… at once?

"I said don't look," he hisses, fingers closing around your wrist to redirect; not enough to cause discomfort.

"What is that?" you ask, unable to fully suppress your curiosity despite his warning.

"The anchor point," he says, voice tightening as he guides you toward the maintenance elevator. "Direct connection to the Master Clock. Looking at it too long causes temporal vertigo in most humans."

You save this information, filing it under high-priority data.

"And in non-humans?"

His steps falter—0.3-second hesitation.

"In Outliers," he corrects quietly, "it can trigger awakening."

The maintenance elevator requires another scan of his falsified credentials. 

As the doors close, enclosing you in a space of approximately 2.3 cubic meters, you notice the absence of standard temporal monitoring devices.

"Why aren't there cameras?" you ask, scanning the ceiling corners where monitoring equipment would typically be installed.

"Reality anchors generate too much temporal interference for standard surveillance," he explains, pressing the button for floor 30. "Creates blind spots in their system."

"That seems like a significant security vulnerability," you observe.

His mouth quirks again.

You don’t know why you’re starting to find the gesture attractive.

"Why do you think we're using it?"

The elevator ascends at precisely 3.7 meters per second, which you note is faster than standard civilian elevators but slower than executive transport. Your inner ear registers the acceleration, adjusting automatically.

"The travel spot," you begin, mind working through the problem. "You said it's in the upper levels of the adjacent tower. Why can't we access it directly?"

He leans against the elevator wall, posture relaxing by approximately 7%.

"Security protocols," he says. "The tower has standard monitoring. The anchor doesn't. We cross through the anchor's 30th floor-maintenance level, and then we use the connecting bridge to access the tower."

"And after that?"

"After that, we find the travel spot." He checks his watch again—fourth time in 12.7 minutes. "It should be somewhere between floors 90 and 97."

You calculate the search parameters.

"That's approximately 7,432 square meters of potential location space," you note. "Seems inefficient."

"I'll narrow it down once we're closer," he says. "My temporal sense can detect the quantum fluctuations at closer proximity."

The elevator slows as it approaches floor 30, and Agent Min straightens, resuming his alert posture.

"When we exit, walk like you're supposed to be here," he instructs. "Maintenance personnel check this level every 73 minutes. Current interval gives us approximately 47 minutes before the next sweep."

"Understood," you confirm, automatically adjusting your posture to match standard CHRONOS maintenance staff parameters—shoulders back, gaze forward, movements economic and purposeful.

The elevator doors open to reveal a stark corridor illuminated by temporal-stabilized lighting. 

Walls are lined with quantum-reinforced panels marked with mathematical equations that your pattern recognition identifies as temporal field calculations.

Agent Min steps out first, fluid and confident. 

You follow, checking every detail of this restricted environment that few civilians ever see.

"Don't touch anything," he warns, leading you down the corridor. "Some of these panels are directly connected to the temporal field generators."

You resist the urge to examine the equations more closely, focusing instead on maintaining the appropriate walking pace and posture.

"The connecting bridge is 23 meters ahead," he says, voice low. "Once we cross, we'll need to take the service stairs. The tower's elevators are monitored."

"Stairs?" you query, calculating the energy expenditure required to ascend approximately 60 floors. "That seems—"

"Necessary," he interrupts. "Unless you'd prefer to explain to CHRONOS why we're accessing restricted floors."

You concede the point with a slight nod.

15 degrees downward, 15 degrees upward.

As you walk, your mind continues processing the reality anchor's structure, the equations on the walls, the subtle vibration beneath your feet that suggests massive energy manipulation occurring somewhere below.

"You're thinking too loud again," Agent Min murmurs, not turning to look at you.

"That's not physically possible," you counter automatically.

"Your temporal signature disagrees," he says, tapping his temple with his index finger. "I can feel it fluctuating."

This statement contains another logical inconsistency. 

Standard humans cannot detect temporal signatures without specialized equipment.

Yet once again, your temporal analysis centers don't flag it as a falsehood.

"How—" you begin.

"Bridge is just ahead. Stay close."

But the bridge…

It’s not offline. It’s gone.  

You stare at the empty space where reinforced glass and temporal alloys should’ve formed a secure pathway. 

Only support beams remain, jagged edges still glowing from whatever energy weapon severed them.  

Agent Min’s eyebrows do something statistically improbable—contracting inward by 0.9 centimeters while the skin between them folds into three distinct creases. 

You’ve never seen his face execute this particular combination of micro-expressions before.  

“They altered this sector’s infrastructure,” he mutters, more to himself than you. 

His left hand twitches toward his Chrono-Sync Watch, aborting the movement halfway.  

You pivot toward the window, retinal sensors catching a faint outline-maintenance door, 3.2 meters left of the destroyed bridge. 

Beyond it: a sheer drop, then the adjacent tower’s western face. 

Your mind calculates the distance before your ethics committee can veto the idea.  

“We could jump.”  

He doesn’t immediately dismiss it. 

That’s how you know things are bad.  

“Distance?” he asks, joining you at the window.  

“14.7 meters horizontally, 3.3 meters vertical elevation differential.” You tap the glass, triggering a subconscious visualization overlay. “Structural analysis indicates the target building’s exterior has adequate grip points for—”  

“For me,” he interrupts. His breath fogs the glass near your fingertip. “Not for you.”  

You tilt your head, analyzing his profile. “You’re suggesting I remain here while you—”  

“I’m suggesting you stop suggesting suicide vectors.” His jaw works, a muscle ticking at 2.7-second intervals. “There’s another route. Has to be.”  

You let him pace—eight steps toward the elevator, twelve back—before interrupting.  

“Average human long jump record is 8.95 meters. My enhanced musculature could theoretically—”  

“Theoretically splatter across sixty floors of neo-Brutalist architecture.” 

You frown. “We’re only thirty floors up.”

“From the anchor,” he says. “The tower’s foundation sits two levels below base-grade. It drops into a full infrastructure pit—ventilation shafts, temporal gridwork, CHRONOS substation access. You fall here, you don’t just hit pavement. You keep falling.”

He gestures down through the glass.

“Sixty floors straight into the sector’s hollowed-out gut. Like getting thrown down a well lined with concrete and death.”

How does he even know all that?

But before you can let curiosity get the best of you again, he stops mid-stride, pinning you with that look again. The one that makes your internal processors skip. 

“But—”

“No.”  

You frown, press your palm against the window, feeling the tower’s vibration through the glass. 

“Then you go first. Anchor a line. I’ll follow.”  

He’s already shaking his head. “Temporal energy doesn’t work like that. Can’t manifest solid constructs without—”  

“Without triggering every sensor in the sector. Yes.” You turn from the window, meeting his glare. “So, again, that leaves one option.”  

For three seconds, the only sound is the reality anchor’s low-frequency hum. 

Then he swears—a creative combination of English and technical jargon your language centers can’t fully parse.  

The maintenance door handle feels colder than ambient temperature suggests. You’re calculating wind shear variables when his gloved hand covers yours, halting the motion.  

“If we do this,” he says, voice stripped to its raw edges, “you follow my instructions exactly. No deviations. No calculations mid-air. Understood?”  

You nod, the movement precise. 

15 degrees down, 15 up.  

He releases your hand to grip both shoulders instead, leaning in until his mint-and-ozone scent overrides the tower’s sterile air. 

“When you jump, you don’t think about falling. You don’t think about distance. You think about needing to be on that ledge. Your entire existence becomes that single purpose.”  

You open your mouth to request clarification on biomechanical feasibility—

“No.” His fingers tighten. “No questions. Your body knows how. You just have to stop overloading it with doubt.”  

The paradox registers immediately. 

“But without understanding the mechanism—”  

“Understanding comes later.” His thumb presses into your collarbone, exactly where that freckle hides beneath synthetic fabric. “Surviving comes now.”  

You glance past him to the abyss. 

He opens the door.

The wind’s howling at 37 knots now, whipping hair into your eyes. 

“Probability of success?”  

He doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Sixty-eight percent. If you focus.”  

“And if I don’t?”  

For the first time, his face contracts—a fractional widening of pupils, a minuscule catch in his breathing rhythm.  

“Then I’ll reset time until you do.”  

The words register as raw, hovering between you for a few seconds before he finally turns toward the void.  

You watch him leap—no hesitation, no visible calculation. Just pure intent translated into motion.  

He makes it look effortless.  

And then it’s your turn.  

The wind screams. The city sprawls below, a mosaic of blue-lit grids and shadow. 

You psych up the variables: air density, potential updrafts, the exact angle of your target ledge.  

Then you stop thinking.  

You launch, and the world narrows to wind and numbers.

For a moment, there’s no sound, no up or down. Just velocity and the impossible distance between you and the ledge. 

Adrenaline floods your system, not sharp but heavy, like a stone pressed to your sternum. 

You’re aware of your own mass, the drag of your body through air, the way your limbs cut a path no algorithm could ever predict.

Agent Min is already there, turned halfway, eyes tracking your arc. His mouth moves—maybe a warning, maybe your ID number—but the rush drowns it out. 

You think of the other side. You need to reach the other side. 

The imperative is simple, absolute. 

Not crossing means plummeting. Not crossing means becoming a data point in a CHRONOS incident report.

You make the mistake of looking down.

Thirty floors up, the city is abstract. 

Cars, people, light—all reduced to static. 

The void is real. 

You feel it in your teeth, in the way your stomach seems to invert, in the cold sweat prickling your palms. 

Your calculations fracture. The ground is coming up fast.

You look up. 

Agent Min’s silhouette sharpens against the skyline, mint hair a streak of color in the blue haze. His eyes widen—first time you’ve seen that particular fear. 

He’s reaching for something, or maybe just reaching.

You’re falling.

The world tilts. Air roars past your ears. Time dilates, then contracts. 

You’re aware of every heartbeat, every useless attempt your muscles make to grab onto empty space. 

The ledge is gone. The city is too close.

Then—discontinuity.

You’re upright. Feet planted on solid ground. Breath caught in your throat. 

Your hands move before your mind does, fingers flexing, checking for fractures, for blood, for any sign of what should have happened. 

Everything responds. No pain. No missing time.

Agent Min spins, posture radiating pure stress and panic. 

His face is a study in shock—mouth open, eyes blown wide, like he’s seen a ghost.

You blink. He blinks.

Your heart is still racing, but your body is whole. You’re here. You made it. The numbers don’t add up, but the outcome is undeniable.

You’re alive.

Agent Min’s gaze darts between your left and right pupils, rapid assessment mode engaged, as if he’s scanning for damage or data.

“Damn it, Noma,” he mutters, voice rough and frayed at the edges. “Holy hell.”

His hands clench into tight fists at his sides, knuckles whitening under the strain. 

You note the micro-tremor in his fingers-2.3 hertz, consistent with suppressed impulse. 

He exhales, a controlled release of 1.7 liters of air over 3.1 seconds, then drags a gloved hand down his face, smearing frustration across his features.

Before you can catalog further, a mechanical whine pierces the air-high-pitched, 17 kHz, consistent with a CHRONOS surveillance drone. 

Agent Min’s posture shifts instantly, weight forward, arm half-raised to shield or shove you aside. 

“Watch—”

You tilt your head back, a reflex, not a decision. 

There’s a sound—metal crumpling, like foil under pressure—and the drone’s frame twists mid-flight, folding inward at impossible angles. 

It drops, a lifeless heap, 4.7 meters below the ledge.

He stares at the wreckage, then at you. 

“Well. Alright then.”

Your mind is already running diagnostics. 

“Did I cause that?”

He lets out a long, resigned breath, shoulders dropping by 1.2 centimeters. 

“Yeah. You did.”

“How?” 

Your spatial awareness logs are blank—no memory of intent, no record of action. Yet the evidence is undeniable: twisted alloy, a perfect collapse. 

You flex your fingers again, searching for a trigger, a mechanism. “Was that a manipulation of spatial configuration? A localized distortion field? I need parameters.”

He steps closer, mint and ozone cutting through the sterile tower air, but his expression is all weariness. 

“We gotta move, Noma. Now.”

You plant your feet, shifting your center of gravity to counter his subtle pull. 

“Explanation required. Did I alter the drone’s physical positioning? Compress its structural integrity via spatial warp? Or—”

He makes a sound full of resignation. 

“Look, Noma, I l—”

He cuts himself off, jaw snapping shut with an audible click. 

A recalibration. 

“I get it. I do. But we don’t have the luxury of a debrief right now.”

Your brow creases, a 0.5-centimeter furrow. 

“Understanding the mechanics of an undocumented ability is not a luxury. It’s a necessity. If I can replicate—”

“You will,” he interrupts, voice low but firm, carrying a weight you can’t parse. “Just not here. Not with drones sniffing our temporal signatures.”

You glance at the wreckage again, mind spinning through theoretical models. 

No data, no precedent. 

Just a gut—deep certainty that you reshaped reality without conscious input. 

The implications are staggering. 

If you can do this instinctively, what else lies dormant? What are the limits? Energy costs? Detection risks?

He’s watching you, reading the cascade of queries behind your eyes. “I know that look. And I’m telling you to shelve it. We’re exposed.”

“Five seconds,” you negotiate, already cross-referencing the drone’s design against known CHRONOS tech. “If I can isolate the method—”

“Zero seconds.” He grumbles, fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you behind him. “Survival first. Science later.”

Your logic centers protest, but the risk assessment aligns with his. 

You exhale—petulant, probably, but you do not care. 

Because whatever you did, it’s a piece of the puzzle. A fragment of who—or what—you are. 

And you’ll dissect it, variable by variable, until the equation balances.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until the air shifts.

Up here, it tastes different. 

Thinner. Filtered, maybe. Like someone cleaned it too well, stripped it of anything real. 

The ground is nothing but blur—washed out in streaks of artificial white and synthetic blue haze. Designed to erase depth perception. To flatten the concept of below into something distant. Forgettable.

CHRONOS engineering at its finest.

You step closer to the edge, boots scraping faintly against the metal grating. 

The city is unrecognizable from this height. Not a city at all, just layers of grids and light. Soft pulses of movement that don’t quite feel alive. No wind reaches this far up, only some sort of hum—low, steady, mechanical. 

You wonder if the workers stationed here can still hear it when they sleep. 

If they ever sleep.

You’ve read the reports. Rotating shifts, twenty-hour cycles, neural stimulants to bypass natural fatigue responses. Cognitive degradation flagged as acceptable collateral. Worker retention rate at 37.2%.

In other words: not sustainable.

But great pay.

You press your fingertips lightly to the edge of the railing. Cool to the touch. Grounding, somehow. 

You scan the skyline, calculating angles, distances, escape vectors you’re not sure you’ll ever need but catalog anyway. 

That’s what you do. 

What you’ve always done.

But the sky pulls at you. Quietly. Persistently.

Dark velvet stretched wide above your head, broken only by the scatter of stars. 

You tip your chin back, gaze locking onto a thousand silent points of light, each one burning impossibly far away. 

Data points you can never reach, but something in you reaches anyway.

And there—framed in that endless black—

The moon.

Not in any model you’ve ever studied. Not filtered through facility-grade optics or distorted by atmospheric interference. 

Just… suspended. Brilliant. Whole. A perfect sphere painted in shades of silver and shadow. 

It’s too much, too big. 

Your breath catches again, chest tightening like something fragile just cracked open inside you.

It escapes before you can stop it. A single word.

“Beautiful.”

Soft. Uncalculated.

You freeze the second it leaves your mouth, pulse stuttering in your throat. 

You didn’t mean to say that. 

You never mean to say things like that.

A breath stirs the space beside you. Not yours.

“…Yeah.”

Quiet. Barely more than air.

“…Beautiful.”

The confirmation scrapes against something unsteady inside you. 

You shouldn’t turn. You know you shouldn’t. But your gaze shifts anyway, slow and reluctant, as if giving your body too much permission might undo you entirely.

He’s already watching.

Agent Min.

Not the skyline. Not the moon. Not the impossible stretch of space yawning above you.

You.

And he doesn’t look away.

For a suspended second, nobody speaks. 

Then his eyes flicker gold. 

It's the seventeenth time you've seen it happen. Seventeenth. You've been keeping count, tracking when it occurs, searching for the pattern. Not random—nothing about him is ever random—but the trigger remains frustratingly elusive. 

Is it emotional response? Memory access? Some kind of power regulation failing?

You step closer until you can detect the subtle heat radiating from him—always running warmer than human baseline. 

His pupils track your movement, dilating slightly.

A measurable response.

His fingers tighten on the railing, leather creaking under pressure. You note this detail, file it away. 

He stares at you.

You stare back.

"I've been meaning to ask," you say, keeping your voice even despite the strange pressure building under your sternum—like something's trying to expand beyond the confines of your ribcage.

His throat shifts as he swallows. Blinks once.

“Ask what?"

"Your eyes." 

His gaze slides away, avoiding yours for exactly 3.2 seconds before returning. Avoidance behavior. 

Why?

The silence grows heavy between you. 

If you were better at social interactions, you might understand why he doesn't respond. 

But you're not, so you elaborate.

"I have noticed they appear to shine at certain moments." You tilt your head slightly. "The same color as your tendrils. But I can't seem to figure out the why."

His focus drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. Quick. Almost imperceptible. But you catch it—and the flash of gold that accompanies it. 

Interesting correlation.

He looks at your lips = eyes change.

Cause and effect?

Sexual response?

Your gloved hand lifts toward his face, hovering in the space between you. 

Not touching. Not yet. Just... there. Testing a hypothesis.

"Noma," he says, your nickname rough around the edges. "That's... not advisable."

Why does that name feel so familiar when he says it?

"Why not?" The tilt of your head increases, curiosity sharpening. "I'm collecting data. Your ocular anomalies appear to correlate with specific emotional states."

You watch his pupils expand, blackness swallowing the iris except for that gleaming ring of gold.

"It's not a lab experiment." His jaw clenches, muscle rippling beneath skin.

He's restraining something. But what?

"Everything is data," you counter, your hand still suspended between you. "The gold appears when proximity decreases between us. When conversation shifts toward personal topics. When you look at my—"

You stop yourself. Recalibrate.

"When certain visual attention patterns emerge."

His breath changes rhythm—slower in, quicker out. You track this shift automatically. 

"And what conclusion have you reached based on these... observations?" His voice has become unsteady. 

In it, a roughness that wasn't there before.

The scientist in you needs to categorize it.

The rest of you just wants to hear more of it.

"Insufficient evidence for definitive conclusion." Your palm drifts closer to his face. "Hence the need for additional testing parameters."

"Agent." Warning laces his tone, but you note the contradiction in his body language—the slight forward tilt, the micromovement toward your hand. 

Your watch beeps softly. Temporal variance: 0.87%.

Why does your temporal signature fluctuate around him?

Why does your body recognize patterns your brain can't access?

"The gloves provide sufficient barrier protection for initial contact testing," you say, though in the back of your mind, you know that's not why you want to touch him. Not really. 

"It's not about the barrier," he says, still not pulling away.

"Then what is it about?" 

His eyes lock with yours, longer than his usual pattern. Something shifts in them—not just the color, but something deeper. 

Like barriers cracking.

"It's about..." He pauses, searching for words. "Restraint."

"Explain." 

Not a request. A need.

One corner of his mouth quirks up. "Demanding tonight, aren't we?"

Your hand inches closer. 

"Is that why your eyes change?" You push for answers, always pushing. "A failure of restraint?"

A sound catches in his throat, something between amusement and pain.

"They change when I'm..." He stops, recalibrates. "When I feel things too strongly."

"What things?"

"Anger. Fear." 

His gaze drops to your mouth again, longer this time. 

"Want."

The word settles into your chest, makes a home there. 

Your lungs feel suddenly insufficient, breath coming shorter despite oxygen levels remaining constant.

"And now?" Your voice sounds different to your own ears, pitched lower. "Which is it?"

His hand leaves the railing, wraps around your wrist. Not pushing away—just holding. Containing—touch gentle but unmistakably firm.

"What do you think, Noma?" Your nickname sounds different this time. 

Softer. Almost tender.

Why does it affect you when he says it like that?

You mentally catalog his physiological responses: dilated pupils, elevated respiration, muscle tension patterns indicating both arousal and resistance.

"Want," you determine with absolute certainty.

His eyes flare gold again—holding this time, not flickering away.

"Good analysis," he murmurs, still not releasing your wrist.

Your pulse thrums against his fingers. You can feel it jumping, betraying things your clinical mind refuses to name.

"May I?" Your gloved hand moves closer to his cheek.

Why are you pushing this? Why does it matter?

This isn't efficient data collection.

This is... something else.

His throat works as he swallows. 

"We shouldn't," he says, strain evident in every syllable. "That's my professional assessment."

"We're both still wearing gloves," you argue, logic centers frantically constructing justifications. "Barrier intact. Risk parameters acceptable."

"You know it’s not about statistics." His grip loosens slightly. 

He doesn't elaborate. 

Something complicated moves across his face, too fast for even your pattern recognition to decipher.

You need to know. You need to understand.

Why him? Why you? Why now?

Decision made, your hand pushes forward, breaking through his weakened resistance. Your gloved fingers make contact with his cheek.

And—

Oh.

The sensation defies categorization. Despite the barrier of fabric between you, something passes through the touch. 

A current.

An echo. 

Something your scientific vocabulary can't properly name.

His eyes close. He looks suddenly vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

"Your temporal signature," he says quietly, "it just... aligned with mine."

Your eyes drop to your watch. Temporal variance: 0.00%.

Perfect stabilization.

That's impossible.

There's no precedent for this in any temporal physics model.

"How?" The question slips out, unfiltered and raw.

His eyes open slowly, gold filling them completely now. 

Steady and bright and impossibly beautiful.

Beautiful.

"Because," he says simply, "we're designed to fit."

You should process this information. Should file it away with all your other observations about Agent Min and his inexplicable abilities. Should create new theoretical models to explain the perfect temporal alignment currently registered on your watch.

Instead, you just... feel. 

The warmth beneath your fingers. The impossible gold of his eyes. The way your body seems to recognize him on some cellular level your mind can't access.

‘We're designed to fit.’

The implications of that statement should terrify you. 

Instead, they feel like coming home.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You're staring into his golden eyes when a low whizz cuts through the air. 

Your auditory processing centers register the sound at approximately 17kHz—just within human hearing range, but with a distinct mechanical oscillation pattern consistent with CHRONOS drone propulsion systems.

Before your brain can fully process the threat, Agent Min's head whips around—reaction time approximately 0.3 seconds faster than optimal human baseline. His pupils contract, gold flares brighter, mouth opens to form what appears to be a warning.

Too late.

Something hits you from behind—force vector approximately 47 newtons, angle of impact suggesting deliberate trajectory. The pressure against your back lasts precisely 0.7 seconds.

Then nothing.

Air rushes past your ears at increasing velocity. Your inner ear fluid shifts dramatically, sending conflicting data to your vestibular system. Gravity reasserts its dominance with brutal efficiency.

You're falling.

Again.

Acceleration rate: 9.8 meters per second squared.

Terminal velocity approaching.

Probability of survival without intervention: 0.003%.

The analytical part of your brain calculates these figures automatically while your body experiences what can only be termed as terror—heart rate spike of 73%, adrenal glands flooding your system with cortisol and epinephrine.

"NOMA!"

The sound tears through the rushing air—raw, primal, carrying a frequency range your pattern recognition flags as desperate. 

You twist mid-air, arms instinctively moving to shield your head from inevitable impact.

That's when you see him.

Agent Min. 

Yoongi. 

Falling just above you, body positioned in a perfect diving form that creates maximum aerodynamic efficiency. 

His trajectory indicates purposeful action.

He jumped after you.

He's saying something—lips moving rapidly—but the blood rushing in your ears creates a noise barrier approximately 84 decibels. His words are lost in the chaos of your fall.

Your abilities.

The thought crystallizes with sudden clarity. 

You teleported earlier. Spatial manipulation. If you could replicate that effect now—

Focus. But how? What's the trigger mechanism?

Your thoughts scatter across multiple processing centers, frantically searching for the neural pathway that activated during the previous incident. 

Agent Min never explained the mechanics.

He should have.

You’ll make sure to have that conversation later.

If you survive, that is.

Golden tendrils emerge from his outstretched fingers, extending at velocities that defy standard temporal physics. They reach toward you, pushing against the air itself as if trying to accelerate his fall beyond normal gravitational parameters.

You struggle to replicate whatever neural pathway activated before. Nothing happens. Your fingers flex, your mind focuses, your desperation builds.

What triggered it before? Survival instinct? Specific neural configuration? Direct threat vector?

The golden traces stretch further, now mere centimeters from your reaching hands. Their movement creates visible distortion in the air, like reality itself warping around their influence.

Then—

Something shifts within you. 

Not gradual. 

Not building.

A sudden quantum change in your neural configuration. 

Your cognitive perception splits for exactly 0.7 seconds—awareness operating in multiple states simultaneously.

Tendrils emerge from your own fingertips.

Golden, like his, but fundamentally different. Where his flow like liquid, yours crystallize like faceted gold. Where his move in clockwise patterns, yours rotate counterclockwise.

Opposing rotations. 

Perfect complements.

They reach out—not by your conscious command but through some deeper programming—and intertwine with his traces. The contact creates an immediate energy transfer that registers across your neural receptors as both hot and cold simultaneously.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, the world blurs. Spatial coordinates shift in ways that violate every physical law you've ever studied. Distance compresses, then expands.

You're in his arms.

The transition happens without intermediate steps—one moment falling separately, the next secured against his chest, his left arm wrapped around your waist with exactly 82% more pressure than necessary for stability.

You register multiple data points simultaneously:

- His elevated body temperature: 39.1°C

- His heartbeat: 172 BPM

- His breathing: rapid, shallow, 24 respirations per minute

- His face: positioned 3.4 centimeters from your cheek, over your shoulder

So close. One small movement would bring skin against skin. 

Your temporal readings spike at the mere possibility.

Before you can process this new configuration, another force vector impacts you both—lateral trajectory, approximately 93 newtons. 

Not from Agent Min. 

External source.

Someone else.

Your coupled bodies are propelled sideways at high velocity. 

The world blurs again as you and Agent Min, still locked together, phase through what appears to be solid matter. 

Glass. Concrete. Steel. 

Your molecular structure should be encountering significant resistance, yet moves through these barriers like they're nothing more than projections.

Quantum tunneling? Spatial displacement? Molecular phasing? Your scientific vocabulary struggles to categorize the experience.

Impact comes suddenly—both of you hitting a solid surface at approximately 37% of terminal velocity. The force disperses through your skeletal structure, joints absorbing kinetic energy at efficiency rates that exceed normal human parameters.

You roll, momentum carrying you across hard flooring. Pain signals to your central nervous system—data indicating tissue stress but not structural failure.

When you finally stop, every bone in your body aches with the signature of controlled landing trauma. 

Not optimal, certainly not comfortable, but survivable.

Survivable by design.

You inhale sharply—2.1 liters of air in 0.8 seconds—and your eyes search frantically for Agent Min.

Where is he? Was he injured in the landing? Who pushed you? How did you phase through solid matter?

Your golden tendrils have vanished, leaving only lingering warmth on your fingertips where they emerged. 

Your watch beeps an unfamiliar pattern: Temporal-spatial variance detected. Recalibration required.

You blink rapidly, visual processing recalibrating as you scan the environment. 

Sleek walls. Polished concrete floor. 

Location unknown. Sector indeterminate.

Blood drips onto your hand. Your nose is bleeding again—heavier flow than before. Your fingertips come away stained crimson. Your skull throbs in pulses, each one making your vision blur at the edges.

"For fuck's sake, Jungkook, you almost killed them!" 

Taehyung's voice cuts through the fog in your head, sharp with that specific tension you've cataloged as his version of concern.

"I was literally on the clock before they became sidewalk art!" Jungkook shoots back, hands gesturing wildly. "Next time maybe give me more than a seven-second window!"

"Seven seconds is generous considering—"

"Generous?" Jungkook's voice cracks slightly. "Try mimicking two completely different abilities at once! My brain feels like it's been microwaved!"

The argument washes over you in waves as you press your palm to your forehead. 

The pain isn't unbearable, just... insistent. 

Demanding attention like everything else in this mess of a situation.

Your eyes find Agent Min, seated on the floor several meters away. His right hand grips his left shoulder, features tightening in a microexpression of pain he's clearly trying to suppress. 

The joint looks wrong—angled slightly off anatomical baseline.

"We don't have fucking time." His voice slices through the bickering, rough-edged and final. "They're onto us."

Jungkook whips around. 

“No shit? Why do you think we had to pull this stunt?" His hand sweeps through the air. "We couldn't even reach you with Taehyung's interfacing—you were completely out of range! Thank god Y/N's abilities are something else entirely."

Agent Min's eyes narrow, focusing on Jungkook with an intensity that carries clear warning. 

Not a word. 

Just that look. 

The one that stops conversations dead.

Jungkook registers it immediately, jaw snapping shut, body language shifting from confrontational to compliant in under a second.

Interesting.

They're hiding something about your abilities.

What exactly don't they want you to know?

Taehyung clears his throat—a sound designed to redirect attention. 

He points behind him toward what can only be described as a tear in reality itself. A circular formation pulsing with quantum uncertainty, its borders shifting between states of matter in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.

"What about base first, arguing later?" he suggests, voice calm in that way people get when they're trying too hard.

You wipe blood from your upper lip. Your eyes find Agent Min again, seeking his reaction. His gaze meets yours briefly before sliding away, gold still lingering at the edges of his irises.

Why won't he look at you properly?

What does he know that you don't?

"What is that?" The question falls from your lips before you can stop it, analytical systems demanding data despite everything else.

"Travel spot. Portal to headquarters," Taehyung answers, shoulders relaxing slightly at the subject change.

You shift your weight, preparing to stand, when your temporal readings spike without warning. The numbers flash red: 3.17%

That's not good.

"Stabilize her," Agent Min orders, voice clipped. "Temporal cascade imminent."

Jungkook moves fast, crossing the space between you in under a second. 

His fingers press against your temporal monitor, executing adjustments with practiced precision.

"Breathing," he instructs, tone sliding into something steadier. "Seven in, seven out. Match me."

The contact triggers something—a flash of memory that doesn't quite feel like yours:

Different hands.

Same words.

"Breathe with me, Noma. Focus."

Pain spikes behind your eyes as incompatible memory patterns try to align. The room tilts slightly.

"What happened up there?" Taehyung asks, attention on Agent Min.

"Temporal ambush," he answers, face tight. "Drones masked behind a reality field."

Taehyung's eyebrows rise. "That's still in R&D."

"Apparently not anymore." Agent Min pushes himself upright, grimacing as his shoulder shifts. "They're adapting faster this time."

This time.

As opposed to when?

"Your tendrils connected with his," Jungkook says quietly as he monitors your readings. "That's what stabilized you both mid-fall."

You blink, memory fragments of golden light intertwining in freefall. 

The way your body reacted without conscious direction. 

The impossibility of the physics involved.

Agent Min moves toward the portal with measured steps. "We need to move before CHRONOS tracks the spatial distortion."

"She deserves to know what she can do," Jungkook says, voice low but firm.

Agent Min stops, spine stiffening visibly. 

“When she's ready."

"And who decides that?" Jungkook challenges, though his hands remain gentle on your monitor. "You?"

The tension between them feels old somehow. Well-worn. Like terrain they've crossed many times.

"Portal stability dropping," Taehyung interrupts, hand cutting through the air. "Either we go now, or we're stuck here."

Agent Min's eyes flick between you and the portal, calculations running visible behind his eyes.

“We are leaving.” He simply mutters, final.

“Of course we are.” Jungkook replies with a hint of something almost like resignation.

Your temporal readings begin to stabilize: 1.47% and decreasing.

Jungkook's hands withdraw from your monitor. "Stable enough for transit."

Agent Min approaches, movements careful despite his obvious discomfort. His right hand extends toward you, gloved palm up.

"The first transit is... disorienting," he says, voice dropping to something softer. "Holding on helps with the spatial realignment."

You stare at his outstretched hand. The leather creases in familiar patterns. The angle of his fingers seems to match your palm perfectly.

‘We're designed to fit.’

His earlier words echo through your mind, connecting dots you didn't even know existed.

"Noma," he says quietly. "Trust me on this one."

The nickname bypasses all your analytical systems, triggering responses you can't explain or quantify.

Your hand moves before your brain fully catches up, fingers sliding into his with strange, impossible familiarity.

Your watch beeps once more: Temporal variance: 0.73%.

Stabilizing.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“Let’s go.”

goal: 275 notes

next | index

— taglist

@cannotalwaysbenight @taevanille @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @ktownshizzle @yoongiiuu93 @billy-jeans23 @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @hobis-sprite0218 @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Philosophy

Philosophy - aims to ascertain basic existentialist truths of the world around us.

The term comes from “philosophia,” a word that has Greek and Latin origins.

Philosophers examine the nature of reality by posing philosophical questions or problems that they then attempt to solve through critical thinking.

Branches of Philosophy

Much of the value of philosophy lies in the specialization and categorization of philosophical questions that cannot be easily answered with empirical data or scientific knowledge.

Scholars organize such questions into different branches of thought, although there are perhaps as many ways of categorizing the different branches as there are scholars.

Here are just 3 of the potentially dozens of branches of philosophy:

Epistemology: Also called the theory of knowledge, this analytic philosophy studies the scope, validity, and extent of human knowledge—in other words, concepts surrounding how we can confirm what we think we know is true. Immanuel Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason is an example of epistemology. In this work, Kant disagrees with philosopher David Hume, that our experiences and perceptions of things are subjective—therefore, our knowledge of things is not universal. Epistemology overlaps with many other branches of philosophy since human knowledge is relevant in other areas, such as the philosophy of language and the philosophy of mind.

Ethics: The moral philosophy of ethics is one of the oldest and broadest branches of philosophy. Ethics works to debate values of good and evil and questions where human actions fall on that spectrum. The ancient Greeks struggled with these questions as they developed their societies along two schools of thought—Stoicism and Epicureanism. Although these two schools, established in 300 BC, shared several tenets, they differed in describing the best way to live. Stoics believed that living a just and virtuous life was paramount, while Epicureans believed the search for pleasure should be the highest priority. Due to its broad nature, ethics is pervasive in nearly every academic discipline and overlaps within several other areas of thought, including the philosophy of history, the philosophy of law, and the philosophy of religion.

Metaphysics: The principles of metaphysics question our place in the world and the meaning of life and human existence. Metaphysics, like ethics, began as one of the main branches of philosophy in ancient Greece. One of the premier philosophical works that established the branch was Aristotle’s Physics. In exploring the working mechanics of our reality, Aristotle created foundations of thought that became important to western institutions and religions, like Christianity. Aristotle’s work greatly influenced the thirteenth-century Italian priest Thomas Aquinas, who utilized aspects of Aristotle’s philosophy of nature to confirm the existence of God as the omnipotent architect of the universe. Metaphysics often encompasses or overlaps with the philosophy of science—for example, as scientists grapple with questions related to humanity’s literal and figurative place in the universe.

Historical Figures of Eastern Philosophy

Learn how these notable eastern philosophers shaped their cultures with religion and philosophical breakthroughs throughout the history of philosophy:

Laozi (born circa 570 BCE): The historical existence of Laozi, or Lao Tzu, is disputed, but some believe the Chinese philosopher is the author of the Tao Te Ching, a manuscript central to the philosophical religion known as Daoism (or Taoism). The metaphysical and ethical philosophy promotes living in harmony with nature and doing no harm to others.

Confucius (551–479 BCE): The teachings of this Chinese philosopher and politician formulated the basic tenets of East Asian societies. Known as Confucianism, the Chinese philosophy encouraged family loyalty, ancestral appreciation, and education—concepts that remain important to modern Chinese traditions.

Siddhartha Gautama (born in fifth century BCE): Historians and academics dispute the facts of the life of Siddhartha Gautama, also known as the Buddha. By some traditions, he was born into an aristocratic family and enjoyed an entitled life until he decided to pursue a nomadic and ascetic lifestyle. Over time, people attributed teachings to him on self-restraint, meditation, and mindfulness—ideas that grew into a popular world religion.

Jalāl ad-Dīn Mohammad Rūmī (1207–1273): A thirteenth-century Persian poet, Jalāl ad-Dīn Mohammad Rūmī wrote Quranic verses and Sufi poems that scholars still translate and publish today. A large part of philosophy in Rumi’s poetry is his set of values around love and religion. His philosophy of life focused on using art and self-expression to bring humans closer to God.

Historical Figures of Western Philosophy

Ancient Greek philosophers established western philosophy as early as the sixth century BCE. Here are a handful of Greek philosophy figures who created theoretical foundations and frameworks that future generations could use to question their own complex societies:

Socrates (470–399 BCE): The Athenian philosopher Socrates is credited as the founding father of western philosophy and the Socratic method—a form of questioning that scholars in multiple areas of philosophy use to pinpoint shortcomings in logic or beliefs. His teachings were never published but lived on through the work of his student, Plato.

Plato (428/427–348/347 BCE): An influential thinker of the classical Greek period, Plato is famous for his theory of forms, which questions the connection between our minds and reality. He is also remembered for his several published works, like The Republic, which communicated his social and political philosophy.

Aristotle (384–322 BCE): The philosopher Aristotle was a star pupil of Plato’s (another ancient philosopher) and went on to found his own school, called Lyceum. During his career, Aristotle collected and simplified the philosophies of his predecessors and contributed to philosophical work in nearly every aspect of classical Greek culture. He was the first ancient philosopher to analyze the concept of free will.

René Descartes (1596–1650): A French mathematician and philosopher, René Descartes is best known for the existentialism theories he put forth in Discourse on the Method and his statement: “I think, therefore I am.” Descartes’ natural philosophy and metaphysical inquiries, as well as his thoughts on the existence of God, established him as a pioneer of modern philosophy.

Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770–1831): German philosopher Georg Hegel is best known for his metaphysical concept known as idealism. The concept dictates that the perceptions of a self-conscious mind result in the most accurate interpretations of concrete objects. His work had a dramatic impact on western philosophy in the twentieth century and influenced the works of philosophers Karl Marx and Friedrich Nietzsche.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hi! I hope this ok but I was wondering if you could do a spicy fic with Tech, maybe he gets flustered whenever she’s near and his brothers try to help by getting you do stuff and help him.

Hope you have a great weekend!

“Terminally Yours”

Tech x Reader

Tech was a genius—analytical, composed, articulate.

Until you walked into a room.

You’d joined the Bad Batch on a temporary mission as a communications specialist. The job should have been straightforward. Decode enemy transmissions, secure Republic relays, leave. What you hadn’t planned for was the quiet, bespectacled clone who dropped his hydrospanner every time you got too close.

You leaned over the console, fingers flying across the keypad as you rerouted the relay node Tech had said was “performing with suboptimal efficiency.” You were deep into the override sequence when a clatter behind you made you jump.

Clank.

Tech’s hydrospanner had hit the floor. Again.

You turned, brows raised. “You okay there, Tech?”

He cleared his throat, pushing his goggles up the bridge of his nose as he bent down awkwardly to retrieve the tool. “Yes. Quite. Merely dropped it due to… a temporary lapse in grip strength.”

Hunter’s voice echoed from the cockpit. “More like a temporary lapse in brain function. That’s the fourth time today.”

You smirked and returned to the console. Tech didn’t reply.

⸻

You sat beside Omega, poking at your rations. Tech was on the far end of the table, clearly trying not to look your way while also tracking your every move like a nervous datapad with legs.

“You know,” Omega said loudly, “Tech said he wants help cleaning the data arrays in the cockpit. He said you’re the only one who knows how to handle them.”

Your brow arched. “He did?”

At the other end of the table, Tech choked on his food.

Echo smirked. “Pretty sure that’s not what he said, Omega.”

“It is,” she insisted with wide, innocent eyes. “I asked him who he’d want help from, and he said her name first.”

Wrecker grinned. “And then he blushed!”

“I did not,” Tech muttered, voice strangled.

You bit back a grin. “Well, I am good with arrays…”

Hunter looked at Tech, then at you, then back at his food like it was the most fascinating thing in the galaxy.

⸻

You found Tech alone at the terminal, his fingers flying over the keys. You stepped up beside him, arms brushing.

He froze mid-keystroke.

“I figured I’d help with the arrays,” you said, voice low, letting your hand rest against the console a little closer than necessary. “Since you said I was the best candidate.”

His ears turned red. “That was… an extrapolated hypothetical. I did not anticipate you would take Omega’s report so… literally.”

You leaned in, letting your shoulder press against his. “Is that going to be a problem?”

He inhaled sharply. “I—no. Not at all.”

You brushed your fingers along the edge of the screen, pretending to study the data. “Because I don’t mind helping you, Tech. I actually like working close to you. You’re… brilliant. Kind of cute when you’re flustered, too.”

He blinked behind his goggles. “I—um—I do not often receive comments of that nature—cute, I mean. That is to say—thank you.”

His fingers twitched nervously. You reached over to rest your hand over his.

“You’re welcome. And if you ever want to drop your hydrospanner again to get my attention, Tech, just say something next time.”

“…I’ll keep that in mind.”

⸻

Wrecker, Omega, and Echo crouched behind a supply crate, straining to hear.

“Did she touch his hand?” Omega whispered excitedly.

“Pretty sure she did more than that,” Echo muttered.

Wrecker pumped a fist in the air. “I told you! Get her close enough and boom—Tech-meltdown!”

They high-fived, right before the door to the cockpit opened and you walked out.

You stopped.

They froze.

“…Were you all spying?”

“Uh,” Omega said.

Echo cleared his throat. “More like… observing.”

“Scientific purposes,” Wrecker added. “Real important stuff.”

You rolled your eyes and walked away—but you didn’t miss the grin Echo gave Tech as he slipped inside the cockpit next.

“You owe me ten credits.”

Tech pushed his goggles up. “Worth every credit.”

[alltoomaples]

Speed of Science🧬💻💌

I'm dating a STEM girlie and you're not (F1 Edition)

a/n: and im baaaaaacccckkkkk (like anyone even missed me lmao) with the long overdue request! life of a postgrad StEm girlie here and the struggle is really realll af. but besides that, I'm writing this down as a headcanon for the drivers requested on this poll i had posted long back here. I've always wondered how there's soo minimal povs/ocs where they are a scientific researcher, analyst, etc. sooo i dedicate this one to all the STEM F1 girlies out theree <33

alsoo quick shoutout to my girlieee @smoooothoperator for inspiring and motivating me to get back at writing!🥹🫶🏼 check out her lastest ongoing work 'What Was I Made For? ' its amazing and thats a FACT!! do check her works! its absolutely amazing❤️

check out my works: until i found you masterlist | other works

Scientific Art Illustrator - Charles Leclerc

As a Scientific Art Illustrator, you specialize in creating visually captivating and scientifically accurate illustrations that depict complex biological, astronomical, or technological subjects.

Charles first discovered you through your works at an exhibition where their stunning illustrations of Formula 1 cars caught his eye. Impressed by their attention to detail and artistic talent, they struck up a conversation about their mutual love for precision and creativity.

During a peaceful weekend afternoon, Charles suggests a spontaneous visit to a local art supply store. Excitedly exploring aisles stocked with vibrant paints, fine brushes, and specialized papers, the two of you engage in discussions about artistic techniques and innovative tools. Amidst laughter and shared enthusiasm for creativity, you bond over your mutual appreciation for the intricacies of art and science, making the afternoon a cherished memory of their shared passions.

After being away from home during race season, Charles always finds a framed series of sketches by you for the races you couldn't make it, capturing his most memorable racing moments. Each sketch is intricately detailed, depicting not only the speed and intensity of the races but also the emotions and determination etched on Charles' face. Touched by the thoughtful gesture, Charles hangs the sketches in his study, a constant reminder of your support and admiration for his passion.

...

Data Scientist - Lando Norris

A Data Scientist specializes in analyzing large volumes of data using statistical methods and machine learning techniques to extract insights and make data-driven decisions.

You and Lando first connected through a mutual fascination with racing data at a technology symposium focused on sports analytics. Your presentation on advanced predictive modelling in motorsports caught Lando's attention for its innovative approach to enhancing race strategies.

During a cosy evening at home, Lando playfully challenges you to a friendly data analysis competition using real-time telemetry from previous races. Their banter and shared excitement over dissecting racing data create a lighthearted and memorable bonding experience.

You two would watch old races and analyze historical racing data together, playfully debating optimal pit stop strategies and analyzing driver performance trends, their shared passion for racing and data fostering a deep connection and mutual admiration.

...

Oceanographer/Marine Biologist - Oscar Piastri

An Oceanographer or Marine Biologist studies marine life, ecosystems, and ocean processes to understand and protect marine environments and resources.

You and Oscar crossed paths during a research expedition to study coral reefs in a remote location. Your expertise in marine biology and passion for conservation impressed Oscar, sparking their connection.

Amidst the hectic F1 season, Oscar surprises you with a weekend getaway to a coastal retreat, where they explore tide pools and participate in a beach cleanup together, reaffirming their commitment to environmental stewardship.

You gave Oscar a custom-made charm bracelet featuring miniature charms of marine animals they've discussed during their beach walks and conservation talks. Each charm represents a meaningful moment in their relationship, from their first discussion about oceanography to their shared admiration for marine life. Oscar wears the bracelet during race weekends as a reminder of you and all the love and support you give, both on and off the track.

...

Mechanical Engineer - Daniel Riccardo

You are a passionate Mechanical Engineer, specializing in advanced automotive design and performance optimization.

Daniel first encountered you at a technical conference organized by one of the team sponsors where you presented groundbreaking research on aerodynamic innovations that caught his attention.

Often, while you meticulously draft engineering schematics at their home office, he makes sure that you have your "engineering emergency kit" beside your workstation, which is a tray of snacks and their favourite coffee – ensuring they're fueled for their late-night brainstorming sessions. For when he's away for races, he stacks them up with small cute notes.

Before Daniel heads to a crucial race, you surprise him with a meticulously crafted miniature replica of his race car, complete with detailed decals and a personalized message of encouragement engraved on the base. Touched by the thoughtful gesture, Daniel proudly displays it in his motorhome, a reminder of the reader's unwavering support both on and off the track.

...

Statistician - George Russell

A Statistician specializes in collecting, analyzing, and interpreting numerical data to help organizations and individuals make informed decisions.

You and Russell first crossed paths during a university seminar on advanced statistical modeling in sports. Your insightful analysis of Formula 1 race data caught George's attention, sparking a lively discussion that led to mutual admiration for each other's analytical skills and shared passion for racing statistics.

During a particularly demanding race weekend, the reader surprises George with a meticulously prepared statistical analysis report highlighting his strengths and areas for improvement based on recent race data. This thoughtful gesture boosts George's confidence and motivation, showing the reader's support in his pursuit of excellence.

During a weekend getaway, you guys stumble upon a local go-kart track. George, always up for a challenge, suggests they have a friendly race. Knowing George's competitive spirit, you secretly calculate his optimal strategy and surprise him by winning with a perfectly executed last-minute overtaking maneuver. George is impressed by the your strategic thinking and playfulness, and they share a lighthearted and joyous moment celebrating their shared love for racing and friendly competition.

...

Astrophysicist - Logan Sargeant

An Astrophysicist studies the physical properties, behavior, and evolution of celestial objects such as stars, planets, galaxies, and the universe as a whole, using principles of physics and astronomy.

Logan and you first crossed paths during an expedition to study a rare astronomical event—a comet passing close to Earth. Both passionate about astrophysics, you found yourselves sharing a telescope at a remote observatory, marveling at the comet's beauty and discussing its celestial significance late into the night. Their shared awe and intellectual connection sparked a mutual admiration that grew into a deep bond over their shared passion for exploring the wonders of the cosmos.

During a quiet evening at home, Logan excitedly shows you a new telescope he acquired for stargazing during race weekends, expressing his eagerness to learn more about the cosmos together and sharing their enthusiasm for both racing and astrophysics in equal measure.

Before a critical race weekend, the reader surprises Logan with a personalized star chart that maps out the night sky above the upcoming race venue during the race weekend. Each star on the chart is marked with a heartfelt message of encouragement, reminding Logan of their unwavering support and belief in his abilities on and off the track. Touched by the thoughtful gesture, Logan treasures the star chart as a symbol of the reader's love and encouragement throughout his racing career.

...

Climate Scientist - Lance Stroll

A Climate Scientist studies climate patterns, environmental changes, and their impacts on Earth's ecosystems, using data analysis and modeling to understand and address global climate challenges.

Lance crossed paths with you at an eco-friendly racing event where Lance was advocating for sustainable practices in motorsport. Being a respected climate scientist, you caught Lance's attention with your insightful presentation on the environmental impact of racing and innovative solutions for reducing carbon footprints in the sport. Their shared passion for sustainability sparked an immediate connection and admiration for each other's dedication to making a positive impact on the environment.

One weekend, Lance surprises you with a homemade dinner featuring sustainably sourced ingredients, proudly showcasing his culinary skills while discussing ways to reduce your carbon footprint. His earnest commitment to sustainability and your shared vision for a healthier planet melts your heart, making this a cherished moment you both treasure.

You, being deeply involved in climate science, often spends late nights analyzing data or writing research papers. One evening, Lance bring him a cozy blanket and a mug of your favorite hot beverage, quietly sitting beside him as he works. You look up from your laptop, touched by his thoughtfulness, and pulls him into a warm embrace, grateful for his unwavering support and understanding of your demanding but vital work.

...

taglist: @lndonrris @thatgirlmj @lwstuff @dannyramirezwife-f1dump @moonypixel tysm for your suggestions! apologies on taking this long to write😅🫶🏼

a/n: hope y'all enjoyed reading this! this was my first time writing a headcanon and for f1 drivers beside charles and lando so hope i did justice to all.

i'm being wanting to read some good domestic bliss, sweet, adorable and lovey dovey blurbs, fics of lando (i talked abt it here) soo maybe i'll work on some drafts at some point cause i'm currently in the middle of project work of my masters degree soo don't know when i'll be posting soo until next time, see yaaa and going back to read mode 👋💓✨️

check out my works: until i found you masterlist | other works

[astrologydray]

♍️Virgo Mc in the each of the degrees♍️

If you have a Virgo Midheaven (MC), your career and public image are shaped by Virgo’s themes of precision, analysis, service, and mastery. You likely thrive in careers requiring problem-solving, organization, and attention to detail, such as healthcare, science, writing, education, research, or business administration.

• 0° Virgo (Aries Point) – A powerful initiator in service-based or intellectual fields. May gain recognition in medicine, science, or social reform.

• 1° Virgo – A perfectionist with strong critical thinking skills. Could succeed in editing, analytics, or quality control.

• 2° Virgo – A talented communicator; could thrive in writing, journalism, or teaching.

• 3° Virgo – An analytical mind, ideal for investigative work, research, or forensics.

• 4° Virgo – A love for learning and refinement; may excel in academia, law, or technical writing.

• 5° Virgo – A meticulous worker; likely to succeed in finance, administration, or data analysis.

• 6° Virgo – Naturally inclined toward healthcare, therapy, or alternative medicine.

• 7° Virgo – A precise, creative thinker; may find success in graphic design, architecture, or craftsmanship.

• 8° Virgo – Drawn to healing professions, including nutrition, physical therapy, or holistic medicine.

• 9° Virgo – A problem-solver with innovative ideas. Could thrive in technology, engineering, or logistics.

• 10° Virgo – A strong educator; may work in teaching, coaching, or mentoring.

• 11° Virgo – A tech-savvy, analytical mind; may excel in IT, cybersecurity, or programming.

• 12° Virgo – A perfectionist in fashion, music, or fine arts. Success through precise craftsmanship.

• 13° Virgo – A highly responsible worker; may thrive in law enforcement, military, or humanitarian work.

• 14° Virgo – Health-conscious with a sharp mind. Could be drawn to dietetics, fitness, or medical research.

• 15° Virgo – A master of writing, editing, or academic research.

• 16° Virgo – Business-minded; excels in consulting, financial planning, or business strategy.

• 17° Virgo – A detail-oriented expert; could work in surgery, pharmaceuticals, or scientific research.

• 18° Virgo – A deep humanitarian drive; drawn to nonprofits, environmental work, or psychology.

• 19° Virgo – A critical thinker who excels in law, politics, or policy-making.

• 20° Virgo – A master of their craft; recognized for expertise in specialized fields.

• 21° Virgo – Exceptionally intellectual; may thrive in philosophy, academia, or technical writing.

• 22° Virgo – An innovative thinker; could work in product design, systems development, or efficiency consulting.

• 23° Virgo – A strong researcher; may specialize in history, archeology, or science.

• 24° Virgo – An excellent communicator; may succeed in broadcasting, publishing, or public relations.

• 25° Virgo – A sharp and strategic mind; could work in legal fields, investigative journalism, or intelligence.

• 26° Virgo – A healer at heart; may be drawn to nursing, surgery, or psychological counseling.

• 27° Virgo – A gifted analyst; could thrive in economics, data science, or cybersecurity.

• 28° Virgo – A precise and disciplined artist; success in sculpture, architecture, or technical art.

• 29° Virgo (Anaretic Degree) – A master strategist, perfectionist, or critic. Success comes through expertise, refinement, and precision. However, may struggle with overanalyzing or career indecision.

[lovezbrownies]

Julie with a golden retriever reader

oomf i wrote half of this half asleep i am going to be busy for the next two days so i needed to post it, if you see any mistakes or shitty writing just ignore it for now ><

Soft on you. (Yandere!Mad Scientist x GN!Reader.)

Julie's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: A nice fluffy time with your cold calculating girlfriend!

Julie McCanister x GN!Reader

Warnings: Julie acts cold but actually is warm

Julie’s office was a sanctuary of silence, where the relentless hum of the computer and the rustling of papers created a symphony of productivity. In this controlled environment, Julie found solace. Her mind operated with a precision akin to the algorithms she worked with—logical, detached, and almost robotic in its efficiency. Each piece of data, each variable, fell into place with a calculated inevitability. This was her domain, her world where chaos was meticulously tamed and where emotions had little room to disrupt the order she had carefully constructed.

Yet, despite the serene predictability of her scientific realm, there was an unpredictable element that frequently disrupted her meticulously ordered life. That element was you.

You entered her world with a boundless, almost reckless energy, a stark contrast to the calm, controlled atmosphere of her lab. Your presence was like a vibrant splash of color on a monochromatic canvas, and Julie often found herself both bemused and captivated by your ceaseless enthusiasm. Your energy was a whirlwind that swept through her world, leaving a trail of laughter and lightness in its wake. Today, as you burst into the room, it was no different. The door swung open with a cheerful push, and there you were, radiating excitement as though you were a sunbeam breaking through a cloudy day.

“Jules!” you called out, your voice a musical lilt that cut through the ambient hum of the office like a knife. You skipped into the room, an infectious grin plastered across your face. The sheer vibrancy of your presence seemed to ripple through the air, a stark contrast to the sterile environment. Your arms were hidden behind your back, adding an element of playful suspense to your appearance. “Guess what I brought you!”

Julie’s fingers paused mid-type, her eyes flicking away from the screen to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and mild irritation. Her sharp, analytical gaze met your effervescent one, and she struggled to reconcile the dissonance between your vibrant energy and her own more restrained demeanor. But there was an undercurrent of something deeper in her gaze—an obsessive attention to every detail of you that she couldn’t quite hide, despite her best efforts to maintain her composure. “I’m not in the mood for guessing games,” she replied, her tone clipped but not unkind. There was an underlying softness in her words, a reluctant acknowledgment of the warmth you brought into her otherwise orderly world.

You, however, were undeterred. If anything, your grin widened, fueled by the challenge of drawing her out of her shell. “Oh, come on,” you persisted, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just one guess! I promise it’s something you’ll love.”

Julie sighed, her lips twitching with the barest hint of a smile. “If it’s something I’ll love, then it’s probably coffee,” she surmised, her tone carrying a hint of resigned amusement. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a practiced air of nonchalance, though her gaze betrayed a flicker of anticipation. Her mind was already racing ahead, fixated on the idea of what might be hidden behind your back. The prospect of you surprising her, of you bringing something into her life that she hadn't meticulously planned for, intrigued her deeply.

You shook your head, an exaggerated gasp escaping your lips. “Nope! Well, I did get you coffee too, but that’s not the surprise.” With a flourish, you revealed the small box of chocolates, its golden foil shimmering under the office lights. “Ta-da!”

Julie’s eyebrow arched in an almost imperceptible show of amusement as she took in the sight of the chocolates. The box was elegant, its packaging a testament to the thought you’d put into choosing it. She had always been a creature of habit, preferring practicality over indulgence, but there was something undeniably charming about the way you had gone out of your way to select a treat that you knew would bring her joy. The meticulous care with which you chose the chocolates was a detail she fixated on with an intensity that belied her usual demeanor.

“Chocolates,” she stated, her voice flat but not devoid of warmth. Her fingers reached out to take the box from you, brushing against yours in the process. The contact was brief but electric, a momentary connection that spoke volumes more than words could convey. She was acutely aware of every nuance of the touch, a testament to her obsessive nature. “I suppose you think this will somehow improve my productivity.”

You laughed, the sound a bright, melodic chime that filled the room with its infectious joy. “Well, I thought it might provide a little boost. Plus, I know you like these,” you said, your eyes alight with a mixture of mischief and affection. “Even if you pretend not to be obsessed with them.”

Julie’s gaze softened as she examined the box of chocolates, her usually stoic expression giving way to a rare, fleeting smile. It was a smile that rarely appeared outside the confines of your company, a testament to the subtle impact you had on her otherwise meticulously controlled emotions. Her fingers lingered on the box, an indication of how thoroughly she was savoring the moment. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, though there was no real edge to her words. The fondness in her voice was unmistakable, even if she tried to disguise it behind her usual veneer of detachment. Her obsessive fixation on you and the little things you did for her was a side of her she seldom allowed to show.

“Only for you,” you replied, your tone light and playful as you reached over to gently nudge her with your shoulder. The contact was casual, yet it conveyed an intimacy that spoke of the deep bond between you. “I thought you could use a break. And, you know, who doesn’t love a little sugar?”

Julie rolled her eyes with a barely concealed smirk, though she took the chocolate box with a more genuine gesture of appreciation. She selected a piece, savoring the rich flavor with an almost begrudging acknowledgment of its merits. The treat was as delicious as she had expected, a small indulgence that offered a brief respite from the relentless grind of her work. The way she savored each bite spoke of her intense attention to detail and her obsessive nature, even when it came to the smallest pleasures.

“You’re ridiculous,” Julie said, though the words lacked their usual bite. There was a softness in her tone, a quiet gratitude that she rarely expressed so openly. She met your gaze with an unspoken message—a message that said she was thankful, even if she didn’t always know how to express it in the conventional ways.

You beamed at her, your eyes sparkling with genuine delight. “Anytime, Jules. I’m always here for you.”

Julie’s gaze softened, her eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something more vulnerable. She leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken emotions, of a connection that transcended the boundaries of her usually controlled demeanor. It was a kiss that said more than words ever could, a silent affirmation of the love and appreciation that lay beneath her stoic exterior.

As you pulled away, your eyes met hers, and in that fleeting moment, there was a shared understanding—a recognition of the quiet, profound bond that existed between you. It was a bond that didn’t require grand gestures or elaborate declarations, but rather a simple, honest connection that was evident in every touch, every glance, and every shared moment of intimacy.

With a contented sigh, Julie settled back into the cushions, her arm slipping around you in a protective embrace. The movie might have ended, but the warmth of the evening lingered, a gentle reminder of the love and affection that defined your relationship. And as you snuggled closer, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the quiet comfort of each other’s presence—a presence that was both grounding and uplifting, a perfect balance of logic and love, science and spontaneity.

In the dim light of the living room, as the last echoes of the film faded into silence, you and Julie remained nestled together, a perfect harmony of contrasts. The night was still young, and in the sanctuary of your shared space, there was a profound sense of peace, a quiet contentment that spoke of the deep, unspoken connection you shared.

The evening’s warmth had settled around the two of you like a comforting blanket, the soft glow of the living room lights casting a gentle aura over the space. The movie had ended, its final credits rolling silently on the screen, leaving behind the lingering echoes of laughter and the rustle of popcorn. The room was now filled with the soothing sound of your soft breaths and the occasional flicker of a nearby candle.

As you nestled closer into the cushions, the gentle rhythm of your breathing creating a steady, calming backdrop, Julie’s fingers traced idle patterns on your arm. Her touch was deliberate and tender, a stark contrast to the otherwise calculated precision with which she approached her work. Each caress was a reflection of her deep-seated affection, a silent acknowledgment of the way your presence brought an unexpected warmth into her meticulously controlled life.

Your head rested against her chest, your eyes half-closed in contentment as you basked in the afterglow of the evening. You could feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest, a soothing reminder of her presence. It was moments like these that you cherished—the quiet, intimate spaces where words were unnecessary, and emotions spoke through simple gestures.

Julie’s gaze shifted from the flickering candlelight to you, her eyes softening with a blend of admiration and affection. She took a deep breath, allowing herself to savor the serene moment before her. With an almost imperceptible shift, she tilted her head slightly, her lips brushing against your temple in a soft, fleeting kiss, as though she'd become addicted to kissing you as of late—like the multiple times she'd peppered your skin in kisses when you're dead asleep. The contact was tender, a gentle press of warmth and affection that spoke volumes more than any elaborate declaration could.

The kiss was brief but full of meaning, a quiet declaration of her feelings in a way that felt both natural and deeply sincere. Julie’s lips lingered just a fraction longer than necessary, her touch lingering with a tenderness that contrasted with her usual reserved demeanor. It was a moment of vulnerability and connection, a soft, unspoken acknowledgment of the deep bond that existed between you.

As she pulled back, her eyes met yours with a silent, affectionate promise. There was no need for words; the kiss had conveyed everything that needed to be said. You smiled up at her, the warmth of the moment reflected in your eyes. Julie’s gaze softened further, her usual composure giving way to a rare, genuine smile that spoke of the profound affection she held for you.

In the quiet of the evening, the gentle embrace of the kiss lingered, a small but significant testament to the love and connection that defined your relationship. It was a reminder that even in the most ordinary moments, the depth of your bond was always present, a quiet, unspoken truth that provided a comforting anchor in the midst of life’s complexities.

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: As the new research assistant to the Astrum Unit, you have a rather embarrassing secret. You're a superfan of the renowned team now based in the Forbidden Lands.

About to come face to face with your idols, it's up to you to prove your worth (before Athos sniffs out your Olivia figurine collection or Erik drags you straight into the jaws of a monster). [GN Reader character]

Genres: Humour, fluff, crack.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

(Wrote this silly little fic in between getting work done. Have some Astrum Unit shenanigans!)

PART 1

The airship arrived during the season of Plenty.

Feet planted on the deck, overalls dampened by the light showers that blew in periodically from the coast, your grip on the handrails grew white-knuckled.

You were here, finally!

Below you, the desert vista brushed edges with sweeping grasslands, the majestic arch of the Wind's Gasp growing more visible through the haze.

The airship was heading for the Base Camp of the Windward Plains, where you would be tasked to assist the research team of the Astrum Unit.

Recent events, including connections with various settlements throughout the area, and the appearance of stronger tempered monsters, had allowed for the researchers here to sink greater footholds into understanding the complex ecosystems and fine balances maintained in the Forbidden Lands.

As such, a greater workforce was needed to handle the growing influx of samples, the cataloguing, to bolster the field teams and to process the huge amounts of data.

Your own specialty was scientific illustration. It had been something of a risk, choosing to hone your skills in this area. Back home, the ecological research centre prized analytics and novel scientific methods. Your illustrations were the kind more favoured in the field, and those selected to pioneer such efforts in unchartered lands were the best of the best.

In spite of it all, you'd been selected for this expedition. You had lived for this moment, for being here, on the deck of this airship, shifting your weight from one foot to the other in anticipation so severe you thought you'd felt a wave of nausea coming on.

There was something else driving your burning ambition, you see.

You were, undeniably, an absolute fan of the fabled Astrum Unit and their exploits, which had traveled back to you in your dusty little loft at the academy.

You'd spent the last few years poring over the monthly gazettes, the new research breakthroughs that came from the Forbidden Lands, the engineering marvels and innovations, the brand new materials and animal parts, the plethora of new data that your colleagues fluttered over like excited hummingbirds.

But you'd known about the Astrum Unit's members from before the expedition. You'd seen brilliant, eccentric Erik's star rise, the illustrious (and thrilling) career of Captain Olivia and her palico, Athos, the steady path that Werner forged for himself, an engineering attack dog set upon each new puzzle with unerring focus.

You had a collection of all of their exploits pasted across one of your walls, along with the small figurines you'd custom carved from ironwood, each with their own distinctive set of clothing or armour.

You had managed to dig through the academy archives to find prototypes of Werner's earliest projects, Erik's masterful bound presentations of endemic life and pieces of Olivia's favoured training dummy (which was more scrap metal than monster-shaped, as expected of something that had been repeatedly smacked with a huge hammer). 

Of course, little of that cherished collection of items had made it onto the airship with you. They were safely locked away with the rest of your possessions back home (except for your precious figurines which had made the journey in your backpack).

Besides, you had so many new memories to make (and the fact that you wouldn't want your new comrades to think you too weird or obsessive, haha).

A shout from up on the prow caught your attention, and you rushed forward, eager for your first glimpse of the camp you'd been longing to see.

The airship pulled slowly into the dock, sinking until the deck was on level with a sloping gang plank. You gawped at the sheer scale of the camp, which had been steadily expanding over the past few years. It was certainly a lot larger than you seen in those early (amateurishly) sketched illustrations.

You got behind a large barrel and started to help push it out, availing yourself to the crew members and palico teams offloading the cargo into the waiting area.

Once the airship had been fully divested of its cargo, and your belongings were safely carried off deck, you tugged on the straps of your backpack and started to make your way towards the most nerve-wracking objective thus far; meeting the rest of your team.

You had no aspirations of making the acquaintances of the revered leaders today. They'd probably be out on important missions and business. You'd settle for meeting the rest of the research team. Hopefully, there'd be others as green as you clearly were.

You soon found yourself outside the Astrum main tent, which was simple in design and feature. Looking around, you couldn't spot anyone of note.

There was a research station set up nearby, devoid of personnel, and you decided to pitch your belongings there and wait for direction.

You really were itching to get to work, so out came your art supplies, the stack of sketchbooks with custom-made stain-proof and water-proof covers, the grids for proportion, the various tools for preparing your drawing implements. You'd also brought along several scientific journals and reference books as a guideline for your future work.

Scattered over the research table were various objects, small jars of preserved specimens, plants growing in small wooden troughs, larger bones and what appeared to be an interesting collection of animal teeth.

Among them was a Quematrice feather, the outstanding quality of the specimen immediately catching your eye.

What colour! And what form!

You just had to make a sketch. Maybe add more details later.

Occupied as you became with your current task, it did come as something of a surprise when a voice spoke up behind you.

"Wow! You're really skilled! And so quick at getting down the basics too."

Smiling sheepishly, you added a last touch before setting aside the sketchbook.

"Oh, I've had a lot of practice. Spent the last few years - "

Your voice died in your throat.

Standing before you, in a worn coat with pockets that could probably contain an entire ecosystem, was none other than THE Erik of the Astrum Unit.

Silvery hair cascaded forward over one eye, his elfish visage gave him a deceptively boyish charm, one that you knew all too well hid a razor sharp intellect and an analytic ability far beyond the norm. 

Seeing your dumbfounded expression, his eyes curved upward cheerfully and he gave a small wave.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm from the Astrum Unit."

He leaned towards you conspiratorially.

"I don't know why, but sometimes the newer teams coming in think I'm some kind of weirdo trying to sell them insect repellent."

He spread his hands and shrugged.

"I mean, I'd sell you something, sure. But you can bet it would attract every bug in the area so I can observe their mating habits!"

With that ... concerning pronouncement, accompanied by a small giggle, he promptly turned and bustled over to the research station, exclaiming in delight when he saw that you'd set up already.

Re-discovering your ability to move, you followed him in a half-daze.

Erik! Erik? It was him! It was really him!

You couldn't lose this opportunity to actually unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth and make a good impression -

Erik was still rambling.

" - and I was just telling Olivia that I need to get out in the field soon to observe more of the Doshaguma herd, because they're already showing signs of competing for the alpha position, and - "

Just name-dropping Olivia so casually!

You nearly choked on your own saliva. Mind scrambling to piece together the information he'd just provided you with, you interjected hesitantly.

"Ah ... you're going into the field soon? For observation?"

"Yeah! If Olivia allows me."

He turned hurriedly and ... was he stuttering? Was he trying to explain himself to you?

"I mean ... not that I need Olivia's explicit permission or anything, haha. It's just a formality. There are other hunters who could accompany me. You know. For safety. And - "

"What's this about other hunters, Erik?"

Erik glanced past you and blanched a little, ruffling his hair with a nervous hand.

"Ah, Olivia! Didn't expect you so soon! I was just telling - "

His words were rapidly vanishing into the depths of the cosmos as you took a moment to absorb what he'd just uttered.

Olivia? Olivia? Was he -

No. No, it couldn't be. If you turned around now -

And doing exactly that, you came face to face with an imposing pair of buckles over white and green armour, those particular shades ingrained in your mind from the sheer number of times you'd re-painted your dozen small Olivia figurines.

Your eyes tracked upward and -

Holy mother of Khezu, what a woman.

Tall, statuesque, blonde hair flicked out in signature rakish style above the simple silver hoops in each ear, Olivia was every bit the charismatic figure you'd imagined, and more.

Her pale, sea-green gaze flicked over you with curiosity, sharp, observant, assessing. She offered a small nod of greeting which you, somehow, shakily returned.

And now she was holding out her hand for you to shake!

No. No, you couldn't let yourself be reduced to a quivering spectator between the two collosi of your dreaming world.

Straightening your back, you took her hand, some unacknowledged part of your brain screaming that you'd never wash that particular appendage again.

Her grip was powerful enough to fling you across the breadth of the camp. Probably.

"Olivia, of the Astrum Unit. That there's Erik, our Head Researcher."

Oh boy, if only they knew how much you knew. Best not to speculate.

You cleared your throat, voice emerging slightly hoarse.

"Um, I do know who you are, Captain. The honour's all mine."

She waved you off, seemingly unconcerned with the title.

"Just Olivia will do. And you are?"

You introduced yourself, internally cringing at how stilted your speech emerged.

" ... and I'm here to assist the Astrum Unit with my particular skill set, scientific illustration."

Erik danced into your view, shaking something in front of Olivia's face. She leaned back and squinted at it and -

Wait, was that your sketch? WHEN DID HE -

He shot you a sunny smile.

"Oh, your drawing was so great that I just decided to borrow it. That's not a problem, right? Look, Olivia! This is the kind of detail I've been looking for!"

She took the sketch from his hand and - oh goodness, was Olivia looking over your work and nodding in approval?

Glancing up at you, she offered a small smile which punched the breath right out of your chest harder than a Gravios blast.

"I guess it is as Erik says. You're certainly talented, and I'm sure his research team will benefit from your skills."

She rolled up the paper and whacked him smartly over the head with it, ignoring his plaintive protest.

"Just keep an eye on him. He tends to run off at times and if he does, just report to me and Athos."

Erik huffed ruefully.

"They don't even know who Athos is!"

"Oh, of course I know who Athos is!" you blurted out, "That's Captain Olivia's most trusted partner."

Panic immediately rose in your chest as they both stared at you.

Oh no. Now you'd gone and done it. They'd think you were some kind of crazy-

Olivia's expression suddenly morphed to something much warmer, and she looked you over as if re-forming an opinion.

"You're absolutely right. Not everyone refers to Athos as my partner, but once they see her in action, it's usually a wake-up call."

You had somehow managed to make a good impression with that statement, but you were aware that it all came down  to how well you knew Astrum Unit. Olivia had met with Athos in the early days of her career and they'd been inseparable ever since.

Olivia paused and looked around, brow furrowing.

"Speaking of which, where's - "

"There she is!"

Erik pointed in the direction of the research station. Near your belongings was none other than Athos the palico, resplendent white fur gleaming in the dim lamplight within the cavern, nose glued to ... your backpack?

And ... oh Raving Rathalos, was she focusing on the pocket where you'd kept the only portable items in your collection, the small figurines of Erik, Olivia, Werner and Athos herself?

Hurrying over, you stopped before her, bowing awkwardly in greeting. She stopped her examination, clear, curious eyes taking in your form. You felt sweat break out along your brow. There was something about her gaze that felt like she could plumb the depths of your soul.

After a few moments, she bowed slightly back, responding in the muted mewl of Lynian.

"Well met, mew recruit."

She left your backpack alone, scampering over to Olivia's side.

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Olivia smiled down at Athos before turning briskly to you.

"How do you feel about hitting the ground running? We've got a survey in the plains tomorrow. There've been sightings of a tempered Rathian. Erik, you should be able to observe the Doshaguma herd while I observe you."

She shot him a look that reminded you of a hawk pinning a rabbit to an empty mountainside. Erik grinned in return.

"It's not like I'd run off on you or anything!"

He tugged at your sleeve eagerly.

"Now's your chance to join us. Bring your special sketchpad. Who knows how much more could be accurately recorded if we have you along as illustrator!"

You let out a shaky breath.

"Of course I'll be there! You can count on me!"

Olivia nodded.

"Excellent. We'll re-group at the main entrance at first light tomorrow. Erik, get our newest recruit oriented. Get Fritz to set them up with a seikret and field pouch for their supplies, and brief them on researcher safety protocols in the - "

She cut off abruptly, eyes narrowing as Erik blinked innocently back at her.

"Actually, forget that. I'll get someone else to brief them on safety protocols in the field."

"I'm perfectly capable of that, you know!"

Ignoring him, Olivia placed her hands on her hips and addressed you again.

"We watch each other's backs out there, so look out for your teammates and mind their signals. Welcome to the Astrum Unit, new recruit."

If there was a backing track to your simple academic life, it was at this moment that it swelled to a deafening anthem of heroic exploits.

Here comes adventure! Here come the accolades! Here comes the chance to prove yourself to the very members you've idolized for goodness knows how long and -

A soft tap to your forehead brought you back to focus as Olivia lowered her hand, her expression a combination of amused and concerned.

"Hey, you okay? Looked like you were forgetting to breathe for a minute there."

Erik gave an enthusiastic nod.

"It's exciting, isn't it?"

Athos held out a furry paw.

"Hunting is like catnip, but don't get confused and try to catch your own tail, mewbie."

You adopted an expression of fierce focus.

"I'll do my best!"

[cryptotheism]

Did premodern European alchemists, natural philosophers, etc have a coherent philosophy of science? Like did they have a coherent methodology for finding truth, in the way that we have observations and statistics and hypotheses now?

No, but-

They weren't scientists, and didn't have a coherent theory of the scientific method, but all the pieces were there, and the scholarly/analytical practices of the time were often "very science-like" in that they placed a lot of focus on the induction of new knowledge through repeated experiment.

Like, when I dove into the Islamic alchemists, I was surprised by just how encyclopediac their writing is. The biggest change from the byzantine to the Islamic Alchemists is that the Islamic alchemists were really good at writing things down in a formal, comprehensible way. Some of Rhazes's work damn near reads like a list of materials and their properties, followed by recipes. It's extremely systematic.

And that followed into the retranslation movement when alchemy was reintroduced to Europe. BUT premodern European alchemists were more entrepreneurial in character. They were more concerned with demonstrating practical results than loftier goals like the long-term preservation of knowledge, but they were all pulling from these translated Islamic encyclopedias.

So while they didn't have a coherent theory of science, they had a wealth of standardized, systemized data that they would fiddle with, and when they got good results, they would publish a book about it hoping to get a job. It's not formalized science, but you can see how all the pieces were there.

[techtoio]

How Big Data Analytics is Changing Scientific Discoveries

Introduction

In the contemporary world of the prevailing sciences and technologies, big data analytics becomes a powerful agent in such a way that scientific discoveries are being orchestrated. At Techtovio, we explore this renewed approach to reshaping research methodologies for better data interpretation and new insights into its hastening process. Read to continue

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from CBS News:

Extreme heat caused by emissions from 111 fossil fuel companies cost an estimated $28 trillion between 1991 and 2020, according to researchers at Dartmouth College.

Their study, which was published Wednesday in "Nature," presents a peer-reviewed method for tying emissions to specific climate harms. Their goal is to help hold companies liable for the cost of extreme weather, similar to holding the tobacco industry liable for lung cancer cases or pharmaceutical companies liable for the opioid crisis.

The research firm Zero Carbon Analytics counts 68 lawsuits filed globally about climate change damage, with more than half of them in the United States.

"We argue that the scientific case for climate liability is closed," wrote the study's authors, Christopher Callahan, who received his PhD from Dartmouth College, and Justin Mankin, a Dartmouth Department of Geography professor.

About a third of the total cost was attributed to five companies, which can be tied to more than $9 trillion in climate damage, according to the study. 

These are the top-emitting companies and the dollar amount the researchers estimate they are responsible for:

Saudi Aramco: $2.05  trillion

Gazprom: $2  trillion

Chevron:  $1.98  trillion 

ExxonMobil:  $1.91 trillion

BP: $1.45  trillion

The researchers figured that every 1% of greenhouse gas put into the atmosphere since 1990 has caused $502 billion in damage from heat alone, which doesn't include the costs incurred by other extreme weather such as hurricanes, droughts and floods. Emissions data is taken from the public Carbon Majors database, they said. 

They used 1,000 different computer simulations to translate those emissions into changes for Earth's global average surface temperature by comparing it to a world without that company's emissions.

Using this approach, they determined that pollution from Chevron, for example, has raised the Earth's temperature by .045 degrees Fahrenheit.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

This WILL affect you.

"CDC was massacred. Entire divisions and topic areas completely wiped out. The future of public health is grim. These are some of the programs that were terminated:

IOD (Immediate Office of the Director) * OHE (Office of Health Equity) * OEEO (Office of Equal Employment Opportunity) * OC (Office of Communications)/ DMR (Division of Media Relations)/Broadcast and Multimedia Branch; Digital; Broadcast

OCOO (Office of Chief Operating Officer)/ * Much of OHR (Human Resources) * OFR (Office of Financial Resources) * OAS (Office of Acquisition Services) - only OD remains * FOIA (Freedom of Information Act) - entire office

NCCDPHP (National Center for Chronic Disease Prevention and Health Promotion) * OD/ OIIRM (Office of Informatics & Information Resources Management), OPHP (Office of Public Health Practice) * DOH (Division of Oral Health) * DRH (Division of Reproductive Health)/FSB (Field Services Branch), WHFB (Women's Health and Fertility Branch) * DPH (Division of Population Health)/ Prevention Research and Translation Branch (PRTB), ESB (Epidemiology and Surveillance Branch), HAB (Health Aging Branch) * OSH (Office on Smoking and Health)

NCHHSTP (National Center for HIV, Viral Hep, STD, TB) * Director reassigned to Indian Health Service * DTBE (Division of TB Elimination)/ CEBSB (Communication, Education, and Behavioral Studies Branch) * DHP (Division of HIV Prevention) / BCSB (Behavioral and Clinical Surv Branch); PCB (Prevention Communication Branch); HPCDB (HIV Prevention Capacity Development Branch); HRB (HIV Research Branch); QSB (Qualitative Sciences Branch) * DSTDP (Division of STD Prevention)/ SLRRB (STD Lab Reference and Research Branch); DIRB (Disease Intervention and Response Branch) * DVH (Division of Viral Hepatitis)/Lab Branch GHC (Global Health Center) * Director reassigned to Indian Health Service * DGHT (Division of Global HIV and TB)/ PBEMB (Program Budget Extramural Management Branch); MCHB (Maternal and Child Health Branch); EHSRB (Economics and Health Services Research Branch); HIDMSB (Health informatics, Data management, and Statistics Branch); SPIN (Special Initiatives Branch) - SPICE (Strategy, Policy, and Communications Branch); SIB (Scientific Integrity Branch)

NCIPC (National Center for Injury Prevention and Control) * DVP (Division of Violence Prevention) * DIP (Division of Injury Prevention) * Office of Informatics

NCEH (National Center for Environmental Health) * DEHSP (Division of Environmental Health Science & Practice) * Asthma and Air Quality Branch * Childhood Lead Poisoning Prevention

NCIRD (National Center for Immunization and Respiratory Diseases) * ISD (Immunization Services Division)/PHEB (Partnership and Health Equity Branch)

NCBDDD (National Center on Birth Defects and Developmental Disabilities) * OD (Office of the Director) * DHDD (Division of Human Development and Disability)/DHB (Disability and Health Promotion Branch) * DBDPHG (Division of Blood Disorders and Public Health Genomics)/Blood Disorders Surveillance and Epidemiology Branch; Hemostasis Lab Branch

NCEZID (National Center for Emerging and Zoonotic Infectious Diseases) * Deputy Director reassigned to IHS

ORR (Office of Readiness and Response) * CFA (Center for Forecasting and Outbreak Analytics)/Technology Branch; Director to IHS

NIOSH (National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health) - All except World Trade Center and DCAS * OD (Office of the Director) * HELD (Health Effects Lab Division) * RHD (Respiratory Health Division) * DSI (Division of Science Integration) * Office of Mine Safety and Health Research * NPPTL (National Personal Protective Technology Laboratory) * Pittsburgh Mining Research Division * Spokane Mining Research Division * Office of Extramural coordination * Office of DDMOCP * Human Capital Management Office * Facilities Management office * IT * Policy Planning and Evaluation * Division of Science Integration * Education and information division * Information resources branch * Science application branch * Social science and translation * Training research and evaluation * Risk evaluation branch * Emerging technologies branch"

(Thanks Lenore Thompson)

[xinnabon]

—Vulnerability.

#Kaveh x gn!reader

Summary; You work in a prestigious, private institute with Kaveh that focuses on Mathematical and Scientific research. You, as the best researcher in the Science and Technology department have been offered to present your proposal to the head of the institute. Kaveh, in the Mathematical and Analytical Data department, was rejected. He later then confronts you in your office after your presentation.

#rivals to lovers , #modern au

A/N; Accepting requests! (no nsfw.)

“5 minutes. That’s all.”

The door was practically still swung open after Kaveh looked so triumphed over how your proposal was made excruciatingly and impressively well. Enough to convince your lead directors that you deserve a higher promotion by introducing your topic to the board. Serving the institute for years with determination and a performance that can make your colleagues– hell, even your bosses envy you. You have that effect and advantage over people.

Kaveh on the other hand was just as efficient as you. You’ve come across him during one of the events that was held a few years ago when you were still new. A partnered collaboration between two people from two different departments of the institute. You’ve observed that Kaveh was too overly impetuous when it comes to decision-making and disorganized. He has been in the institute for more than you have, which he is practically a level ahead of you but, he has seen you. He thinks that you are someone that is extremely qualified to be here.

You finished with the presentation a few hours ago. Kaveh knew about your promotion to abroad with an elite, leading position. He knows that you’re not entirely someone considered to be average. You’re too ambitious. That is what Kaveh incredibly envies you about. Your performance, status and competency– Everything about you makes him so… irritated.

“I’ve heard about your promotion.”

“I didn’t take it.”

He just stood there. Maybe Kaveh was wrong about you being too overloaded with your ambitions. But knowing that you still rejected the offer anyway, made him even more furious with you. It was a one in a million time offer, after all.

“Unbelievable.” He looked away in disbelief, clenching his fists down out of irritation. He knows you want something extremely important that can change your life. Something to gain. What could you possibly want?

As much as you two hate arguing with each other, you two did get close. Close yet felt like there was always a need to compete with each other. It didn’t feel right. None of it felt necessary, did it?

Deep down, you do want to take up the opportunity– but thinking about being separated by someone who cares about you wasn’t something you felt was… right. You felt supported. At the end of the day, you’d go home to an empty apartment, work and go back to bed after. A sickening everyday routine you had to spend with until he came. Your colleagues and your coworkers weren't necessary to spend your time with because you knew they couldn’t understand you. 

He can see you. You can see him, too.

As you stood up, “I don’t want to leave. I want to stay.” Kaveh slowly sat down on the chair in front of your desk in a weakening manner. You start walking towards Kaveh– thinking about everything you’ve sacrificed to stay where you are now and by being with him. 

“Boundless opportunities await me, I know. I’m fine where I am. Thank you, Kaveh.”

“For what?”

“For… pestering me.”

…

“You’re… so infuriating.”

A warm and soft feeling reassuring you. Pulling you in closer to him. God, it didn’t matter if it was someone you passionately hated, it didn’t matter if he was someone you competed with, it didn’t matter what it would do to you. Is this the feeling of vulnerability? Weakness? Kaveh didn’t exactly know why you didn’t accept but, deep down… he’s relieved to know that.

“...You do know that they are going to promote me to your level of department, right?”

You two giggled.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: James L. Nuzzo

Published: Mar 7, 2025

A significant amount of data on sex differences exists. Over several decades of research on human psychology and physiology, thousands of studies have been conducted regarding men’s and women’s unique and overlapping preferences, behaviors, and abilities. Moreover, in recent years, government agencies and academic journals have advised that data, when acquired in studies that include both male and female participants, be segregated by sex. Fair enough.

Given this long history of sex differences research, and the continued and proper emphasis on segregating future scientific data by sex, I have remained perplexed at the difficulty in tracking down sex-segregated results on one topic in particular: viewership of women’s sports.

I say “perplexed” because the world consists of thousands of researchers and data scientists, thousands of academic journals, a vast array of online survey platforms, and millions of people willing to participate in survey research. Yet, with all the focus on women’s sports in recent years, and with university researchers and professors writing about every piece of academic minutia imaginable, one is hard pressed to find a simple survey study, published in an academic journal, that presents data on the proportion of men and women who watch women’s sports.

Normally, studies of this type, fall into one’s lap during daily browsing on social media. If such incidental discoveries do not occur, then relevant keyword searches in Google Scholar will almost certainly discover the data that one is looking for. Yet, data on sex differences in viewership of women’s sports has historically escaped me both in terms of casual browsing on social media and in active searching within scholarly databases.

However, earlier this week, this changed. I was motivated to have another look for such data after listening to a segment on The Bryan Madigan Show that focused on sports journalist Roz Kelly’s comments about female athletes not being paid enough money. I encourage you to watch Madigan’s segment.

Unlike my previous attempts at tracking down sex-segregated data on women’s sports viewership, this time I expanded my search to include any survey online, including those published by data analytics companies or by think tanks or other non-profit organizations.

Here is what I found:

YouGov Poll

In 2023, YouGov published results of a nationally representative online survey in the United States about sports viewership. One of the questions asked to the survey takers was: “In the last month, have you watched any professional women’s sports, either broadcast or in person?” Over 10,000 men and women who were 18 years of age or older responded to that question.

The percent of men who responded that they had watched professional women’s sports in the past month was 31%. The percent of women who responded that they had watched professional women’s sports in the past month was 22%. Thus, women were found to be less likely than men to watch women’s sports.

Parity Poll

A second survey, published in 2024 by an organization called Parity, also found that women are less likely than men to watch women’s sports. Survey respondents included 14,000 persons living in Australia, Canada, Germany, France, Spain, the United Kingdom, and the United States. In each of the seven countries, more men than women reported watching women’s sports “at least a few times a year.”

In the United States, 73% of men and 70% of women reporting watching women’s sports a few times a year. In Australia, 82% of men and 78% of women reporting watching women’s sports a few times a year. In France, the country with the largest sex difference in women’s sports viewership, 80% of men and 69% of women reported watching women’s sports a few times a year.

The Parity poll also included a second question that asked about daily and weekly consumption of women’s sports. Here, the sex difference in women’s sports viewership widens. Across all countries, 23% of men and 15% of women said that they watch women’s sports daily or weekly. The country with the largest sex difference in daily and weekly viewership was Australia, where 28% of men and 15% of women say they watch women’s sports daily or weekly.

A Potential Feminist Reframe

If the data from the YouGov and Parity surveys would have shown that fewer men than women watch women’s sports, I have little doubt that feminists would endorse a shaming campaign against men for their lack of appreciation of women’s athletic skills. This shaming campaign would then probably coincide with school programs designed to encourage young boys to like girls’ and women’s sports more.

Unfortunately for feminists, and thankfully for the rest of us, the data have simply reflected objective reality: women, not men, are the ones least interested in watching women’s sports.

This result puts feminists in an intellectual quagmire. Because they largely believe that women are social constructions of their environments, lacking agency or free will, they must then misconstrue the results in some way to ensure that women are not held accountable for choosing to pass on watching women’s sports.

The first way that this might be accomplished is by simply refraining from conducting such research in the future. This strategy would prevent results like those from the YouGov and Parity polls from ever entering the public consciousness, allowing doubt to be cast toward anyone who suggests that there might be a sex difference in viewership of women’s sports.

A second strategy might involve aggregating male and female responses to mask sex differences in viewership. This data processing practice would run contrary to recent calls for more sex-segregated data made by the Office of Research on Women’s Health and many other researchers. However, feminism operates from a standpoint of “By whatever means necessary,” and thus does not mind throwing out its own previous recommendations if doing so helps to advance the moment’s female cause and relieve women of responsibility for their actions.

That so little data are available on women’s sports viewership, and that even fewer data are available in a sex-segregated format, suggests that these first two strategies of hiding the realities of women’s disinterest in watching women’s sports are already being practiced to some degree.

A third way that feminists might attempt to distract from female viewer accountability is to present results in a sex-segregated manner but thenreframethe results to look unfavourably uponmaleviewers. For example, in the YouGov survey, respondents were also asked about their viewership ofmen’ssports. The results showed that 58% of men said that they had watched professional men’s sports in the past month, whereas 31% of men responded this way for viewership of women’s sports. This represents a 46.5% drop in male viewership from men’s to women’s sports. The drop for female viewers from men’s to women’s sports was not as big. For the female survey takers, 33% said that they had watched professional men’s sports in the past month, whereas 22% responded this way for viewership of women’s sports. This represents a 33% drop in viewership from men’s to women’s sports for female viewers. Thus, because the drop in viewership from men’s to women’s sports was greater for male than female viewers, feminists could attempt to hide women’s disinterest in watching women’s sports by presenting sex-segregated data in relative change terms rather than absolute terms.

Conclusion

In 2019, a male journalist, Skye Merida, published a piece at CNN titled, “Men who don’t watch women’s sports don’t know what they’re missing.” At the end of the piece, after reflecting on his own endeavour into watching women’s sports, Merida concluded: “So, if you’re one of those guys who hasn’t been interested in women’s athletics, it’s time to reconsider.”

What we have learned from the YouGov and Parity polls is that if Mr. Merida is going to call out only one sex for not watching women’s sports, he should call out women.

The YouGov and Parity polls show that approximately 10% fewer women than men watch women’s sports on a monthly, weekly, or daily basis. These results are due to men’s greater overall passion for sports, irrespective of the sex of the athlete playing. This great male passion for sports is well known and was confirmed in Merida’s own reflections: “I think the main reason I'm a fan of women's athletics is simple: I love sports so much that I don't really care who's playing -- as long as they're playing well.”

For me, the surprise in the surveys was not that women are less likely than men to watch women’s sports. The surprise has always been the odd absence of such research from the academic literature, given the large academic push behind women’s sports and the ease and low costs associated with conducting population surveys. That such research has not been carried out more regularly, with results presented in a sex-segregated way, suggests that some researchers know that the data are likely to show low female viewership of women’s sports, so the researchers conduct qualitative rather than quantitative research.

Nevertheless, the data from the YouGov and Parity polls do exist, and they are a godsend for men who have grown tired of implicit assumptions that they are somehow to blame for women’s sports not being more popular or lucrative. The data are a shield against men’s unearned guilt.

If women want women’s sports to be a knockout success, the solution is simple. More women should start watching women’s sports.

==

Some of the people who insist that men ("trans women") do not belong in women's sports - which is true - because men are larger, stronger and faster, also think that men and women should be paid the same because "women are just as good," and don't think they sound like morons.

Reminder that the WNBA has never turned a profit in the almost-30 years since it was established. It's funded and subsidized entirely by the men's league.

[apesoformythoughts]

"The saga has a lesson for us about the ideological capture of the scientific ­community: No one is trusted to collect and evaluate social science data on LGBTQ topics who does not assent to certain analytic decisions and the conclusions that flow from them. That’s not science, of course. That’s collusion. 

Email harassment, mixed with a few genuine inquiries, commenced immediately. Eleven days after the study’s publication, a letter circulated calling for its withdrawal, citing “serious concerns.” (This letter was composed and signed before anyone had seen the data.) A mere three weeks after publication, my university informed me that I was under “inquiry” for scientific misconduct. Why? Because a pseudonymous blogger, novelist, and gay rights advocate had succeeded in intimidating my university’s administration. His tactics included stalking my wife on Facebook, filing open-records requests with my university, and group-emailing administrators and my colleagues to ask how a respectable university could account for my presence on its faculty. The administration caved. I was ­required to turn over my university computers, hard drives, and memory sticks, and to make my email available for scrutiny—even my personal email. If I had used an account to conduct any business related to the study, it was fair game.

The blogger persuaded my university’s research integrity officer (or scared him into thinking) that something had to be done. When I was informed of the inquiry, I was told that a faculty member’s being accused of scientific misconduct by a journalist was unfamiliar territory for the university. The inquiry would proceed, despite the fact that a set of peer consultants had signed off on the research methodology. For I had reached a ­controversial conclusion: The optimal environment for children is a stable home headed by their married mother and father. My evidence showed that children fared better in such homes than in unions marked by a parental same-sex relationship. To suggest that the opposite conclusion would have brought me under such hostile scrutiny beggars belief."

— Mark Regnerus: "The Dirty Science"

[onethirdofimpossible]

The EPA has removed all information about climate change from its website.

The federal grant pause will defund climate science research projects because the government wants to convince you that it is "unnecessary spending."

MAGA politicians are pushing to defund the National Weather Service as well. Climate is the long-term average of weather, and if they take away public records about weather, they eliminate evidence of the climate actually changing.

These are all related. Not only is the Trump administration trying to censor environmental science and climate change, they're removing your ability to access data that could enable you to make your own interpretations about climate change and its reality. Removing scientific tools for analytical thinking is their goal, because they know that if enough people understand why we as environmental scientists have come to understand that climate change is real and the major causes behind recent changes are anthropogenic, then that threatens their agenda.

Right now, especially, it is important to not only acknowledge the reality of climate change but also how we have come to understand it.