#Wave Interference Pattern | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jamneuromain · 9 months

Note

Divorce with either Steve/Andy I'm feeling angsty.

Whether happy/sad ending is up to you :)

Hi bestie <3 I'm sorry it has taken more time than I thought but my drabble turns into a one-shot before I can even realize skjksjskjskjksj

hope you'll enjoy this <3

Lie, Lie, Lie

Steve Rogers x You (Mutant!Reader)

Warning: Swearing, Angst, Divorce, (also asshole-ish Avengers?)

W/C: 5.4 K

Summary: A small leak will sink a great ship. -- Benjamin Franklin

A/N: My first entry to the bingo challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty.

It starts with a minor, insignificant detail.

Just some static in the phone, really.

A snippet of sound that common people would interpret as bad signals, considering that Steve is phoning you from thousands of miles away, while you are using the landline.

For holy Mary’s sake, who the hell still uses landlines today?

Apparently, the academic conferences you attend do.

Steve notices the small static buzzing the call you are having, after which you grumble in frustration, “Stupid signals, can’t even function properly.”

He smiles, knowing that you can’t see the expression on his face. You are cute even when you are complaining.

You sigh deeply on the other end of the phone, your voice slightly distorted from the electronic, or wireless, transmission, “I miss you, Stevie. Can’t wait to come home.”

“It’ll only be two more days,” Steve reassures you with his soothing timbre, “I’ll be waiting for you at the airport, alright? First thing you’ll see after getting off that plane.”

“Okay.” You know he can hear you pouting, but you pout anyway, “Gotta have some sleep now. I’m going to the keynote tomorrow morning.”

“Take care of yourself.” Steve holding on to his phone, wincing again as the static buzzes again, but it appears only on his end, as you seem unaffected by it, “Take care of my favorite scientist and my favorite girl for me, okay?”

“I am your favorite girl. And you know I have my powers.” You try your best to stifle a large yawn, but Steve senses your tiredness right away.

“Sleep tight, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Steve blows a kiss, hoping that it would travel across oceans and lands via the phone, and reach your forehead.

“Night, Steve.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

You are about to hang up when the static tortures his ear again.

You hang up.

Static isn’t a problem for most people, who, unlike Steve, don’t have super hearing and super memory.

Steve could think that the static is a minor interference, however, static that appears during phone calls are hardly inconsistent. And if he has learned a thing or two during the time that landlines are still fairly popular – 40s, by the way – is that static doesn’t go on and off, nor does it blur on different pronunciations since static should naturally have a pattern.

Since Stark phones issued by the friendly billionaire is certainly off the question, he suspects that someone might be tapping into your landline.

Something is off. His intuition is telling him. So, he called Tony and asked for a favor.

After some analysis that Steve couldn’t fully understand, Tony presses his index finger to his lips tightly, humming to himself.

“Anything?” Steve watched as Tony chugged down the fifth cup of coffee ten minutes ago, and now Tony has been unusually quiet.

Tony spins his chair around, looking thoughtful. He waves his fountain pen in midair, pointing at his screen in general, “This isn’t some sort of prank Bruce asked you to play, is it?”

“Prank? Tony, this is my wife we’re talking about.” Steve is about to lose his patience. He crosses his arm, dead serious, “What is … this? Am I being paranoid or …”

He wouldn’t dare to think about you in actual danger and he’s sitting cozily in Avengers Compound. He could’ve been risking your precious rescue time. Or warn you, somehow.

Even knowing that you have your special powers.

Your mutant powers.

Still, there are hundreds of ways for you to be defenseless.

A collar could suppress all your powers. A shot of the new dose of Mutant Serum could make you lose your X-gene once and for all. And all those terrible things that could happen to you.

Tony scratches his goatee, his expression is puzzled, to say the least, “this static that you provided, looks like the interface Bruce and I were cooking up for a Friday-upgrade.”

“English, please, Tony.”

Tony magnifies the example of static extracted from the recording that is automatically stored on Stark servers, and pulls out a random MRI brain scan from Steve’s health exam last year, “See what I mean?”

Steve watches the two waves on the screen closely, almost stuttering from what he is summarizing, “They look … similar.”

“Exactly.” Tony throws the MRI scan off the screen and points to the static, “This? This isn’t sound. This is human thinking. Hell, thinking, I’m not even sure it’s human. And it has a purpose. The reason you are hearing the ‘static’ – I’ll name that thing later, is that it serves as a relay, that patches you through its – thinking, whatever, and directs your call to Y/N.”

“It isn’t Friday?” Steve blurts out the only AI he could think of.

“If it is Friday, the Nobel committee is handing me the award right this moment.” Tony snorts, but he turns serious as soon as he notices Steve’s worrying look, “but with this fragment, I can locate Y/N,” and with a few taps on the keyboard, a global map appears in front of them.

Tony mutters to himself, “Can’t track the relay itself, but I can … ”

Another few keystrokes and a red dot blip.

“… in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.” Tony isn’t even sure about what the blipping dot shows, “Now this can’t be right-” Tony looks back at Steve, whose eyebrows are tying up like knots, “Where did you say she’s having this academic conference?”

“Leipzig, Germany.” Steve answers without a second thought, “Quantum 2023.”

Tony looks awe-struck.

“I’m sending a team to get her.” Steve stands up from his seat abruptly, heading to the doorway, but Tony’s words make him stop.

“Quantum 2023 is next week, Steve. And it isn’t held in Leipzig.”

“But that’s impossible,” Steve turns on his heels, glaring at Tony, “She told me that she came into contact with some Professor, who invited her to this conference because she was doing so well with her panel back in January.”

“And what’s that panel?”

“CPS Quantum Computer-”

“CPSQ was never held this year.” Tony shakes his head, “The conference was cancelled because a main member of the CPSQ committee passed away last December. What else has she told you?”

“I can’t tell you.” You dare not read his face. Your gaze lands on the marble counter that you and Steve agreed on two years ago, instead of him. You lied. And you know you lied. And the fact that you know that you can tell him nothing, makes you even more scared and frightened, as you are well aware the last things Steve would tolerate are betrayal and infidelity.

Your shared home, once a sanctuary for you and the love of your life, now withering and shaken, cold and gloomy. It no longer is a safe haven for you.

“Did anyone blackmail you with anything?” Steve asks calmly.

He’s prepared for the worst things to come.

He spent the whole night with Tony trying to figure out the so-called “academic conferences” you were supposed to be a part of, and there were eight of them during the last three years.

Some calls were too old to trace, but Tony has figured out it with the recent three conferences, you weren’t doing Keynotes or presenting your results to academia, but in the same spot in the Pacific doing God knows what.

It was undocumented waters. Tony could only gather so much info that the islands in the vicinity were bought by a mysterious wealthy man who paid through his Kaymen Island account.

And you were visiting it almost every four months. Like clockwork.

There were a few heat signatures on the island, but with no visible vehicle, neither ferry nor helicopter in sight, Tony would have to guess that you would need someone who can transport you from where you were to the island.

“No.” You have no excuse. No reasons. No idea what you should say.

But you weren’t blackmailed. You went there voluntarily.

His gaze feels heavy on your shoulders. From the corner of your eyes, you can see he’s looking at you intensely. Trying to figure out whether you are still lying to him.

“Are you cheating?”

The other possible explanation he has thought of. Frightening, if an answer of certainty comes out of your mouth, but it would explain your lies. Steve curls his hand into a fist, the veins on his hand popping briefly onto his skin.

The hands that caressed your hair and your jaw, cradling your face when he leaned in to kiss you. All the gentle moves. Treating you as a soft and delicate being. Now a hard fist on the table.

He didn’t touch you on your way back to your home. Nor did he accept your hugs and kisses at the airport.

He was very disappointed.

“No.” You answer, with your head low.

How could he doubt your relationship? How could he doubt your love for him? Waiting for him to return after every battle, taking care of his wounds, having-

How could he think all of those were lies too?

“Then what are you hiding?”

Steve maintains his best manners not to crush the table under his fist into bits and pieces. He wants you to answer. Something. Tell him why he has been kept in the dark.

Anything.

You open your mouth, but no word comes out.

“I can’t tell you.” You whisper, your resolve of keeping the secret faltering under his piercing gaze. But you can’t tell him.

There’s turmoil in your stomach, wreaking havoc in your guts. You want to throw up when thinking about the truth, but cannot say it. Not with your teeth and tongue. Not with pen and paper. You cannot. You physically cannot.

Nothing remorseful or any expression similar appears on your face, as Steve observes your reaction closely.

“Please, Steve. I promise I’ll tell you, but now is not the time. It was – is an important … deed, to do.”

Steve stands up from his chair slowly.

Not even looking at you anymore, he sounds emotionless. Cold.

“I thought for a moment you were kidnapped. Tortured. Lured into a trap.”

“Steve-”

“I was this close,” he pinches his index finger and thumb together, “sending a full-blown rescue tactical team, to get you out.”

“Steve, please, just listen-”

“And are you talking, Y/N? Are you telling me what I need to hear?” He stands with his back to you, shaking with uncontrollable anger. “The truth, that’s all I want.”

“I can’t-”

“I can’t, either.” He interrupts you. For the entire time you can remember, from his cute and sweet attempts to ask you out on a date, from his chivalry of taking you out and asking you to be his wife, from the start of your happy marriage, he hasn’t once interrupted you when you were talking.

Tears roll down your eyes as you are tongue-tied, unable to utter a sound.

But Steve didn’t see those tears. If he did, he would have some idea that you are truly sorry for what you have done.

Steve stands with his back to you.

“I’ll save us the trouble and ask Tony to wipe our marriage from the system.”

Almost a shriek, your hands and feet are placed in the bottom of the ice pit, “You can’t-! I- You can’t!”

Your sobbing fills the room that was occupied by a dreadful silence. From your husband.

You would never imagine that a lie would go this far.

“Watch me.”

He can’t, not when you are-

Not when you are working on-

Not when you are trying to-

He can’t.

Realization dawns on you that even if you did tell him one thing that you can say to make him stay, he would consider it a lie.

Or an effort you make, trying to be bound to him.

That your trust is broken forever.

With that realization hitting you, he leaves the room.

Five years later, somewhere near Hawaii.

“This is really nice, what you got over here,” Tony comments in honesty, taking a step back to observe the rippling portal gate, “How long has it been put into use?”

Jean, the woman with flaming red hair and a scarf around her shoulders, has an impeccable smile on her face, leading the way as Natasha and Steve boarded the small vehicle up ahead, “Four. We used to transport to and from all over the world with the help of mutants who can create a portal. But as larger machines and construction materials were needed on Krakoa, the very land that you are standing on, our top scientists decided to benefit us all by inventing an instant portal device- Devices, should I say.”

As there are three large portals, each the size of a house, standing next to each other on the founding stones.

“Why are we even here?” Steve murmurs to Natasha, sounding confused, “I thought bargaining was Tony’s specialty…?”

“Smile, Rogers.” Natasha murmurs back, her eyes scanning the tropical island for any anomaly, “It’s a diplomatic event, not a business one.”

“Like a photo Op?”

“Like a peace offering.” Nat lowers her voice as she notices a mutant with bright green hair start the engine of their car, and take the position as their driver, “Krakoa now has the most efficient cancer eradication solution, and if we all behave and act like adults, the world would accept the possibility of the first mutant country. The UN is considering whether to add Krakoa as a new member country as we speak.”

“And if we blew it, WW3?”

“Worse. We will be hanged before we could say ‘assemble’.” Natasha sits straighter when Tony and Jean, the woman with red hair approaches the vehicle, and asks with a louder voice, “Would you mind telling us about the three-day trip planned on Krakoa?”

“Certainly.” With a look from Jean, the green-hair starts the car and drives away from the beach, heading towards a road that leads to the Krakoa city center. “We don’t have anything planned for this evening, so Lorna – our temporary driver - and I will show you around this place in general and escort you to your residence, where you will have dinner with our high council tonight. Tomorrow you’ll visit our university facilities and our most advanced laboratory, with our head scientist Hank. If you would like to visit any place else, feel free to tell us and we’ll try our best to satisfy your demands…”

Their residence is a small building near the city square. After a brief tour of the area, Jean tells them that normally they wouldn’t expect many visitors, so the building, though more well-equipped than most hotels, only resides the three of them, plus Jean for now.

Natasha strides across the room as Tony takes voice notes on his phone.

“… Their technology is at least two decades, if not three, more advanced than our top scientist.” With that as a summary, Tony stuffs his phone in his pocket.

And the room is filled with deafening silence.

“Do you think they cleared this place out when they are expecting us?” Steve sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at Tony and Natasha.

“They are afraid of us, as we are afraid of them.” Natasha says slowly. Not really answering Steve’s question, but hinting at the opinion that she has in mind. Her striding comes to a halt, “The looks we had on our way here? Not all friendly.”

“Too bad we don’t have a mutant as a middleman.” Tony clicks his tongue, moving around his jaw like he has a toothache.

“Tony-” Starts Natasha warningly.

They all know one mutant who helped around in the Avengers a few years ago. They know one mutant was exceptionally close to Steve. Hell, they were even there to witness the wedding of-

“I’m gonna go get some air.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a long exhale, before walking out of the room.

Of Steve and you.

You were not a powerful mutant. But you would be helpful, under a circumstance like this.

But Steve divorced you a few years back.

No one knows why. No one knows any information regarding the terrible divorce that made Steve leave you, leave the States for months.

Except that you were “missing” from time to time.

Natasha sits on the other armchair in the room, looking closely at Tony, and his greying beard. She chooses her words very carefully, “Was she…” Were you cheating back then? On Steve?

Tony shakes his head, “He never told me.”

“But is it possible that…”

“I wanted to believe the other way.” Tony nibbling at his bottom lip. In the end, he looks back at Natasha, the former Russian spy, “But the incident right after she left…”

A breach that erased all of your data, along with the data of three staff within the Avengers Compound, happened a few months after you left the Compound and disappeared. Not only the records of your information, but also calls and texts, almost every trace of your presence was erased completely from both Avengers Compound and the government system as well.

The three staff later identified as mutants. They fled from the compound on the same day of the incident.

No one knew where you were. No CCTV or surveillance camera has recorded your prescence ever since.

It's a shame to admit, but no one bothered to look either.

After all, there were no demands or ransoms asked. And they were too busy saving the world to care for such trivia.

Nothing else was missing.

A few printed photos that Steve kept in his office survived. Printed photos of you and him together. That he had kept in the bottom of his drawer ever since your divorce.

A week later, Krakoa was established, announcing itself as a country and providing shelters for all mutants.

Steve suspected that the two events might be connected somehow, but Krakoa banned anyone who isn’t a mutant from entering the territory and has been moving on the map ever since, refusing any prying eyes.

Steve wanders into the patch of green a few hundred inches away from the hotel, heading towards the beach.

He was painfully reminded of you.

Of your happy times together.

And the determination you showed when you refused to tell him about your affair.

Yes, your affair. Even though you denied it. Steve believes that you were lying to him. About your location, about your everything.

About your lover.

“… come on down little monkey!” A familiar voice ghosting his ears.

A little girl screams at the top of her lungs, before giggling and sitting at the far end of a branch on a tree a few meters away, “But it’s out of power-Hi, Uncle Hank!”

The girl has blonde curly hair, bouncing as she jumps on the thin branch that could snap at any second. Steve is about to sprint to rescue when he hears you.

Your familiar voice.

“Come on, Mommy will catch you.” You clap your hand, your back facing Steve, who is hiding in the bushes. Your arms stretched wide open, urging the little girl to come down.

Urging your daughter to come down from the tree? From a branch seven feet in the air? How are you even encouraging the little girl while she could break her neck is unfathomable to Steve. This is stupid. Reckless. Irresponsible. A total -

“Come on, little monkey.” You clap your hand again, “It won’t be half as fun if I have to come up and get you.”

“Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t know that the rocket boots will die so soon,” begins a man on your side, apologizing. A thin man with glasses in his 40s. “The battery is supposed to last five hours when I put them on- Oh.”

“Yes.” Steve hears your grumpiness, “Batteries. Hank. My expertise.”

Steve knows your expertise.

Although you studied quantum physics and its application, your interest in Physics derived from your ability to absorb power and power transformation. However, you were not particularly interested in fighting bad guys, that’s why you weren’t on missions as often as he thought you would.

Batteries. You would absorb electricity from it in an instant, even when you are not intentionally doing so.

“Exhibiting her abilities so soon?” Hank gasps in disbelief, raising his head to look at your daughter jumping on that twig, “Normally it would be until their teen years.”

You chuckle, “Missing out on the latest Bio lab, aren’t you? They just published a paper about how mutant parents would cause a higher rate of mutant children, and as a result, their abilities tend to show earlier. Even so,” you kick the sand under your feet, your voice less exciting, “Hers is showing earlier than I did.”

“You showed your ability when you were five, right?”

“Two months till five. But yeah, pretty early. She made the light in our room flick on and off, starting from a month ago.” You make one last attempt at your daughter, who is having her fun with those thick rocket boots on her feet, “Be a sweetheart and come down, alright? Mommy is getting tired and we haven’t had dinner yet.” You plead softly.

“Alright, Mommy.” The little girl answers.

As Steve watches from afar, worrying sick that your daughter would fall from the tree, she spreads her arms and falls from the tree. But like a piece of paper, descending slowly into your arms.

Absorbing gravity to cancel it out. One of your typical moves too. Steve thinks bitterly. No doubt the little girl is your daughter.

Hank offers something as you three walk further from Steve and the bush he’s hiding. Steve didn’t quite catch what he said, but he hears you reply with a certain “Yes”.

Your voice trails away, “But it’ll be fine. Won’t we, little monkey?”

The little girl giggles again.

“Do you want Daddy back, Mommy?” Your daughter Maddie asks abruptly as you take out the storybook before bed.

“I-” It would be a lie, to say that you do not want Steve. But years have gone by and you’ve built your life around Maddie and Krakoa. While you were desperate, wanting him back when you found yourself pregnant with Maddie, the night when he left your house, you knew that the only reason Steve would stick around, which is knowing that you are pregnant. Despite the responsibility he would be burdened with, he would also doubt whether he’s raising some other people’s child, since he already suspects that you were cheating, and your life would be miserable with his indifference.

You remember your panicking and fearing his leave.

Thinking that he can’t leave you, not when you are pregnant, not when you are working on a home and a shelter for your future children, trying to create a safe haven for you and your family.

But he left.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” You tuck a strand of her blonde curls behind her ears, gazing into her beautiful cerulean eyes, “I hurt your father really bad when I made the big mistake that we talked about. And he hurt me too. Not that he wanted to, but he left me alone in this world.” You kiss her short chubby hand, placing her hand on your cheek, “We won’t be happy ever again. Because I lied to him. And he will always remember it.”

“Oh.” Maddie sounds disappointed, scrunching her little face together, “But Daddy knows you are doing the right thing, right? Building Kra-Kra-Krakoa and our home?”

She tried a few times to pronounce the word “Krakoa”, making you smile.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” You explain to her with more patience than you can ever imagine, “I have never seen your father ever since.”

“He should!” Your daughter curls herself up into a ball in your arms, nuzzling your soft pyjamas, “He should be proud of you. And what you did. You help build the island, Mommy. Daddy should know. And he will forget your lying.”

Kids. Always thinking everything in the world is so simple. A small grin creeps up your lips.

But in your heart, the bitterness swirls into a dark pit.

Everyone else understood. Other mutants who had a family, who told their partners they will be gone for a while, who lied to their partners that they were needed for a job.

Their partners did. Their partners understood the cruelty of separation and the pain that those mutants cannot utter a word about their whereabouts, or the details of the job. The worst you’ve heard of, aside from yourself as an example, was a huge fight between Lorna and her boyfriend, but in the end, she forgave him after a week, having enough trust for both of them to continue their relationship and got married two years ago.

But no. Not Steve.

Steve, who quickly jumped to the conclusion that there was no need to continue this marriage.

Steve, after leaving word of divorcing you, left. To some shit-eating place in South Africa, for two whole months.

Two months. Two months of prying eyes and prodding questions from the Avengers, which you knew they were being kind and helpful, but you couldn’t stay there. Not when it brought pain and scars to your chest every time you’d see some possession that belonged to him, and cry your eyes out, nearly losing Maddie as a result. Not when they were also suspecting that you cheated on Steve and scolding you lightly, telling you to “speak to Steve and ask for his forgiveness”.

They were his family. Not really yours.

Yours is here.

You kiss her forehead, tucking her in, “I sure hope so. Good night, sweetheart.”

Your smile fades as your mind drifts to the human delegation that is alleged to arrive today.

You asked to be kept out of the loop and out of the trails that the delegation is visiting. You even confirmed with Hank today that you would take these three days off from the lab.

You blocked all relevant information regarding those visitors.

You were raised by this mutant family, by mutants such as Jean and Hank and befriended them, and you had your heart broken in the human world. You don’t want anywhere near humans ever again.

“These are some state-of-the-art devices. I have to say, I’m very impressed.” Tony tilts his head to the side, reading the metrics recorded on the screen in the up-state Bio lab, “This is not quite my expertise though, the project you are operating here.”

Hank magnifies the part Tony is observing onto the huge screen behind them, “We are trying to incorporate human thoughts into robots, but in a wireless form. With a thought-” Hank, the man in glasses, places two stickers onto his head, and a robotic arm on the far end of the lab begins writing “Welcome”, stopping dead when it comes to “O”. Hank shrugs, not even bothered by the failure of the demonstration, “We have a talented specialist that helps with coding, but there are always some interferences with the transmission.”

Natasha clears her throat to gain their attention, “I’m also very impressed with the construction of the island as a whole. A construction this large should take … what, five years and a couple hundred workers?”

“Two and a half, to be precise.” Hank gestures for them to move forward onto the Physics lab, peeling the stickers off his temple, “About three dozen mutants involved. It would be sooner if it weren’t…” As if he suddenly was reminded of something, Hank let out a short “Ah”, and a brief pause, “if it weren’t some … unintentional held-up with one of our finest mutants.” His eyes land on sulking Steve, only for a few seconds.

Hank said it with a proud smile on his face. It didn’t take Steve forever to recognize the man from the beach last night, who gave your daughter, very irresponsibly, Steve might add, rocket boots.

Your daughter’s father is very irresponsible too. Not even showing up when your daughter is in danger. He thinks, clenching his jaw, praying for strength that he would punch that guy in the face if he ever meets him.

Natasha and Tony exchange a glance behind Hank, failing to notice Steve and his stern expressions.

“But it must have been a huge effort, even with three dozen, to keep them silent?” Natasha jokes light-heartedly, “There’s hardly any secret in the Avengers Compound without the full staff knowing it in three days.”

Hank nods politely, holding the door for them to come through, “Well, yes. But as you are well aware, a few of our best mutants are telepathic, meaning they could plant a gag order in our heads,” Hank taps his temple with his knuckle, “We couldn’t speak to anyone else about Krakoa for three years until it’s established. Our mind forbade us to speak of it because of the gag order.”

“Masochists, and they are proud of it,” Natasha whispers to Tony in a rush.

“It is troubling. Misunderstandings and arguments have aroused based on the gag order and its implementation.” Hank walks them through the long hallway from one building to another, “But we agreed it’s for the best at that moment.”

Tony makes a face that isn’t as obvious, but Steve and Natasha could tell that’s his disapproving face.

As Hank opens another door for them, the first thing they see is a little girl playing with her toy car on a tall chair. She slides the car down from a colorful track, and the track would deliver the toy car back to her hands.

“Maddison!” Hank rushes to her side, looking up and down to see whether the girl got hurt, “What are you doing here?”

“Mommy needs to pick up something.” Maddie points at you, cheering, “Look! Mommy Mommy!” She drops her toy car to the ground, and jumps off the tall chair, running to you and hugging your thigh.

Steve stops breathing. Seeing you, well and alive in front of him, with your daughter, in a rosy-pink dress that you bought while dating him a few years back.

You look … the same.

“Get behind me, Maddie.” You tug the little girl on her arm, to have her shielded fully behind your legs. An undetectable shakiness in your voice.

Maddie peeks from behind you. She doesn’t understand where this tension is coming from, but she understands one thing: “Mommy, is that Daddy?” She raises her head and asks.

You hate to lie to your daughter. But you are not going to let her be exposed to Natasha and Tony, and most importantly, Steve.

“Christ. It’s Y/N.” Tony mutters.

“Mommy, he looks exactly like the photo you showed me.” Maddie asks in confusion, pointing towards Steve, “He looks exactly like Daddy?”

“Maddison, not now.” It takes all your willpower not to push them all out of the lab at once, “Hank, would you mind?” You glance icily at Hank, urging him to solve the problem at hand.

“Yes, of course.” Hank starts to head the other way, “I’m sorry, but we’re behind schedule. If you would come with me-”

“No one is coming anywhere until we deal with this,” Tony announces, one hand already on his wristwatch, which you know contains a small plasma canon if he activates it.

“Is she…?” Steve knows the answer to his question before he asks. The hair and the eyes are similar to his, and the nose and lips resemble yours-

“Boys,” Natasha raises her voice, “Let’s be civil, shall we?”

“How old is she?” Steve feels a lump down his throat, “is she-”

“Civil?” You let out a dry laugh, the exact opposite of amused, “Tony Fucking Stark is ready to attack when he pulls out that wristwatch. And Natasha, long time no see, the same goes for your widow bites too. Yeah, I saw the glowing blue under your sleeves. You are trying to take my child away from me in a heartbeat and call yourself civil?”

“Tony, Nat.” Steve speaks.

Two words that bring the two of them away from their weapons.

You pick Maddie up from the ground, having your back to the Avengers, protecting your daughter from their grasp, “Let’s go, Maddie. I am apparently not welcomed here.”

“Y/N!” Steve calls to your back, “Y/N, please!”

Natasha is tempted to step forward and ask you to stay and talk this out, being blocked by Hank.

“I assume it is best that you stay right where you are,” Hank says politely, though his thin body has no intention of moving.

Maddie hugs your neck, laying her head on your shoulders. Her blue eyes focusing on Steve while you walk away.

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adz · 11 months

Text

Early color photography required exposures through red, green, and blue filters. The three single-color images were combined, the strengths and interactions of RGB blended into one multicolor image. This "trichrome" technique is still a popular method of capturing infrared light.

The physicist Gabriel Lippmann took a different approach. He was inspired by the phenomenon of light interference, where the phase differences in light waves result in variations of amplitude and intensity. The result is a brilliant spectrum of possible colors:

Many species have evolved to exhibit phase interference - the iridescence of a beetle's carapace or a peacock's feathers is the result of the very same phenomenon that enabled Lippman to create color images in a single exposure.

Lippmann's interference photographs were termed "photography in natural colours by direct exposure in the camera;" a novelty then that now describes practically every color photo.

The result of Lippman's photographic process was a positive image (like slide film) rather than a negative. However, Lippmann plates appear colorless until white light hits them at a certain angle; this light illuminates the interference structure of the photograph, replicating the light shining upon the scene when the exposure was taken. The dark room and single point of illumination you see below is ideal for their viewing.

Later, Lippmann's interference photography technique was expanded with the use of lasers and 3D (rather than 2D) emulsion to create holograms, which capture their subject's light refractions at a variety of angles. White light holograms are viewable under the same conditions as Lippmann's photographs: by shining white light upon them at an angle to illuminate their interference patterns.

#gabriel lippmann #optics #holography #interference photography

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reqxxyt · 11 months

Text

turn back time

pairings: sergio p. x f!reader

warning: broken spanish (google translated because I felt insecure about my own spanish-), angst, timeline is messed up

wc: 3.3 k

masterlist requests are open!

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

To say that you and Sergio were always close would be an understatement, growing up in Guadalajara together, your parents were always close, having been friends before themselves. The two pairs always predicted you two would get together more as a joke, but you would only make a grossed-out face hating the idea of ever being fond of anyone enough to marry them. But you were 5 back then, Sergio being 6 always finding an annoying way to brag about his age. But you didn’t pay any mind, just sticking your tongue out whenever he would mention it to further annoy you.

But as much as you pretended to be annoyed, you admired him as well, having been near front row seats to all of is karting races making sure to cheer on for him. Making sure that whenever he would win you would cheer the loudest, only chasing after him trying to get a hug out of him to celebrate but he was never much of a physical affection type of boy. It was the same pattern, you going to all of his races, him winning, and you chasing after him.

Until he left.

He was recognized, and you were happy he was. Having a shot at becoming big, you forced him to leave not wanting any part of your selfish greed screaming at you to not allow him to leave, in fear of losing your near only friend. At the age of 13, you saw him depart, finally being able to give him a hug as he left to join the Skip Barber series in the U.S. You would be lying if you said you weren’t jealous, but either way, you waved goodbye with a bright smile on your face only being returned a small frown by him as he headed off. You two stayed in touch, only hearing complaints from both sides of your parents about how much the two of you talked on the phone.

He would come for visits as well, and you attempted to show new things to him every time but after a while he just seemed to want to unwind.

“Deberias de venir a visitarme” you should come visit me. He would suggest, and true to yourself you were giddy, feeling your teenage heart flutter but you knew he was just attempting to be nice. After only a short conversation, Sergio finally felt comfortable about telling you his even longer departure “Voy a Europa el proximo año”

Again, you felt proud of him, he was one step closer to having the life he mumbled in his sleep about. But you couldn’t help a small frown tug on the corners of your lips as you tried your hardest to smile. He noticed your attempt and only frowned back, promising you he wouldn’t dare lose his friendship with you, you two just meant the world to each other and nothing could interfere with what you two held for each other.

“Ayudame con el ingles” help me with English. You said, trying to get your mind out of him having to leave soon and instead just talk. He smiled before getting himself comfortable on your bed, the two of you sitting on the edge facing one another

“Los basicos?” the basics? he simply asked. You shook your head, already having an idea of the basics considering they started to teach you that earlier in the school year.

“Ya se, hello, my name is” you couldn’t help the strong accent seeping through your voice only making you two giggle. You thought about more common phrases that you learned and through a sheepish smile, barely louder than a whisper “How was your day?”

“My day was good, I got to spend it with someone I like” he said, only a small smile, ears reddening but you shrugged it off not knowing half of what he said. English was hard. He knew you didn’t understand with your expression, still trying to dissect it only making him laugh at your focused face. “Mi día fue bien, lo tuve con una amiga” My day was good, I spent it with a friend. changing a few words to his liking. She only made a face of realization picking up the phrase quickly thinking when she could use it on someone else.

“como se dice te voy a extrañar,” you said, voice softening and he thought about it for a moment before replying back.

“I will miss you” his body leaned in but you stayed still. “Quieres que me quede?” would you like me to stay?

“No hay nada que pueda desear más” There's nothing I could want more. you said, finally noticing the close proximity. A flicker at each other's lips before suddenly, your door opened making you both turn as you subconsciously moved farther. It was your mother announcing dinner, you looked back at Sergio still a bit saddened, but faced back away as you headed down to the kitchen.

For the next couple of years, he traveled and got to the best of his ability, only having small time to chat with you weekly if you were lucky but you were grateful nonetheless. It was only until the Mexico City Grand Prix that you got to see him in his element. Now, being 20 you were able to travel on your own, pursuing your own journaling career. He immediately invited you to the race seeing as though he would love to see you after so long.

Your heart spun the second you spotted him, with a small smile on your face as you finally approached him. He jogged to you the second he spotted you, bringing you into the tightest embrace, feeling your heart pedal at his hold.

“Te extrañé mucho” I missed you so much. He replied with the same as you two separated. He asked you if it was okay to show you around and you fiercely nodded, ready to be toured around excited to see his new environment.

“Checo?” an unfamiliar voice asked entering the room that Sergio has just been finished explaining about. You two turned to a tannish curled guy in a red bull shirt. “I’m sorry, was I interrupting something?”

You stood silent as Sergio spoke for you, denying any suspensions. They talked for a while and while you did understand most of what they were saying, you still had trouble picking up other words.

“I’m Daniel” he finally got to introduce himself turning to you after their conversation. He sent you a toothy grin, hoping to make you feel comfortable noting your tense state and you sent him a small smile back,

“I’m y/n” you said, accepting his hand to shake, feeling your own body heat up from his close proximity. Sergio took notice of this, flickering his eyes in between you two trying to dismisse the small compliment Daniel had given to you about your name.

It was only until the end of the weekend when he found you talking to Daniel alone that he felt his own heartache. He composed himself enough to walk up to you, a signature small smile asking you what you thought about the race.

“It was great, you did amazing out there” you further complimented him, looking up at him with those dream eyes that had Sergios knees nearly give out. He could feel his own ego inflate at your compliment, only thanking you to mask it.

“Going to the party later?'' Daniel asked you, bringing bck your attention to him. You thought about it for a second before nodding with a ‘sure’. Daniel felt excited meanwhile the nerves on Sergio had gotten worse at the information that you wanted to go to a party with Daniel knowing where that would usually leave a girl by the end of the night.

Later that night, you were sent the address, already familiar with the place it didn’t take long for you to get there. You wore a tight black long-sleeve dress, comfortable enough for you to breathe and move in. You spotted the others the second you entered as they shot you a wave, gesturing you to come over.

“Is Sergio coming?” you asked, an innocent question that brought confused gazes from the others.

“He’s always with his girlfriend after a race” Daniel explained and you had to force yourself to not allow your face drop just letting out a simple ‘oh’. You thought you two were close enough to share personal things, like mentioning if either of you had been in a relationship but you guessed incorrectly.

Daniel handed you a shot and you quickly drank it not caring if the strong intake made your throat burn but rather how it made your body feel numb, blocking out all thoughts from your mind about the boy you thought you knew.

You danced the entire time, putting your attention on the curled boy that seemed to be infatuated with you. The farthest you ever went with him were lips grazing, not allowing you to take it a step further as you stepped back not sure why your mind blocked your body from furthering. You only apologized as you made your way outside, stumbling over with a headache as you tried your best to make yourself stable.

“Tas bien, y/n?” you okay, y/n? you heard the familiar voice making you sulk before turning to see him with a worried expression, finally taking notice of the girl he had linked arms with. Your heart dropped at her sympathetic look, not sure who exactly you were to her lover but knowing enough that it shows he cares.

No matter how much you wanted to tear up, feeling betrayed that not only he never told you but practically left you, you shook your head trying your hardest to blink the tears away, working enough to speak.

“I’m fine” was all you said, barely audible over the blaring music thanking whoever could hear that he wasn’t able to notice the tremble of your voice. He stepped forward making you stumble back, nearly causing you to trip over the stairs before you caught yourself on the railing. Sergio, not looking near convinced tried to offer his assistance but you shook your head, repeating the words from before “Estoy bien. Te veo la proxima” I’m fine, ill see you next time.

He only hummed allowing you to leave, feeling a tug of his shirt from his girlfriend yearning for his attention. He looked down at her, taking another glance at your figure as you tried calling a taxi before going inside with his attempt of replacing you.

In the next years that followed, Sergio was now in red bull. You found someone that you could settle for, having now been together for the last two years and you still cheered for your best friend on track. After a long season, you and your partner traveled to Austin in hopes to surprise your best friend, not the usual of cheering him from your home country but flying out instead.

Like always, you wore Sergio's merch while your boyfriend grew to be a fan of Ferrari. Opposites attract, they say. While you grew caring for your current boyfriend, without a doubt you still held a special place in your heart for the Mexican driver you grew up with in Guadalajara.

Your excitement shined as you practically skipped along to the stands, and linked hands with your boyfriend. Once you sat down at your seats for practice day, you took multiple pictures still feeling amazed at how much Sergio had gotten done in the last decade.

It was only on race day that you felt your entire body leaning in interest as you were silently praying for it to be a good day for Sergio and his car. You know how close Sergio and Max were to receiving the championship title, being almost neck and neck after every race.

“Mi amor, lean back you’ll hurt your neck like that” Your boyfriend worried state made you lose your gaze and concentration as you leaned back only taking a joke of the matter. You finally did realize how strained your neck was, trying to relax the tense muscle.

But in the end, Sergio won. Some cheered and others sighed heavily as your face beamed with excitement, hugging your boyfriend tightly nearly jumping around. After the entire celebration, you took a picture of the podium from the stands and sent it to Sergio with a text attached saying ‘congrats!’. It wasn’t long after the drivers left the podium standings that he texted you back with a shocked emoji saying ‘Come down to the paddock’.

“You sure you’re okay with me leaving?” your boyfriend asked and you only nodded seeing that he needed his rest for the night. He gave you a small kiss on the cheek before leaving you near the paddock entrance where Sergio had been seeming to have been waiting for you with a large grin.

You ran up to him, giving him the biggest hug you could muster up. You only felt your heart leap once, abnormal to the usual of seeing him.

He knew about your relationship, only feeling happy for you seeing you finally move on up until spotting you wearing his shirt. To you, it might have been just a sense of support but to Sergio, it meant the world. Even after so long, his heart wouldn't stop racing every time he would think about you, it got so bad that he broke up with his girlfriend from before seeing no point in a relationship if all he cared about was you. But he never told you.

“Como esta tu relacion?” how is your relationship? he asked after separating. You only shrugged not sure what to say but only ask the same question. After a bit of the inside of his cheek, debating whether to tell you, he let out a deep sigh saying “Nos seperamos” We separated.

Your frown showed, wanting to ask why but out of respect did nothing of the sort. You somehow ended up feeling a sort of guilt even if you believe to yourself it had nothing to do with you. More like you hoped it had nothing to do with you.

“y/n?” his voice softened as your eyes went to go meet his but your recognition of the sight in his eyes only frightened you. That same sad yet adoration state made you want to back up scared you knew where this was going. “Sería demasiado tarde para decirte que estoy enamorado de ti” is it too late to tell you I am in love with you?

Your stomach dropped at the words, swallowing whatever words you wanted to spill, wanting, no needing to not detroy your entire life.

“Ser-” you started but he stopped you, knowing this was only going to end up with him hurt in the end. If he could reverse time right at this moment he would. He took a step back, enough to where you could finally feel yourself breathing but still had your chest lifting you down.

“Perdon, no debería haber dicho eso, te veré la próxima vez.” I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I'll see you next time. he left with only your heart hung low and your head spinning. You returned to the hotel room, observing your sleeping boyfriend and only hearing his light snores. Tears unknowingly started streaming down and with the mix of his light snores were your small sniffles, trying to contain the noises that were exiting.

You didn’t talk to Sergio for a couple of weeks. You isolated yourself. Not just from him but everyone. All your thoughts were about him and memories showcased themselves every time you tried resting your eyes. Your boyfriend grew worried but you shrugged it off, only saying the simple hi and bye for work.

It wasn’t until the Mexico Citiy Grand Prix where your boyfriend finally brought up the topic of your former friend.

“You’re not going?” He was genuinely surprised with your choice, seeing as you’ve never missed one that was in Mexico. You just nodded again for the 100th time and he let the topic go. But that didn’t mean you wouldn't watch it, still wanting the best for him.

On race day, the two of you situated yourselves on the couch ready for the race to begin. You sat silent, in contrast with your regular bubbly personality when it came to race day. It was near the end of the race, your boyfriend fell asleep due to the lack of sleep last night and you stayed awake, allowing your boyfriend to lean against you while you brushed his hair.

Sergio got second that day. It was a disappointment to the Mexican fans but you were silently content with the position knowing how hard it is in itself to be on the podium from how much you’ve observed. You didn’t send him his usual congratulations message and wondered if he would even notice.

Sergio, while believing you wouldn’t come still hoped you did. He asked around about you only receiving shrugs or a simple no. He finally gave up looking, debating whether or not to text you. But he understood you needed space and respected you as he shut off his phone and went to celebrate his 1-2 win with Red Bull.

Sergio still goes to visit his family in Mexico and without a doubt questions about his life flooded, not only about racing but about you. He just told everyone he hadn’t seen you in a while, not specifying the reason as to why.

You were never one to break up with someone in fear of losing the memories that you created with the person, you always waited for the person to do the breaking up and you were sure that friendships were the same, except it came to your knowledge that you were the one who broke the friendship with Sergio and you felt terrible.

But you finally gathered the courage to send a simple message with a hi, asking how he’s been. Sergio almost immediately replied, “Fine, you?”. “Great, want to talk?”

You fiddled with your rings, taking on an extra anxious habit with your new engagement ring.

You already received information that Sergio had been in town from your parents, so you set up plans at a nearby restaurant. On the day, you debated whether to take off your ring and lay it on him easier but decided not to, needing to be the first to tell him.

The sight of your ring made Sergio’s own insides curl up, seeing the ruby pendant you’ve always wanted since you were younger, a special significance only you two know about. But he didn’t mention it, allowing you to be ready to explain it.

“He proposed only a week ago” your voice was soft, and while you would’ve much rather said it in a happier manner your heart tugged at the thought and his silent state. “I thought about saying no”

This made him well surprised, but already having known the outcome only made him all the more sadder.

Your lips trembled, “it should’ve been you. Our worlds just weren’t meant to be together”

He just nodded, following along to every word you said, wishing you were saying it to someone else because he hated being the receiver of the message. Your hands laid on the empty table, palms facing upward, inviting him to put his own on top of yours and he did, not being able to ignore the cold sting of the metal ring.

“Amigos?” friends? the small curve of your lips made his own purse at the thought but he would rather have you in his life as a friend than nothing at all.

“Amigos” friends.

#sergio perez #f1 #f1 x you #f1 reader #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #sergio perez x you #sergio perez x y/n #reader insert #formula 1 #sergio perez x reader #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #sergio perez fanfic #sergio perez imagine #angst #checo perez #checo

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idontknowreallywhy · 15 days

Text

Resurface 19 - Reveal

What went before

Scott demonstrates why his imaginary counterpart is such a bad influence because of course he’s going somewhere he shouldn’t be.

But it does mean we (and Scott) finally get to see Virgil’s picture.

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

By the time he got down to the infirmary, Scott was hobbling slightly and this irritated him. It certainly wasn’t helping with his need to be stealthy. He paused for a moment in the corridor and wrapped his hands tightly around each foot in turn, as if pressing the dressings into place would speed up the healing and prevent the cuts from reopening. He didn’t have the time or energy for that right now. Again he wished he’d slowed down, just a little, and avoided creating an unnecessary distraction with a pointless injury.

But how could he slow down when a brother was in danger? When anyone was in danger? When the split second could make all the difference? Everyone told him he had to… Virgil, Kayo, John… even Gordon lost the plot and yelled at him on occasion but Scott just didn’t see how he was supposed to make that call. How did everyone else see that bright line demarking “this far but not that far”? He knew he had to find it, learn to see it… if only because, as Virgil kept pointing out, Alan was beginning to follow in his footsteps and he’d never forgive himself if the kid got hurt because of it.

He silently eased open the door and crept into the infirmary. As if conjured there by Scott’s musing, Alan stirred a little and he froze in the doorway but almost immediately his exhausted little brother’s breathing slowed again. In another example of littlest brother imitating the biggest, Scott realised with a jolt that Alan had precisely mirrored his own habitual bedside position. Perched on the edge of the chair, leaning forward and to the right, the weight of his upper body supported by his right upper arm which tucked in alongside the pillow, head propped up by the right fist and left hand gently holding that of the patient. The only difference was that Alan had clearly slumped in his sleep and so his face was buried in the edge of Virgil’s pillow while his right hand fell limp over his own shoulder. He was going to get cramp if he stayed like that for long…

The urge to interfere was strong - to scoop his baby brother up in his arms and tuck him into his own bed, away from sights and sounds that might distress him. But Scott resisted. Just. He sent Alan into space on a regular basis, the kid had earned the right to watch over a sick brother the same as any of them.

The shirt fairy had visited here too, it seemed, and had left their bounty of neatly folded clothing piles arranged around Virgil’s sleeping head like a halo in some bizarre classical artwork. Scott spotted Alan’s t-shirt, a violently patterned item of Gordon’s and an equally-painful-to-the-eye-for-different-reasons one of John’s. There was something of Kayo’s and Grandma’s there too. Virgil was surrounded, guarded in a way, by all of them. But… Scott felt a stab of hurt in his gut as he realised… not something of his? Was he to be written out of existence entirely? He was about to storm out and hide himself away somewhere they couldn’t find or be bothered by him when he realised that the cover tucked tightly up to his brother’s chin wasn’t a duvet or blanket or any other bedding found in the infirmary. Virgil was snuggled up in Scott’s own fluffy blue hooded bathrobe, clearly pilfered from the back of his bedroom door.

Oh.

Oh right.

The wave of rejection panic receded and he felt a little silly. The whole being excluded and replaced by a hallucination thing was clearly getting to him.

Virgil was sleeping soundly, and the sound of his sleep was as loud as it ever was. At least that hadn’t changed… Alan despite being at close range was oblivious and Scott allowed himself a smirk at how they were all so accustomed to that particularly niche white noise.

He crept a little closer and his toes nudged the discarded sketchbook. Overcome with curiosity he knelt down and lifted it so that the moonlight from the window fell upon the most recent addition.

Virgil had depicted a storm.

The clouds were heavy and dark. A lightning bolt tore the sky in two from the top right to the bottom left where a carefully drawn silhouette of a fighter jet dived towards the ground, smoke and fire billowing from its tail. Scott’s stomach clenched as he realised it wasn’t intended to be lightning at all, but a streak of burning fuel. The violence and despair radiated off the page at him.

Scott knew that during his… absence… some top secret photographs had been leaked to the press and splashed alongside that same formal photograph of himself that had caused all the recent trouble. It was too much to hope that the sensational front pages hadn’t been seen by his younger brothers. Later, Scott had been required to comment on the same images at the war crimes tribunal. The high res arial photographs of the blackened and twisted cockpit of his plane had been unpleasant viewing even to someone who knew the pilot had escaped. It wasn’t surprising that this was the image conjured by a grieving artistic imagination who’d believed he hadn’t.

His hands shook a little as he fought back the nausea. It wasn’t much of a leap to put himself in his brother’s shoes… he’d had enough nightmares in which Thunderbird Two or one of the others had been in a similar condition. But every time that happened, Scott had woken up to realise it wasn’t real.

Virgil had woken every day for months to find that it was.

Scott couldn’t imagine how his little brother had kept it together as long as he had. If the roles had been reversed… he shuddered.

He lifted his left hand to brush a prickling of cold sweat from his brow and noticed the patch of light in the very top left of the drawing previously covered by his thumb. The black clouds had been erased leaving a spot of clear sky, in the middle of which was a tiny silhouette of a person dangling from a parachute.

Scott swallowed as, for a moment, he hung again in mid-air and watched his only way out of hostile territory smash into the earth in a ball of fire. It was as if Virgil had known.

HAD Virgil known, then?

Had he known THEN? Scott could almost believe it… that his closest brother would somehow know, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that he wasn’t dead.

Or maybe it was just that now the facts from the present were seeping back into his understanding of the past. Which must be a good sign.

He hoped it was a good sign.

Unable to tear his eyes from the drawing, it felt a little like time itself had been put on hold all around Scott in the same way the sound had. He suddenly realised that this was odd - the quietness almost oppressive in its emptiness. Then he realised what was missing:

The snoring had stopped.

Scott looked up in alarm to find a pair of inscrutable brown eyes looking silently down at him. So familiar, so beloved yet somehow also unfamiliar, unnaturally dispassionate. Virgil had never looked at him that way and it stripped all the courage from Scott’s bones as he struggled to maintain eye contact with his best friend. He had absolutely no idea what to do. His whisper when it came was barely audible:

“Hi short stuff… I missed you.”

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #resurface fic #thunderangst

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thishumanexperience · 2 years

Text

Alright strap yourselves in. Quantum mechanics is here is blow your mind and it will not be denied. Now you might think you’re not interested in quantum mechanics, but this isn’t really about quantum mechanics it’s about what to do with our flicker of consciousness and stuff. So an object is considered to be “real” if it exists with definite properties independent of observation. It is “local” according to the principle that objects can only be influenced by their surroundings. One property many particles have is spin, which is measured as “up” or “down”. If you know the spin of a particle and break it into two particles, you know their spins will always complement each other because their sum is known — the particles are entangled. SO GET THIS: You entangle a pair of particles. You separate them. When you measure them, one particle’s spin will ALWAYS be up and the other down, 100% of the time, even when they’re lightyears apart !! You might think that’s just because they inherited these properties when they separated, but their quantum states are random not consistent: you do not know the particle’s spin until you measure it. in fact they do not HAVE a definite state until measured, and are considered to exist in multiple states because of quantum superposition. So as soon as you measure an entangled particle, the other one INSTANTANEOUSLY collapses into the opposite spin. as if telepathically, like it KNOWS. And we know no information could have travelled between the particles because nothing can travel faster than the speed of light. It’s wÈïṞḏ™️

And this observer effect isn’t just some anomalous glitch exclusive to this experiment. When you pass photons one by one through a plate containing two slits onto an observed screen, an interference pattern is created on the screen due to the wave nature of light — the light wave passes through both slits simultaneously and interferes with itself. BUT, if you monitor the photons passing through the slits, they are always found to be passing through either one or the other, and the interference pattern disappears. because it’s only absorbed at the screen at those two discrete points, exhibiting particle, not wave, behaviour. it changes its behaviour based on whether there is detection! So a particle can be described as either a wave or particle before measurement. Wave-particle duality! Where the particles are detected is probabilistic; you can never predict their behaviour for certain. again, quantum superposition.

So anyway by measuring an entangled particle you can somehow influence the quantum state of the other entangled particle, both by collapsing its state and doing so instantaneously. This is bewilderingly uncomfortable right, because it throws everything we know about classical physics out the window. Well it was also uncomfortable to Einstein, who couldn’t accept that quantum mechanics was the full story of reality, and proposed there must be hidden variables that we haven’t yet discovered. But no one could test this theory, UNTIL decades later when John Bell devised an experiment to test for hidden variables. In the years since, this eponymous Bell test — the separated entangled particles experiment with extra detector settings — has been conducted many times and increasingly rigorously. ruling out loopholes. enlarging the distance between entangled particles. And every single time, quantum mechanics proved triumphant. even when a cosmic Bell test was done based on stars hundreds of light years apart! This is what won the Nobel in physics. There are no hidden variables. Particles can be connected, entangled, no matter how far apart they are !¡!

THEREFORE. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? two things: Objects are NOT only influenced by their surroundings AND objects do NOT have definite properties/states unless measured. Are you hearing this? OBJECTS ARE NOT LOCALLY REAL.

So deeply contrary to our everyday experiences that we didn’t really probe into this realm until like a hundred years ago. It doesn’t affect our everyday lives; we don’t need to know about quantum entanglement to survive or live happy lives, but we still WANT TO KNOW. We still wonder. How fucking phenomenal is that. In love with this relentless pursuit of truth and desire for knowledge unique to our species. Floored by the dedication of these physicists who kept digging at this despite the pessimism and dismissal of hordes of people, despite the it’s-too-hard-so-just-leave-it pressure. We too are just particles that lumped together and evolved into consciousness, but every day we use that consciousness to search for meaning, even when that quest may reinforce our own fragility and futility.

And I wouldn’t trade that for anything in this unreal world.

#quantum mechanics #nobel in physics #physics #quantum physics #consciousness #writing #thoughts #quantum entanglement #particles #how cool is that #nobel prize #phenomenal #science #educational #physics enthusiast #reality #nothingisreal

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transgenderer · 5 months

Text

I feel like "when you do a double slit experiment, the particle interferes with an alternate version of itself that passed through the other hole" (and other explanations in that vein) is like actively deceptive as an explanation? Like. It's trying to explain it in a classical way but that just makes it more confusing. I feel like surely "the function describing the probability distribution of the particle evolves like a wave, and waves create a pattern like that if you pass them through two holes" is sufficient. Like. It's weird thst the probability distribution evolves like a wave but it turns out the hippies were kind of right (presumably via osmosis+when youre on LSD things kinda oscillate) and it's all vibrations man

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gumnut-logic · 2 months

Text

The Hurt

Thanks to @idontknowreallywhy for reading through ::hugs::

Dumps and runs.

-o-o-o-

He’d left his dirty uniform on a bench in the locker room.

The random thought surfaced amongst a sea of emotion he couldn’t afford right now.

He was clean at least, hair still wet from the shower, and standing at the edge of the caldera. His feet were half covered in warm sand slowly losing the heat of the day.

The water lapped rhythmically against the shore and his heartbeat attempted to meet it, slowing, only to be caught up in the emotion again.

It thudded in his chest.

Slow.

Rhythmic.

He closed his eyes and focussed on what he could hear.

Again, the water, gentle, repetitive, forever.

The wind. Rustling trees. The red blossoming pōhutukawa behind him, its sound more the roar of a distant crowd than the yapping of the palm leaves high above.

Birds.

He counted three…no, four different kinds at least. The ever-present petrels and squabbling tui, silver gulls and a distant sea eagle.

Water seeping into the sand.

The sudden consumption of them all as Thunderbird One swooped in above the Island and righted herself in a roar of engines as she disappeared into her hangar, the pool swallowing her and her soundscape in one.

A moment of silence…

Before the Island came alive again. The petrels protesting, the tui defending their trees…

The wind cooling a tear on his face.

Virgil scrubbed his cheek, wiping it away and stabilising himself.

He started the ritual again.

The sand between his toes, the water lapping…

He let his shoulders settle and his eyes close.

Focus.

On the music.

Just another day. Just another shitty day. He did everything he could. He saved lives. It was done.

Images flashed, and he gasped his eyes open again.

Water rippling across the caldera greeted him.

He followed the waves, tracking them, predicting interference and pattern only to have wind wipe it all away.

It was just another day.

He had done everything he could.

That was the sense of the matter, the logic and reality.

But it hadn’t been enough and it hurt regardless.

He let himself fold down onto the sand, his butt hitting the soft mix of pulverised rock and coral, his elbows landing on his knees and his head in his hands.

It really wasn’t worth getting upset about. It wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last and he should be stronger than this.

Stronger.

All the excuses, the psychological training, the reasoning behind his reaction…it was all there.

Yet, still it hurt.

He scrubbed away another tear.

Goddamnit.

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped.

“Hey.”

Scott.

Concerned blue eyes stared at him a moment before his brother sat down on the sand next to him.

There was only the noise of the Island for a long moment.

“Do you think there are more nests this year?”

Virgil blinked. Looking up he found Scott staring across the caldera at Mateo and the petrel colony there.

Virgil stared himself for a bit. “Maybe?” A frown. “I haven’t done the count this month yet.”

He battled to remember the date. Was it today, yesterday or tomorrow?

He had no idea.

He should probably fix that.

“I found Dad out here once.”

Virgil’s eyes darted back to his brother. “What?”

“Early on. You weren’t here at the time. You and Gordy were on the mainland for one of his swim meets, I think.” Scott looked down and dragged a finger through the loose grains of sand between his knees. “It was one of our earliest rescues gone bad, and I have to say, that I swear he was speaking to Mom.”

“What?”

Scott arched an eyebrow. “He did that sometimes. When things were really bad.” His brother looked away. “And that was definitely a bad one.”

Virgil opened his mouth, but Scott held up a hand.

“Don’t start cranking up your medical expertise, Virg, he was fine. It was just a coping mechanism. We got it checked out. Dad was fine.”

Virgil pressed his lips together. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His big brother shrugged. “Nothing to tell. Rarely happened. Maybe twice the whole time he was here.”

The ‘was’ hurt.

But then that was a simple hurt of existence.

“Why are you telling me now?”

Scott sighed and wrapped an arm around Virgil’s shoulders. “You’ve had a bad one. It’s okay to be upset.”

Virgil looked away and didn’t answer.

“There is no shame in caring.”

And there it was, the knife that cut through all the reasoning his brain could throw at him.

His throat tightened. “I shouldn’t care so much.”

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be my brother. You wouldn’t be you.”

Another tear crept out the corner of his eye and he rubbed at it.

The arm around his shoulder tightened and Scott curled his hand into Virgil’s hair, guiding his head to his shoulder. “It’s okay, little brother, it’s okay.”

Of course, that was enough to break all the control he could manage and before he knew it, he was sobbing on his big brother’s shoulder. Scott had his arms around him and everything was messy and embarrassing and god, it all hurt.

Reassuring words and a hand rubbing his back. Somehow he was now five and being hugged by his big brother because he’d fallen over and scuffed his knee.

And all those people had died.

All those children.

Emotion swamped everything.

-o-o-o-

Eventually the wind returned, the water lapped at the shore and the tui started another argument in the pōhutukawa tree at the head of the beach.

Scott was stroking his hair.

Virgil swallowed and pushed himself upright.

His big brother did not let go, his hand still on Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil scrubbed his face. “Shit, sorry.”

Scott’s voice was painfully soft. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

There was something in his brother’s timbre and Virgil looked up at him.

Scott was intent on Virgil, but there was pain in those eyes and the evening light was highlighting the greys in his auburn hair.

Virgil grabbed his brother and hugged him ever so tight.

“Virg?” It was half strangled.

Virgil didn’t answer.

He just returned the love.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #earth and sky #nuttyfic #nutty has a stressful day so Virg gets it #sorry Virg #thunderangst #hugs #lots of hugs #angst #poor virg

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frostgears · 8 months

Text

art project

"Oh, that? Art project I've been messing with."

The glass vat takes up most of her kitchen table, filled with uniform muddy brown fluid that reeks of organic solvents, something like nail polish.

"Um… what kind of art?"

"It's kind of a work in progress, okay?"

She says it's easier if she shows you. The vat is wrapped with a half-dozen turns of copper wire; she screws the bare ends into terminal blocks on a messy proto board, plugs cables from that into an antique PC, types a command on a grubby keyboard.

The muddy brown fluid vibrates. Waves cross its surface, forming interference peaks and troughs. Simple patterns grow more and more complex, and then the stuff climbs out of the vat entirely.

Cubes and pentaprisms and planar hexagons hang in the air above churning liquid. You move your head and some of it, seen edge on, disappears. You move back; there it is again. The chemical miasma of nail polish intensifies, and something else.

"That's… how? I've never seen anything like it. Some kind of ferrofluid?" you ask.

"Uh, sure, something like that."

She kills the program. Her hand creeps onto yours, squeezing it gently but firmly. She says, "Shall we go upstairs?"

—

It's been three weeks. The sex has been incredible, the two of you practically joined at the genitals whenever you're together.

You tell her, incredibly full, that if she ever manages to get more of that strap inside you, you'll probably pass out. The next day, she shows up hefting a bigger one, and proves you right.

You're spending more and more time at her place. It's fine. It's really fine. You have roommates, she doesn't. But you'd like to use her kitchen, surprise her with something that isn't cheap takeout, and you can't, because that vat is in the way.

You ask her if she can move it? She can't. She shrugs. "I don't really cook much, so…"

"I do."

"Yeah… I need the table, though."

You're miffed, but she makes it up to you, by going slow enough that night that you don't immediately pass out. That leaves plenty of time for screaming.

You sleep over. You wake up in the middle of the night to piss, and find her gone. From the bathroom, you see the flicker of LEDs in the kitchen down the hall, smell acetone and… something else. Dusty rooms in empty houses?

You leave her alone. You're too tired; you don't want to fuck this up; you don't know what you'd say anyway. You go back to sleep.

—

It's been two months. You can't get enough of each other. You've gotten used to takeout, and her pelvis-endangering sexual appetites haven't let up; if anyone you knew saw you bent into the positions she likes to dick you down you in, they'd be shocked at your flexibility.

Most of your stuff is at her place now. (Just not the kitchen utensils.) It's easier that way. Less back and forth, and you're here basically every night anyway, have been for weeks. You want to ask her about moving in.

She can be… grumpy, sometimes. You can put up with it, moving around her moods like water. God knows you've had enough practice in your life. She's in a mood tonight, but you have to ask soon, because your lease is up in a month.

You've stacked the deck as much as you can. Her favorite noodle place for dinner; her favorite perfume dabbed behind your ears; a tight, low-cut minidress for easy access; your lips painted a smeary black, so she can see where they've been later.

"I'm gonna go out for a bit," she tells you, before you can make your play.

You were ready for a lot of things, but not this. Improvise. You put on your best disappointed pout, tug your bodice down a little more.

"Wait, weren't we going to…"

"Later, okay? A friend just texted me that he's got something I need for," she waves to the kitchen.

"Can't he just drop it off?" you beg.

"Nah. Fragile. I'll be back," she says. The door clicks solidly behind her.

Well, shit. There goes your plan for the night. And your… you hadn't worked up to "girlfriends" yet, which is a mistake on your part, you know. But she's out the door.

You give it a few minutes. You can wait patiently.

—

You've talked yourself into giving it a few hours when you really start to fume.

What the fuck is that godawful vat that's so important to her? How is it somehow a higher priority than you? Fuck it, fuck her, she needs to get this the right way around. She's going to come back to a scene she won't forget in a hurry.

You stomp into the kitchen and face down the vat. The smell is. Wow. Okay. That's a lot. But if it was really deadly toxic, she wouldn't leave it out like this, right?

You're going to drink it, throw it back up, splash some around, tell her she needs to choose because she apparently can't have both.

You're going to drink it, throw it back up, you tell yourself, as you dip a mug in and hold your nose.

Your throat spasms the minute the stuff is in your mouth, forcing it down. It's inside you in seconds, the whole mug.

You're not going to throw it up. You… need more. You scoop more out, lift it to your lips. Swallow. Again. Again.

—

She does come home to a scene.

"Oh fuck no, you didn't drink it, did you. You did."

"I," you tell her. You burp up a bit. "Absolutely. Did. You can't have." It spills down your chin and drips on your dress. "Both. Okay?"

"Yeah, no, here's the thing, I was going to break up with you. Gods. What a mess." She drops a paper bag down on the little kitchen counter, sits next to you, puts her head in her hands. "I was almost finished with it."

"So was I," you drool. You're so full. You can't get the stuff back out of you, though. You tried. You tried so hard. The vat is empty and it's all in you. Your eyes flutter closed and open and half-closed again.

"Oh, no, not by a long shot, you're not. I'm not wasting another year."

You hear the crinkle of paper. She's opening the bag. She forces a small hard thing into your mouth. It cracks and electricity crawls down all your limbs at once.

"Guess I'm stuck with you," she says, as you sink back to the floor.

You feel cold metal on your skin. She's taken the coils off the vat, she's wrapping them around you. You hear the clatter of the keyboard.

And then your skin starts to roil. The muddy brown fluid is in you, it's oozing out of everywhere, it is you, you're light and heavy at once, and you flow, and you're moving in ways that flesh and bone aren't supposed to move, and it seems like it should hurt,

And then you hear the familiar velcro noise as she tightens the harness of her strap. You don't remember her cock being this big. What the fuck. There's no way she expects you to take that… is there?

She stands over you, shoves it into you. And your new flesh flows to take her. As best you can, anyway. Her thrusts pushes the last dissolving, infiltrated bits of you out of you, the last pain, and now you're just you, and you pass out.

And then you wake up. And she's got a cock smeared with you, and a… smile? on her face. Like you're not what she wanted, but maybe, just maybe, she can work with this. So she starts again.

Later, you realize: You're moved in. So that's good, right? You want to find her and tell her, but you can't get outside the copper circle, and you can't quite form words yet, after what she's done to your throat. Okay. You can wait. You live here now anyway. □

#empty spaces #microfiction

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bropunzeling · 1 month

Note

🐑 secret powers, unlikely allies, "oh __ we're really in it now"

"So you can fix this," Matthew says, waving his arm at Benny. The arm currently covered in a giant spiraling pattern of honest-to-god runes that wasn't there last night, that hurts like a bitch every time he touches it.

"Yeah, no," Benny says, wincing. "Way above my pay grade."

"You just told me you're a wizard," Matthew retorts. "How is this not your pay grade?"

"This is hard-core shit, Chucky," Benny says, smoothing down his mustache. "I don't even know who could deal with this."

"Well, do you know someone who does?"

Benny sighs. "Yeah. But... they're in Edmonton."

Matthew stares at him, waiting for a punch line that never comes. Then:

"Oh, fuck me."

the one where matthew has to reluctantly go on a quest across the league to find a curse-breaker. maybe the curse has also impacted leon. maybe the curse is because of feelings? the point is they eventually end up searching for the funniest possible option of a player (jagr? gretzky himself? a random retired fourth liner who's secretly been keeping the league safe from magical interference this whole time?) to fix things when the answer was talking it through the whole time.

#ask meme

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carpethedamndiemdejavu · 2 months

Text

Berenice Abbott, Wave Interference Pattern (1958)

#flow #eventually everything connects #couples tantra #everything is permitted #nothing is impossible #effective communication #science #spiral #infinity trail

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elonomhblog · 22 days

Text

blue light

blue light is a type of visible light with short, high-energy waves. its wavelength ranges from approximately 380 nanometers (violet light) to 700 nanometers (red light). blue light waves are only slightly longer and less powerful than ultraviolet (UV) waves, which are invisible to the naked eye.

blue light is encountered from various sources, including the sun, fluorescent bulbs, incandescent lights and digital screens.

when sunlight enters the atmosphere, blue light waves scatter off nitrogen and oxygen particles. these particles are perfectly suited to deflect blue light, giving the sky its characteristic blue hue. during sunset, the longer path of sunlight allows more blue light to dissipate, revealing the warm red and gold tones we associate with a gorgeous sunset.

blue light penetrates our eyes and reaches the retina at the back of the eye. while the cornea and lens protect us from harmful UV rays, they don't block out blue light. approximately one-third of visible light is considered high-energy visible (HEV) or blue light. some experts believe that prolonged exposure to blue light from screens may contribute to digital eyestrain and affect our sleep cycles.

blue light exposure during the day helps to regulate our circadian rhythm, keeping us alert and awake.

excessive blue light exposure, especially at night, can interfere with sleep patterns. some studies suggest that chronic exposure to blue light may contribute to macular degeneration (a condition affecting central vision). however, conclusive evidence is still lacking.

to reduce blue light exposure, : ̗̀➛ use blue light filters on screens or wear blue light-blocking glasses : ̗̀➛ limit screen time before bedtime : ̗̀➛ consider using warm-toned lighting in the evening

for further exploration on the topic of blue light: healthline sleep foundation all about vision vision centre web md

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hypn0sssss · 3 months

Text

Happy Valentine's Day!

This is my @milgram-valentines-exchange gift for @thatbiblicallyaccuraterat !!

This was really fun to write! I haven't written either Amane nor Mahiru before, so I hope I did good with staying in character! Also, sorry if the formatting is weird lol! I hope you like it!! :D

TW for mention of Kotoko's attacks and Amane-typical religious themes

“Amane-chan!”

Amane had been sitting in her cell when she hears a familiar, cheery voice from outside. She turns to see Prisoner 006, Mahiru Shiina at her door. She's still in her wheelchair, like she has been since Yuzuriha's attacks. She smiles at Amane, waving at her with her non-bandaged arm.

“Are you busy? I need your help with something, if you don't mind!”

Amane doesn't know what to say. Shiina is rather pure, in a way that stands out in such a sinful world. But isn't she a sinner as well? Allowing herself to let that sinful doctor to ruin her trial like that, with no defiance whatsoever.

But… the way Shiina smiles at her, Amane can't help but want to help her. Despite the misdeeds done against her by Es and Yuzuriha, she's still smiling wide. But that doesn't fully hide the pain in her expression.

Amane relents, standing up from her bed.

“...What do you need, Mahiru Shiina?”

Shiina somehow smiles even wider. She rolls over to Amane. “I want to make a gift for everyone!”

“A gift?”

Shiina nods. “I asked the warden for some bracelet making supplies! And they got some for me, but… it's hard to make them by myself.” She gestures to her slinged arm.

Amane hesitates. She sees no use in making such childish things!

…But the way Shiina looks at her, with such determination in her eyes and such a bright smile, Amane can't help but relent.

Not because she wants to make bracelets or anything silly like that. Not at all. She pities Shiina, that's all.

“Amane-chan?”

“...Fine.”

Once again, Shiina somehow smiles wider. Any pain that was once in her expression seems to disappear, replaced with the brightness of her smile.

“Thank you, Amane-chan!”

There's a moment of slightly awkward silence between the two. Then, Shiina chuckles awkwardly.

“Ah, could you please push me to my cell?”

Amane lets out a sigh and pushes Shiina’s wheelchair back to her cell. When they get there, Shiina gets comfortable on her bed, and Amane sits on the floor. Shiina hands her the bracelet stuff, and starts to tell her what to do.

….

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Amane was supposed to be telling Shiina about the sins she's committing by letting the sinful Kirisaki Shidou treat her. Telling Shiina that she should let her trial run naturally, and not to interfere. That's what the rules of God say.

But she's not doing that. She's sitting on the floor, doing childish crafts, letting Shiina pick out the colors that she wants for each prisoner’s bracelet.

She had finished Sakurai’s and Kashiki’s. She was now working on Kajiyama’s. Shiina had picked shades of red and orange for his.

Amane had never made bracelets before. It turns out that it is just a tedious repetition of putting colored beads in patterns.

Shiina hums rhythms that Amane does not recognize. It must be some of that sinful music that mother tells her to avoid. But Shiina seems to be enjoying it, so Amane will let it slide. Just this once.

She's almost done with Kajiyama’s bracelet when Shiina speaks up.

“You're very good at this, Amane-chan! Are you sure you haven't done this before?”

“No, I have not.”

She puts the last bead on the bracelet, tying the knot on the bracelet. Double knotted. That's what Shiina has said.

“Well, that's impressive! You're impressive Amane-chan!”

Amane looks away. She feels slightly patronized, but her voice is so sincere that Amane can't find it in herself to tell Shiina off.

Why is Amane feeling like this? Is she growing weak?

There's an awkward silence for a while. She grabs another piece of string as Shiina realizes that Amane isn't going to answer.

“Ah, anyways! For Muu-chan’s bracelet, I was thinking…”

…

The monotonous pattern of bracelet making happens again as she finishes Kusunoki’s bracelet.

“That looks great, Amane-chan!” Mahiru smiles wide once again. “For Shidou-kun’s bracelet-”

“No.” Amane interrupts. She already felt immature doing these extremely crafts, but she draws the line at making something for such a horrible sinner.

“But, Amane-chan-”

“We refuse.”

Shiina seems to notice the change in Amane's tone and word choice, because she drops the topic. “Alright. Then for Kazui-kun’s bracelet, I was thinking these nice teals over here!”

The words come out before Amane could stop them. “What about your's, Shiina?”

Shiina seems surprised for a moment before she answers. “You can call me Mahiru, Amane-chan!” When Amane doesn't answer, she continues. “These are supposed to be gifts! It's kind of silly to make a gift for yourself!”

That logic doesn't make much sense to Amane. “...I'm making the bracelets though, Shiina. Pick some colors.”

She doesn't know why she's doing this. She wants this childish activity to be over, doesn't she? Why is she prolonging this?

“Are you sure, Amane-chan?”

No, she's not. “Yes, I am.”

“Ah, then this orange… and this yellow, please!” She points to the colors. Amane gathers the colors and starts making the bracelet.

The room as silent as Amane starts the routine again. Put a bead on, put a bead of the other color on. Shiina watches in silence as Amane continues.

In what feels like no time at all, Amane finishes the bracelet. After making sure the knot was tight enough, she gets up from her spot on the floor. Her legs are slightly sore from sitting for so long.

She walks over to Shiina's bed. “Hold out your wrist.”

Shiina smiles, but there's some hesitation in her smile. Amane doesn't know why.

“Amane-chan, you didn't have to…”

“It is too late for that, Shiina. Please hold out your wrist.”

After a moment, Shiina follows Amane's instructions, holding out her uninjured wrist. Amane slips the bracelet on with care.

Shiina rotates her wrist, admiring the bracelet. She then turns to Amane, once again smiling wide. “Thank you so much, Amane-chan! This is so cute!”

“...There is no need for gratitude.”

…

After that, Amane continued making the bracelets. She finishes Mukuhara’s and Kayano’s with no problems, and was eventually convinced by Shiina to make one for Yuzuriha. Why would Shiina want to make one for Yuzuriha despite what happened? Amane can't figure it out. Shiina is too kind for her own good.

“Thank you so much for this, Amane-chan!”

Amane finishes packing up the bracelet making materials. “It was nothing.”

“Don't say that, Amane-chan!” Shiina reaches for something in her pocket. Amane didn't realize that Mahiru's uniform even had pockets. “I have something, as a thanks! Come here!”

Amane tilts her head in confusion, but stands up. She walks over to the bed, where Mahiru was.

“Now, hold out your hand!”

When Amane holds out her hand, Shiina pulls out a bracelet. It is… nice. The different shades of green seem to match her hair.

Shiina smiles wider as she puts it on Amane's wrist. “I had asked Mikoto-kun it help me make it!”

“Thank you, Shiina.”

As she said this, a chime rang through the prison. It is time for bed.

“Thank you so much for this again, Amane-chan! This meant a lot!"

“...It was no problem, Shiina.” Then Amane left the room.

Maybe making bracelets with Shiina wasn't as childish and tedious as Amane thought.

#milgram #milgram valentine's day exchange #amane momose #mahiru shiina #my writing

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