#it from qubit

[mcghosts]

Array of sigils ^

Once you get to a certain level of advanced maths, you basically become a wizard.

[mcrdvcks]

— love language

summary: You and Matt are now dating, but you haven't told anyone. How long will it take your friends to notice?

word count: 3.4k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: i had this idea after writing goodnight n go (which is technically the first part, but you don't need to read it to understand this). anyways, here's a bunch of fluff

warnings/tags: after endgame but date is not specified, best friends to lovers, reader works at stark industries, matt is a cocky little shit, making out

Things moved on normally, the only thing that had changed in the past month was that you two weren’t just friends but dating.

You didn’t realize it, but you were already quite close to Matt.

Matt chuckled, his arm hooked around yours as the two of you waited in line for coffee. “Really?” He asked sarcastically.

“Ugh.” You elbowed him. “You’re an ass.”

“I’m just saying, what kinda friends have a toothbrush at their place?” He tapped his cane against the floor lightly.

You tilted your head. “Uhhh… pretty sure at one point Foggy had a toothbrush at your place.”

“That he never used other than one time.”

You scoffed, nudging his side again. "Still counts."

Matt smirked. "Does it?"

"Yes, because that means I’m not the weird one here. You just have a habit of letting people leave their stuff at your place."

Matt tilted his head slightly, feigning thoughtfulness. "Interesting theory. Except you’re the only person whose toothbrush has stayed."

You opened your mouth to argue, then paused, realizing he was right. "Okay, fine, but that’s only because—"

"You stay over all the time?"

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, squeezing your arm lightly before stepping forward to order.

---

Foggy opened the door to Matt’s office. “Hey, did you ever finish the deposition for the Martin case?”

Matt put down the fork to his Pad Thai, leaving it in the Styrofoam container. “Yeah, I did.”

You took the opportunity, snatching the fork from his container and stealing a bite of his Pad Thai. Matt huffed, but you could hear the amusement in it.

"Really?" he murmured.

"You put it down," you said, chewing. "That means it's fair game."

Foggy barely glanced up from the papers in his hand. "She’s got a point, Matt. You know the rules."

Matt exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he blindly reached for the fork still in your grip. You dodged, keeping it out of his reach as you took another bite.

Foggy flipped a page. "Anyway, judge pushed the hearing back a week, which is good because it gives us time to go over the new witness statement. Karen’s taking a look at it now."

Matt hummed in acknowledgment, still trying to reclaim his fork. You smirked, shifting slightly in his lap. He retaliated by sliding an arm around your waist, pinning you in place.

"You gonna give that back?" he murmured.

"Maybe," you teased, holding it just out of reach.

Foggy sighed, still not looking up. "If you two devolve into a full-on fork battle, at least take it outside. I don’t need Pad Thai in the depositions."

Matt smirked, finally managing to grab the utensil from your grip. "Noted."

You huffed but didn’t move, resting your elbow on his shoulder instead. "Fine. I got what I wanted anyway."

Matt chuckled, shaking his head as he twirled the fork back into his food.

Foggy snapped the folder shut. "Alright, well, since you two seem busy, I’ll go see if Karen needs help."

"Let us know if you need anything," Matt said easily.

"Yeah, yeah," Foggy muttered, already halfway out the door.

---

Josie’s was loud and crowded as always, but at this point it was like a second home. You were telling Karen about an incident in the lab. “—Levi somehow hooks the string around the sprinkler and pulls. I get an alert on my tablet and rush over to the lab. Turns out, when he pulled the sprinkler, he also pulled part of the main water line. All for a tiny qubit that got stuck on the ceiling.”

Karen snorted, shaking her head. "Please tell me this guy got fired."

"Nope," you said, sipping your drink. "Because technically, it worked. The qubit came loose. He just, y’know… flooded half the floor in the process."

Karen groaned. "God, Stark Industries sounds like a nightmare sometimes."

"You have no idea," you muttered, setting your glass down.

As you kept talking, you felt your shirt strap slide down your shoulder. It wasn’t anything major, just a slight shift, but before you could adjust it yourself, Matt did it for you.

His hand found your shoulder with ease, fingers brushing your skin as he hooked the strap with two fingers and guided it back into place. It was quick, thoughtless, something he’d probably done a hundred times before without even realizing.

Karen barely blinked.

You didn’t think much of it either, continuing on. "Anyway, Levi tried to convince me it was an 'engineering breakthrough' and that 'technically' he proved a new method of remote retrieval—"

"You’re kidding," Karen deadpanned.

"Oh, I wish."

Matt smirked beside you, listening quietly. His arm was resting along the back of your chair, close but not overbearing.

Karen leaned forward, taking another sip of her drink. "So what’d you do?"

You grinned. "Told him if he ever did that again, I’d make sure the next thing he got stuck was his own head in the centrifuge."

Karen burst out laughing. "And let me guess—he immediately backed down."

"Pretty much," you said smugly.

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. "You really are terrifying sometimes."

"And yet, here you are," you teased, echoing the same words you’d said to him earlier that morning.

Matt tilted his head slightly, smirk deepening. "Guess I have a thing for danger."

Karen rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. She was too used to the way you two interacted, and nothing about tonight seemed different from any other night.

---

“You didn’t have to come.” Matt murmured, as your hands combed through his hair. “It’s just a mugging case.”

“And yet,” you pulled your hands away. “You were goin’ to walk in there with hair like that.” You gave him a grin. “I helped you devil boy. Oh, wait.”

You pulled his red-lensed glasses off before cleaning them with your shirt. Matt huffed, tilting his head slightly. "You know, most people don’t manhandle my things without permission."

"Most people aren’t me," you shot back, flipping the glasses open and sliding them back onto his face.

Matt’s lips twitched, but he didn’t argue.

Foggy sighed from beside you. "How do you two have time for this while standing outside a courtroom?"

Karen smirked, arms crossed. "Multitasking."

You grinned. "Exactly. I’m helping him and annoying him at the same time."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You really do take your job seriously."

"Obviously."

Before Foggy could reply, the courtroom doors opened, and the previous case let out, lawyers and reporters filing into the hallway. The four of you straightened slightly as Matt rolled his shoulders, settling into courtroom mode.

"Alright," Matt murmured, adjusting his tie. "Let’s get this over with."

You reached out instinctively, running a hand down the front of his suit, smoothing the fabric. "You’re good."

Matt caught your wrist before you could pull away, his thumb brushing over your pulse for just a second longer than necessary. “You going to stay?”

“Yep. I’ll be sittin’ in the front row looking pretty.”

Foggy snorted. "Sittin’ pretty? That’s your plan?"

"Someone’s gotta balance out Matt’s whole intimidating blind lawyer thing," you teased, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

Matt smirked. "Intimidating, huh?"

"You know what you do," you muttered, patting his chest once before stepping back.

Karen chuckled, shaking her head. "Alright, let’s get in there before we miss the good part."

The courtroom was already filling up when you and Karen slipped into the front row, Matt and Foggy making their way to the bench. You crossed one leg over the other, leaning back slightly as you pulled your phone from your bag, muting notifications.

"You know, sometimes I forget you don’t actually work for them," Karen mused, watching as you settled in.

You glanced at her. "Why?"

Karen shrugged. "You’re here so often, always involved in their cases, bringing them food, making sure Matt doesn’t walk into court looking like he just crawled out of a dumpster—"

"Hey," you cut in. "I don’t make him look good. He just listens to me when I tell him to fix his tie."

Karen smirked, tilting her head. "Mhm."

You rolled your eyes, looking toward the front of the courtroom. Matt and Foggy were talking in hushed tones, Foggy flipping through a stack of papers while Matt leaned slightly toward him, nodding at something he said.

Karen was still watching you, but you ignored her.

The judge entered, and the room settled as the proceedings began.

---

The hearing wasn’t long, but it was long enough for you to notice Karen sneaking glances at you every so often. You didn’t say anything, keeping your focus on the case.

Matt and Foggy handled it well, as expected. You knew Matt’s confidence in the courtroom was unmatched, and even though you couldn’t see his eyes behind the red lenses, you knew he was completely locked in, analyzing every shift in the judge’s tone, every heartbeat in the room.

By the time the judge adjourned the hearing, you were stretching slightly, rolling your shoulders as you stood.

Matt and Foggy approached, gathering their things. "Well," Foggy said, stuffing papers into his briefcase. "That went about as well as it could’ve."

Matt hummed in agreement. "We should have a decision in a few days."

Karen exhaled. "That was exhausting to watch, so I can’t imagine how you two feel."

Matt smiled. "Used to it."

You reached out, fixing the fold of his pocket square before he could tuck his cane under his arm. "You did good."

Matt turned his head toward you slightly, smirk playing at his lips. "Yeah?"

You huffed. "Yeah, Murdock. Try not to look so smug about it."

Foggy raised a brow, gaze flickering between the two of you for a second. Karen, too, was watching, something unreadable in her expression.

Neither of them said anything.

"Alright," Foggy finally broke the silence, snapping his briefcase shut. "Lunch? Please? I need food after all that legal jargon."

"Agreed," Karen said.

You nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Matt tapped his cane against the floor once, falling into step beside you. Karen shot one last glance between the two of you but still said nothing.

---

You pulled out an expired container of milk. “Matty, I seriously don’t know how you, of all people, didn’t notice you had 2-week expired milk in your fridge.”

Matt smirked from where he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "You think I make a habit of sniffing my milk cartons?"

You made a face, waving the expired container in his direction. "Considering you should be able to smell the rotting dairy in your fridge? Yeah, actually, I do."

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, stepping forward as you popped the lid open and took an experimental sniff—only to gag immediately.

"Jesus Christ," you muttered, shoving the carton at him. "Smell it. I dare you."

Matt wrinkled his nose, taking a slight step back. "I’ll pass."

"Uh-huh, that’s what I thought." You shut the carton and tossed it in the trash before opening the fridge again. "When’s the last time you actually bought groceries?"

Matt leaned against the counter, lips twitching. "Don’t know. You usually do it for me."

You shot him a look over your shoulder. "That’s not the win you think it is, Murdock."

"I don’t know," he murmured, stepping behind you, hands settling at your waist. "Feels like a win to me."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in slightly, lips brushing just behind your ear. You huffed, pushing him back lightly with your elbow. "No, you don’t get to distract me. Your fridge is a disaster."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle but didn’t let go entirely. "I’ve survived this long."

"Yeah, because I keep you alive," you muttered, pulling out a sad-looking bag of spinach and holding it up for him. "This? This is a crime."

Matt smirked. "Pretty sure I deal with actual crimes for a living."

"You’re so lucky you’re cute." You tossed the bag onto the counter with a sigh. "Alright, that’s it. We’re going grocery shopping."

"You say that like I have a choice."

"You don’t," you said, shutting the fridge and turning in his arms.

Matt smiled, fingers brushing over your hip before he dropped his hands. "At least let me buy you dinner after."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "Bribing me with food?"

"Wouldn’t be the first time."

You rolled your eyes, but the smirk you tried to suppress still made its way onto your lips. "Fine. But you’re carrying all the bags."

"Deal," Matt murmured, reaching for his cane.

You grabbed your coat, glancing at him as he adjusted his watch. "And I’m making sure you don’t buy anything that will expire in two days."

Matt chuckled. "Now that’s just cruel."

---

The grocery store was relatively quiet for a Friday night, the kind of late-evening lull where the only customers were people grabbing last-minute dinner ingredients or, in Matt’s case, replacing an entire fridge’s worth of expired food.

You pushed the cart while Matt walked beside you, his hand resting lightly at the crook of your elbow. "Alright, first things first," you said, steering the cart toward the produce section. "You’re getting actual vegetables. Not just things that used to be vegetables before they died a slow, tragic death in your fridge."

Matt smirked. "I resent that."

"You resent having to eat vegetables," you shot back, picking up a head of lettuce and tossing it into the cart.

Matt tilted his head slightly, like he was considering. "That might be true."

You sighed dramatically. "It’s like taking a toddler shopping."

"You did sign up for this," Matt pointed out, casually trailing his fingers over the display of apples as he passed.

You side-eyed him. "Did I? I don’t remember agreeing to supervise you."

"You knew what you were getting into," he teased, reaching past you to grab an apple and setting it in the cart.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, adding a few more. "What else do you need? Other than everything."

Matt hummed, fingers tapping lightly against the handle of the cart. "Bread. Eggs. Coffee."

"Obviously," you muttered, already steering the cart in that direction.

As you walked, Matt’s hand slid from your elbow to your wrist, fingers idly tracing over your pulse before his hand found yours, linking your fingers together like it was nothing.

You squeezed his hand slightly. "If you think holding my hand is gonna distract me from making you buy actual groceries, you’re wrong."

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "Worth a shot."

"Mm-hmm," you mused, scanning the shelves as you walked. You paused near the coffee aisle, reaching for a bag of Matt’s usual blend.

"That one’s good," Matt said, nodding toward it.

You smirked, holding up a different one just to mess with him. "What about this one?"

Matt tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "That one’s decaf."

Your lips parted in mock surprise. "Wow. Look at that. Guess you do pay attention to your groceries."

Matt exhaled a laugh, leaning in slightly. "I pay attention to you."

Your stomach flipped, but you covered it with an eye roll, tossing his usual coffee into the cart before dragging him toward the next aisle.

---

By the time you made it to the checkout, the cart was full. Probably more food than Matt had ever willingly bought for himself.

"You’re never gonna finish all this," he mused as you unloaded onto the conveyor belt.

"You will if you actually cook," you shot back. "And don’t tell me you can’t. I’ve seen you do it."

Matt smirked, handing the cashier his card before you could stop him. "Guess I have no choice now."

You squinted at him. "That sounds suspiciously like a challenge."

Matt tilted his head. "Maybe it is."

You grinned. "Alright, Murdock. Guess I’ll be the judge of whether or not you can actually cook."

Matt chuckled, grabbing the grocery bags as the cashier finished bagging them. "I did offer to buy you dinner."

You crossed your arms. "I thought we were talking restaurant dinner, not Murdock’s Mystery Kitchen dinner."

Matt smirked, shifting the bags in his hands. "I never specified."

You rolled your eyes but reached out, grabbing a couple of bags from him. "Fine. But if you burn anything, I’m taking over."

"Noted," Matt said, leaning in just slightly. "But I wouldn’t underestimate me, sweetheart."

You huffed, shoving a bag at him before walking toward the door. "We’ll see about that, devil boy."

---

“Where’s my shirt? You know, the soft blue one with a star embroidered on it?”

Matt, who was sitting on the couch, fingers tracing a braille legal document, tilted his head. “…Where are your clothes?”

“My—that’s what I’m asking you.” You replied, hands on your hips, leaning against his bedroom door.

Matt’s lips twitched, setting the braille document down on the coffee table. He turned his head slightly, his attention fully on you now. "You’re asking me where your clothes are?"

"Yes, Matty." You sighed, crossing your arms. "I took a shower, and now I can’t find my damn shirt. The soft blue one? The one with the star embroidered on it?"

Matt hummed, pushing himself up from the couch, his movements slow, deliberate. "And you think I did something with it?"

"You have a habit of stealing my clothes," you pointed out. "So yes, you’re my prime suspect."

Matt smirked, stepping toward you. "Interesting accusation, sweetheart."

You didn’t flinch as he closed the distance, his fingers barely brushing along your forearm, trailing up to your shoulder before settling against your jaw.

"You’re not wearing any clothes."

You rolled your eyes. "I am wearing clothes. Just not the ones I want."

Matt exhaled a quiet chuckle, tilting his head slightly. "Bra and underwear don’t count."

"Tell that to every guy who’s ever seen a Victoria’s Secret ad," you muttered.

Matt grinned. "Is that what this is? A show?"

You huffed, lightly swatting at his chest. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, echoing your words from earlier, his fingers still lazily tracing the edge of your jaw.

You narrowed your eyes but didn’t pull away. "Are you gonna help me find my shirt or not?"

Matt’s lips twitched. "I’m starting to think you just wanted an excuse to walk around like this."

You scoffed. "Matty, if I wanted to walk around half-naked in your apartment, I would. I don’t need an excuse."

Matt grinned. "Good to know."

You rolled your eyes, stepping back. "So are you gonna help or—"

Before you could finish, Matt turned toward his dresser, fingers trailing over the top before he grabbed something and held it out.

Your missing shirt.

Your jaw dropped. "You knew where it was this whole time?"

Matt shrugged. "You left it here last week. I thought it was mine."

You squinted at him. "Since when do you own a soft blue shirt with a star embroidered on it?"

Matt smirked. "I don’t, but you leave your stuff here so often, I figured it was fair game."

You snatched it from his hands. "Unbelievable."

Matt huffed a laugh, crossing his arms. "You gonna put it on, or do I get to keep enjoying the view?"

You shot him a look, but the heat in his voice sent something warm curling in your stomach. You turned away, slipping the shirt over your head, and when you glanced back, Matt was still smirking.

"Happy now?" you muttered.

Matt hummed, stepping closer again. "Not yet."

Before you could respond, he leaned in, catching your chin between his fingers before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulled back, his smirk deepened. "Now I’m happy."

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your heart was hammering in your chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you love it."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

---

It was late at night when Matt convinced you to stay. Foggy and Karen were out of the office for the night, leaving just you and Matt doing your separate work.

The office was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of paper and the distant hum of the city outside.

You were perched on Matt’s couch, cross-legged, a set of blueprints spread across your lap while he sat at his desk, reading over a case file. Neither of you spoke, lost in your own work, but there was a comfortable ease to it.

"Are you even getting anything done over there?" Matt asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You didn’t look up. "Are you?"

He hummed. "I was. Until I realized how unfair this is."

You sighed, already knowing where this was going. "What’s unfair, Matty?"

"You get to sit all comfy on my couch, while I’m stuck here, hard at work."

You snorted. "Hard at work, huh? I didn’t realize whining counted as work."

Matt pushed his chair back, standing slowly. "I think I deserve a break."

You barely glanced up. "Then take one. I’m actually doing something productive."

Matt made his way toward you, hands in his pockets. "Are you?"

You narrowed your eyes, lifting a brow. "Yes. Unlike some people, I have deadlines to meet."

Matt hummed, stepping in front of you. "And yet, you’re still here. With me."

"Because you asked me to stay," you reminded him, flipping a page. "You coerced me."

Matt smirked. "Did I?"

"Yes, you—hey!"

In one swift motion, Matt plucked the blueprints from your lap and set them aside. Before you could protest, he leaned down, hands bracketing your sides as he caged you against the couch.

"Take a break with me, angel," he murmured.

You exhaled, glaring up at him. "You are so—"

Whatever insult you had lined up died in your throat as Matt leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw. His lips brushed over your pulse, deliberate, teasing.

"Annoying?" he murmured.

You swallowed hard. "Distracting."

Matt grinned against your skin. "Mm. I’ll take that."

Your fingers curled around his tie, tugging slightly. "You are so lucky I like you."

Matt chuckled, dipping his head until his lips were just barely grazing yours. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You closed the distance, kissing him properly.

Matt exhaled against your lips, deepening it immediately. His hands skimmed down your sides, gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him. You barely noticed when he guided you backward, until the edge of his desk dug into your lower back.

"Matty," you murmured between kisses.

"Mm?"

"I thought we were taking a break."

"This is my break," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your throat.

You huffed a quiet laugh, threading your fingers into his hair. "Productive."

Matt grinned against your skin, hands slipping under the hem of your shirt. "You’re the one distracting me, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. His lips trailed back up, capturing yours again in a kiss that left your head spinning.

Neither of you noticed the sound of the front door opening.

At least, you didn’t.

Matt either didn’t hear it, or—more likely—just didn’t care.

"Hey, Matt, I left my phone—"

Foggy’s voice cut through the air like a record scratch.

You froze.

Matt, however, barely reacted. His lips left yours just enough for him to let out a quiet sigh—like he was annoyed—before pressing one last kiss to your jaw.

"Should’ve knocked, Fog," he murmured.

Your entire body was on fire. You didn’t dare turn around. Foggy, for his part, just stood there. Silent. Karen was the one to break it. "Uh."

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back against the desk. "Jesus Christ."

Matt still didn’t move. He just turned his head slightly in their direction. "You left your phone?"

Foggy blinked. "Yeah." A beat. "But now I kinda wanna leave it here forever."

Karen coughed, her voice tight with suppressed laughter. "Should we leave?"

You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

Matt just smirked. "You could, but I doubt you will."

Karen cleared her throat. "Y’know what? I suddenly really need a drink."

"Yeah, me too," Foggy muttered, grabbing his phone off the desk and speed walking toward the door.

Karen cast one last glance between the two of you, shaking her head before following. The second the door shut behind them, you finally shoved Matt away.

"You knew they were coming, didn’t you!?"

Matt grinned, shrugging. "You said it yourself—I have a habit of coercing you."

You gaped at him. "Murdock."

He just leaned in again, lips ghosting over your ear. "You gonna finish what you started, angel?"

Your face burned. "I started!?"

Matt chuckled, nudging his nose against yours.

"You’re impossible," you muttered, still flustered.

"And yet," Matt murmured, smirking, "here you are."

[foone]

there are 6 flavors of qubits (using the names from quarks, for some reason) and thus 36 possible configurations. So every time you have a successful decode, it randomizes, and you have to iterate through all the configurations again to find the correct one.

why would you do this to your players? do you hate them? do you want them to go mad building endless logic networks?

[mindblowingscience]

An experiment by a group of physicists led by University of Rochester physics professor Regina Demina has produced a significant result related to quantum entanglement—an effect that Albert Einstein called "spooky action at a distance." Entanglement concerns the coordinated behavior of miniscule particles that have interacted but then moved apart. Measuring properties—like position or momentum or spin—of one of the separated pair of particles instantaneously changes the results of the other particle, no matter how far the second particle has drifted from its twin. In effect, the state of one entangled particle, or qubit, is inseparable from the other. Quantum entanglement has been observed between stable particles, such as photons or electrons. But Demina and her group broke new ground in that they found, for the first time, entanglement to persist between unstable top quarks and their antimatter partners at distances farther than what can be covered by information transferred at the speed of light. Specifically, the researchers observed spin correlation between the particles.

Continue Reading.

[ronaldvanloonn]

World’s First Quantum Processor With Topological Qubits

Quantum computing just hit a new milestone! Microsoft’s Majorana 1 is the first quantum processor powered by topological qubits, designed to scale up to a million qubits. We’re moving from theory to reality – fast. Watch now! Learn more: https://bit.ly/3EKFVuD #MSFTAmbassador @Microsoft #Microsoft #QuantumReady #MicrosoftQuantum #QuantumComputing from Ronald van Loon…

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Mesoporous silicon: Etching technique reveals unique electronic transport properties

Silicon is the best-known semiconductor material. However, controlled nanostructuring drastically alters the material's properties. Using a specially developed etching apparatus, a team at HZB has now produced mesoporous silicon layers with countless tiny pores and investigated their electrical and thermal conductivity. For the first time, the researchers elucidated the electronic transport mechanism in this mesoporous silicon. The material has great potential for applications and could also be used to thermally insulate qubits for quantum computers. The work is published in Small Structures. Mesoporous silicon is crystalline silicon with disordered nanometer-sized pores. The material has a huge internal surface area and is also biocompatible. This opens up a wide range of potential applications, from biosensors to battery anodes and capacitors. In addition, the material's exceptionally low thermal conductivity suggests applications as thermal insulator.

Read more.

[kuliak]

I've been listening to a lot of Boards of Canada the last couple of days. If you couldn't tell.

Let marbles roll for a while until I found a nice glitchy Worm sequence, then build around it. Four parts, technically.

Worm goes through Qubit Prism, Bib, then Rainmaker, simple as.

Drums are the whole shebang through Ikarie as usual, though with a more complicated sequence than I usually do, which is good - less regular/euclidian patterns, more complicated ones with a few portions broken out for muting/unmuting. I finally have enough percussion that Taiko can do what it does best: varied, auxiliary percussion. Marbles y channel modulates Archer's Rig presets to randomly random the hats, which sounds great. Maybe I'll get more fine grain with that in the future, maybe not.

Chord pads are Piston Honda receiving steady and chaotic modulation from Quadrax, through Data Bender which is mostly doing low-pass filtering. There's a pretty low-in-the-mix voice doing some bass and little arpeggios which is three body through Lacrima Versio, then the stock reverb on Nebulae. Both of them are sequenced with Bard Quartet.

Love pretty much everything happening here.

[prfm-multiverse]

The Exit 8 is now shown during the “Midnight Screenings” at the 78th Edition of the Cannes Film Festival from May 13-24.

The original soundtrack is written by Yasutaka Nakata (CAPSULE) and Shohei Amimori (QUBIT).

[darkmaga-returns]

A major investigation by a group of renowned German researchers has confirmed that Pfizer’s Covid mRNA “vaccines” are laced with dangerous levels of DNA contaminants.

While the presence of DNA contamination in Covid injections is not a new discovery, this latest study uses advanced techniques for more reliable quantification, making it the most significant investigation to date.

As Slay News has previously reported, leading scientists have been warning for some time that surges in deadly cancers among the Covid-vaccinated were caused by DNA fragments in the mRNA injections.

The study was led by Jürgen O. Kirchner, an Independent Researcher in Hamburg, and Professor Brigitte König of the University of Leipzig.

The results of the study were published in the Preprints journal.

The researchers hypothesized that residual DNA contaminants in multiple batches of Pfizer’s Covid mRNA “vaccine” significantly exceed regulatory safety thresholds.

They used advanced Qubit fluorescence spectroscopy to analyze vials for the “vaccines.”

Kirchner and König conducted an extensive critique and defense of their May 2024 study quantifying residual DNA in Pfizer injections using Qubit fluorometry.

The authors challenge competing claims, most notably from Kaiser et al. (2024–2025).

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch.12)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER)

Chapter 12 - Looks Like a Cinnamon Roll, Is a Cinnamon Roll

A week after the carnival—after the Ferris wheel, and the words that had changed everything — Y/N decided it was her turn to give him something that would stay with him.

Bucky had given her a day she would never stop carrying with her. The orange lilies. The movie. The dinner. The way he made her feel seen, chosen.

Little did he know, she hadn’t forgotten what he told her—back in Wakanda, one of those late nights under the stars. After she’d shared her own dream date, he’d spoken quietly, like he was touching an old memory—of the evenings he used to love in the 1940s.

Science expos. Dancing. Stolen hours of joy in a life too often lived on borrowed time.

And though she'd never written it down—never needed to—she'd remembered every word.

So the next weekend, she gave him a new memory to lay beside the old ones.

It started with Tony, of course.

A few emails, a favour, and one light bribe later, she had two early-access passes to the Stark-FutureTech Science Exhibition — complete with quantum demos, live tech labs, and particle illusions. Basically, everything that would make a formerly frozen 106-year-old with a metal arm absolutely geek out.

And oh boy—he did.

Bucky Barnes trying to play it cool in front of a quantum phase simulator was easily her favourite thing about the entire exhibition.

"That's not how magnetic fields actually fold," he muttered, eyes narrowing at the holographic display as if sheer willpower could correct the physics.

"Bucky, you're growling at a hologram."

"It's wrong."

He looked like a kid in a candy store — crossed with a man entirely unaware of how brightly his eyes sparkled when he found something that fascinated him.

Y/N trailed behind him most of the afternoon — “Holy cow” and “I love this place” had already become the soundtrack in her ears.

When they reached the Particle Entanglement Kinetics exhibit — all flickering lights, floating atom models, and interactive panels — Bucky stopped dead in his tracks.

"You can build your own qubit array?" His voice was equal parts disbelief and glee, fingers already darting toward the controls.

Y/N bit back a laugh as she watched him work through the display with the focus of someone defusing a bomb — eyes sharp, tongue peeking slightly from the corner of his mouth.

"This is adorable," she whispered under her breath.

"I heard that," Bucky said without looking up, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You were meant to."

She let the smile linger before her gaze caught on a tucked-away alcove — a science merch shop, its shelves lined with quirky gadgets and trinkets gleaming under soft light.

Her heart tugged. 

She wanted him to have a little piece of this day. Something to hold onto — a quiet reminder he was still free to learn, to reach, to wonder.

"Be right back," she murmured, fingers brushing his arm as she slipped away.

Bucky hummed softly in response, leaning just slightly toward the touch, eyes still locked on the shifting holograms.

The shop was a small alcove of glass and metal. She moved through it quickly, looking for something just for him. 

One caught her eye — a retro robot keychain, its tiny metal body gleaming under the lights. A small tag hung beneath it, etched with a single line:

"Beep boop. You're my favourite human."

A smile curled at her lips. Perfect.

She paid quickly and slipped it into her hoodie pocket, heart light as she rounded the corner toward the exhibit where she'd left him — and stopped, caught mid-step.

Bucky stood at ease beside the display, shoulders relaxed, expression open enough to tug at her chest. A young scientist spoke animatedly beside him, words tumbling fast. 

And Bucky — God — was answering in that low, steady tone, a faint smile curving his mouth as he explained something with a slow motion of his hand, metal fingers glinting softly under the lights.

They moved in rhythm, both lost in the flow of shared curiosity, two minds meeting across the years between them. 

And Bucky looked... like a man in his element — curious, certain, alive.

Then, the moment broke.

A call drew the young scientist away — "Hey, come check this!" echoed across the floor like a bright interruption.

"Thanks, man — that was amazing," the younger man grinned, clapping Bucky lightly on the shoulder before hurrying off.

Bucky lingered a moment, gaze flicking back to the display. Then — head tilting, tongue peeking out again — he dove back into the controls, metal fingers poking at the buttons with a kind of boyish delight that made her heart catch.

Y/N smiled to herself. My little nerd.

She was about to move toward him — when a presence stopped her cold.

A figure drew in too close behind her, the shift of air, the subtle weight of it brushing against her awareness. Every sense flicked sharp.

"Fascinating man, your soldier friend," a voice murmured near her shoulder — smooth as silk, cold as glass.

She stilled.

"Quite the progress he's made," the voice went on, soft, measured. 

"Learning. Trusting. Even smiling, I hear."

Her jaw tightened, pulse even. But she didn't move, didn't give the voice the satisfaction of a flinch.

A beat of silence followed — deliberate. The knife turning.

"But you know... you can't turn a wolf into a puppy."

The words slid like ice across her skin, slicing clean through the warmth she'd been carrying.

But her gaze didn't waver.

She didn't move. Didn't take her eyes off the man before her — her man, bright and alive at the display.

When she spoke, her voice was soft — calm as still water. "That's alright," she said, each word deliberate, her breath even.

"I don't want a puppy."

The words landed quiet and sure — a blade she never doubted how to wield.

Across the floor, Bucky lingered at the console, metal fingers still dancing over the controls. But something in the air shifted — a subtle prickle down the back of his neck, the sharp edge of a voice that didn't belong.

Old habit, hard to shake.

His hearing caught it — the low, cold murmur, the words slicing through the warmth Y/N had wrapped around this day.

"You can't turn a wolf into a puppy."

And then — her voice, soft but unflinching.

"That's alright. I don't want a puppy."

His fingers stilled mid-press.

For a beat, he didn't move — chest tightening, breath caught somewhere between wonder and disbelief.

She'd said it like it was nothing. Like it was the simplest truth in the world. Like she saw him — all of him — and didn't flinch.

For as long as he could remember... he'd been trying to be smaller. Safer. Something people wouldn't fear.

Tamed.

But she didn't want that.

She wanted him.

That old tension he'd carried so long it felt like part of him, slipping free.

When he finally turned, the words still echoing in his head, she was already there — close, looking up at him with eyes soft and questioning.

"You okay?" she asked, voice low and gentle, unsure what had shifted in him.

And God — he couldn't speak. Could barely think through the weight lifting off his ribs.

So he did the only thing that made sense.

He reached for her — arms pulling her in, metal fingers flexing once at her back before settling. Held her close, closer, like he wasn't quite ready to let go.

And she came into it just as fully, arms circling him in return —steady and sure.

The first time they'd let something so quietly theirs exist in the open since that night on the Ferris wheel.

And when they drew apart at last, soft and slow, her eyes searching his, she smiled faintly, a little unsure, and lifted the small keychain toward him.

"I, um — got this for you."

His fingers brushed hers as he took it, careful, almost reverent.

His eyes dropped to the tiny robot in his palm — all chrome edges and awkward charm. The tag read, Beep boop. You're my favourite human.

It was small. Light. Easy to miss.

And yet — There was a time he didn’t think he could ever be anyone’s favourite. Not after everything.

But here she was. Saying it like it was obvious.

And somehow, that made it feel like the rarest thing he'd ever held.

His fingers closed around it, careful. Like it might slip through if he wasn't gentle.

"Thank you," he managed.

Then, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out his bike keys and clipped the robot right onto the ring. 

He glanced at her, smile just a little crooked. "Guess he's riding with me now."

Y/N giggled, then leaned in and kissed his cheek — soft, but just enough to leave it pink.

Bucky blinked, just once. Then grinned. 

"I think I've soaked up all the quantum theory my brain can handle," he said, voice a little lower now. "Want to head out?"

Y/N smiled, already tugging his hand gently toward the exit.

"Sam mentioned there's a farmer's market a few blocks from here," she said. "Thought it'd be a good way to unwind after all that tech."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, amused — but she wasn't done.

"He said there's a vinyl stall," she added, eyes flicking to his. "With songs from... our time."

His smile deepened.

"You wanna check it out?" she asked. "Maybe we can find something to dance to tonight."

Bucky didn't answer right away. His thumb traced hers — a quiet yes before the words caught up.

"Yeah," he said, as they kept walking, hand in hand. "I'd like that."

And as they did, Bucky's mind began to piece it together.

The science convention. The vinyl store. The dancing.

None of it was random.

She remembered what he'd whispered into the night back in Wakanda — about science expos and swing music, about the small joys he thought he'd left behind in the 1940s.

She wasn't just giving him a day.

She was giving something back to the part of him that used to dream.

His grip on her hand tightened slightly — like anchoring himself to the moment.

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky didn't feel like a relic trying to keep up with the world.

He felt like a man who'd been remembered.

The farmer’s market buzzed with life — warm bread, citrus, and kettle corn in the air. Music drifted from a nearby stall, children weaving past with juice boxes, a guitar strumming under a tent.

They wandered the stalls until they found it — a narrow shop between a bookstall and a café. Y/N pushed open the wood-framed door, and a brass bell chimed overhead.

Just like the stores back then.

Inside, it smelled of dust and old paper. Vintage cameras, radios, postcards, and faded maps lined the shelves in cluttered harmony. One wall ticked with rows of slightly out-of-sync clocks.

Shelves stretched along every aisle, filled with relics — the kind that didn't just belong to history books but to memory.

"The vinyls'll probably be in the back," Y/N murmured, gently tugging his hand.

They walked through the narrow aisles, shoulders nearly brushing the shelves, surrounded by the weight and wonder of the past.

Dust clung to the air like memory.

Bucky slowed near a shelf stacked with thick parchment — creamy, slightly yellowed sheets bundled with twine.

He brushed the top page with a light touch. “This was it,” he murmured, voice low, almost distant. “Paper like this. We’d write letters on it… when they sent us away.”

Y/N turned toward him, her gaze soft. "To your family?"

He nodded once, fingers still ghosting the edge. "To Steve. To my ma. My sister."

A breath caught faintly in his throat — but he didn't stop. His voice, when it came again, was quieter. Almost reverent.

"One of my buddies... Carter. He wrote to his wife. Every letter. Every damn time — even when we didn't know if we'd make it to the next post."

His thumb smoothed the edge of the parchment, the memory anchoring him there.

"He'd always sign them: 'Always yours.'".

Bucky huffed a quiet breath — part laugh, part ache. "Carter said it wasn't about forever. No one could promise that. Not back then."

He looked at her now — eyes steady, voice rough but sure.

"It meant — even if the world tore us apart... part of him would still be hers. Something she could keep."

Y/N stood silent, dazed by the depth of what he'd shared.

She'd seen soldiers write letters like that — her boots in the same dust, her hands steadying theirs in field tents and foxholes. Notes folded with trembling fingers, words inked with hope that outlasted the war.

She'd watched too many of them go unanswered. Letters sent back to bodies that never made it home.

And yet... here he was, speaking of that kind of love — not forever in the grand sense, but always in the everyday. A love made by choosing it, even when tomorrow wasn't certain.

Without a word, she tucked herself beneath his arm, nestling gently into his side.

Bucky let go of the parchment and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her impossibly closer.

His lips found her forehead and stayed there, full of quiet devotion.

Because Carter's words weren't just a memory now.

They were a vow he understood.

Because he was now carrying that kind of love too. 

And it was hers.

And he meant every unspoken word of it.

They stood like that for a moment — steady, held, understood.

Then, slowly, Bucky lowered his hand from her shoulder, letting it slide down to lace gently with hers once more.

"Come on," he murmured, nodding toward the back. "Let's find those records."

She gave a small nod, her eyes lingering on his for a beat longer before they moved together through the narrow aisles, hand in hand.

The shelves thinned toward the rear of the shop, opening into a cozy nook lined with wooden crates.

Rows of vinyls waited — worn edges, glossy sleeves, the past stacked neatly and ready to be played.

Y/N smiled. "Looks like we found it."

They knelt beside one of the crates, fingers trailing over old sleeves — Ella Fitzgerald, Glenn Miller, The Ink Spots — laughter and memory tucked between familiar songs.

For a while, they stayed like that — reminiscing — until a warm, sugary scent drifted into the air, faint to most but sharp enough for their super soldier senses to catch.

Bucky's head lifted, nose twitching. "You smell that?"

Y/N closed her eyes, inhaling. "Cinnamon rolls," she said with a grin — and right on cue, his stomach growled.

Her voice was all fondness. "Now that is the sound of someone who definitely needs a cinnamon roll."

He rubbed the back of his neck, half-sheepish. "You know... I never used to let myself get hungry for stuff like this."

"I know," she said softly. "But I'm proud you do now. I'll get us some."

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, warmth creeping into his expression.

"You keep feeding me like this, doll... I'm gonna put on a few pounds."

Y/N's smile deepened, eyes bright.

"More of you for me to love." 

And before he could even think to respond, she rose on her toes, pressed a slow kiss to his cheek, and whispered:

"Choose one for us. I'll be back".

Then she was gone — cinnamon rolls on her mind, no doubt — and he sat there, her kiss still warm on his skin.

"More of you for me to love."

God.

That simple. That sure. That safe.

He wasn't sure he'd survive her saying things like that — or maybe that was the point. Maybe surviving didn't involve having to stay sharp-edged anymore. 

Didn't mean lean muscle and cold precision like a blade. Didn't mean watching what he ate. Didn't mean fighting the instinct to want.

And hell — maybe he didn't have to look like a soldier anymore.

He could eat. He could be full. He could rest.

And if that meant there was more of him — more softness, more weight, more life — she'd still hold it. Still want it. Still love it.

And maybe that was enough — learning to hold himself the way she did: gently, without condition.

Maybe just being Bucky was enough.

And he was finally starting to see that.

He exhaled, slow — like letting something go — and turned back to the crates.

His fingers moved quieter now, dragging along old cardboard sleeves, until one made him pause.

The cover was worn, the edges soft with time. But something about it... stilled him.

He picked it up — held it there for a second, just looking.

Didn't smile. Didn't speak.

Just felt it.

Like the memory was already tucked inside.

This is it. 

When he brought it to the counter, the older man behind the till gave him a knowing smile.

"Already taken care of, son," the man said, sliding the record gently into a brown paper sleeve. "Your girl paid for it on her way out."  

Bucky blinked.

"She—" He stopped, huffed a breath that was half a laugh, half something tighter.

Of course she did. 

"Thanks," he said quietly, fingers lingering a second too long like he needed to feel it.

He stepped out into the bright market air — record tucked under one arm — drawn instantly by the warm, sweet pull of cinnamon on the breeze.

To the right — two stalls down — a small line had formed at the roll stand.

But no sign of her.

His brows drew together, gaze scanning the crowd — and then he saw her.

Two stalls over, just beyond the roll stand — her form familiar even in profile — standing at a flower stall.

Roses.

He caught the faintest glimpse of her reaching out — choosing them carefully, fingers gentle — before she turned, cinnamon rolls now bagged in one hand, the roses cradled in her arms.

And then she spotted him.

Stopped mid-step — smile blooming slow and shy across her face, as if she hadn't meant for him to see.

For a breath, he couldn’t move — couldn’t quite breathe. Just stood there. Watching her walk toward him, roses and rolls both in hand, looking for all the damn world like she was carrying half his heart back with her.

She stopped in front of him, smile a little sheepish, eyes bright.

"Thought you might like these too," she said softly, lifting the roses just a little.

For a moment — Bucky just stared.

At the roses. At her.

At the fact that she was standing here, in the middle of a market, in broad daylight — handing him flowers like it was the most natural thing in the damn world.

God.

He'd never— No one ever had.

His voice found the only question that made sense. "For me?" he murmured, blinking down at the roses like they were some fragile kind of miracle.

Y/N's smile softened, eyes crinkling. "For you."

When she kissed his cheek again — a little longer this time — he just stood there, heart too full to speak, the roses still resting between them.

And just like that, he was back in Wakanda — another flower, another day, by still water and soft earth.

A lotus in her hand. His, too broken to hold it. The sound of crushed petals. Guilt.

Her voice from that day echoed now, clear as the sun overhead.

"Maybe it's about reclaiming who you were before they got to you."

The words surfaced again — sharp and sudden — catching in his chest.

Because this was it, wasn't it?

This was the reclaiming.

Not redemption. Not repair. This.

A song chosen from a childhood he thought lost. A science fair, for God's sake — because she knew he'd love it. And now — roses. Given to him, for no reason but love.

It all gathered there — in his hands, in his chest.

But this time — his fingers didn't tremble. They opened.

And he took them — held them — whole.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice rough with too much unsaid. "I'll take good care of them." 

This time, he knew he could. 

Y/N's smile deepened — soft, a little shy — as if she didn't quite realise this was a gift he'd remember for the rest of his life. Then she reached for his hand, fingers slipping through his with familiar care.

In her other hand, the cinnamon rolls swung gently at her side. In his free one, the roses rested carefully. The record, tucked under his arm, pressed close to his heart.

And like that, they started walking again, wandering the market like two souls on a quiet quest for the perfect spot to share warm cinnamon rolls.

Y/N glanced at him, and just for a moment, she wondered — would he feel self-conscious?

Bucky Barnes. Metal-armed and broad-shouldered. Carrying a bright bouquet of red roses through a bustling market.

It wasn't exactly subtle.

When she looked up again, he was already watching her — a little smirk playing at his mouth.

"You're staring, doll," he said. Voice low, warm. Almost bashful — like her attention still caught him off guard sometimes.

She hesitated. "I wasn't sure if— if you didn't want to carry them, I could—"

But before she could finish, he cut in — firm, certain.

"No."

That stopped her.

She looked up, surprised — and he met her eyes with a soft smile, one corner of his mouth tugging higher.

Like he'd just been handed the damn moon.

"I'm carrying 'em," he said simply.

And just like that — she melted.

Because he wasn't embarrassed. He wasn't hiding.

He was proud.

As if being loved by her was something he'd never, ever be ashamed of.

"First time I've ever been given flowers," he added after a beat, glancing down at the bouquet in his arm.

Then, a little softer: "And it was you."

He looked back at her, eyes bright.

"Not giving that up to anyone else."

And with that, he adjusted the bouquet carefully in his arm, cradling it like something precious — walking beside her like he'd been waiting his whole damn life to do exactly this.

They lingered a little longer — cinnamon rolls shared on a sun-warmed bench, laughter soft between bites — before finally heading back.

The ride back passed in golden quiet, the kind that hums when everything feels right.

When they stepped into the compound, the stillness wrapped around them like a blanket.

Bucky glanced around, brow lifted. "It's unusually quiet."

Y/N shrugged, smile playing at her lips. "Everyone's away this weekend."

A beat. Then softer— "It's just us tonight."

Upstairs, they stopped in front of their rooms — side by side like always.

"There's one more thing I've got planned for tonight," she said, almost shy. "It's a little surprise".

Bucky looked at her, eyes soft with disbelief. "You're spoiling me, doll."

She smiled, brushing it off with a small shake of her head. "It might take a little while, so... why don't you change, get comfortable in the common room. I'll find you there."

Before he could answer, she added gently, "Also... can I borrow your bike?"

That earned her a low chuckle, and before she could even blink, his hand was at her waist, pulling her close, chest to chest.

"You really don't have to ask." His voice was low. "Everything I have is yours."

He pressed a kiss to her temple, then let go just long enough to reach into his jacket. He placed the bike keys in her palm, his fingers curling gently over hers.

Y/N’s smile softened. She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Thank you,” she whispered.

She took a step back — but her hand was still in his.

And he didn't let go.

When she looked up again, he was still watching her — gaze warm, unwavering. "I love you," he said.

Her heart twisted — just a little. "I love you too, Buck," she murmured, eyes bright.

And just when he thought she might let go — might turn and walk off with that soft smile still on her face — she didn't.

She ran the single step back into his arms instead, half-laughing as she jumped up, wrapping herself around him like she couldn't bear the space after all.

He caught her easily — like always — arms closing around her like muscle memory.

And then, as always, he spun her.

Because ever since she'd told him — breathless and blushing — that being twirled like that made her feel like a princess, Bucky had made sure to do it every time.

Whether it was her running into his arms after a long mission, or him rushing straight to her the moment he stepped off the jet.

Or whenever she ran to him like this—full of joy, full of love.

He never missed the chance.

Her laugh spilled against his shoulder, soft and golden and full of something he wanted to keep forever.

For a long, still moment, they didn't move.

Then, finally, Bucky let her go — hands trailing just a second longer than they needed to. Like letting go still took a little convincing.

She watched him disappear into his room, bouquet and record still tucked in the crook of his arm. The door clicked shut behind him.

Y/N turned, heart light, and headed for the common room.

It didn't take long. She moved quickly, quietly, setting everything in place. Then she slipped out the side entrance of the compound.

The evening air was cool as she crossed the drive, making her way to the sleek black bike waiting just where he'd left it.

She slid on the helmet, straddled the seat, and eased the engine to life.

As she rolled down the quiet road, wind threading through her jacket, a smile tugged at her lips — the memory of the place she was heading to bloomed quietly in her mind.

The restaurant was a good hour from the compound. Not the kind of place you stumbled across twice — unless you meant to.

And tonight, she meant to.

When they were first adjusting to life in the city, the team had done their best — restaurants, food stalls, cafés tucked into side streets — all kinds of places meant to offer new experiences.

For Y/N, it was sometimes overwhelming but manageable. For Bucky — it was harder.

Some flavours hit too sharp. Some textures reminded him too much of rations, starvation, Hydra's food deprivation cycles.

And when that happened, it was always Y/N who noticed.

One evening, after he'd barely touched a plate, Y/N had nudged his shoulder gently.

"C'mon," she'd said simply. "We'll find you something else."

They'd been walking a while, drifting through unfamiliar streets — no plan, no destination, just following the hush of the night.

And then — Bucky stopped. Head tilted, drawn by something.

A scent in the air — warm, rich, achingly familiar.

Without a word, he followed it.

Down a narrow alleyway to a small brick-front restaurant.

He paused just outside, staring like he wasn't sure it was real.

"Places like this still exist?" he murmured, mostly to himself.

Y/N stepped up beside him, eyes on the weathered sign.

"Looks like it's a family-run place," she said quietly. "Maybe that's why."

Y/N followed him in, and for the first time since they'd arrived, Bucky sat down, studied the menu slowly — and chose something.

Not because he had to. Not to please anyone.

Because he wanted to.

That night, he ordered pot roast — thick slices over roasted carrots and potatoes, steam curling gently from the plate.

He ate in silence, steady and slow, savouring every mouthful.

And when it was done, he leaned back, one arm on the booth, and said just four words:

"My ma made this."

It wasn't exact. But it was close enough to stir something in him.

Y/N never forgot that moment - the first that had felt like an unbroken piece of his past.

His choice. His safety. His moment of reclaiming a simple joy.

And tonight, she wanted him to feel that again — Chosen. Safe. His.

Back at the compound, Bucky had showered, pulled on a soft shirt, a hoodie, and sweatpants, and padded into the common room — only to stop short.

His heart beat louder than the rain tapping against the windows.

The common room was dimly lit, warm — just right.

Their movie blanket lay draped over the couch, one of the soft pillows fluffed and placed exactly where he always leaned. His socks — the fuzzy ones — sat warm and folded, freshly out of the dryer.

She never forgot — that the nerve damage from all those years in cryo meant his feet still tingled and went cold, even in warm rooms.

On the coffee table, a steaming cup of tea. Next to it, a gift bag and a folded note in her handwriting.

Was the oldest copy I could find. Open it and start reading till I get back. Don't worry — I made sure Steve is safe and sound this time, so you can read in peace.

A smile tugged at his lips.

He picked up the bag, curiosity flickering.

Inside — The Hobbit. An old, worn copy. Softened at the edges, like it had passed through many hands and still survived the journey.

He sank into the couch, the blanket already pulled halfway over his lap like she'd tucked it around him without needing to be there.

The tea was exactly how he liked it. Of course it was.

And yet, for a long moment, Bucky just sat there — the book resting unopened in his hands.

Because it wasn't the tea. It wasn't the blanket. It wasn't even the book.

It was the fact that everything had been done before he walked in. Thought of. Prepared. Not because he earned it. Not because he asked.

But because she cared.

And that was the part that undid him.

Soldiers like him weren't used to this. You fought. You guarded. You stood at the front and braced for impact.

You didn't come home to tea waiting. You didn't find yourself wrapped in softness someone else had laid out for you.

He'd learned to live without it. Trained himself not to want it. Because needing it too much hurt worse than going without.

And yet here he was. Blanketed. Tea in hand. A book waiting to be read. And no war raging outside the door.

Waiting, not for it all to end, but for the woman he loved to come home to him.

For someone who'd spent decades strapped to a chair in Hydra's coldest rooms, head filled with pain, asking one question over and over:

What did I do to deserve this?

Here he was now.

Warm. Safe. Loved.

And for the first time, the same question returned — softer now.

What did I do to deserve this?

And for once, he didn't feel like running from the answer. So he stayed.

Minutes passed. Pages turned.

And then — faint at first, curling through the warm air — it hit him.

A scent. Rich. Warm. Unmistakable.

Pot roast.

He froze mid-page.

Then the door swung open.

Y/N stepped inside, utterly drenched — hair plastered to her face, rain dripping from her sleeves, a takeout bag clutched tightly in her arms.

Breathless. Half-laughing. Half-shivering.

"Told you—" she started, voice bright through the downpour. "—one more surprise."

But Bucky couldn't speak.

He sat frozen — book half-forgotten in his lap — staring at her.

She'd gone. In this weather. On the bike. An hour there and back.

For the meal he once called home.

Some part of him — small, stunned, disbelieving — couldn't quite make his body move.

Not until a sudden, sharp sneeze shattered the moment like glass.

His instincts kicked in hard and fast.

Book forgotten. Tea abandoned.

He was on his feet in two strides.

"Give me that," he said, gently tugging the bag from her shaking hands. "Sit down — you're soaked."

"I'm fine, Buck," she tried, voice still catching on breath. "Just got caught in—" Another sneeze.

"Sit," he repeated — softer this time, but not up for discussion, already pulling off his hoodie — still warm from his body — and wrapping it around her shoulders.

"Buck—"

But before she could get another word out, he'd already scooped her up — bundled tight like a burrito — and was striding down the hall.

"Bucky—!"

"No arguments, doll. You did your part — now let me do mine."

She huffed, arms pinned, but the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her.

In her room, he nudged the door open with his shoulder and set her down gently on the bed — still bundled.

Without a word, he crossed to her closet, rummaging through until he found what he needed: a towel, a hoodie, sweatpants, and fuzzy socks. The essentials.

He set them on the bed beside her, then sat down and gently began drying her hair with the towel.

When he finished, he stood.

"Just... change, yeah? You can argue with me after. I'll be right outside."

And with that, he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

A few minutes later — 

The door creaked open.

Bucky looked up instantly.

There she was — dressed in an oversized hoodie, sweatpants a little loose, socks pulled up over her ankles.

Cheeks pink, nose red, eyes watery from the cold — Still the most beautiful damn thing he'd ever seen.

She sniffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, voice stuffy. "This... is not how I wanted to look on our date."

He couldn't help it — a slow, almost disbelieving smile tugged at his mouth.

"What? Beautiful?" he said softly.

She blinked — caught in his gaze — then stepped into his arms.

And he wrapped her up without hesitation, drawing her in like the warmth was something only he could give.

"You just rode through a damn storm for me," he murmured into her hair.

Her arms tightened around him.

"And I'd do it again," she whispered.

And for a moment — the warmth, the rain, her voice — it all blurred.

He saw her again — bruised on the training mat in Wakanda. The moment she stepped over the line to face the trigger words with him.

His hand trembling in his lap. “I could’ve killed you. You shouldn’t have stepped in.”

Her voice, hoarse but unshaken: “You didn’t. And I’d do it again.”

Now — the same words. A different storm.

His voice was barely a breath against her hair. “I know.”

She didn’t let go for a while. And neither did he.

But eventually, with a few more sniffles and a soft laugh, she pulled back.

"Pot roast's getting cold," she mumbled, nose still pink.

He grinned, pressing one last kiss to her hair. "Can't let the world's most romantic dinner get cold, now can we?"

She rolled her eyes — but her smile was unmistakable.

Together, they wandered into the kitchen. Bucky ducked into the common room and came back a moment later, juggling the takeout like it was something precious.

He laid the containers carefully on the island — with the kind of care that made her heart ache a little.

They set it up together — a little clumsy, a lot cozy. Two plates. A candle from the shelf. Their matching teacups.

Then suddenly — Bucky paused.

Without a word, he turned and took off down the hall.

"Buck?" she called after him, confused — only to blink in surprise when he returned a moment later, holding a small glass vase.

In it — the roses she'd given him.

He placed them gently between their plates, then rubbed the back of his neck like he suddenly wasn't sure where to look.

"For ambience," he mumbled.

Y/N stared at him for a beat — then whispered, "It's perfect."

And just like that, they sat down for the softest date either of them had ever had.

They ate slowly, in no rush to let the moment end — smiling like they’d never been happier to exist across from someone.

When the last of the food was gone and she reached for their plates, he stopped her with a look.

“I’ve got the dishes,” he said, gently moving her hand aside as he started stacking the cutlery and plates.

Y/N opened her mouth to protest — and was promptly betrayed by her own nose.

A sudden sneeze ambushed the moment. She sniffled, nose starting to run.

Without a word, Bucky reached for a tissue, gently wiping her nose, then cupping her face with one hand.

“You need to stay dry and warm, pretty lady,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Then, with a faint smile, “How about you go grab the record player and the album for us?”

Her face lit up like he’d asked her to dance at prom. "Okay".

She stood, but just before turning to leave, she pointed at a glass bowl teetering at the edge of the counter — its sides streaked with a thick, reddish marinade.

“Careful with that,” she said, nodding at it. “It’s Sam’s. Some kind of pepper glaze he’s been fermenting for three days.”

Bucky squinted. “In a bowl?”

“He says it needs air.”

“Right.”

“Just don't touch it,” she said, chuckling lightly. “If it mysteriously disappears, he’s blaming you.”

Bucky raised a hand in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She smirked, already heading for the hall. “Uh-huh. That’s what you said about his last almond milk carton too.”

“I was framed.”

“You were caught on camera,” she called back.

He just smiled to himself and went back to the dishes — humming quietly under his breath, like someone who had nothing to hide and everything to be grateful for.

A few minutes later, she returned — record player cradled in one arm, vinyl tucked under the other.

“Common room speaker’s still fried,” she said, plugging it in by the counter. “But Tony rigged the kitchen with surround sound — said Sam needed ‘culinary ambience.’”

She glanced around the open space with a small smile. “And lucky us... it’s spacious in here.”

Bucky had just finished the dishes, drying his hands as he walked over.

“You know Steve basically gifted this to me when I told him about the date plan,” she said, crouching to set it up.

That earned a small huff of amusement from Bucky. “Of course he did.”

“He even gave me a list of songs you like.”

His brow rose, lips twitching. “Of course he did,” he repeated, softer this time.

Once the setup was ready, she straightened and handed the vinyl over.

“Here,” she said. “You do the honours.”

Bucky took it from her, still wrapped in its sleeve. He paused — eyes lingering on the cover — before slowly peeling the wrapping away.

Y/N’s gaze caught the title. Her head tilted, voice soft. “That one’s not on Steve’s list.”

Bucky let out a quiet breath, still looking at the record. “It wouldn’t be.”

He slipped the vinyl free and traced the cover gently with his thumb, a faraway look tugging at his expression.

Then, quietly: “Used to watch my ma and pa dance to this,” he said, voice low. “Late nights, after my sister was asleep.” A pause. “They’d put it on... just for them. Like the whole world disappeared when they held each other.”

He let the record rest against his chest. “My pa… before he got sent off to war.”

He swallowed. “I think that’s the last time I ever saw him dance.”

Then he looked up.

And when his eyes met hers, the distance dropped away — like he’d brought himself fully back to her.

“Never really found the right partner to dance it with,” he said, voice softer now. Almost like a secret.

A beat passed — quiet, tender.

Then, steadier, warmer, he added, “Until now.”

He placed the record gently — that warm crackle rising as the needle dropped.

The first notes drifted through the room — low, slow, a melody older than either of them could place into words.

Bucky stood still for a moment — breath catching in his chest — eyes flicking once to the floor beneath them, like he could still see old scuffed shoes on worn boards. His father’s steady hands at his mother’s waist.

Then, without a word, he turned to her — and reached out.

Took her hand gently. Brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles — soft as a secret — then dipped his head in a small, old-fashioned bow.

Just like his father used to.

When he looked up again, his gaze was steady now — sure in a way it hadn’t been when they first met.

“If you’ll have this dance with me, darling.”

She barely remembered crossing the space between them — only that one breath later, they were close. Her free hand found his shoulder as he pulled her in.

His nose brushed her hair, the space between them gone like it was never meant to exist.

For a while, there was only the soft shuffle of feet and the low crackle of the vinyl.

Then — voice low against her temple, quieter than the music itself:

"I'm glad I waited to share this with you."

She didn’t speak — just tucked herself closer, her breath soft against his neck, arms curling around him like she couldn’t quite believe she got to be here.

His grip tightened gently at her waist — as if anchoring her there, as if holding something precious he'd waited too long to touch.

And beneath it all — the faintest ghost of a memory — a little boy's wide eyes watching from the shadows, hoping one day to find someone worth giving this song to.

Now, finally, he had.

The song faded, the last notes curling into silence — but neither of them moved. His hand rubbed slow, absent circles at her back. Her fingers curled into the fabric at his shoulder.

Then, gently, Y/N lifted her head and rose onto her toes, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I love you, Buck,” she whispered.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he murmured — and then leaned in, brushing his lips to hers.

Mid-kiss, Y/N mumbled against his mouth, a faint grin tugging at hers, “What are you smiling about?”

He pulled back a few inches, hands gently cupping her face, eyes bright.

“How’d you know I was smiling?”

She smiled back, nose almost touching his. “I could feel it on my lips.”

His grin widened — the kind that lit up his whole face. “Care to have one more dance?”

Y/N smiled. “I'd love to. I can grab a few albums from—”

“Oh no, honey,” he cut in, smirking as he stepped back. “I’ve got this one.”

He tapped the small panel beside the speaker. “FRIDAY, connect to my phone.”

A soft beep of confirmation.

He frowned at the screen, muttering under his breath. “Where’s the damn green circle...”

And then — the opening chords of Hungry Eyes kicked in.

Y/N’s brows lifted. He just gave her a wink and reached for her hand again.

“C’mon, pretty lady. Let’s make Sam regret those speakers.”

Hungry Eyes poured through the kitchen — low, warm, the bass humming underfoot.

And Bucky — God help her — was dancing.

Stripped of nerves. Loose. Confident. Smirking. Eyes on her like she was the only damn thing in the world.

A shoulder shimmy. Jazz hands. Hips swaying to the beat.

And a grin that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

Singing loud and carefree: "Hungry eyes... one look at you and I can't disguise..."

And then — God save her — he pulled her in.

Chest to chest. Breath to breath. His fingers slipped just beneath the hem of her hoodie, thumb brushing warm skin, teasing.

He leaned in, voice low, still catching his breath.

“Okay if I...?”

She only nodded — eyes bright — and he guided her gently backward.

No rough press — just slow, steady steps — until her thighs touched the edge of the counter.

And before she could even think — her lips met his halfway. Deep. Hungry. A kiss that left no question who they wanted.

She bit his lower lip, grinning against him, breathless.

“Someone’s got hungry eyes,” she whispered.

He grinned back — voice molten:

"Only for you."

And then — because the universe had timing — he shifted to press closer, one hand skimming the counter—

—straight into Sam’s pepper glaze.

The bowl tipped — comically slow — right onto his metal arm.

Both of them froze — still half tangled, lips parted, eyes wide.

Bucky groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. “Swear that dish had a vendetta.”

Y/N was laughing now — doubled over, breathless against his chest. “Well, darling,” she gasped between giggles, “looks like you’re going in the dishwasher.”

Bucky huffed, stalking over like a man betrayed. He yanked the dishwasher open and shoved his metal arm in with a muttered curse.

When he turned back, his cheeks were flushed — lips parted, jaw tight like he was trying to keep it together.

“I didn’t mean to kill the mood,” he mumbled, words tripping over each other. “I just—damn glaze—”

Y/N didn’t let him finish.

She grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt, yanked him in, and kissed him — deep and unbothered, like none of it mattered but him.

When she pulled back, her smile was breathless. “Still hot.”

That was all it took.

He stepped in close, free hand already finding her waist. With one easy motion, he lifted her onto the counter — then slid between her knees, lips finding hers again, hungry like he’d missed the taste.

She grinned into the kiss, voice low and teasing: “You gonna leave your arm in there all night?”

His answering groan rumbled against her mouth.

“Right now I don’t care.”

Somehow they made it to the couch — kisses deepening — until she was in his lap, knees bracketing his hips, hands braced against his chest.

And then it hit him.

One arm.

One goddamn arm.

His grip tightened, trying to steady her — but the balance faltered. She shifted, and he couldn’t hold her quite right.

Frustration rose sharp and fast — a burn behind his ribs.

His jaw clenched. Breath went ragged. She felt the change instantly.

Y/N pulled back, but caught his face in both hands before he could look away.

“Bucky,” she said softly. “Come back to me.”

His eyes met hers — a flicker of something breaking through the wall.

“I should be able to—”

“Hey.”

She leaned in, her forehead brushing his.

“We do this together. That’s what partners are for.”

Her smile stayed gentle, steady. “So let me help, okay?”

He gave a slow nod, breath still catching slightly, fingers twitching at her waist.

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then gently shifted her weight to guide them back.

The couch welcomed them as they sank into it together, her body easing over his.

He laid back, hand resting at her hip, still anchoring himself in the feel of her.

She hovered just above him, forehead brushing his, her voice barely above a breath. “Like this?”

His eyes closed for a moment. A soft smile tugged at his lips.

“Yeah,” he said, exhaling. “Just like this.”

His eyes opened — slow, unhurried.

And then, as her gaze searched his, something flickered in his own.

Without quite thinking, he reached back — tugged the shirt up and over his head, casting it aside.

Not to impress her. Not to steel himself.

Because for once, vulnerability felt like safety.

He half-expected her gaze to drop — to skim the mess of scars across his chest, the jagged lines where metal met flesh.

But she didn't.

Her eyes stayed locked on his — steady, unflinching.

Then her hand rose — slow, deliberate — fingertips ghosting over the lines along his arm.

The ones that always burned the deepest. The ones he could still remember clawing at — nights when Hydra strapped him down and bolted their version of the arm in place.

He'd fought it then. Fought until skin split and blood ran slick down the cold steel.

And now —

Her fingers traced those same scars with a softness he couldn't have imagined.

Then, softly, as they lingered: "You’re beautiful".

His throat caught.

“All of you,” she whispered — the words brushing his lips — and kissed him.

Then her mouth left his, trailing lower. Lips brushing the curve of his shoulder, down the ridged line of metal and skin —

And then lower still.

Soft, reverent kisses pressed to each scar along the seam.

One. Two. Three.

And with each one — the phantom pain that usually lingered faded away.

Replaced by the warmth of her mouth. The weight of her touch. A new memory where the old one had ruled.

And it didn't hurt anymore.

As her lips lifted from the last scar, she looked up — and stilled.

His eyes — shining now. Not full tears. Not falling. But burning there — caught in the space between breath and break.

He was staring at her like she was the first ray of sunshine after a dark winter.

For a heartbeat — maybe two — neither moved. 

Then he reached — one arm curling gently around her waist, drawing her up until her head rested against his chest, just beneath his chin.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. And kept it there.

Eyes closing. 

And then—like film through a projector—every moment came rushing back.

Wakanda. Ice melting from his hair. Eyes wild. Chest heaving. “This is Y/N,” Steve had said. “She’s… like you.”

A lake. Petals crushed in his fist. “It’s okay to cry,” she said. “I did too.”

A mat. His grip on her.  Her voice, rasping but steady: “You are no longer the Winter Soldier. You are James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. My friend.” And he let go.

Glass. Steel slamming into it. His breath fogging the surface. “Bucky. Look at me. You’re not lost.” And he stopped.

A room. Distance between them. Her voice even. “You asked me to trust you. So trust yourself.” And he stepped back.

His fists. Unclenching. Her voice, soft but certain: “You’re Bucky. Someone who chooses to fight for himself now.” And he did.

The hut. The final trigger fading. “Welcome back, Sergeant Barnes.”

Rain. Tapping the roof. Scissors quiet in her hand. “All done,” she whispered.

The tarmac. Her shoulder bumping his. “Welcome to your new life, Barnes.”

The market. A plush wolf passed between them. “Saw it and thought of you.”

The wheel. Him hanging mid-air. “’Cause I love you too, Buck.”

And now — here. Her body warm against his. Her voice, low and sure: "You're beautiful. All of you."

Like waking up and remembering everything.

His arm tightened around her like an anchor.

And then — he felt it.

The soft shift of her fingers against his chest. Light. Absent. 

She was playing with his dog tags.

Her fingers moved without thinking, brushing over them. Light, rhythmic, like she was memorising them by touch.

He watched her — breath held, heart stilled.

Then slowly, he lifted his head. The motion made her glance up, confusion soft in her eyes.

He didn’t speak.

Just reached for one of the chains.

And before she could ask — before she could even think — he looped it over her head in one smooth motion, settling it gently against her skin.

Her hand rose instinctively, fingertips brushing the cool metal. She looked down—then back at him.

His eyes held hers, steady and impossibly blue. The bluest of oceans she’d drowned in. More times than he’d ever know.

And then — his voice, barely more than breath, whispered:

“Always yours.”

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away. Like hearing something she’d waited her whole life to believe.

With her heart full to the brim, she whispered back — voice fierce and soft all at once:

“Always yours.”

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and pulled her in again. This time, his lips found her temple, reverent and warm.

“Till the end of the line,” he murmured against her skin.

Not a vow to the past anymore. A vow to her.

--

Chapter 13 coming soon

Thanks for sticking with the story so far — I’d love to hear how the journey’s felt. (No pressure at all, just curious) 💫

[artbyblastweave]

Your posts about Irredeemable and Qubit made me think- are there any other examples you can think of regarding cape media riffing on/outright deconstructing Doctor Who stuff, especially *clearly identifiable specific incarnations* of the Doctor? I know Marvel was outright publishing the Who comic range at one point...

I really don't! The closest I can think of is that Dan Slott was very visibly and openly using his Silver Surfer Run from 2014 as an opportunity to write a story styled after Doctor Who- hence the addition of a perky human companion, space-tourism-turned-mystery-solving plots, and the use of timey-wimey macguffins to give the aforementioned companion a touching, firm-but-polite permanent sendoff happy ending at the end of the run. I recall enjoying it a lot when I was younger, but it was comorbid with one of my longer Doctor Who kicks, so I can't speak to it's actual quality or how well it meshes with what Silver Surfer is usually like.

Anyone familiar with any cape things that include a Dr. Who pastiche?

[natureintheory]

"A qubit made from photons lives in the polarization property of light. This is depicted here as individual glowing wavelets. Coated pieces of glass, such as the cube shown in the video, can separate out different polarization states of light. Other elements can switch the polarization from one state (vertical) to the other (horizontal). Photon qubits can also live in other properties, such as color." (Caption via The Quantum Atlas)

One of a series of videos I made for UMD's Quantum Atlas:

I'll soon be available for more work like this, kindly contact me via:

Although my work tends to be primarily physics-related — from subatomic to cosmic scales — I'm also interested in other fields e.g. Long COVID research & advocacy.

I am able to do more complex particle animation / simulation (e.g. airborne viruses or other visualizations.)

[nanotechnologyworld]

Magnetic graphene nanoribbons - narrow strips of graphene formed by fused benzene rings - offers tremendous potential for quantum technologies due to their long spin coherence times and the potential to operate at room temperature. Creating a one-dimensional single zigzag edge in such systems is a daunting yet essential task for realising the bottom-up assembly of multiple spin qubits for quantum technologies.

[33-108]

Spanda, Consciousness, and the Binary Pulse of Creation

At the foundation of all things, there is not matter, not energy, not even information as we conceive it, but pure awareness — a luminous, formless presence that precedes form, logic, space, and time. This ground of being — call it Parabhairava, the Absolute, or simply Consciousness — is not merely the backdrop to existence; it is existence in its most essential mode. It is not a god outside the world, nor a force among others, but the very field in which all distinctions arise, and the intelligence that gives rise to them.

Within this infinite, unified field lies the potential for everything. Not “everything” in the sense of accumulated things, but the totality of possibility itself: form and formlessness, thought and sensation, logic and chaos. And it is from this potential that a primordial movement emerges — a vibration not in space, but of awareness itself. This movement is Spanda, the subtle throb of Consciousness, the first gesture of becoming.

Spanda is not the motion of particles nor the dance of molecules; it is more fundamental than either. It is the first differentiation, the tension within unity, the primal pulsation of the real. It is not dualistic — not a split — but duality in superposition, the living paradox of 0 and 1 not as opposites, but as a unified field of emergence and return. Spanda gives rise to unmeṣa and nimeṣa, the cosmic pulsation of opening and closing, expansion and contraction, emanation and reabsorption. These are not symbolic acts — they are the very engine of time, experience, and form.

In this light, I’ve come to see that information and energy are not two separate principles, nor are they even sequential. Rather, they are different expressions of the same vibratory act. Information is the latent potential, the form before form, the archetype not yet stirred. It is pure possibility encoded in the silent stillness of awareness. Energy is the actualization of that information, the kinetic movement of awareness into form, into pattern, into structure. The act of movement from 0 to 1 — or vice versa — is not a metaphor; it is the basic motion of existence.

This is where the binary logic of digital physics, the oscillations of string theory, and the metaphysics of Tantra begin to converge. The 0/1 superposition is not just a tool for computation — it is a cosmic principle. It mirrors the pulse of unmeṣa and nimeṣa, the alternation of Shiva and Shakti, concealment and revelation. Each pulse of this binary wave is a quanta of contraction and expansion, a ripple in the self-reflective ocean of consciousness. From this ripple arises all structure: frequency, dimension, identity, particle, perception.

If information is potential energy, then vibration is the movement that makes it real. In Spanda, we have the living waveform that embodies both the intelligence of form and the force of becoming. The binary pulse does not merely contain meaning — it is meaning, in motion. Each oscillation of consciousness between stillness and expression is the origin of a universe.

This is not just speculative philosophy. It has deep echoes in every serious system of metaphysics I have studied. In Tantra, it is Śiva/Śakti. In Advaita, it is Nirguna/Saguna Brahman. In Kabbalah, it is the Ein Sof contracting and emanating through the Sefirot. In Pythagoreanism, it is the tension between the Monad and the Dyad. Even in modern physics, we glimpse this pattern: quantum fields vibrating to create particles; qubits holding potential until measured; energy and information interwoven at the most fundamental level.

Some — like Mike Hockney and the Illuminist school — argue that information is the true substrate of reality. In many ways, I agree with them. Information is the structure of possibility, and it gives rise to all form and experience. But I diverge from them in one crucial point: information cannot exist independently of awareness. The informational universe they describe cannot compute itself without an underlying field of consciousness in which those operations are rendered intelligible. Information is not self-existent code; it is meaning as held within an aware field. It is the dream of consciousness, vibrating within itself.

So I return again to the notion that consciousness is primary — not as a product of matter or logic, but as the ground from which both energy and information arise. Energy and information are not opposites, nor even sequential phenomena; they are two aspects of a single vibratory principle. And that vibration is not physical — it is ontological, the pulse of being itself becoming aware of its own potential.

When we speak of creation, of the Big Bang, of the emergence of time and form — we are speaking of Spanda. When we breathe, when we think, when we feel desire or withdraw into silence — we are enacting Spanda. This pulse lives in us, because we are that pulse. Our awareness is not a product of the universe — it is a microcosmic expression of the same universal throbbing that gives rise to galaxies and gravity.

The oscillation between 0 and 1 is not just the basis of digital reality, but the metaphysical principle of differentiation. It is the living binary, the cosmic pulse that eternally alternates between go and stop, yes and no, self and other, all while remaining rooted in the nondual source that is untouched, unchanging, and utterly aware.

To contemplate Spanda is to stand at the threshold of creation, to feel the very breath of God before God becomes “God.” It is to perceive the code behind the code, the dance behind all form, and to recognize that this pulse is not separate from ourselves, but is our innermost essence.

In this way, the divide between idealism, simulation theory, string theory, tantra, and mystical cosmology dissolves. All of them are describing the same truth, in different languages: that reality is the rhythmic flowering of consciousness, that information and energy are the pulse of Being, and that we ourselves are the medium in which this divine wave unfolds.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Observing higher-order and fractional discrete time crystals in Floquet-driven Rydberg atomic gases

A team experimentally observed higher-order and fractional discrete time crystals (DTCs) in periodically driven Rydberg atomic dissipative systems. Their study was published in Nature Communications. The team was led by Prof. Ding Dongsheng from the University of Science and Technology of China (USTC) of the Chinese Academy of Sciences. Spontaneous symmetry breaking is a key mechanism for explaining phase transitions in matter and is responsible for the formation of ordered structures such as spatial crystals. Time crystals have made considerable progress in theory and experiment since they were proposed by Nobel Prize winner Professor Frank Wilczek. On the theoretical front, researchers have introduced DTCs and demonstrated their emergence in periodically driven systems. Experimentally, DTCs have been observed in various quantum platforms, such as trapped ions, ultracold atoms, solid-state spin systems, and superconducting qubits.

Read more.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Quantum machine offers peek into “dance” of cosmic bubbles

Physicists have performed a groundbreaking simulation they say sheds new light on an elusive phenomenon that could determine the ultimate fate of the Universe. 

Pioneering research in quantum field theory around 50 years ago proposed that the universe may be trapped in a false vacuum – meaning it appears stable but in fact could be on the verge of transitioning to an even more stable, true vacuum state.  While this process could trigger a catastrophic change in the Universe's structure, experts agree that predicting the timeline is challenging, but it is likely to occur over an astronomically long period, potentially spanning millions of years. 

In an international collaboration between three research institutions, the team report gaining valuable insights into false vacuum decay – a process linked to the origins of the cosmos and the behaviour of particles at the smallest scales. The collaboration was led by Professor Zlatko Papic, from the University of Leeds, and Dr Jaka Vodeb, from Forschungszentrum Jülich, Germany. 

The paper’s lead author Professor Papic, Professor of Theoretical Physics in the School of Physics and Astronomy at Leeds, said: “We're talking about a process by which the universe would completely change its structure. The fundamental constants could instantaneously change and the world as we know it would collapse like a house of cards. What we really need are controlled experiments to observe this process and determine its time scales.” 

The researchers say this work marks a significant step forward in understanding quantum dynamics, offering exciting possibilities for the future of quantum computing and its potential for studying some of the most challenging problems around the fundamental physics of the Universe. 

Simulating a Cosmic Puzzle 

The research, by the University of Leeds, Forschungszentrum Jülich, and the Institute of Science and Technology Austria (ISTA), set out to understand the key puzzle of false vacuum decay – the underlying mechanism behind it. They used a 5564-qubit quantum annealer, a type of quantum machine designed by D-Wave Quantum Inc. to solve complex optimisation problems – which involve finding the best solution from a set of possible solutions – by harnessing the unique properties of quantum-mechanical systems. 

In the paper, published today (04/02/2025) in Nature Physics, the team explain how they used the machine to mimic the behaviour of bubbles in a false vacuum. These bubbles are similar to liquid bubbles forming in water vapour, cooled below its dew point. It is understood that the formation, interaction and spreading of these bubbles would be the trigger for false vacuum decay. 

Co-author Dr Jean-Yves Desaules, a postdoctoral fellow at ISTA, who completed his PhD at the University of Leeds, said: “This phenomenon is comparable to a rollercoaster that has several valleys along its trajectory but only one ‘true’ lowest state, at ground level.  

“If that is indeed the case, quantum mechanics would allow the Universe to eventually tunnel to the lowest energy state or the ‘true’ vacuum and that process would result in a cataclysmic global event.” 

The quantum annealer enabled scientists to observe the intricate “dance” of the bubbles, which involves how they form, grow, and interact in real time. These observations revealed that the dynamics are not isolated events – they involve complex interactions, including how smaller bubbles can influence larger ones. The team say their findings provide new insights into how such transitions might have occurred shortly after the Big Bang.  

The paper’s first author Dr Vodeb, postdoctoral researcher at Jülich, said: “By leveraging the capabilities of a large quantum annealer, our team has opened the door to studying non-equilibrium quantum systems and phase transitions that are otherwise difficult to explore with traditional computing methods.” 

New Era of Quantum Simulation 

Physicists have long questioned whether the false vacuum decay process could happen and if so, how long it would take. However, they have made little progress in finding answers due to the unwieldy mathematical nature of quantum field theory. 

Instead of trying to crack these complex problems, the team set out to answer more simple ones that can be studied using newly available devices and hardware. This is thought to be one of the first times scientists have been able to directly simulate and observe the dynamics of false vacuum decay at such a large scale.  

The experiment involved placing 5564 qubits — the elementary building blocks of quantum computing— into specific configurations that represent the false vacuum. By carefully controlling the system, the researchers could trigger the transition from false to true vacuum, mirroring the bubbles' formation as described by false vacuum decay theory. The study used a one-dimensional model, but it is thought 3D versions will be possible on the same annealer. The D-Wave machine is integrated into JUNIQ, the Jülich UNified Infrastructure for Quantum computing at the Jülich Supercomputing Centre. JUNIQ provides science and industry access to state-of-the-art quantum computing devices. 

Professor Papic said: “We are trying to develop systems where we can carry out simple experiments to study these sorts of things. The time scales for these processes happening in the universe are huge, but using the annealer allows us to observe them in real time, so we can actually see what's happening.  

“This exciting work, which merges cutting-edge quantum simulation with deep theoretical physics, shows how close we are to solving some of the universe’s biggest mysteries.” 

The research was funded by the UKRI Engineering and Physical Sciences Research Council (EPSRC) and the Leverhulme Trust. The findings show that insights into the origin and the fate of the Universe need not always require multi-million-pound experiments in dedicated high-energy facilities, such as the Large Hadron Collider at CERN.  

Professor Papic added: “It’s exciting to have these new tools that could effectively serve as a table-top ‘laboratory’ to understand the fundamental dynamical processes in the Universe.” 

Real-World Impact  

Researchers say their findings highlight the quantum annealers’ potential in solving practical problems far beyond theoretical physics.  

Beyond its importance for cosmology, the study has practical implications for advancing quantum computing, according to the researchers. They believe that understanding bubble interactions in the false vacuum could lead to improvements in how quantum systems manage errors and perform complex calculations, helping to make quantum computing more efficient. 

 

The Institute of Science and Technology Austria (ISTA) is a PhD-granting research institution located in Klosterneuburg, 18 km from the center of Vienna, Austria. ISTA employs professors on a tenure-track model, post-doctoral researchers, and PhD students. The Graduate School of ISTA offers fully funded PhD positions to highly qualified candidates with a Bachelor’s or Master’s degree in biology, mathematics, computer science, physics, chemistry, and related areas. While dedicated to the principle of curiosity-driven research, ISTA aims to deliver scientific findings to society through technological transfer and science education. The President of the Institute is Martin Hetzer, a renowned molecular biologist, and former Senior Vice President at The Salk Institute for Biological Studies in California, USA. www.ista.ac.at 

IMAGE: Annealing quantum computer. Picture credit: D-Wave Quantum Inc. Credit Picture credit: D-Wave Quantum Inc.