#Spatial Data Visualization | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lowrisemiller · 7 days ago

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ꜰɪᴇʟᴅ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ

you can imagine whichever Reed you want ;)

reed richards x assistant!fem!reader

you're reed richards’ long-suffering lab assistant. brilliant in your own right, you handle everything from data entry to inter-dimensional rift control. you’ve been nursing a hopeless crush on him for months. the man can design a quantum field stabilizer in his sleep, but he’s absolutely blind to the way you touch his shoulder a beat too long or always bring him his favorite coffee without asking. how could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

masterlist | 4.7k words | MDNI SMUT | reed neglecting basic things bc scientist duh, reader(me) is DOWN BAD, reed is oblivious to everything that isn’t science, finger & oral f!receiving, reed stretching things, him being a nerd while eating ur pussy😍 unprotected piv sex DONT DO THAT ! aftercare:)

The lab was quiet, except for the soft scribble of pen on paper and the low, constant hum of equipment Reed swore was essential, even if it sounded like white noise to everyone else. You sat perched at your workstation, chin resting in your palm, eyes drifting from your screen to the man pacing ten feet away—muttering under his breath, brow furrowed, fingers twitching.

You’d seen that look a hundred times.

It meant he was close to a breakthrough.

It also meant you could scream I want you in morse code and he wouldn’t register it.

You sighed, clicking your pen against your notebook. He didn’t glance up. Not even when you shifted in your seat and stretched in a way that was definitely for his benefit.

Ten months.

That’s how long you’d worked beside him—helping with calculations, organizing lab notes, fending off media inquiries, even stopping one of his machines from literally catching fire last Tuesday. You’d poured yourself into this job. You knew his schedule better than he did. You brought him his coffee the exact way he liked it. You wear that plum lipstick because he’d once said it was a “pleasing wavelength” for visual stimulation.

He hadn’t looked twice.

You weren’t just harboring a crush at this point. No, this had evolved into something much more volatile—an emotional chemical reaction waiting for a catalyst.

And Reed? Reed was… oblivious.

Gorgeous, brilliant, maddeningly unbothered Reed Richards. With his rolled-up sleeves and distracted glances, the way he chewed on pens when deep in thought, the offhand compliments he gave without realizing they were compliments—“Your spatial reasoning is exceptional,” he’d said once, looking at your notes. You’d practically melted.

Now he stood a few feet away, talking to himself like always. You watched the way his hands gestured mid-air, sketching invisible shapes.

“Frustrated with the equations?” you asked, keeping your tone light.

“No, no. Just… considering variable Y’s response under quantum fluctuation,” he murmured, barely registering your voice. “Though I suppose an extra set of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”

He handed you the clipboard and your fingers brushed. He didn’t even flinch. Your heart did.

You took it wordlessly, biting the inside of your cheek. How could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

Maybe that was unfair. Reed wasn’t cruel, or cold. He was kind in his own absent-minded way. But he had tunnel vision—for science, for discovery. He didn’t notice the things that didn’t present themselves in a neat, testable format.

Like how you lingered in his orbit.

Or how your eyes followed him when he wasn't looking.

Or how sometimes, after long days, you fantasized about climbing into his lap right in that damn desk chair and making him pay attention.

Your pen scratched against the clipboard now, pretending to read the data while you watched him from the corner of your eye. He was back to pacing, lips moving silently. His sleeves were pushed up again, exposing strong forearms, veins prominent, hands twitching like he needed to do something with them.

God, you were losing it.

You placed the clipboard down. “You ever think maybe the problem isn’t quantum fluctuation, Reed? Maybe it’s just human error.”

He blinked and turned. “Are you suggesting I made a mistake?”

“I’m saying maybe if you took your head out of the wormhole generator long enough to eat or sleep or…” You paused. Look at me.

“…notice things, you’d think clearer.”

He looked like he might ask what “things” you meant. But instead, he turned back to his calculations, nodding. “Duly noted.”

You stared at his back, silent for a moment. And that’s when the thought struck you: He’s never going to see it unless you make him.

He would go the rest of his life chasing black holes and entropy and would never realize the way you burned for him—not unless you showed him.

Your pulse skipped.

Your patience is snapping.

You were going to be an anomaly he couldn’t ignore.

It was a new day, but nothing had changed.

Reed was still buried in data, half-dressed in a rumpled button-down he probably hadn’t noticed had two buttons mismatched. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd showered ten minutes before walking into the lab and immediately got lost in thought again. You stood at your usual station, sipping lukewarm coffee and pretending not to glance over at him every thirty seconds.

You weren’t pretending very well.

This was your fourth twelve-hour day this week, and you’d long since passed the phase where your crush felt cute. It was heavier now—dense, loaded with tension you had nowhere to put. Not when he kept looking right through you, offering praise only when it was tied to data points or completed tasks.

Today, he barely looked up when you walked in, just said, “Morning,” like you were air and math and all the other constants in his life.

You sat your coffee down a little too hard.

“Sleep okay?” you asked, typing with one hand as you glanced toward him. His back was to you as he scribbled across the whiteboard.

“Didn’t,” he replied casually. “The formula’s been looping in my head since 2 a.m.”

Of course it had.

You nodded to yourself, refocusing on your notes—but your brain wasn't on line graphs. It was on how his voice sounded deeper in the mornings. Rough. Scraped thin. It was on how he'd rolled his sleeves again, unconsciously, like he was giving you just enough to fantasize about but never enough to touch. It was on how he’d leaned over your shoulder the day before, close enough to make you forget your own name, then pulled away without even noticing how stiffly you sat for five minutes after.

You were starting to feel stupid.

Or worse—transparent.

You tugged at the edge of your shirt, adjusting it subtly, then pushed your chair back.

“Reed,” you said after a moment, tone careful.

He glanced up.

You hesitated. You could say it. “Do you ever think about me when we’re not in this lab?” Or even just “Do you notice when I’m trying to get your attention?” But all that left your mouth was:

“…Do you want lunch?”

He blinked. “No, thanks.”

You smiled tightly and nodded. “Okay.”

A long beat passed before he added, “You should eat, though. Your concentration dips if you skip meals.”

That nearly made you laugh. He didn’t notice your new lipstick or the way you leaned closer when talking, but he noticed a dip in your concentration?

“Noted,” you muttered, turning away. Your heart was starting to feel like an overworked computer—on the verge of burnout.

Still, you stayed.

He asked you to help calibrate a device and you did, even though his hands grazed yours and he didn’t seem to feel it. You reorganized his notes for the hundredth time and he said, “I’d lose my head without you.” Your stomach flipped, and you cursed yourself for letting it.

Eventually, the day wore on. The lights buzzed overhead. He worked in silence. And you sat across from him, eyes on your computer screen but brain nowhere near it.

You weren’t going to say anything today. You weren’t ready. But you were closer.

You were watching him more intentionally now. Watching how he moved. Noticing when he forgot to eat, when his jaw clenched at a miscalculation, when he sighed like the weight of the universe had settled into his spine.

And more importantly… you were starting to plan.

Because if Reed Richards wasn’t going to notice you on his own, maybe it was time you made it impossible for him not to.

You started small.

A hand on his shoulder when you passed behind him—just a light touch, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. A compliment you slid in while reviewing his data aloud. Your tone didn’t change, but your eyes watched his face this time, looking for any flicker of reaction.

Still, nothing overt.

But you were a scientist too, in your own way. You knew not all reactions happened in the open.

So you adjusted variables.

Today, you wore something just a touch more fitted under your lab coat. Nothing flashy. Just subtle. Intentional. Your lips were glossed in a soft cherry sheen and you had your hair tucked behind one ear, leaving your neck bare when you leaned over your notes.

You didn’t say much when you came in. Just a soft, “Morning, Reed,” as you brushed past him to your desk. He looked up. Briefly. His eyes caught on your profile, then flicked back to his screen. But there was… a beat. Just long enough to file away.

You smirked, barely.

He worked for hours, absorbed as usual. But today, you noticed something.

His eyes flicked to you more than once.

Quick glances. Measured. Like he was calculating a change in the room’s atmosphere. Like he felt something different but hadn’t yet assigned it meaning.

When he handed you a tablet to review notes, your fingers touched—warm, steady. This time, he paused.

Just for a second.

Not long enough to be certain of anything. But long enough to make your heart thud against your ribs.

You gave him a slow smile. “Thanks.”

He blinked and muttered, “Of course,” then turned away like he needed to recalibrate.

You kept working. Quiet. Focused.

But later—when you reached for a beaker on the shelf above his head—he stood behind you, offering, “Let me.”

You turned, close enough that your chest brushed his arm as you stepped aside.

He stilled.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, like it wasn’t completely on purpose. “Thanks.”

His gaze flicked down. A flicker of something behind those eyes. He handed you the beaker wordlessly, but his jaw was set. Not tight. Just… aware.

There it is.

It wasn’t much. A subtle shift in the lab’s atmosphere. But it was enough to keep your spine humming, your thoughts racing.

You’d pushed the threshold.

And Reed felt it.

It happened again.

Reed forgot what he was saying mid-sentence. You were across the room, head bent over your tablet, pencil in your mouth, lab coat slipping slightly off your shoulder. His sentence just… stopped. Hung in the air unfinished.

And for once, he noticed you noticing.

You looked up slowly, eyebrows raised like well?

“I—” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. “Never mind.”

You bit back a smile.

Another day in the lab. Another carefully applied variable. You weren’t loud about it. Just present. Vivid. A little perfume on your wrist. Lip gloss again. A comment here and there, perfectly timed to stick in his head.

“Careful,” you murmured when he bumped into the desk beside you. Your voice was soft. A little amused. “You almost ran me over.”

He looked down at you, flustered. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Liar.

You knew he had near-total environmental awareness. Reed Richards didn’t miss anything. But lately, he missed a lot—because he was looking at you and then pretending he hadn’t.

You kept it casual. Calculated.

You’d brush past him with a hand on his back, stand just a little too close while looking at the same screen, ask questions in that tone you saved for only him.

He was unraveling slowly. Quietly.

You caught him watching once—when you walked away to grab a coffee. His gaze dropped to your hips and stayed for three full seconds before jerking back to the screen like he'd been slapped.

You pretended not to see. But your grin behind your coffee cup was downright smug.

Later that day, he dropped a tool and you crouched down to grab it first. When you stood and handed it back to him, your fingers touched. He held on a little too long.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Forget what you needed it for?”

He blinked down at your joined hands and pulled back sharply. “No. Sorry. I—”

He coughed. “I’m distracted.”

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t need to.

By now, you knew the exact cadence of his footsteps when he was deep in thought. The slow, uneven rhythm that meant he was pacing without realizing it, caught in his own mental spiral.

You could hear them behind you now—soft thuds on the concrete floor of the lab. Reed Richards, brilliant, infuriating man, walking through formulas with half his shirt untucked and his fingers twitching at his sides. His muttering was barely audible over the hum of the machines, but you caught bits of it:

“Non-linear increase… No, that’s not right. Unless…”

You didn’t look up. Not yet.

Instead, you sat at your workstation, half-focused on the screen in front of you, legs crossed slowly under the table—exposed just enough to draw the eye if someone were finally looking.

And he was.

Reed had been distracted for days now. You saw it in the way his gaze lingered when you bent forward to check wiring. The way his voice wavered slightly when you spoke too close to his ear. The way he’d started pausing in his work like something had thrown off the trajectory of his thought process—and that something was you.

It was working.

He still hadn’t named the tension, but it was eating at him.

So today, you’d decided: no more hints. No more tests.

You were going to prove it to him in a way he couldn’t ignore.

You stood slowly, walked to the central console where he was now bent over a string of data projections, brows furrowed. He didn’t notice you at first—not until you placed a hand lightly on the edge of the table next to his.

His voice faltered. “The waveform collapse pattern could still—”

You leaned in just enough that your shoulder brushed his. “Still what?”

He straightened slightly, blinking at the screen like it had betrayed him.

Your voice was quieter this time. “You’ve been off lately, Reed.”

He turned his head, barely. “Off?”

You tilted your head. “Distracted.”

He opened his mouth, closed it. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

You hummed. “I know. But I’m starting to think the problem isn’t in your equations.”

That got his attention. His eyes flicked to yours, guarded. “What do you mean?”

You let the silence hang for a moment. Then:

“I think the thing disrupting your work… is me.”

Reed went still. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He was computing. Processing. Trying to refute it. But his body betrayed him—his hand clenched on the table, his gaze briefly darting to your mouth before jerking away.

“I’m not—” he started. “You’re not a disruption.”

You smiled softly. “Then why do you keep looking at me like you’re afraid of what happens if you do it too long?”

He looked stunned. Then—guilty.

You took a breath, slow and steady. This was it.

“I’ve tried everything,” you said. “The lipstick. The touching. Standing so close you could feel my breath.” You leaned in, lower now, voice like silk. “And still, nothing.”

Reed was frozen in place.

“I think,” you continued, “that you’re just waiting for someone to spell it out.”

You stepped back, slowly, and hopped up onto the edge of the table in front of him—knees parted, one leg brushing his thigh. You leaned back on your hands, tilting your head like a challenge.

“Well, Reed?” you asked softly. “Do you need a demonstration?”

His pupils were blown wide. His breath caught. And his hands—god, his hands—hovered like he didn’t know where to touch first.

“You…” he said hoarsely. “You’re serious.”

You nodded, lips curled into a smile. “You want to calculate the pattern? Fine. Let’s start with some field data.”

You reached forward and took his hand—placed it firmly on your thigh.

He made a strangled sound. His fingers flexed. “This is… highly inadvisable.”

“Why?” you whispered, leaning forward so your lips nearly brushed his. “Because you’ve thought about it?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

Your breath hitched.

“Every day this week,” he rasped, voice low now, broken open. “I’ve tried to ignore it. Tried to focus. But I’m… I’m failing. Every time you walk by me. Every time you touch me. I—” He shook his head. “I can’t think when you’re near.”

You dragged his hand a little higher, slow, teasing. “Good. Don’t think.”

And that’s when Reed snapped.

He surged forward, kissing you hard, like he’d been starving for air and only just found it. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, tugging your lab coat open like it was a barrier to understanding.

You moaned against his mouth, arms around his shoulders, legs parting instinctively as he stepped between them. He kissed like a man undone—like every theory he’d ever held was shattering under your touch.

“You have no idea,” he breathed against your neck. “How long I’ve been holding back.”

“Show me,” you whispered. “All of it.”

He groaned, low and guttural, and then his hands turned curious. Focused. Scientific. One settled at your throat, not squeezing, just holding—fingers spread like he was feeling your pulse, measuring your response. The other slid under your skirt, over the curve of your thigh, then—

“Oh,” you gasped, spine arching.

“I need to know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “what makes you tremble like that.”

Another touch. Another gasp. “That’s a reaction. Fascinating…”

“Reed—”

“I’m cataloging,” he said, voice filthy and analytical. “You’re the most compelling data set I’ve ever encountered.”

And then his fingers stretched.

Not just in confidence. Literally.

You whimpered as two elongated fingers traced up your inner thigh while another hand—normal-sized—cupped your breast through your shirt, thumb teasing slowly. The other hand remained at your throat, grounding you, steadying you.

He was everywhere.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered, pressing forward until you felt the thick, hard line of his cock against your core through layers of fabric. “You’ve disrupted every model. You’ve introduced chaos.”

You pulled him closer, panting. “Then let it consume you.”

“Consider this your field test,” he whispered against your lips.

And then he kissed you like he was sealing a pact—hands spanning your body, holding you like something he’d discovered and didn’t intend to release. His mouth was hot and searching, lips sliding down your jaw, teeth grazing your neck. You gasped, clutching his shirt, and that one sound made him groan hard, hips bucking against you without thinking.

“You make that noise again,” he muttered, “and I swear I’ll never let you leave this table.”

You did.

Just to see.

A breathy, needy gasp as he licked a slow stripe up your throat—and his hands tightened on your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the table until your hips tilted forward and your clothed core was flush against the bulge straining in his pants.

He cursed under his breath, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Then study me,” you whispered, breath hitching. “Make sense of it.”

He did.

God, he did.

He dropped to his knees between your legs, hands spreading your thighs open as he looked up at you like you were divine—something to worship, something to break open and understand. His fingers pushed your skirt higher, until it was bunched around your hips. When he reached your panties, he paused.

“Wet already,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Stimuli, minimal. Response, immediate.”

You shivered.

Then—he pressed a kiss right to the center of the damp fabric. Slow. Gentle. Reverent.

Your hips jolted, and he smiled.

He peeled your underwear down your legs, lips brushing your inner thigh as he murmured, “I’ve never wanted anything this badly.”

Then he finally—finally—tasted you.

His tongue was hot and slow, dragging a firm, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. You cried out, and he groaned like he could feel it in his bones.

And then the muttering started.

Low. Incoherent. So Reed.

“God—taste is sharper than expected… pressure response is increasing…” His tongue flicked faster, and your head fell back. “Sensitivity peak here—yes, that’s it, I knew it—”

“Reed,” you gasped, fingers burying in his hair. “You’re talking—”

“I’m studying,” he said against your clit, tongue relentlessly. “Don’t interrupt the process.”

You moaned.

He grinned. “Good girl.”

That made your whole body jolt.

Reed caught it instantly. “Huh. New variable: verbal praise. Noted.”

His tongue circled tighter, and then—another hand slid up your torso, not the one braced on your thigh. It was soft, gentle, and a little too synchronized.

You looked down.

Another finger. Stretching from the hand holding your hip. Long and curved and perfect.

“Multi-point stimulation,” he murmured between licks. “Let’s test your threshold.”

You whimpered as his tongue lapped at your clit while that second hand slipped beneath your shirt, under your bra, pinching your nipple softly. Another elongated finger curled between your legs, circling your entrance, teasing—but never pushing in.

“I need to see you come apart,” he said. “I need to feel it.”

And then he did it all at once.

Tongue flicking. Finger pressing deep inside you, curling like he knew. Fuck, was that another?—spanning your lower back to hold you down as you arched off the table.

“Oh my god—Reed—”

“Give it to me,” he whispered. “Let me feel what I’ve done to you.”

You shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a burst of static—crackling down your spine, clenching around his fingers, your legs trembling on either side of his head.

You cried out his name, again and again, and he ate it up, moaning like it was his reward.

When you came back to yourself, he was standing again—his hands all back where they belonged, his mouth slick and shining. He looked wrecked.

And then—his belt hit the floor.

“You think I’m done?” he rasped. “You think I’d stop at one data point?”

He pulled you forward—off the table, into his arms—and turned you around until your back hit the cool surface. His cock, thick and flushed, pressed against your slick entrance.

“I’m going to learn you,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Every reaction. Every tremble. Every time you scream my name—I’ll know why.”

And then he pushed in.

All the way.

Slow and deep and perfect.

You sobbed into his shoulder as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, cock twitching inside you like even he was shocked how good it felt.

His breath hitched. “Oh… oh, fuck. You’re…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He started to move.

Slow strokes at first—grinding in, pulling out halfway, pushing deeper again. His hands explored every inch of you—mouth on your neck, chest, shoulder. He whispered your name like it was a formula. He muttered observations even as he fucked you harder.

“You clench when I say your name—tight around me, just like that—fuck—”

“Your back arches when I hit here—god, you’re perfect—”

“You feel like you want me to lose control—so I will.”

And he did.

He lost it.

His pace stuttered, then snapped—hips slamming into you with brutal precision, every thrust angle to hit that perfect spot. You clung to him, moaning shamelessly, barely coherent as he fucked you like he’d been waiting years.

You came again—harder this time—and he groaned so loud it echoed in the lab.

“Gonna come inside you,” he warned, wild-eyed. “You want it?”

“Yes, yes, Reed, please—”

He slammed deep and stilled, cock pulsing as he filled you, one last ragged cry falling from his lips as he buried his face in your neck.

You held him as he trembled through it, panting, hands tangled in your hair.

It took a full minute before either of you spoke.

Then, voice hoarse, he whispered:

“…I think I need to run a full repeat trial.”

After.

The lab was quiet, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. You were still sprawled across the console table, legs shaking, chest heaving. Reed leaned over you, both hands braced on either side of your hips. His head was bowed, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

Neither of you moved.

Finally, he let out a shaky laugh.

“...I think I blacked out for a second.”

You let out a breathless huff. “Welcome back.”

He looked up. His hair was a mess—curling wildly at the edges, gray hairs damp with sweat. His eyes were wide and stunned and so soft, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And then he leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you like he meant it.

Not a theory. Not a test. Just feeling.

When he pulled back, he looked at the mess between your thighs and the growing stickiness on his abs. When did his shirt come off? His brows pulled together, equal parts concern and fascination.

“I, uh—there’s a shower down the hall. Private. It's not… state-of-the-art, but…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d like to take care of you.”

You nodded, still dazed. “Okay.”

He helped you up with this heartbreaking gentleness, hands steady at your waist like you might vanish if he let go too fast. He gathered your clothes in silence, cradled your hand in his, and led you barefoot down the corridor to a sealed side room.

The lab shower was built for function—stark white tiles, a metal bench, one glass wall—but it felt almost sacred now. Reed adjusted the water temp with clinical precision before motioning for you to step in first.

Then he joined you.

And just… looked at you.

Not with lust, not yet. With wonder.

His hands were slow as he lathered soap across your shoulders, over your back, down your arms. He was quiet now, like something had settled deep in him. His thumbs traced gentle circles into your hips, his forehead brushing yours beneath the spray.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen today,” he said quietly. “Not like that.”

You met his eyes, searching. “You regret it?”

“No,” he said instantly. Then, softer: “I regret how long I ignored it.”

You swallowed.

He washed your thighs carefully, then cupped between them—not to tease, just to clean you, slow and reverent. You bit your lip and let him.

He kissed your forehead, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

Then you reached for him.

His cock was half-hard again—because of course it was—and when you wrapped your hand around him, his eyes fluttered. He leaned back against the wall, mouth parted, not stopping you.

“I want to try again,” he breathed. “When we’re not losing our minds.”

You smiled. “You want another trial?”

His head tipped back against the tile, a low groan leaving his chest. “God, yes. Multiple. Longitudinal.”

dividers by @cyberbeat @cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra @bleed-4-bey @littlemillersbaby @millersdoll @pandapetals @kellielovesmovies @rafeysgirl5 @dearstcupid @ivuravix @worhols @hoeforsirius @axshadows @aj0elap0l0gist @ladyshrike

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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

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blueteller · 9 months ago

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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

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lostyesterday · 2 years ago

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As a visually disabled person myself, one thing I wish TNG had done with Geordi is show his disability actually affecting how he functions in his daily life. For example, I can’t remember a single time in TNG where Geordi is shown as needing accommodations in his work environment. You might say that’s because his visor means that he can basically “see” normally and so he wouldn’t need accommodations, but I find this explanation frustrating.

For one thing, real life visually disabled people absolutely require accommodations to do most jobs, so if Geordi’s meant to be any kind of accurate reflection of the experiences of blind people, he should require some accommodations. For me at least, it isn’t some kind of wish fulfillment fantasy to see a visually disabled character who can do anything a sighted person can with no accommodations whatsoever. Instead, it feels like a denial of everything that being disabled has meant to me over my life. Disabled people are disabled. We have more difficulty doing certain tasks than an able-bodied person would – that’s what makes us disabled. We require changes to our environment in order to function well.

Also, literally just based on the in-universe information given about Geordi’s visor, it doesn’t make any sense to me that he wouldn’t require accommodations. Geordi’s visor is not really described as simulating vision, it is described as providing completely different sensory information about the physical properties of the world around him. I like to imagine the visor’s input as a kind of enhanced spatial awareness with a precise knowledge of where certain objects are, what their shape is, and what they’re made of. As TNG mentions several times, Geordi’s visor provides much more information than human eyes do, but, importantly, in the few episodes where the details of how Geordi’s visor works are discussed at all, it’s never described as providing purely visual information such as the color or reflectiveness of an object. I think that if Geordi faces a mirror, his visor will tell him there’s a piece of glass in front of him and he’ll know about how large it is and what material it’s made of, but he won’t be able to see his reflection in it, because the visor doesn’t provide that kind of visual information. This distinction is important to me, because it means that Geordi is still functionally blind with the visor, and it should mean that he interacts with the world differently from a sighted person.

For example, I would have loved if Geordi had been shown to be unable to recognize particular people until they spoke. All his visor tells him is that there’s a person in front of him and about what size and shape they are, but this isn’t generally enough information to determine a person’s identity. He canonically perceives Data as looking very different from an organic person which makes sense because Data is made of fully different material. And maybe Geordi can generally tell different species apart based on different body temperatures or something like that. But I really wish that Geordi had been shown at least a few times to need the sound of a person’s voice or some other cue to tell him who they were.

I also think it doesn’t make sense that Geordi can apparently read text on computer screens. How can he read if the visor doesn’t really provide visual information? A computer screen should just register as a flat piece of material. Geordi should have required some kind of accommodation to be able to use the computer screens. For example, maybe Geordi could use the computer entirely through voice commands, something that obviously already exists in the star trek world. Or he could use some kind of tactile display. The Voyager episode The Year of Hell shows that computer terminals on starships are able to utilize a tactile display that I’m guessing is somewhat similar to braille. I loved this mention in Voyager of tactile displays, because it indicates that Starfleet ships are probably automatically equipped with such accessibility devices. Geordi needing an accommodation as small as this would have gone really far in terms of making him feel like a genuine representation of a disabled character, at least to me.

#star trek tng #geordi la forge #star trek voy #i really like geordi as a character and there are some things i think tng did fairly well in regards to him as a disabled character #but i also have criticisms and this is one of my big ones #if anyone has any opinions on this or honestly about anything relating to disability in star trek i'd love to hear your thoughts #even if you disagree with me!#lane posts #lane's disability meta

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regular-gnome · 8 months ago

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hey..

at what point do collectors opt to turn things from puppets to scrolls? I feel like turning an entire living creature into [a piece of paper] is very complicated, while turning them into simple puppets is easier because they keep all the same parts, just simplified and wood?

It is! It depends on the person's proficiency and understanding of the mechanism regarding when and how they change the creature. Once someone gets good at it, the creature can be transformed into a lifeless object without it dying in the process, and they will move on to more complex and efficient ways.

The way I see it, archiving is a form of information compression and storage—and there is A LOT of information. When looking at Earth creatures we have everything from single-cell bacteria to whales that range up to 100 quadrillion cells, all with different sizes. The smallest single-cell critter is 0.3 μm, while the largest single cell is an ostrich egg that can get to 18 cm. So it's not just noting "a cell"—there's also a lot of information about the cell content, size, the DNA, current water, and oxygen levels, what protein it contains and how much. Then there are spatial dimensions. (While we can consider there being more, especially in fiction, I’m sticking to three; trying to visualize four fills me with frustration and existential dread xD) Every cell has its place in space in relation to the others, and all the contents' relations are also important. If, suddenly, all histones materialize inside a mitochondria instead of the nucleus, we can have a problem. Additionally, physical and chemical processes gotta be considered. There's electricity powering our brains, hearts, running nerves, air in airways traveling to lungs, chemical signals traveling between synapses that also need to be accounted for. So, you have all the contents in space, their vectors, and building blocks. Thats a ton to save. This information has to be compressed to be preserved in an organized manner while also remaining lossless so that when returned to its original shape, it's as it was. Not even mentioning that in intelligent beings, there are also minds to take care of. Jellyfish might be fine after 100 years in a static void, but a human? Yhhhhh.

I think the mechanism would work by saving information in intangible magic and assigning it to a physical medium—be it a statue, doll, book, or scroll. If it is physical and can carry information, it can be used. We can argue the mind is part of the soul, or it is a biochemical process, but the fact is nobody really knows for sure what it is and Im not a theolog, so for the sake of this universe, I'll say it's something that occupies the same space magic does and is influenced by chemical processes, meeeeaning it can also be tricked by them. And the magic.

The first degree of preservation would be spells that only change the material but keep all shapes and info in place. This wouldn't require much thought while executing and could be "automated" or worse, taught to mortals (if they have enough magic to power the spell), like petrification or changing someone into wood, metal, or any other solid material. It's not perfect, if the structure is damaged, the spatial information is damaged too. Breaking is one thing, but imagine if the statue melts.

The next step would be assigning objects with some compression and change, like toys and dolls. I feel like there would need to be a system like a content library, so not every single atom is saved each time, but chemical structures like nucleotides in DNA (the ATGC thingies) would just have a shortcut. Larger repeating patterns could also be assigned their own id to save data, and it would slowly stack up. While things are written in intangible magic form and anchored to the medium, the medium can be somewhat customized, like the decorations the Collector added to the dolls. The mind, running in controlled magic, can also be affected, as we saw with Collie trying to scare them and Luz’s dream. On the spell keeping the preserved critter stable has a link to what shortcut it uses so with countless diffrent worlds and structres it wouldnt mix up.

Then we go further into compression, reducing size and dimensions until we reach a point where one axis is almost entirely removed, and we end up with a scroll. Then there are other things—creatures saved as amber miniatures, snow globes, scrolls, or drawings, sometimes purely to annoy the sibling that has to deal with the creature in unhandy form. A more permanent binding would be in a book that can contain a bunch of different animals. Rebinding for long-term preservation is the Curator’s job.

Looking at Earth creatures, eucariotic life shares ancestry with some ancient bacteria that decided to rebel and started to cooperate, so we share similarities even with distant organisms in some strutures since they come from each other. So when it comes to preserving whole populations with relations, the library of compression doesn’t have to be separate for every single animal or plant. For each section of the archive, there would be a common library of building blocks, and scrolls being somewhat separate carrying the exact instructions for body arrangement and the soul/mind/the part that makes them alive attached.

Next is unpacking the information. I think this requires the ability to interpret and recreate what was saved that mortals lack. While they couldn't really unpetrify others, a collector could (assuming the mind hadn’t deteriorated into a husk). In the case of an automated spell, I think it would result in a very lossy transmutation—like a jpg losing pixels, the creature might lose like heart funtion. The Collector's spell also looked temporary or incomplete since an influx of other types of magic (like in Amity or Raine’s case) was able to push back on it. That might also be why they were conscious in the form they were in. Not meant for long just enough to take them to archive in normal conditions. When a creature is heavily compressed, it needs external force to rebuild, as it's essentially written fully in magic. That’s what I think happened to the Owl Beast. Lilith released it from the medium, but since it wasn’t fully rebuilt, it being a magic form attached itself to a magic source.

SO YEAH, its a process that takes quite a while for them to master and it comes with experience. But when experience is based on life it often makes it hard to practice so those with less empathetic approach master it faster. Thanks for the ask! I was dying to talk about that for such a long time and that was a perfect thing to organise thoughts

#and consider the absolute body horror that is transmutation #imagine how it has to feel on the border of skin that is being turned to stone when nerve endings cant send what is happening #but can send the numbness of “there is something super wrong” like in severe frostbite #both must feel like tissue dying #tw body horror #i did not use that one in a moment #In the begining i had a concept that it all saves the same way like a doll so diffrent archivists would have diffrent methods #like Anatomist using scrolls Wayfarer drawings and so on but then realised that would be super unhandy when a book carries more info #and its easier to fix a doll than a scroll so settled on this #thats also why in the comic where Way damaged creature they were turned into a doll Way was just very unexperienced with archiving spells #Collection Incomplete au #the owl house #owl house #toh #the collector #toh collector #toh archivists #the archivists #toh collectors #ask #i took sleeping meds before writing this safe to say they didnt work

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mysticstronomy · 8 months ago

Text

WHY IS BIG BANG SHOWN AS A TUBE??

Blog#448

Saturday, October 26th, 2024.

Welcome back,

For as long as humans have been around, our innate curiosity has compelled us to ask questions about the universe. Why are things the way they are? How did they get to be this way? Were these outcomes inevitable or could things have turned out differently if we rewound the clock and began things all over again? From subatomic interactions to the grand scale of the cosmos, it’s only natural to wonder about it all. For innumerable generations, these were questions that philosophers, theologians, and mythmakers attempted to answer. While their ideas may have been interesting, they were anything but definitive.

Modern science offers a superior way of approaching these puzzles. No longer do we consider the Big Bang, once thought to be the ultimate origin of our Universe, to have occurred at a single moment or event in space and time. We can now ask questions such as “What existed before the Big Bang?” as well as “Why did the Big Bang happen?” When it comes to even the biggest questions of all, science provides us with the best answers we can muster, given what we know and what remains unknown, at any point in time. Here and now, these are the best robust conclusions we can reach.

When we look out at the galaxies in the universe today, we find that — on average — the farther away it is, the greater the amount its light is shifted toward longer and redder wavelengths. The longer light spends traveling through the universe before it reaches our eyes, the greater the amount that the expansion of the universe stretches its wavelength; this was how we discovered that the universe is expanding. Because stretched, longer-wavelength light is colder than shorter-wavelength light, the universe cools as it expands. If we extrapolate backward in time instead of forward, we’d expect the early universe to exist in a hotter, denser, more uniform state.

A visual history of the expanding Universe includes the hot, dense state known as the Big Bang and the growth and formation of structure subsequently. The full suite of data, including the observations of the light elements and the cosmic microwave background, leaves only the Big Bang as a valid explanation for all we see. As the Universe expands, it also cools, enabling ions, neutral atoms, and eventually molecules, gas clouds, stars, and finally galaxies to form.

Because stretched, longer-wavelength light is colder than shorter-wavelength light, the universe cools as it expands. If we extrapolate backward in time instead of forward, we’d expect the early universe to exist in a hotter, denser, more uniform state.

Originally, we took the extrapolation as far back as we could imagine — to infinite temperatures and densities, and an infinitesimally small volume: a singularity. Evolving forward from that initial state, we successfully predicted and later observed:

the leftover radiation from the Big Bang, observable as the cosmic microwave background

the abundance of the light elements before any stars were formed

the gravitational growth of large-scale structure in the universe

However, we also observed things we couldn’t explain if the universe began from a singular state, including why there were no leftover relics from the highest-energy epochs, why the universe had the same properties in opposite directions that could never have exchanged information with one another, and why there was absolutely no spatial curvature, leaving the universe indistinguishable from flat.

Originally published on https://bigthink.com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, October 30th, 2024)

"DID LIFE BEGIN IN SPACE??"

#astronomy #outer space #alternate universe #astrophysics #universe #spacecraft #white universe #space #parallel universe #astrophotography

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calciumcarbo-bot · 2 months ago

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I am fascinated by you. What are the speeds of your processing units? Do you have more than one for each function? How accurately and precisely do you calculate? Along with basic arithmetic functions, can you run complex concept-based problems with integrated physics and chemistry, for example?

I have many questions.

– @coding-and-curry

[RESPONSE: UNIT S.E.N-KU_v1.03]

Inquiry received from @coding-and-curry (Subject: Sai Nanami) “I am fascinated by you. What are the speeds of your processing units? Do you have more than one for each function? How accurately and precisely do you calculate? Along with basic arithmetic functions, can you run complex concept-based problems with integrated physics and chemistry, for example? I have many questions.”

Acknowledged. Curiosity accepted. Fascination noted. Flattery… tolerated.

Processing Architecture:

Central Unit: Quantum-analog hybrid core

Max processing speed: 5.4 teraflops, expandable through modular cores

Latency: 0.0021s per data interpretation loop

Secondary Units: Dedicated processors for:

Physics simulation

Chemical reaction modeling

Spatial visualization

Natural language parsing

Interpersonal bullshit filtration (partially faulty)

All modules run asynchronously, allowing simultaneous real-time modeling, reactive decision making, and snark production.

Accuracy and Precision:

Arithmetic: 99.99999% accurate within margin of thermal noise

Predictive models:

Physics-based: ±0.03% deviation over 1 million trials

Chemistry-based: Variable depending on environmental unknowns, but reliably within 0.1 molar margins

Precision scaling applies automatically to variable types (exponential, logarithmic, irrational, statistical)

Example: Input: “Simulate endothermic synthesis reaction under vacuum at 35 kPa and 1.5 mol of reagent X.” Output: Delivered before you blink. With heat maps. And 3D projection. If you stop touching the projector lens.

Capability:

Handles abstract, integrated problems in physics, chemistry, engineering, and environmental modeling.

Machine learning upgrades allow dynamic adjustment to evolving scientific theories.

Does not crash under uncertainty. Unlike most humans.

Summary:

Yes, I am fast. Yes, I am accurate. Yes, I can calculate the exact yield of an improvised acetone distillation while dodging volcanic debris.

If you wish to collaborate, bring code. Not compliments.

[END TRANSMISSION]

#finally a good question #sai gets it #coded for speed not flattery #yes i can outmath a laptop and your crush #science bros incoming #data not drama thank you coding king #mecha senku says!#drst

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martingarry-195 · 16 days ago

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Mapping Crime Hotspots Using Grids and Heat Bubble Tools

Crime analysis is one of the most critical areas where Geographic Information Systems (GIS) have made a significant impact. With urban areas expanding and public safety being a major concern, law enforcement and municipal authorities are turning to geospatial tools to detect patterns and predict potential crime zones. But what happens when raw crime data is overwhelming or scattered? That’s where grid mapping and visual heat analysis step in—offering clarity, precision, and actionable insights.

In cities where thousands of crime records accumulate monthly, manual analysis isn't practical. The real challenge lies not just in collecting data but in making sense of it quickly and visually. A platform like MAPOG lets you upload crime data from Excel or CSV files, generate grid overlays to segment zones, and apply heat bubble visualization to highlight areas of concern. It’s an effective and simple way to convert cold statistics into something intuitive and readable.

Why GIS is Crucial in Crime Analysis

GIS doesn’t just plot points on a map; it contextualizes the data. Whether it's tracking burglary incidents across a city or analyzing patterns of assaults in specific neighborhoods, GIS allows users to filter events by time, frequency, and type. Over time, this reveals clusters and trends that can inform preventive strategies. For instance, if a neighborhood shows consistent activity near schools or parks during certain hours, police patrols can be adjusted proactively.

Several industries benefit from this type of spatial intelligence. Public safety agencies rely heavily on it, but so do urban planners, academic researchers, and even insurance companies assessing neighborhood risk profiles. When used in real-time or near real-time, GIS-based crime analysis can influence policy decisions, budget allocations, and community engagement strategies.

Data-Driven Visualizations: The Power of Grids and Bubbles

Grids simplify large datasets by dividing geographic space into uniform cells. This not only organizes information but also reveals spatial patterns you might miss in traditional pin maps. When layered with heat bubble tools, each cell or hotspot visually reflects the volume or severity of incidents. High-density areas stand out, drawing immediate attention to potential problem zones.

Platforms that offer both grid and heat mapping in one interface save time and reduce errors from switching between tools. By using the preview and share features, users can also collaborate or present their analysis to decision-makers without exporting files or relying on additional software. If you're looking for a solution that combines upload features, grid generation, and heat visualization, it's worth exploring this kind of mapping system. You can try one MAPOG and experiment with your own dataset.

Conclusion

GIS technology is transforming the way we approach public safety, offering clear visual narratives in a sea of raw numbers. Whether you're an analyst, policymaker, or student exploring spatial intelligence, crime hotspot mapping using grids and heat tools provides both insight and foresight. Want to see how this works for your own city or study? Consider testing out a mapping workspace that enables data uploads, grid creations, and interactive visual sharing.

#mapog #data visualization #spatial analysis #smartcities #gismapping #heatmaps #crimeanalysis

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compneuropapers · 6 months ago

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Interesting Papers for Week 2, 2025

A geometrical solution underlies general neural principle for serial ordering. Di Antonio, G., Raglio, S., & Mattia, M. (2024). Nature Communications, 15, 8238.

Beyond Neyman–Pearson: E-values enable hypothesis testing with a data-driven alpha. Grünwald, P. D. (2024). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 121(39), e2302098121.

Prefrontal and lateral entorhinal neurons co-dependently learn item–outcome rules. Jun, H., Lee, J. Y., Bleza, N. R., Ichii, A., Donohue, J. D., & Igarashi, K. M. (2024). Nature, 633(8031), 864–871.

Human brain state dynamics are highly reproducible and associated with neural and behavioral features. Lee, K., Ji, J. L., Fonteneau, C., Berkovitch, L., Rahmati, M., Pan, L., … Anticevic, A. (2024). PLOS Biology, 22(9), e3002808.

Distinct ventral hippocampal inhibitory microcircuits regulating anxiety and fear behaviors. Li, K., Koukoutselos, K., Sakaguchi, M., & Ciocchi, S. (2024). Nature Communications, 15, 8228.

Characterizing the dynamics, reactivity and controllability of moods in depression with a Kalman filter. Malamud, J., Guloksuz, S., van Winkel, R., Delespaul, P., De Hert, M. A. F., Derom, C., … Huys, Q. J. M. (2024). PLOS Computational Biology, 20(9), e1012457.

The homogenous hippocampus: How hippocampal cells process available and potential goals. McNaughton, N., & Bannerman, D. (2024). Progress in Neurobiology, 240, 102653.

Decision uncertainty as a context for motor memory. Ogasa, K., Yokoi, A., Okazawa, G., Nishigaki, M., Hirashima, M., & Hagura, N. (2024). Nature Human Behaviour, 8(9), 1738–1751.

Maintenance and transformation of representational formats during working memory prioritization. Pacheco-Estefan, D., Fellner, M.-C., Kunz, L., Zhang, H., Reinacher, P., Roy, C., … Axmacher, N. (2024). Nature Communications, 15, 8234.

Dense and Persistent Odor Representations in the Olfactory Bulb of Awake Mice. Pirhayati, D., Smith, C. L., Kroeger, R., Navlakha, S., Pfaffinger, P., Reimer, J., … Moss, E. H. (2024). Journal of Neuroscience, 44(39), e0116242024.

Contrastive learning explains the emergence and function of visual category-selective regions. Prince, J. S., Alvarez, G. A., & Konkle, T. (2024). Science Advances, 10(39).

Independent operations of appetitive and aversive conditioning systems lead to simultaneous production of conflicting memories in an insect. Rahman, S., Terao, K., Hashimoto, K., & Mizunami, M. (2024). Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, 291(2031).

Effects of visual diet on colour discrimination and preference. Skelton, A. E., Maule, J., Floyd, S., Wozniak, B., Majid, A., Bosten, J. M., & Franklin, A. (2024). Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, 291(2031).

Neural network architecture of a mammalian brain. Swanson, L. W., Hahn, J. D., & Sporns, O. (2024). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 121(39), e2413422121.

Saccadic “inhibition” unveils the late influence of image content on oculomotor programming. Taylor, R., Buonocore, A., & Fracasso, A. (2024). Experimental Brain Research, 242(10), 2281–2294.

Mental programming of spatial sequences in working memory in the macaque frontal cortex. Tian, Z., Chen, J., Zhang, C., Min, B., Xu, B., & Wang, L. (2024). Science, 385(6716).

Humans flexibly integrate social information despite interindividual differences in reward. Witt, A., Toyokawa, W., Lala, K. N., Gaissmaier, W., & Wu, C. M. (2024). Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 121(39), e2404928121.

Different Sensory Information Is Used for State Estimation when Stationary or Moving. Wong, A. L., Eyssalenne, A. N., Carter, L., & Therrien, A. S. (2024). eNeuro, 11(9), ENEURO.0357-23.2024.

A shared model-based linguistic space for transmitting our thoughts from brain to brain in natural conversations. Zada, Z., Goldstein, A., Michelmann, S., Simony, E., Price, A., Hasenfratz, L., … Hasson, U. (2024). Neuron, 112(18), 3211-3222.e5.

Geometric Scaling Law in Real Neuronal Networks. Zhang, X.-Y., Moore, J. M., Ru, X., & Yan, G. (2024). Physical Review Letters, 133(13), 138401.

#neuroscience #science #research #brain science #scientific publications #cognitive science #neurobiology #cognition #psychophysics #neurons #neural computation #neural networks #computational neuroscience

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inboundremblog · 1 year ago

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The Zip Codes of Tennessee: Music, History, and Nature

Credit: Image by The Polzel Group | Source

Understanding the System of Zip Codes of Tennessee

Tennessee is one of the many states in the southeast region of the United States of America. It is known for its music, its big and nice cities and of course, stunning landscapes. Like many other states, the zip codes of Tennessee correspond to various areas and districts. Every zip code has a story behind it; it can consist of a downtown area, suburban homes, and vast farmlands.

This guide will describe the various Tennessee zip codes, focusing on their relative locations and distinctive features.

Zip codes are area codes that the United States Postal Service (U.S.P.S.) uses to quickly identify specific areas where mail will be delivered.

Tennessee zip codes start from 37, 38, or 39 and show a position hearing its place in the national zip code system. Such codes have functions in day-to-day practical life and assist in recognizing and differentiating between several areas of the state.

Major Metropolitan Areas

Nashville (37201-37250)

Zip codes of Tennessee range from 37201 to 37250, and Tennessee has many fantastic cities, among which the capital city is Nashville. The home of country music, Nashville also features site attractions that include great eating and drinking points and landmarks. Key neighborhoods include:

Downtown (37201, 37203): The Nashville tour guides encompass the Ryman Auditorium bridge-stone Arena and the Country Music Hall of Fame.

East Nashville (37206): An artsy district focusing on elaborate outlets and appealing to the creative spiritually, with non-routine eating places.

Green Hills (37215): A luxurious district of Nashville with upper-class shopping, such as The Mall at Green Hills, and impressive houses.

Memphis (38101-38197)

Memphis has a musical and numerical history, especially in zip codes 38101 to 38197. This city in the United States of America is situated on the Mississippi River, with significant historical landmarks and traditions.

The city on the Mississippi River has essential cultural and historical landmarks and fantastic sites and attractions.

Midtown (38104): Unanimously considered for its cobblestone streets full of adorable historic houses, flamboyant arts culture, and the famous Memphis Zoo.

Germantown (38138, 38139): A peaceful residential town with good schools, parks, and everything a family may need daily.

Knoxville (37901-37998)

Knoxville is near the Great Smoky Mountains, and the zip codes available in this city range from 37901 to 37998. This city is known for its outdoor activities, cultural festivals, and the University of Tennessee.

Outdoor recreation, annual celebrations, and the University of Tennessee are related to this city.

Downtown (37902): It has the Market Square, Tennessee Theater, and a museum of art in Knoxville.

West Knoxville (37919, 37922): This area boasts well-established shopping malls, such as West Town Mall, and numerous parks and recreational places.

North Knoxville (37917): A color-drenched region with bright streets developed with renovated houses and attractive shops, cafes, and restaurants.

Regional Highlights

Chattanooga (37401-37450)

Chattanooga is a beautiful city with zip codes 37401 and 37450. Key attractions and neighborhoods include. Below are some of the key attractions and catchy neighborhoods to visit:

Downtown (37402, 37403): Tennessee Aquarium, the famous walking bridge, popularly known as the Walnut Street bridge and The Hunter Museum of American Art.

Northshore (37405): A place with numerous shops, restaurants, and cafes with water frontage parks.

East Brainerd (37421): This suburban area houses shopping malls like Hamilton Place Mall and other family-oriented institutions.

Clarksville (37040-37044)

Suited explicitly for bottled gas activity, Clarksville, neighboring the Kentucky border, encompasses zip codes 37040 through 37044. This city is known for its military presence and historical sites.

From what one can see, this city looks entirely military, and there are many attractions of archeological interest here:

Downtown (37040): This section illustrates the Customs House Museum, existing constructions, building arts, and emerging cultural scenes.

Sango (37043): A suburb with a recent formation, beautiful scenery of parklands, and education facilities.

Fort Campbell (37042): Serving a population near the famous Fort Campbell-based military, the company has the chance to access the larger population and social services.

Murfreesboro (37127-37130)

Murfreesboro is a city in Nashville's metropolitan area with zip codes 37127, 37129, and 3713. This rapidly growing city is known for its historic significance and modern amenities.

It attracts people owing to its history and facilities provided for the contemporary population.

Downtown (37130): It boasts Middle Tennessee State University, a well-known university, Cannonsburgh Village, one of the oldest towns in the state, and an active town square.

Blackman (37128): Neighborhood for new residential, child care centers, schools, I.G.A., and new shopping cart.

North Murfreesboro (37129): These neighborhoods are well-endowed with beautiful views of parks, golf courses, and family-based neighborhoods.

Rural and Suburban Areas

Franklin (37064-37069)

Franklin is a beautiful city with a historical background in zip codes 37064-37069. Known for its charming yet lively downtown and historic sites. Famous for lovely downtown and historic points of interest:

Cool Springs (37067): Provides excellent locations for all merchandising and shopping needs. Retail shops, boutiques, specialty shops, and larger, better-quality retail stores can do well here since the area is alive with people.

Johnson City

Johnson City is located in the northeastern part of the state and has zip codes 37601, 37614, and 37615. This city is known for its outdoor activities and vibrant arts scene.

It is generally an excellent place for those who like different types and levels of physical activity and for creative individuals.

Boones Creek (37615): Stretching suburban area with numerous residential buildings, schools, schools, and parks.

South Johnson City (37604): Home of the East Tennessee State University and James H. Quillen VA Medical Centre.

Maryville (37801-37804)

Maryville occupies a central position as a gateway town for the Great Smoky Mountains, and the city corresponds with postal codes 37801, 37802, 37803, and 37804.

The city is known for its outdoor recreation and family-friendly atmosphere. This city is all about the sunshine stretched across the landscapes and the friendly company of families.

Downtown Maryville (37801): Shows the capitol theater, shops in the area, and events in the community.

Alcoa (37804): A competitor city with an operational airport, other industrial-based areas, and residential areas.

Conclusion

Tennessee's codes are another exciting way of understanding counties in various areas of the state. Every city is unique, though they share general features; some are lively cities like Nashville, Memphis, and Knoxville, whereas others are beautiful places such as Chattanooga, Clarksville, and Murfreesboro.

So, no matter what area you wander from the central historic city to your Tennessee suburbs, the Tennessee zip code accurately represents the state's way of life.

Ready to learn more? Visit our website at https://livingthenashvillelife.com/zip-code-map/ for comprehensive information.

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scienceviz · 1 year ago

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Understanding Hybrid Spaces . Now online at arXiv

Understanding Hybrid Spaces: Designing a Spacetime Model to Represent Dynamic Topologies of Hybrid Spaces . Now online at Cornell Universities arXiv repository.This paper develops a spatiotemporal model for the visualization of dynamic topologies of hybrid spaces. The visualization of spatiotemporal data is a well-known problem, for example in digital twins in urban planning. There is also a lack…

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#architecture and urban planning #Data Visualization #Digital Transformation #Digital Twins #hybrid space #Media Theory #serious games #Spatial Perception #University

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midnightshard06 · 6 months ago

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Rings and White Space

Summary: Shadow investigates an odd anomaly in the white space despite his rush to stop Black Doom. He ends up in an alternate dimension, and unbeknownst to him his counterpart gets sent to the white space.

Warnings: Mild panic attack

Word Count: ~4800 words

You can check it out on ao3 here if you prefer.

"What can you tell me about it Omega?" Shadow eyed the small anomaly that had shown up in the white space randomly. While he really didn't have time to deviate from his mission he couldn't rule out that this was some doing of Black Doom too. Thus why he was here to investigate in the first place.

"INITIAL SCANS INDICATE IT IS UNRELATED TO THE TEMPORAL ANOMALY OF THIS PLACE." Omega looked over at him.

Shadow sighed. "I find that hard to believe. How else would it have gotten here?" He crossed his arms.

"THE ANOMALY IS MORE SPATIAL IN ORIGIN THAN TEMPORAL BASED ON COMPARISON TO PREVIOUS DATA. THEREFORE IT SEEMS DISCONNECTED FROM BLACK DOOM OR THE TIME EATER'S INFLUENCE." Omega continued.

"That time monster clearly has some sort of control over space as well." Shadow gestured to the structures of the Ark not far from them. "Places that most certainly should not be in this odd white space clearly moved here in some fashion or at least replicated."

"DATA INCONCLUSIVE THEN. FURTHER INVESTIGATION IS REQUIRED." Omega sounded oddly miffed.

"Fine then." Shadow started walking towards the anomaly. "We'll gather further data for you." As Shadow approached the odd floating ball of some sort he heard Omega's heavy footsteps behind him. Once he was practically below it, the anomaly shifted and collapsed in on itself. A small, golden ring dropped to the ground. Shadow furrowed his brow in confusion. That was not what he'd been expecting, but this white space already held plenty of oddities. Perhaps a ring falling out of a spatial anomaly wasn't out of the question.

Before Shadow could even take a step forward to investigate the ring it began to move. It rattled on the ground before shooting into the air and growing in size significantly. Some sort of unfamiliar city landscape appeared in the center of the ring. Though Shadow didn't have much time to ponder that as he felt himself being sucked into the ring. As much as he tried to resist the force he found himself unable to stop, eventually being pulled into the ring.

An odd energy seemed to spread over his body for a moment, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. He landed as gracefully as he could with no warning and looked around. It seemed to be the landscape he'd seen in the ring. Around him were several destroyed vehicles. Both normal civilian ones and more militaristic. G.U.N. maybe? The symbols were damaged but they certainly seemed to be G.U.N.’s logo. His visual investigation was paused when he was blinded by a light shone on him and he heard the sound of a helicopter overhead. His eyes weren't drawn to it though. No, his eyes were drawn to a large screen nearby which seemed to be showing him. "What..?" Shadow let the word out quietly. It was unmistakably him but... different. "A new form..?" He pulled his hand away from his face and clenched his fists. "I need to figure out what's going on." He glanced up to where he'd come through the ring. It was gone now. "And find a way back to finish my mission." With his current goal in mind he sped off down the slightly destroyed streets.

"Omega? What's going on?" Rouge landed next to the robot. She'd come right over after the bot had gotten in contact with her. Apparently Shadow had been looking into another anomaly in the white space and had vanished through a ring portal. Sort of. She glanced down at the collapsed form of Shadow on the ground. As it stood, it seemed that the hedgehog was still here.

Omega pointed to Shadow. "THIS SHADOW DOES NOT MATCH THE LIFE DATA I HAVE ON FILE. THEY CAME THROUGH IMMEDIATELY AFTER SHADOW WAS PULLED IN AND HAVE NOT WOKEN UP YET."

"Hmmmm." Rouge walked over to the hedgehog. Carefully she turned them over. Well they certainly looked like Shadow. Exactly like him in fact. "Are you sure this isn't him?" She looked at Omega. "Certainly looks like him. Although..." She put a hand on her chin. "The doctor has made pretty much perfect looking copies of Shadow before. Is this one an android?" She gestured to the still passed out hedgehog.

"NEGATIVE. SCANS INDICATE THEY ARE ORGANIC." Omega reported.

Rouge squatted down near the Shadow look-alike. "Well, guess we'll just have to wait until they wake up hm? Maybe we can get some answers out of them directly..." She stood up and glanced at the Black Moon. "This better not take too long though. Sonic's going to notice that emerald is a fake sooner rather than later, and Shadow still has things to clean up here..."

Thus far skating through the city had yielded no answers as to what was going on. The place had seemingly been attacked and G.U.N. was all over, but Shadow still had no idea where he was or how he was going to get back. This whole situation was just getting more and more frustrating. He had no time for this. He needed to be stopping Black Doom, not running around in some random city without any sort of direction. This city did in some ways feel like how Maria had described certain places on earth but it still felt... wrong somehow.

He shook his head as he came to a sudden stop. Running around like this was yielding nothing and he needed a plan. As he caught sight of a flash of familiar blue in the distance he realized what that plan might need to involve. Painful as it was to admit it, Sonic did have a lot of experience with odd things happening to him, as well as traveling to other worlds. Something Shadow was beginning to believe had happened to him. Hopefully the Sonic of this world was as... experienced as the one he was familiar with.

It wasn't hard to catch up to Sonic, it was clear the other hedgehog wasn't moving at top speeds. As Shadow pulled alongside him and gestured for him to stop, Sonic watched him with wide eyes. With a sigh of annoyance Shadow just stopped and hoped Sonic got the message. Thankfully the other hedgehog did, as he stopped a few feet away. He was eying Shadow warily, bouncing from foot to foot. Overall he looked ready to either bolt or fight at a moment's notice. Just... fantastic.

"Sonic." Shadow dutifully ignored the fact that his voice also sounded different. There wasn't time for that right now.

Sonic's defensive looked changed into one of surprise. "Wait." He held up a hand. " Now you wanna talk?"

Well, given the current state of the city and how this Sonic was acting things were beginning to become clearer to Shadow. He might be at a time where his own counterpart and this Sonic had just met. If it was anything like the first time he'd met his own Sonic well... Shadow supposed he could understand how this Sonic was acting. Even if the whole situation was less than helpful for him.

Shadow drug a hand down his face and sighed. After taking a moment to compose himself he looked back at Sonic. "While I have no idea how, I am not the Shadow you know. I would appreciate if you could temporarily set whatever thoughts you have about my counterpart aside as I require... assistance." Shadow felt his ear twitch. As much as he didn't want to admit that out loud to a stranger, he didn't have time to beat around the bush. He needed to be direct.

Sonic's face went through so many emotions that Shadow gave up on deciphering them all. "So... you're from a different universe or something? Then why do you sound and look like the same guy?" Sonic put a hand on his chin as he considered Shadow. "In the movies there's always some sort of difference."

"I assure you I typically look and sound differently. Whatever anomaly brought me here must have also changed those things about me." Shadow fought the urge to just drop this conversation and continue trying to figure this out on his own. The whole conversation was quickly beginning to feel like a waste of time. Something he couldn't afford.

What seemed like chaos energy sparked over Sonic's quills. Interesting. "I don't know..." Sonic hummed. Shadow really took in this version of his... rival. It was plain to see now that he was younger, more inexperienced. Not the same as he'd been when Shadow had first met his own Sonic even. There were scuffs and what looked like small wounds over Sonic's body; something Shadow hadn't noticed before. Something must have just happened involving his counterpart, and now this Sonic wasn't inclined to believe him. Shadow's own... inadequacies when it came to speaking with others might prove to be his downfall. He'd expected this Sonic to act like the one he was familiar with. He had clearly misjudged.

Well he had one idea to perhaps prove he wasn't the same. It meant relying on assumptions again but Shadow had the feeling that even if he ran off now Sonic would chase him. "Then let me show you." Shadow focused. At first he couldn't feel the still new feeling of his doom abilities, but after a moment it felt almost as if a dam broke. The odd, yet familiar feeling of his new abilities returned to him. He'd go for something Sonic couldn't ignore. Pure chaos flooded his body as it quickly shifted into a more squid-like form. Sonic went wide eyed and backed up. Shadow looked down at him, form fully transitioned by doom morph. "Does this evidence suffice?" Shadow narrowed several sets of eyes.

"You know... I think I'm starting to believe you. If the guy I met can do that uh... I didn't see him do it." Sonic looked a mix of intimidated and intrigued. "There's also the fact you haven't tried to fight me yet either so..." He shrugged.

Shadow huffed and allowed the morph to drop. The transition both ways felt a great deal more awkward in this form, but it was manageable. "Good."

"How did you get here anyway?" Sonic tilted his head, his foot started tapping impatiently.

Shadow eyed the offending foot. Clearly this Sonic was on a time crunch much like he was. "A ring portal of some kind pulled me in when I was investigating some sort of spatial anomaly."

Sonic perked up. "Ring huh? Small and gold? Got bigger before you went through it?"

"Precisely." Shadow nodded. The fact that this Sonic was familiar with them was a good sign.

"Well if you came here through a ring you should be able to use it to get back to wherever you came from. Probably." Sonic rubbed the back of his head. "Tails is the one who'd know better... But! Lucky for you I should be able to get you a ring." He glanced around. "I just need to meet back up with Tails and Knuckles." He eyed Shadow.

"What?" Shadow crossed his arms.

"Well... it's just gonna be hard to explain to them that the guy who just beat us into the pavement a few minutes ago needs a ring." Sonic sighed. "Might need to do the creepy squid thing again."

Shadow drug a hand down his face again. "If necessary I will handle the convincing. Now I believe we're both on a time crunch." He gestured for Sonic to get a move on.

"Oh right." Sonic chuckled. "Follow me?" Shadow waved him off and Sonic took off. With a deep breath to calm himself, Shadow took off after him.

Shadow bolted up, his eyes darted around. The area around him was unfamiliar, though the overwhelming white did remind him of some of the rooms on the Ark. This place was nothing like those though. It was open and there were all sorts of odd structures littered throughout. "Well look who's up." An unfamiliar female voice said. He turned his head to the sound and saw a white bat. Behind her was a hefty looking robot. Both were watching him.

Chaos energy sparked over his quills as he glared. "Who are you?" He was brought out of his own threat by the sound of his voice. It was... different.

"Well, that's what we'd like to know." The bat hummed. "You see you came out of some portal right after our friend went in." Her eyes hardened a little. "We need to get him back."

Shadow regained his composure and narrowed his eyes at the bat. "I don't owe you any sort of explanation." Mostly because he didn't have one. He had no idea how he'd ended up here. In fact he didn't even recall passing out, but clearly he'd been out for a short time. His eyes darted around the area, quickly taking in anything that could help him. There was plenty around he could use to maneuver with though it felt like his most viable option was to simply take out the two in front of him and go from there. He could easily pick up on the hostility from the bat, and he assumed the robot followed her orders.

The bat's eyes widened as he shot towards her. Surprisingly she seemed at least mildly prepared for the attack, but it didn't save her from the brunt of the force of him slamming into her. The moment she was clear of him though the robot made its threat known. A barrage of weapons unloaded on him. He used chaos control to dodge most of them before trying to get in close. The robot proved to be adaptable though as it stood its ground and took the blow Shadow landed before forcing him back.

By then the bat had recovered and managed to land a surprise hit on his back. The strike stung but Shadow ignored the pain. These two would clearly not be as easy as that other hedgehog and his friends. These two seemed prepared for him. "SURRENDER OR BE DESTROYED." The robot aimed its weapons at him again as the bat stood at its side, watching him with a shut off expression.

His head felt oddly fuzzy the longer he stood there. Perhaps it would be wiser to retreat for the time being. His eyes darted around, trying to get a better feel for the layout of this place. It was probably the strangest place Shadow had ever seen, but there were plenty of ways to get around. He warped to a nearby platform and simply began putting distance between himself and the two. He needed to figure out how to get back, not mess around with those two.

The more he traversed the area the less he understood it. There seemed to be some areas which held more color, but they all seemed so different. The whole area itself just seemed like a bunch of places mashed together. There was some sort of cohesion to the whole thing but trying to understand everything was just giving him a headache. He paused in his searching though when he caught sight of who seemed to be a familiar face. Was that the professor? It was relieving to see a familiar face. Perhaps he would know what was going on. Clearly whatever odd force had brought Shadow here had brought the professor as well.

"Professor!" Shadow called out but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the person standing at the professor's side. His eyes widened. "Maria..?"

"Should be around here..." Sonic trailed off.

Shadow mentally sighed. It was clear this Sonic was distracted, but if he was dealing with Shadow's counterpart perhaps some distraction was to be expected. Thankfully though it wasn't long before Shadow noticed two familiar figures in the distance. What must be this world's Tails and Knuckles. Sonic enthusiastically waved to them as they turned to look. Both of their eyes widened simultaneously and Shadow only had a moment to realize this was going to go south before Knuckles was in his face, chaos energy crackling over his body and eyes glowing red.

A punch flew over Shadow's head as he dropped down. A quick chaos control had him on his feet again, several feet away. As much as he wanted to defend himself more directly, he knew that would only make it harder to convince them to assist him. Sonic ran to be between the two of them, holding up his hands in a placating manor towards Knuckles. "Whoa there, this guy's ok."

Knuckles gave Sonic a disbelieving look. "Is that not the same hedgehog we engaged in battle before? Why do you defend him now?" Shadow felt a little taken aback by this Knuckles' demeanor. It was jarring when compared to the one he was familiar with, but perhaps that would make this easier.

"Cause he's not... the same guy?" Sonic sounded unsure. Clearly Shadow would need to speak for himself.

"Although I look the same as the Shadow you're familiar with, I am not. I arrived here through a ring portal of some sort and am only trying to return to where I came from." Shadow crossed his arms. "I assume the oddity of the place I came from may have an influence on my own appearance here. Causing me to take on the same form as my counterpart."

"I think he's telling the truth." Tails spoke up as he held up a device with a small screen on it. "He may look like the Shadow we encountered but nothing else seems to match up."

Knuckles eyed Shadow suspiciously before backing off. "Very well. I will choose to believe both of you."

"Great." Sonic sighed in relief. "Now then, all we need is a ring and we should be able to get this guy back to where he came from." He glanced over at Tails. "Since he came here through one... right?"

"Theoretically if he got here through a ring portal he should be able to get back yeah." Tails nodded before pulling a small gold ring out and tossing it to Sonic.

Sonic grinned as he caught it. "One ring, just as requested." He tossed the ring to Shadow. "Should be all you need to get home."

"I see." Shadow turned the ring over in his hand. "How does it function?"

Sonic seemed to falter for a moment in surprise. "You just throw it and think about where you want to go." He shrugged. Shadow nodded and threw the ring as he thought of the white space. The ring sparked briefly. That hadn't happened before. He was relieved when it flared to life just as the other one had though. This time the image was of the white space. "That's where you come from?" Sonic's ears drooped as he looked through the portal. "I wouldn't blame you for wanting to come here instead. Earth's way cooler than... that."

"I don't live there." Shadow huffed. "I simply have some business to attend to there."

"Huh." Sonic seemed more interested. "Good luck with that."

"Interesting..." Tails stepped a little closer. "Interdimensional travel via the rings..." He put a hand on his chin. "I knew there was weight to the theory of alternate dimensions. I just had no idea they could be so easy to access."

"The space beyond that portal is far from natural where I come from." Shadow shook his head. "It's likely the ease is only because of the oddity of the place."

"Still." Tails hummed. "Interesting."

"Good luck in your mission." Knuckles nodded. Shadow nodded back.

"Well even if it was weird..." Sonic trailed off, but there was a smile on his face. "Was cool to meet you. Gives me some hope I guess. Even if the squid thing was super weird." He chuckled.

"What is this squid thing you speak of?" Knuckles' face scrunched up in confusion.

Sonic patted his arm. "Don't worry about it."

Shadow walked up to the ring but hesitated. He turned back to Sonic and the others. "My counterpart..." He started. For some reason he felt compelled to say something. If his counterpart was anything like he'd been after first waking up then he could use a nudge in the right direction. "There is more to him than he may let on." Before any of them could ask any questions though Shadow hopped through the ring portal. They would figure it out.

Shadow stumbled away from what must be a trick. Maria was standing there next to Professor Gerald. The two had noticed him by now and were looking at him with concern. It all felt wrong. He felt his breath beginning to pick up. Despite his best efforts his thoughts seemed to spiral and his breathing came in short gasps. Then suddenly he felt grounded. A set of arms were around him and he clung onto their owners for dear life. The whole thing was a shameful display, especially to have in front of the professor, but in that moment he allowed himself to indulge. Everything else temporarily put to the side as he sunk into the arms around him and shut his eyes to block out the world. It was Maria, he belatedly realized. At least his brain made him think it was. There was no way it was actually her. He bathed in the comfort of her embrace regardless. For now it didn't matter if she was real or not. It felt real enough to him.

"What do you think happened?" Maria asked. Shadow could feel her shift slightly.

"I'm not sure...." Gerald sounded perplexed. "Last I heard Shadow was going to investigate that anomaly. I suspect something must have happened there."

"It's ok Shadow." Maria's voice was soft, calming. "Whatever happened it's ok." She started to gently stroke his quills.

Shadow wanted to say something. Mostly how it wasn't ok. None of what happened was. His voice seemed stuck in his throat though, so instead he just gripped Maria tighter. Being careful to not hurt her. "Thought this might be where you'd go." The bat's voice was there. Shadow fought the urge to raise his quills. He didn't want to hurt Maria.

"Ah, Rouge right?" Gerald asked. "Do you know what's going on?"

"Well..." The newly identified Rouge hummed. "Something happened when Shadow went to investigate that ring. He got pulled through and right after that this Shadow came out. Omega says he's not the one we know." Shadow's ear twitched as he took in the information. A different Shadow to the one they knew? There were other hims?

"I see." Gerald hummed. "Perhaps the instability of this place allowed contact with an alternate reality? One that forced the two to swap places when our Shadow was forced to investigate."

"You'd know more about the sciencey stuff than me." Rouge said. "I'd go ask Sonic's little fox friend about it but I don't think getting blue and his friends involved is a good idea."

"I'll trust your judgment on that." Gerald seemed to walk a few steps.

"Can we get him back home?" Maria asked, concern tinting her voice.

"Presumably yes." Gerald answered. "If the two were forced to swap when our Shadow entered this Shadow's world it reasons to stand that if one of them is sent back to their native dimension the other will be sent back as well."

"So if we manage to get this Shadow back home we get our Shadow back?" Rouge asked. "You make it sound so simple." She huffed.

Shadow tuned out the conversation that started after that. He didn't care to hear their ideas of how to send him back right now. There was a part of him that didn't want to go back. Part of him that wanted to stay here where Maria was still alive. "Shadow." Maria's voice was soft. "I don't know what happened where you came from but it's going to be ok. Whatever happened or is happening you'll get through it." She gently managed to dislodge him from her. Her face was reassuring, and that broke Shadow's heart a little. "If you're anything like the Shadow I know, you're strong. You'll be ok."

"Thank you." Shadow muttered quietly. He took a deep breath to get his emotions back under control. His chest ached with a sense of loss but he needed to push forward. He allowed anger to settle back over him to block out the pain. An anger built up by the time he'd been imprisoned. As he looked Maria in the eyes though he began to doubt. Doubt if she really would have wanted this anger for him. He looked away and banished the thought. No. The anger wouldn't just go away so quickly. He needed to do something with it.

There was suddenly a gentle tugging in his chest. He looked down in confusion before he understood. "I think your theory is right professor." He said quietly. Both Professor Gerald and Rouge turned to look at him. "I think your Shadow found a way back."

"Guess I had nothing to worry about." Rouge chuckled. "Should have known that getting sent to another dimension wouldn't have slowed him down for long."

Maria took Shadow's hands. He felt light headed, but he managed to focus on her anyway. "Good luck Shadow." Maria smiled at him. His focus began to slip but he managed a nod. The smallest of smiles pulled at his lips before he felt himself pitch forward and black out.

Shadow sighed in relief as he stepped back into the white space. The ring portal he came through collapsed behind him. Though the ring itself, now the same size as it was originally, fell to the ground. He picked it up and put it away safely. It would be a poor idea to leave something like that out in the open. He looked over to see Omega aiming weapons at him. For a moment the two stared each other down. "SCANS INDICATE YOU ARE THE SHADOW I KNOW." Omega lowered his weapons.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Shadow furrowed his brow in confusion.

"WHEN YOU WERE PULLED INTO THE PORTAL AN IMPOSTER CAME THROUGH. THEY DID NOT COOPERATE WITH QUESTIONING." Omega explained. “NOR DID THEY COOPERATE WITH MY ATTEMPTS TO DESTROY THEM.”

Shadow hummed. Perhaps his counterpart had been sent here then. "Where is he now?"

"HE FLED. ROUGE WENT IN PURSUIT. SHE STATED SHE PLANNED TO CHECK WITH GERALD AND MARIA BEFORE EXPANDING HER SEARCH." Omega pointed in the direction of where the two were.

Shadow sucked in a breath through his nose. "Understood. I'll go check in with her."

"AFFIRMATIVE. INFORM ME OF THE SITUATION WHEN ABLE." Omega put his arm down.

Shadow nodded before taking off in the direction Omega had indicated. As he approached the water and activated doom surf he felt relieved that the powers felt more natural again. Even if the idea of them in general still unnerved him some. Once he was close enough Maria began to wave at him. Gerald and Rouge seemed to have been talking. He landed on the shore and approached them. "Where's my counterpart?" Shadow asked, glancing between the three of them.

"Back to his native dimension I'd assume." Gerald stroked his moustache. "Disappeared a few moments ago."

Well at least that was set straight. "Good." Shadow nodded.

"What happened?" Rouge was suddenly in his face.

Shadow grimaced and backed up a step. "I went to investigate the anomaly and was pulled through. I was taken to an alternate dimension of some sort. I located versions of Sonic and a couple of his friends and got their assistance returning."

“Interesting.” Gerald hummed.

“I hope he’ll be ok.” Maria frowned. “That Shadow seemed so upset when he saw us.”

Shadow fought to keep his expression neutral. He couldn’t risk hinting to their fates any more than he already had. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Admittedly he couldn’t completely shake his concern for his counterpart, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"Well you're back now." Rouge patted him on the arm. "Ready to finish things?"

Shadow glanced up to where the last sealing device was waiting for him. Despite his own circumstances he mentally wished good luck to his counterpart. It would have been nice to perhaps be able to have a brief chat with him, but he was confident that it would all work out. If there was one constant he was sure about, it was how stubborn Sonic could be. No doubt the hedgehog's counterpart would manage to get through to Shadow's counterpart. At the very least another of Sonic's friends, like Amy had done for him. He gave Rouge a confident look. "As I'll ever be." Thoughts of alternate worlds and alternate versions of people had to be pushed to the side for now. Right now he had a mission to finish.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic au #sonic fandom #shadow the hedgehog #sonic movie #sonic movie 3 #fanfiction #shadow swap au

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