#Scientific Data Visualization | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jungkoode · 1 month ago

Text

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

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

280 notes · View notes

nasa · 9 months ago

Text

Student Experiments Soar!

youtube

Have you ever wondered what it takes to get a technology ready for space? The NASA TechRise Student Challenge gives middle and high school students a chance to do just that – team up with their classmates to design an original science or technology project and bring that idea to life as a payload on a suborbital vehicle.

Since March 2021, with the help of teachers and technical advisors, students across the country have dreamed up experiments with the potential to impact space exploration and collect data about our planet.

So far, more than 180 TechRise experiments have flown on suborbital vehicles that expose them to the conditions of space. Flight testing is a big step along the path of space technology development and scientific discovery.

The 2023-2024 TechRise Challenge flight tests took place this summer, with 60 student teams selected to fly their experiments on one of two commercial suborbital flight platforms: a high-altitude balloon operated by World View, or the Xodiac rocket-powered lander operated by Astrobotic. Xodiac flew over the company’s Lunar Surface Proving Ground — a test field designed to simulate the Moon’s surface — in Mojave, California, while World View’s high-altitude balloon launched out of Page, Arizona.

Here are four innovative TechRise experiments built by students and tested aboard NASA-supported flights this summer:

1. Oobleck Reaches the Skies

Oobleck, which gets its name from Dr. Seuss, is a mixture of cornstarch and water that behaves as both a liquid and a solid. Inspired by in-class science experiments, high school students at Colegio Otoqui in Bayomón, Puerto Rico, tested how Oobleck’s properties at 80,000 feet aboard a high-altitude balloon are different from those on Earth’s surface. Using sensors and the organic elements to create Oobleck, students aimed to collect data on the fluid under different conditions to determine if it could be used as a system for impact absorption.

2. Terrestrial Magnetic Field

Middle school students at Phillips Academy International Baccalaureate School in Birmingham, Alabama, tested the Earth’s magnetic field strength during the ascent, float, and descent of the high-altitude balloon. The team hypothesized the magnetic field strength decreases as the distance from Earth’s surface increases.

3. Rocket Lander Flame Experiment

To understand the impact of dust, rocks, and other materials kicked up by a rocket plume when landing on the Moon, middle school students at Cliff Valley School in Atlanta, Georgia, tested the vibrations of the Xodiac rocket-powered lander using CO2 and vibration sensors. The team also used infrared (thermal) and visual light cameras to attempt to detect the hazards produced by the rocket plume on the simulated lunar surface, which is important to ensure a safe landing.

4. Rocket Navigation

Middle and high school students at Tiospaye Topa School in LaPlant, South Dakota, developed an experiment to track motion data with the help of a GPS tracker and magnetic radar. Using data from the rocket-powered lander flight, the team will create a map of the flight path as well as the magnetic field of the terrain. The students plan to use their map to explore developing their own rocket navigation system.

youtube

The 2024-2025 TechRise Challenge is now accepting proposals for technology and science to be tested on a high-altitude balloon! Not only does TechRise offer hands-on experience in a live testing scenario, but it also provides an opportunity to learn about teamwork, project management, and other real-world skills.

“The TechRise Challenge was a truly remarkable journey for our team,�� said Roshni Ismail, the team lead and educator at Cliff Valley School. “Watching them transform through the discovery of new skills, problem-solving together while being driven by the chance of flying their creation on a [rocket-powered lander] with NASA has been exhilarating. They challenged themselves to learn through trial and error and worked long hours to overcome every obstacle. We are very grateful for this opportunity.”

Are you ready to bring your experiment design to the launchpad? If you are a sixth to 12th grade student, you can make a team under the guidance of an educator and submit your experiment ideas by November 1. Get ready to create!

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#NASA #STEM #middle school #high school #experiment #YouTube

613 notes · View notes

rythyme · 1 year ago

Text

if you're ever on jstor or something browsing through research publications (as one does), you might come across a particularly striking data visualization and go "huh, that bar chart is using [insert pride flag] colors, but that's probably just a coincidence..."

my friend. take my hand. it is my joy and privilege to tell you that queer ppl in science and academia everywhere are 100% doing this on purpose. that IS a trans histogram. those ARE bi pride bell curves. that lesbian-colored scatter plot is the academic and scientific equivalent of wearing a pride pin on your work lanyard. peace and love on planet earth 🏳️‍🌈❤️

#happy pride #i love lgbtq ppl in science and academia ❤️#theo.txt #jstor my beloved

686 notes · View notes

robsheridan · 5 months ago

Text

Early Nine Inch Nails With Teeth sketches/explorations, circa late 2004 - early 2005. Some of the many unused/unfinished stops on the very experimental journey 20 years ago that would lead to the look and feel of the album and its surrounding releases/merch/tour. Methods include digital glitching techniques, scanner glitching, DV data glitching, scientific/medical imaging, and digital photography.

See more of my early With Teeth visual explorations here

#with teeth #nine inch nails #nin #rob sheridan #glitch art #2000s aesthetic #2000s music #graphic design #album art #scanner glitch #digital glitch

270 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 8 months ago

Text

Conspiratorialism as a material phenomenon

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

I think it behooves us to be a little skeptical of stories about AI driving people to believe wrong things and commit ugly actions. Not that I like the AI slop that is filling up our social media, but when we look at the ways that AI is harming us, slop is pretty low on the list.

The real AI harms come from the actual things that AI companies sell AI to do. There's the AI gun-detector gadgets that the credulous Mayor Eric Adams put in NYC subways, which led to 2,749 invasive searches and turned up zero guns:

https://www.cbsnews.com/newyork/news/nycs-subway-weapons-detector-pilot-program-ends/

Any time AI is used to predict crime – predictive policing, bail determinations, Child Protective Services red flags – they magnify the biases already present in these systems, and, even worse, they give this bias the veneer of scientific neutrality. This process is called "empiricism-washing," and you know you're experiencing it when you hear some variation on "it's just math, math can't be racist":

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/23/cryptocidal-maniacs/#phrenology

When AI is used to replace customer service representatives, it systematically defrauds customers, while providing an "accountability sink" that allows the company to disclaim responsibility for the thefts:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/23/maximal-plausibility/#reverse-centaurs

When AI is used to perform high-velocity "decision support" that is supposed to inform a "human in the loop," it quickly overwhelms its human overseer, who takes on the role of "moral crumple zone," pressing the "OK" button as fast as they can. This is bad enough when the sacrificial victim is a human overseeing, say, proctoring software that accuses remote students of cheating on their tests:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/16/unauthorized-paper/#cheating-anticheat

But it's potentially lethal when the AI is a transcription engine that doctors have to use to feed notes to a data-hungry electronic health record system that is optimized to commit health insurance fraud by seeking out pretenses to "upcode" a patient's treatment. Those AIs are prone to inventing things the doctor never said, inserting them into the record that the doctor is supposed to review, but remember, the only reason the AI is there at all is that the doctor is being asked to do so much paperwork that they don't have time to treat their patients:

https://apnews.com/article/ai-artificial-intelligence-health-business-90020cdf5fa16c79ca2e5b6c4c9bbb14

My point is that "worrying about AI" is a zero-sum game. When we train our fire on the stuff that isn't important to the AI stock swindlers' business-plans (like creating AI slop), we should remember that the AI companies could halt all of that activity and not lose a dime in revenue. By contrast, when we focus on AI applications that do the most direct harm – policing, health, security, customer service – we also focus on the AI applications that make the most money and drive the most investment.

AI hasn't attracted hundreds of billions in investment capital because investors love AI slop. All the money pouring into the system – from investors, from customers, from easily gulled big-city mayors – is chasing things that AI is objectively very bad at and those things also cause much more harm than AI slop. If you want to be a good AI critic, you should devote the majority of your focus to these applications. Sure, they're not as visually arresting, but discrediting them is financially arresting, and that's what really matters.

All that said: AI slop is real, there is a lot of it, and just because it doesn't warrant priority over the stuff AI companies actually sell, it still has cultural significance and is worth considering.

AI slop has turned Facebook into an anaerobic lagoon of botshit, just the laziest, grossest engagement bait, much of it the product of rise-and-grind spammers who avidly consume get rich quick "courses" and then churn out a torrent of "shrimp Jesus" and fake chainsaw sculptures:

https://www.404media.co/email/1cdf7620-2e2f-4450-9cd9-e041f4f0c27f/

For poor engagement farmers in the global south chasing the fractional pennies that Facebook shells out for successful clickbait, the actual content of the slop is beside the point. These spammers aren't necessarily tuned into the psyche of the wealthy-world Facebook users who represent Meta's top monetization subjects. They're just trying everything and doubling down on anything that moves the needle, A/B splitting their way into weird, hyper-optimized, grotesque crap:

https://www.404media.co/facebook-is-being-overrun-with-stolen-ai-generated-images-that-people-think-are-real/

In other words, Facebook's AI spammers are laying out a banquet of arbitrary possibilities, like the letters on a Ouija board, and the Facebook users' clicks and engagement are a collective ideomotor response, moving the algorithm's planchette to the options that tug hardest at our collective delights (or, more often, disgusts).

So, rather than thinking of AI spammers as creating the ideological and aesthetic trends that drive millions of confused Facebook users into condemning, praising, and arguing about surreal botshit, it's more true to say that spammers are discovering these trends within their subjects' collective yearnings and terrors, and then refining them by exploring endlessly ramified variations in search of unsuspected niches.

(If you know anything about AI, this may remind you of something: a Generative Adversarial Network, in which one bot creates variations on a theme, and another bot ranks how closely the variations approach some ideal. In this case, the spammers are the generators and the Facebook users they evince reactions from are the discriminators)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Generative_adversarial_network

I got to thinking about this today while reading User Mag, Taylor Lorenz's superb newsletter, and her reporting on a new AI slop trend, "My neighbor’s ridiculous reason for egging my car":

https://www.usermag.co/p/my-neighbors-ridiculous-reason-for

The "egging my car" slop consists of endless variations on a story in which the poster (generally a figure of sympathy, canonically a single mother of newborn twins) complains that her awful neighbor threw dozens of eggs at her car to punish her for parking in a way that blocked his elaborate Hallowe'en display. The text is accompanied by an AI-generated image showing a modest family car that has been absolutely plastered with broken eggs, dozens upon dozens of them.

According to Lorenz, variations on this slop are topping very large Facebook discussion forums totalling millions of users, like "Movie Character…,USA Story, Volleyball Women, Top Trends, Love Style, and God Bless." These posts link to SEO sites laden with programmatic advertising.

The funnel goes:

i. Create outrage and hence broad reach;

ii, A small percentage of those who see the post will click through to the SEO site;

iii. A small fraction of those users will click a low-quality ad;

iv. The ad will pay homeopathic sub-pennies to the spammer.

The revenue per user on this kind of scam is next to nothing, so it only works if it can get very broad reach, which is why the spam is so designed for engagement maximization. The more discussion a post generates, the more users Facebook recommends it to.

These are very effective engagement bait. Almost all AI slop gets some free engagement in the form of arguments between users who don't know they're commenting an AI scam and people hectoring them for falling for the scam. This is like the free square in the middle of a bingo card.

Beyond that, there's multivalent outrage: some users are furious about food wastage; others about the poor, victimized "mother" (some users are furious about both). Not only do users get to voice their fury at both of these imaginary sins, they can also argue with one another about whether, say, food wastage even matters when compared to the petty-minded aggression of the "perpetrator." These discussions also offer lots of opportunity for violent fantasies about the bad guy getting a comeuppance, offers to travel to the imaginary AI-generated suburb to dole out a beating, etc. All in all, the spammers behind this tedious fiction have really figured out how to rope in all kinds of users' attention.

Of course, the spammers don't get much from this. There isn't such a thing as an "attention economy." You can't use attention as a unit of account, a medium of exchange or a store of value. Attention – like everything else that you can't build an economy upon, such as cryptocurrency – must be converted to money before it has economic significance. Hence that tooth-achingly trite high-tech neologism, "monetization."

The monetization of attention is very poor, but AI is heavily subsidized or even free (for now), so the largest venture capital and private equity funds in the world are spending billions in public pension money and rich peoples' savings into CO2 plumes, GPUs, and botshit so that a bunch of hustle-culture weirdos in the Pacific Rim can make a few dollars by tricking people into clicking through engagement bait slop – twice.

The slop isn't the point of this, but the slop does have the useful function of making the collective ideomotor response visible and thus providing a peek into our hopes and fears. What does the "egging my car" slop say about the things that we're thinking about?

Lorenz cites Jamie Cohen, a media scholar at CUNY Queens, who points out that subtext of this slop is "fear and distrust in people about their neighbors." Cohen predicts that "the next trend, is going to be stranger and more violent.”

This feels right to me. The corollary of mistrusting your neighbors, of course, is trusting only yourself and your family. Or, as Margaret Thatcher liked to say, "There is no such thing as society. There are individual men and women and there are families."

We are living in the tail end of a 40 year experiment in structuring our world as though "there is no such thing as society." We've gutted our welfare net, shut down or privatized public services, all but abolished solidaristic institutions like unions.

This isn't mere aesthetics: an atomized society is far more hospitable to extreme wealth inequality than one in which we are all in it together. When your power comes from being a "wise consumer" who "votes with your wallet," then all you can do about the climate emergency is buy a different kind of car – you can't build the public transit system that will make cars obsolete.

When you "vote with your wallet" all you can do about animal cruelty and habitat loss is eat less meat. When you "vote with your wallet" all you can do about high drug prices is "shop around for a bargain." When you vote with your wallet, all you can do when your bank forecloses on your home is "choose your next lender more carefully."

Most importantly, when you vote with your wallet, you cast a ballot in an election that the people with the thickest wallets always win. No wonder those people have spent so long teaching us that we can't trust our neighbors, that there is no such thing as society, that we can't have nice things. That there is no alternative.

The commercial surveillance industry really wants you to believe that they're good at convincing people of things, because that's a good way to sell advertising. But claims of mind-control are pretty goddamned improbable – everyone who ever claimed to have managed the trick was lying, from Rasputin to MK-ULTRA:

https://pluralistic.net/HowToDestroySurveillanceCapitalism

Rather than seeing these platforms as convincing people of things, we should understand them as discovering and reinforcing the ideology that people have been driven to by material conditions. Platforms like Facebook show us to one another, let us form groups that can imperfectly fill in for the solidarity we're desperate for after 40 years of "no such thing as society."

The most interesting thing about "egging my car" slop is that it reveals that so many of us are convinced of two contradictory things: first, that everyone else is a monster who will turn on you for the pettiest of reasons; and second, that we're all the kind of people who would stick up for the victims of those monsters.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/29/hobbesian-slop/#cui-bono

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #taylor lorenz #conspiratorialism #conspiracy fantasy #mind control #a paradise built in hell #solnit #ai slop #ai #disinformation #materialism #doppelganger #naomi klein

308 notes · View notes

romchat · 6 days ago

Text

I FINALLY bought a digital copy of Sinners and wanted to highlight a few other cinematography choices I really loved besides that tracking shot of Lisa Chow. The first is the camera language with which the White (and passing) characters are introduced and how it creates a unique sense of racial dread.

In her NYTimes article "The Condition of Black Life Is One of Mourning, poet Claudia Rankine pointedly describes the daily strain of anti-Black racism:

"Anti-black racism is in the culture. It’s in our laws, in our advertisements, in our friendships, in our segregated cities, in our schools, in our Congress, in our scientific experiments, in our language, on the Internet, in our bodies no matter our race, in our communities and, perhaps most devastatingly, in our justice system. The unarmed, slain black bodies in public spaces turn grief into our everyday feeling that something is wrong everywhere and all the time, even if locally things appear normal."

This quiet but unrelenting feeling that something is wrong and could go wrong hovers over Sinners, the movie playing with our (visual) expectations of the many ways racist violence can suddenly strike at the whim of its White characters.

From the establishing shots of Sammie's sharecropper home to the plantation fields to the prison chain gang, we know that this a world where White characters can act without impunity. The violent legacy of slavery continues well beyond its official end, which we can see from the endless white rows of cotton in the foreground and background connecting each scene to the next, the overseers' silhouettes haunting the edge of the frame.

So when a White character physically enters a scene, we immediately feel dread, hyperaware that they could choose to be dangerous and mete out violence at any time just because they can. The introduction of Hogwood and Mary are good examples of this.

As Smoke and Stack wait for Hogwood to arrive to sell them his property, the camera stays trained on a narrow road that snakes behind the bend. There's low visibility because of the use of a wide shot and its duration is a beat too long. The Twins aren't sure how the interaction will go with this White man, and we the audience are forced to sit in that uncomfortable (but routine) tension with them.

And their wariness is justified because look at how Hogwood gets out of the car, his gun front and center. He's a threat on arrival and flaunts that power (e.g., that intentionally placed "boys").

Side Note: I might be stretching but that utility pole is almost cross-like, no? Possible reference to a KKK burning cross?

And despite Mary's deep connection to Stack and the rest of the Black community, she too chooses to be a danger and we can see this based on how she's visually introduced.

Her figure stands in the background, blurred because of the depth of field. There's something ghost-like about her appearance, which I'd interpret as symbolic of how as a White passing woman her past sexual relationship with Stack can still haunt him given the South's anti-miscegenation laws.

The tension of the scene ramps up as Mary approaches, the intimacy of the close-up shots anxiety-inducing. Although she is justified in how upset she is at him, this move is completely reckless given the optics. As @mosaic-briar observes in their analysis of Mary:

"White women have some of the most historically violent relationships to Black men that goes from before Emmitt Till to the data surrounding discipline in schools...Mary's incapability to recognize how much danger she was putting Stack in by yelling about their sex in the middle of the street telegraphed for us everything we'd need to know about how far she had processed her own identity."

This is a meeting between former lovers who care about one another but Mary's White femininity is still lethal even if she doesn't mean it to be. What a smart way to communicate the capricious but destructive power of Whiteness.

#sinners 2025 #sinners #meta #cinematography

112 notes · View notes

blueteller · 9 months ago

Note

Do you know how smart Cale actually is? Like- what extent his intelligence can reach?

That's an interesting question! Let's take a look.

From what I know of IQ scores, anything above 120 puts you in top 10% of the population. So I easily see Kim Rok Soo!Cale belonging in that category; of >120 IQ. However, IQ had always felt a little vague to me. It's nice to have a number to put on a scale and all, but what does it actually mean in reality? Let's try this from a different angle.

Gardner's Multiple Intelligences model of divides talent into eight categories, plus one additional one:

Visual-spatial

Linguistic-verbal

Logical-mathematical

Body-kinesthetic

Musical

Interpersonal

Intrapersonal

Naturalistic

Existential

Why not try to measure him up against each one, as no person is actually intelligent in every way and not even a fictional character can excel in all of them (unless they're a Mary Sue or something lol).

Visual and spatial judgment stands for easy reading, writing, puzzles solving, recognizing patterns and analyzing charts well. I think Cale is definitely a pro in this category; he does loves reading and he's fantastic at analyzing data.

Linguistic-verbal is for remember written and spoken information, debates, giving persuasive speeches, ability to explain things and skilled at verbal humor. And while I constantly make fun of Cale for not being able to explain himself, he IS good at using the "glib tongue" and being persuasive, so I think he is very skilled in this category as well.

Logical-mathematical means having excellent problem-solving skills, the ability to come up with abstract ideas and conduct scientific experiments, as well as computing complex issues. Cale is an incredible strategist able to change his plans in an instant, so he is definitely a genius in this field.

Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence is a fun one, because I think it's the hardest one to judge, considering that he literally changed bodies. It of course stands for sports, dancing, craftmanship, physical coordination, and remembering better by practice rather than learning theory. Cale... does not like that. However, it doesn't mean he's BAD at it. If he was a genius in this field, however, I believe he would like it a bit more. Thus – I suspect he was average. In the past he was forced to exercise for the sake of survival, but once he was given the option of taking it easy, he quit instantly. He is capable, but does not have any particular predisposition for it.

Musical Intelligence drives me nuts, because we literally do not know, and I dearly wish I did. There was not a single mention of it in the whole series. As much as I want to believe in a cool headcanon of KRS being an unrealized musical genius... I think he was probably average or below average in this.

Interpersonal Intelligence stands for communication, conflict-solving, perception and the ability to forge connections with others. And while you might have some doubts about Cale, I say he IS a total pro in this. Those are all leadership skills, and Cale is one HELL of a great leader.

However...

Intrapersonal Intelligence is where Cale is severely lacking. It could be partially due to trauma, but I think at least some of it comes through his natural personality. It stands for introspection, self-reflection, the ability to understand one's motivation and general self-awareness; and that is Cale's biggest weakness, one that might actually cost him his slacker life dream in the end, due to all the misunderstandings he causes.

The last two, Naturalistic and Existential Intelligence types, are also not really Cale's forte. The first is for things like botany, biology, and zoology, paired with enjoyment of camping and hiking – none of which Cale actually does for pleasure, only because he has to. And yeah, farming is in that category too, but it's not like Cale is actually a real farmer just yet. And the second is for stuff like philosophy, considering how current actions influence future outcomes, the ability to see situations from an outside perspective and reflections into the meaning of life and death – and Cale is REALLY not interested in this type of self reflection.

Which leaves Cale with 4 types of intelligence he excels at, 2 which he is REALLY BAD at, 1 where he's below average and 1 he's probably average, with 1 left completely unknown.

Does this make Cale a genius? Pretty much, yes. Does it also make him stupid in very specific ways? VERY MUCH, YES.

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of count's family #character analysis #tcf meta #q&a #replies #psychology #cale henituse #this poor unlucky bastard

214 notes · View notes

alltoomaples · 1 year ago

Text

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

#f1 x reader #f1 headcanons #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #george russell #george russel x reader #logan sargeant #logan sargent x reader #lance stroll #lance stroll x reader #f1 driver x you #f1 driver x reader #formula one

320 notes · View notes

colloquialcolors · 1 year ago

Text

Well. Goddamn. Having finished In Other Waters. What a phenomenal game. No clue how to effectively recommend it to people in a way that both sells it accurately but also doesn't understate how. Thoughtfully and intentionally it's made. But I do want to capture my gut reaction, right off of finishing it. So. Hrm. Lets see.

- You experience the entire game through screens- minimal graphics, dots and radars and scans and texts. It is scientific and methodical and- not tedious, exactly, but. Exacting. You scan, and move, and monitor, and the whole world is lines and dots and bare bones information on a screen.

- But the world is also alive. It's so beautifully, wonderfully- at times, terrifyingly- miraculously alive.

- I don't know how to describe the way that the game builds this, but it feels like learning a language, or slowly seeing a pattern. Little things move in the water and you learn to recognize the movements. Wordy, beautiful descriptions for every spot you move to. Entries on the intricate and bizarre biology that grow in detail and understanding as you find more pieces and analyze more things.

- Its like. The entire mechanic of- you put together entries about each plant or creature or organism, piece together information in walls of text, and when you finally learn enough, you are rewarded- with a sketch, a visual representation of the thing you have been reading beautifully worded entries of, something you have been imagining and visualizing.

- You are reading, and scanning, and gathering, and imagining and theorizing. And then you, suddenly, can see it. You read about the shimmering veils of bioluminescence strung together in inky darkness, and then you see a rough sketch of an organism constructed out of blinking lights, metres long. You spent hours wading through waters reading about the way the light filters through water on the reef and the brilliantly colored plants sway in the waves and suddenly you see a sketch of one of the leaves. Fast moving dots described as winged, fast moving creatures, and you document their burrows and their paths and their food and then. A rough scientists sketch of one.

- The whole game. Feels like that progression- a slow sense of awe. Repetitive, intentional steps, unfolding into pictures.

- You are the only thing like you, in the whole game. An observer learning the world. You are alone, but not exactly. You are a guide, acting as the eyes and hands and leader for someone you only know through text. Ellery talks to you through text prompts, and not always- but she does talk to you.

- You are her hands and eyes- you scan and move and decide where to go and monitor the oxygen and power to keep her safe and fetch all the samples. She is your hands, and eyes- she describes each new point you move to with painstaking detail, describing the sand swirling in water or light glittering, or the way darkness closes in, or the way bioluminescence throws shadows. She notes down the information and processes the samples and is the one to write the entries and turns all the data into something real.

- You move Ellery around the whole game, act in service of her, but she feels very distinct from you- secrets of her own and backstory you have to earn from her even though you guys move as one unit.

- And you learn about Ellery, and Minae, and. man. man.

- The way the screen changes with different biomes- the colors and the music shifting. The way that the layout stays the same but you feel the differences. Deep darkness alleviated by points of light. Open, sunny sands with swaying vegetation. A choking, cloying algae bloom.

- The UX stays the same, for all of these. The color, and indicators of topography are all that changes. But you feel the differences.

- Look, the mechanics are- finicky. A little unintuitive. Occasionally frustrating. But it feels right- like operating a clunky control board to steadily map an unknown space. You learn it, clumsily, and you get the motions down until it feels right. Navigation is- at times slow, and tedious, and confusing. There aren't really shortcuts to navigate through the different sections. But that feels right too.

- The game itself is not always fun to play. But it is rewarding, and it feels worth it.

- There's a whole ocean of inexplicable, alien life! And you get to explore it in a way that feels so intentionally, lovingly crafted. I don't know what to say beyond that. What. A fucking treat.

... also the plot about corporations fucking up ecosystems because of the never ending desire for profit and the destructive impact of thoughtless corporate greed. so. you know.

#god. what a game.#in other waters #game completion hurrah #sysgaming #sysfandoming #?#damn thats two games in two days. wild times 4 me #fascinating to come online and see this apparently getting some traction. im THRILLED about it i really wanted to see more buzz about this #and wrote this post with that intent so! mission accomplished lmfao 🫡#its been months since i wrote this but i stand by every bit of it. hope folks who are enticed by this and play it enjoy it!

157 notes · View notes

gftimelord · 9 months ago

Text

Greetings!

I am Dr. Stanford Pines, you may call me 'Ford' or simply 'Doctor'. I suppose it is about time I explore the World Wide Web, or the 'Internet'. There is much I still have to learn and figure out since returning to this dimension.

It seems I have fallen quite out of touch for the most part during the thirty years I was gone. It's frankly very impressive and jarring to see how so much has changed so I might take some time for me to properly adjust but I digress.

I travel through plenty of dimensions with my brother Stanley quite often to further my research. Nothing we can't handle now that Cipher is out of the picture so I will continue adventuring and learning.

I am glad to be of acquaintance to you all!

Ad astra per aspera

- Dr. Stanford Pines

OOC: HAHA- Here's a Ford blog because I genuinely couldn't help myself. My main blog is @matrixbearer2024! This Stanford Pines is very similar to the timelords from the Doctor Who franchise but other than that he's still pretty much the same. I'll mostly have him set post-weirdmageddon but I'm open to shifting whichever point in time for questions or RPs, have fun everyone!

P.S. Down below are insights to his character and inventory for anyone interested or planning to interact with him!

Doc's inventory:

Modified Sonic Screwdriver

Rift Manipulation: Creates and stabilizes interdimensional rifts using doors as conduits.

Wood Manipulation: Can interact with wooden objects, allowing for unlocking, modifying, or opening them.

Lock Picking: Can unlock doors and secure mechanisms electronically.

Repair Capabilities: Repairs mechanical devices, machinery, and certain types of technology.

Environmental Scanning: Gathers environmental data, hazards, such as toxins, radiation, or other dangers, detecting anomalies, and analyzing energy signatures.

Data Analysis: Capable of analyzing data from various sources and providing real-time feedback, which can be especially useful in scientific or technical situations.

Communication Device: Interfaces with various technologies for sending and receiving signals.

Universal Translator: Translates languages in real time, enabling communication across the multiverse.

Communications Device: Functions as a communicator to contact other beings or devices across dimensions.

Energy Emission and Manipulation: Emits energy pulses to create barriers, distract enemies, or manipulate technology as well as manipulating energy sources, allowing it to overload systems or temporarily disable them.

Holographic Projection: Can create holographic displays for visualization of data, theories, or environments.

Lock Picking: Bypasses and unlocks physical and digital security systems.

Thermal Regulation: Measures and adjusts temperature in different environments.

Frequency Manipulation: Disrupts or enhances certain technologies by emitting sounds at specific frequencies.

Medical Functions: Provides advanced diagnostics and medical support, which is due to Doc’s preparedness(paranoia) for unforeseen events. (e.g. scanning for vital signs, diseases, and medical conditions; performing rudimentary medical diagnostics and suggest treatments; minor surgical procedures, such as suturing wounds; administering certain medications or injections in emergencies)

Forcefield Manipulation: Can activate and control protective barriers or shields, adding a layer of defense in dangerous situations.

Data Storage & Retrieval: Stores information and interacts with databases, making it a powerful tool for research.

Manipulation of Atoms: Using the power of the infinity die, Doc’s sonic screwdriver can manipulate the energy within atoms of entities that have a tangible, alterable form. This ability allows him to rearrange or shift the physical properties of objects or beings.

Weaponized Function: Can shoot energy blasts, though this function was originally designed as a laser for electronic tinkering.

Time Manipulation: Has limited abilities to manipulate time within a localized area, such as slowing down or speeding up the perception of time for specific objects or people.

Emergency Beacon: Can emit distress signals to call for help or alert allies in emergencies.

Multi-Purpose Tool: Serves as a general tool for tinkering, adjusting mechanisms, and solving puzzles, which aligns with Doc's analytical nature and creativity.

Repair Box

Immortality: A set of nanobots that constantly repairs and heals injuries, rendering Doc functionally immortal. While he cannot die from age or illness, fatal wounds can still kill him.

Healing Factor: Non-fatal wounds heal rapidly, which allow the Doctor to recover quickly from injuries that would otherwise incapacitate others.

Phantom Pain: He experiences phantom pain from time to time, a side effect of the repair box, which sometimes immobilizes him during particularly bad days.

Journal & Pen

Eidetic Memory: While Doc has a photographic memory, he carries a journal where he records his travels, discoveries, and reflections. This is partly an emotional release and partly a way to process the things he can never forget.

Personal Reflections: His journal also contains musings, sketches, and insights into his more philosophical thoughts, which he tends to keep private.

Zygon Force Field Device

Personal Shield: A portable device that creates a personal force field around the doctor which protects him from the worst injuries in moments of danger.

Camouflage: For a temporary time, the advanced zygon technology refracts and manipulates light to turn Doc invisible to the naked eye. This can be activated and disabled manually.

Limited Durability: Though powerful, the forcefield can only take so much damage at a time before it needs to recharge.

Advanced Medical Kit

Comprehensive: This kit contains emergency medical supplies, medications, and advanced tools for situations where the repair box might not immediately be enough. The doctor’s paranoia drives him to always be prepared.

Multiverse Map

Hand-drawn: A rough sketch and collection of dimensions he’s visited or studied, filled with notes about potential dangers and anomalies.

OOC: Does Doc carry a phone with him? Nope! Thinks it's something redundant because of his sonic being able to act as a communicator at a rudimentary level. Granted, you're not going to get stellar audio or video quality from something like that, but it works throughout the multiverse so Doc doesn't bother. If you plan on having an OC or other character meet him through this route, it could be as a transmission to his sonic!

Doc's Appearance:

Since the time he received the repair box, Doc has been biologically frozen in a state where his physical body remains in its 40s.

Doc is standing tall at 6'2", no different from most iterations of his canon counterparts.

His coat the the same as the one he already uses in post-canon gravity falls, that hasn't changed aesthetically.

The doctor sports a suit because if he's going to kick butt might as well do it in style, he also switches between neck-ties and bow-ties because bow-ties are cool.

He wears sneakers instead of his boots since those had worn down and broken sometime during his travels and sneakers are just generally easier to replace.

Underneath all his dress-up though he's covered in scars from past battles and his old tattoos that he'd never had the time to get rid of.

His glasses still have a crack in them, mostly because he couldn't be bothered to get a new pair of bifocals anyway.

Always clean shaven, yes he still shaves his face with fire that has never changed.

Key Quotes About Doc:

"You don't need to look like a monster to be one."

"HAHAHAHA- I just SNOGGED Madame de Pompadour!"

"ALLONS-Y!"

"This apple sucks I hate apples-"

"Laptop. Gimme!"

"Who da man?! ..... Oh, well I'm never saying that again."

"Immortality isn't living forever that's not what it feels like. Immortality is everybody else dying because you can't."

"Goodness is not goodness that seeks advantage. Good is good in the deepest pit without hope, without witness, without reward. Virtue is only virtue in extremis."

"Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones, but you still have to choose."

"The day you lose someone isn't the worst. At least you've got something to do. It's all the days they stay dead."

"Pain is a gift. Without the capacity for pain we can't feel the hurt we inflict."

"There's a lot of things you need to get across this universe. Warp drive, wormhole refractors. You know the thing you need most of all? You need a hand to hold."

"Love is not an emotion. It's a promise."

"The universe is big. It’s vast and complicated and ridiculous. And sometimes, very rarely, impossible things just happen and we call them miracles."

"Some people live more in 20 years than others do in 80. It’s not the time that matters, it’s the person."

"I’m the doctor, and I save people."

"First thing’s first, but not necessarily in that order."

"You want weapons? We're in a library! Books! Best weapons in the world!"

"People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint— it’s more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly… time-y wimey… stuff."

"I’m about to do something very clever and a tiny bit against the rules of the multiverse. It’s important that I’m properly dressed."

"Arrogance can trip you up.”

"Do what I do: Hold tight and pretend it’s a plan!"

"You’ll find that it’s a very small universe when I’m angry with you."

See the bowtie? I wear it and I don’t care. That’s why it’s cool."

"Big flashy things have my name written all over them. Well… not yet. Give me time and a crayon."

"Never cruel or cowardly. Never give up, never give in.”

"Rest is for the weary, sleep is for the dead.”

"You don’t want to take over the universe. You wouldn’t know what to do with it beyond shout at it."

"Never be certain of anything. It’s a sign of weakness."

"Courage isn’t just a matter of not being frightened, you know. It’s being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway."

“Why do humans never do as they’re told? Someone should replace you all with robots. No, on second thought, they shouldn’t, bad idea.”

"You know, the very powerful and the very stupid have one thing in common: they don’t alter their views to fit the facts; they alter the facts to fit their views.”

59 notes · View notes