#fluid-structure interaction

[learnsharewithdp]

Why Journal Bearings Fail: Insights into Complex Modeling Needs

Journal bearings are the unsung heroes of rotating machinery — from turbines and compressors to electric vehicles and aircraft engines. While they’ve been studied for over a century, many complex challenges still limit their performance and reliability in cutting-edge industrial applications. Among these, real-time multiphysics modeling and health prognostics stand out as the most demanding and…

[reksink]

Connection & Familiarity Found in What's Been Lost

Day - 18 & 20

[cerealmonster15]

AND ANOTHER THING [waiting for stuff to load, left alone to think about Characters™️] I don’t think this is a hot take or nothin bc I think I’ve seen other people and posts say this same thing and maybe I’ve also already said it and forgotten lol. Or maybe I just think about it a lot idr. But like [puts my chin in my hands] ships right. I feel like there’s so much overlap w/ friendship and romantic shipping. Or like. To me there is!!!! to the point of like. Knowing when to or to not “tag the ship” is sometimes stressful lol bc sometimes the situation is literally just “characters r hanging out. Characters r standing in frame together” and it’s not inherently romantic shippy so ppl that don’t vibe with the ship could appreciate it just as it is. But then people that do like the ship would probably want to see it. Bc they like seeing The Characters in situations together. That’s how I feel at least. But there aren’t really many ways to tag like “I’m lookin for these guys hanging out but it doesn’t have to be romantic” I mean ao3 has the & tagging thing so that’s cool. But what about the tumblr….

And also!!!!!!!! Sometimes stuff gets decisive when you’re looking at canon scenes. Like a scene with The Characters doing fuckin what ever. And shippers will see it and be like “evidence of my ship” and non ship enjoyers will be like “this is not evidence of ship this can be perfectly platonic” and I do think they can both be right (I mean i guess it depends lol but the vague situations in my brain are multi functional) like. I do fear sometimes ppl forget art can have multiple valid interpretations 🤔 like maybe the situation scene wasn’t inherently romantic but it did demonstrate a bonding moment or moment of care, which is supplemental to the ship. But it also doesn’t have to be bc platonic love and care is real and a beautiful thing as well. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither. What ever man. Do I sound like a centralist about shipping HAHDBFNFBN

I don’t know man sometimes I just see two characters and I like the vibe they have together and I wanna see more of them and I don’t really care if it’s romantic or not but the easiest way to find Characters Together is ship tag…. I think interpreting relationships in many flavors can be fun….

[ilovecatfr]

Realize how fluid your reality truly is

and you’ll unlock the ease of shifting and manifesting.

Reality doesn’t bend—because it was never rigid to begin with. Its structure isn’t a fixed, unyielding line but a web of interacting energies, constantly flowing into different channels and rhythms.

At first, stepping out of one "line" of reality may feel difficult, but soon you’ll notice how many possibilities already move through your consciousness. It begins to feel like merging—like you and the reality you choose are shaping each other. You adapt to it, and it adapts to you.

It doesn't need to take a hundred sleepless nights but only the change of energy and that is constant. Direct it into right direction and you'll see how easy it is to tune into the right rhythm you want.

[brotherblaze]

doloroso —robert "bob" reynolds

—summary: Against his better judgement, Bucky calls you in to help Bob balance control while he adjusts to his mood stabilizers.

—word count: 2,1k

—warnings: mild gore

—also on AO3

Bucky’s grip around your bicep is firm.

You stand a few feet from the gaping void swallowing up the entire floor of the Watchtower. It hasn’t moved forward since you arrived. According to the docket Bucky sent over when he called, this is unusual. If this Void is truly as sentient as his information claimed, it (he?) should be advancing. You stare at the edges of the shadow, the way it laps at the glossy floor like the sea at sand and yet it doesn’t advance past a certain point.

“Look,” Bucky starts, his grip on your arm loosening, “I know… I know she had the whole ‘incapable of feeling fear’ thing going on but inside that is a maze of your worst memories. Just…” he pauses, presses his lips together, “keep moving. He’ll be in an attic-like room. Shaggy hair, baggy clothes. He’ll be the only one who interacts with you.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

In the corner of your eye, Bucky nods and releases your arm. His footsteps retreat.

You stand at the edge of the darkness. It rushes forward, just barely missing the tips of your boots and then retreats, surges forward and retreats again. You can almost imagine the sound of the ocean and the wind and the birds. Or is that a memory — someone else’s memory?

The wave of soot rushes towards you and you take a step forward to meet it.

For the longest fraction of a second in your life, there is nothing.

Then, it’s hot. The sun is sweltering down at you. There are stairs and columns and trees —

People push past you, stampede up the stairs towards — that’s the Acropolis of Athens. Tall and mighty, foundation and pillars and roof uncracked, uneroded by the passage of time. Someone trips, falls and someone else grabs them by the arm, drags their companion along up the stone steps. Someone shouts, points upwards.

You see a man standing by the pillars.

In another life he could’ve been you and you could’ve been him.

In another life, you were him.

He looks at you and he smiles.

An arrow pierces the side of his jaw and tears through the bone. He crumples like tissue paper and people are on him in a moment. A hand grabs the bloodied arrow and yanks, pulls the whole jawbone off with it. It skitters across the stone ground until it hits the nose of your shoe.

A crowd surrounds him, hands tearing and punching and feet kicking and crushing. You look away.

There’s a doorway to a balcony-like structure. Beyond it, a room of gray and metal and ice. You don’t look at the carnage, at people clawing him to pieces and turn to step onto the balcony.

It is cold. Cold and metal and frost on the steel bars separating the small room from the larger one. The floor is concrete, cracked and crumbling, a hole the size of someone’s fist lodged into it. Your breath fogs when you exhale. The crisp winter air makes your lungs sting when you inhale.

The Winter Soldier is standing in front of the bars, its back to you. A man stands on the other side, dressed in a green military uniform. His chest is adorned with medals. He speaks in a low tone, tells the Winter Soldier something. You can’t quite make out his speech, the intonation of his words.

There’s a woman standing next to the Winter Soldier. Her hair is neatly braided to the side and her outfit is crisp, clean; a white shirt tucked into a pair of black pants, a coat hanging on her shoulders. Her face is impassive but her body is turned towards the Winter Soldier, arms lax at her sides. Is she compensating for its blind spots?

Your eyes meet hers from across the room.

The Winter Soldier strikes. Its movements are quick and fluid and its human hand wraps around her throat. Her hands shoot to claw at its exposed hand and her mouth opens, face contorting in pain and — fear? Is that fear you recognize on her face? It feels wrong. It shouldn’t be there. It wouldn’t be the Winter Soldier — you’ve read her docket again and again and again to the point where you see the blocky letters on that paper even when you close your eyes — ‘claims to be incapable of feeling fear’. With how long she was appointed (self-appointed?) as its handler, The Asset should not — The Winter Soldier shoves its metal fingers into her mouth and grabs her jaw. Then, its flesh arm leaves her throat, fingers slotting into her mouth, too, and it pulls.

Her skull snaps loose from her jaw and flies across the room, hits the wall with a dull thunk and drops. It rolls towards you. Her eyes stare at you, unmoving, dull. They are your own eyes. You look away.

There’s a gap between the bars. The room on the other side has flowery wallpaper and a plush couch.

You edge past the Winter Soldier and slot your body into the gap.

It smells like smoke. The wallpaper is yellowing from the tobacco, peeling at where the wall meets the ceiling. The couch is ugly, a faded maroon with stains and cigarette burns underneath the plastic cover. The you that’s sitting on it, baby-cheeked and dull-eyed, is hunched over, feet not even meeting the floor.

The woman standing in front of you, a burning cigarette between her lips — her face is a blur. You cannot decipher any characteristics about it. The cigarette glows red hot when she inhales.

“That mouth will get you killed.”

You step past her, step over the ashtray on the floor. There’s a mirror on the wall that doesn’t reflect. In it, a man sitting cross-legged in an attic-like room. This must be Bob. You dive through the mirror.

This room is pleasant. Quiet. The air is clean, or cleaner than the cigarette smoke and smoke-stained walls, if maybe a little stuffy. Specks of dust dance around you as you approach the man.

“Hello, Bob.”

His head snaps up. “Who’re you?”

“If I said I’m a friend of The As — James, I’d be lying. But we do have history.”

“Why…?” he trails off, brows scrunching. He turns his head slowly, as if realizing where he is for the first time. “What happened?”

“You threw two supersoldiers through seven walls and then melted into the floor. I think that’s how he phrased it.”

Bob buries his face into his hands with a low groan.

“Well, anyway, that’s why I’m here.” Bob pulls back slightly, hands dropping to his lap, and tilts his head up to look at you. “I can help you keep control while you get accustomed to your new medication. ‘S why he called me.”

He nods slowly, his grin lopsided and stiff, a notch between his brows. “Yeah?” His voice wavers. He blinks rapidly and wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. “How are you going to do that?” The lilt in his voice bothers you but you can’t place why. It gnaws at you, at the very center of your being, of your very existence.

“I’m more of a concept than I am human,” you say. “Listen: I will help you take control back from the Void and the Sentry. The road ahead is arduous, but so is the road behind you.” You close the already small space between yourself and Bob, and hold a hand out towards him. He drags his glassy eyes from the floor to look at your hand. “Now, could you please show me the way out of here, Bob?”

“It’s not pretty.”

“I just watched two of my past incarnations get their head and/or jaw ripped off. I doubt what’s in your past can scare me.” You nod. “We can hold hands if you think that’ll make it easier.”

Bob stares at your outstretched hand for a long moment. Finally, he accepts it and you haul him up from the floor with ease. His hand is warm around yours. You tug on it to grab his attention. “Listen: close your eyes and I’ll handle all the ugly stuff. The first time is free.”

Bone-deep relaxation washes over him as his eyes flutter shut. He hears the thud of your boots against the wooden floor and follows the pull on his hand. He feels light.

When Bob feels like he’s back in his body again, he finds himself sitting on his bed. You’re sitting right there with him, right next to him, thigh pressed against his, your hand still clasped in his. He drops it like it burns and scoots away from you. He stutters a half-baked sorry when his brain catches up to the faux-pas he’s committed. You don’t seem to be bothered by the sudden rejection.

“May I have my tie back?”

He blinks once, twice, turns his head to look at you because you’re wearing it, you were just wearing it when you held your hand out for him to take — it’s not there. Your eyes drop to his chest for a brief moment before they meet his again. Something in his hindbrain pings as wrong and there’s this… oppressive fear constricting around his throat. His windpipe is being crushed.

“You’re wearing it.”

His hand shoots to his chest and he feels smooth fabric underneath his fingertips. He nearly tears it over his head and forces it back into your open palm.

“Thank you.” Then, you stand and step over the things strewn on his floor to make it to the mirror hanging on the wall. He watches you undo the knot on your tie and loop it around your neck, tie it and smooth it against your torso. “So, a chicken?”

“I was—” he swallows around the lump in his throat, a hand on his chest rubbing circles over his shirt to ease the rapid stutter in his ribs, “Meth. I was on meth.”

“Self-medicating isn’t uncommon,” you note. You don’t even flinch when there’s a knock at the door, metal against metal but Bob nearly jumps out of his skin. His heart is beating against his ribcage like a wild horse trying to make its getaway. It might just burst from his chest at this rate. “Come in,” you say before Bob has even had the chance to consider inviting whoever it is in.

The door slides open and Bucky steps in, Ava hot on his heels. She makes a beeline for the bathroom while Bucky stops a step or two away from Bob. His posture is stiff and wrong and the feeling of unease in Bob’s chest grows, wraps around his heart and dives between his ribs — “You okay?”

“I’m not lifting him alone,” Ava announces, halfway out of the bathroom again.

“It’s not that difficult.”

“He’s 200lbs of douchebag.”

“Just… give me a sec.” Bucky looks at Bob again, brow scrunched and does a quick once-over of him. As if he’s checking for injuries. “Bob? You okay?” He repeats, tone even, still stiff.

Bob’s mouth opens and closes, opens again, a million and one thoughts racing in his mind, avoiding each other in near-misses and colliding together like a 17-car pileup on the interstate. “I… Yeah.” He nods his head. “Yeah. Is John…?”

“He’s alive. Out cold but alive.” Ava places her hands onto her hips and looks at Bucky. “I’m not lifting him alone.”

“For the love of —” Bucky stomps across the room and pushes past Ava into the bathroom. They exchange a few not-so-heated words, more mocking and bickering than anything angry. Something thunks dully against the ceramic tub and they both hiss through their teeth, followed by a stretch of silence.

“Great, now he’s bleeding, too.”

“Eh,” Ava says after a moment, tone flippant, “he’ll be fine.”

“You have good taste,” you say. Bob nearly jumps out of his skin again. He forgot you were here in the room with them. How did he forget? You’re holding his copy of Frankenstein in your hand, finger tracing the lettering of the summary on the back. “You’d be surprised how many modern movies are so obviously inspired by Frankenstein.” You slot the book back into its place on Bob’s meager bookshelf, which is just the singular shelf with six books and a fake succulent. “If you need me, or if you have any questions, I’m just down the hall.”

His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, his body fatigued. So, he just nods and tries to manage a smile. If it looks more like a grimace, you don’t mention it.

part 2

banners by @/cafekitsune

[earthsparked]

Unsurprisingly, Rung’s the first one to notice.

When Rodimus announced the Lost Light would be bringing on a cohort of humans as some kind of security advisors, or something, the mechs had responded in various ways. Mutters of resignation, irritation, curiosity. Whirl had been…Whirl.

We probably shouldn’t leave the humans alone with him, the ship’s psychiatrist had worried, the third time the mech had made one of the organics freak out with his jokes (“jokes”) about squishies, about the various graphic ways their entrails would gum up his inner workings. Half the poor dears outright disliked the mech, and many of the others were understandably terrified of him. What else were they supposed to think, when his only interactions with them were threatening to some degree or other?

So when every mech’s EM field tightened with concern one day in Swerve’s, watching as an overcharged Whirl swaggered up to where the newest member of their organic crew was chatting with Rewind, Rung vented softly and expected more of the same.

Only -

You blinked at the rather direct, messy threats coming your way by the big blue flier the others had warned you about. And chuckled.

You’re forgetting the bones. You guys always forget the bones.

The slag does THAT mean, squishy?

A knock of your knuckles on the table, as Swerve keeps cleaning the same glass over and over, watching this go down, clearly about to ask Ultra Magnus to intervene the second this crosses the line…

You laugh outright under the glaring optic. See, right there. We’re not just viscera. We have an internal bone structure! So when you step on me, it’s not going to be a squish. Not just a squish, anyway. More like a CRUNCH, and a gooey ooze, and some screaming of course. Then a drip, drip, drip -

You dip your fingers in your drink and let drops of it patter to the table, in imitation of that red fluid that is and isn’t like energon at all.

Whirl just…stares. You smile at him, earnest, a little playful. You know what you’re doing, clearly, but there’s nothing cruel to it. Your strange, alien, yet strikingly comparable EM field - which you supposedly can’t even sense, how odd - is as open and straightforward as any he’s encountered. You’re engaging. With Whirl.

Neurodivergent, your mental health records had said when he’d looked them over. He’s no xenopsychiatrist, he’d protested to Rodimus, but after being pushed into reading your species’ own research he has to admit the similarities between your kind and his are so striking, nearly unsettlingly so…

He can’t help thinking, what a lovely word the humans had made.

That differences exist and minds diverge, and it’s not wrong. It’s not stigmatized - or shouldn’t be, the humans say. It could make an old mech like him reminisce on the horrors of Functionalism, the crimes of their past…compared to that lovely word, neurodivergent.

So he knows that Whirl is being confronted by a species, or at least one member of a species, who diverges. Who sees differences as something to embrace. You’re still smiling up at Whirl as he snaps out some further defensive threats, but Rung sees it. Hears it. Wonders at it.

Fine, you can be Crunchy, he snarks, and after a few more vague insults, goes to pick a fight with someone more his size.

You make a face and try to explain as he turns away that Actually “crunchy” has a certain connotation in my society, and I’m definitely not “crunchy.” Uh, but I guess I’ve had worse nicknames. Bye, Whirl! you call, unperturbed. Nice meeting you! I like how blue you are by the way!

Do you realize that you’ve managed to get under the fractious mech’s plating?

Do you see the way Whirl looks over his shoulder as he’s finally getting dragged off to the brig for starting another fight - looking to see if you’d been watching? The same way he tosses out a joke, Hey Eyebrows - looking for a reaction.

Rung sees it, and nurses his drink, and wonders what might happen if he slips a datapad to you about empurata.

[nino-rox]

PETER PARKER | BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS | M | GENDER NEUTRAL READER

Warnings: Sexual Themes, Mature/Explicit, Gender Neutral Reader, Tom Holland As Spider-Man, Not Proof Read

DISCLAIMER: Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post.

(Author’s Note: Requested by Anonymous user. My first time writing headcanons, I’ve barely even read any so I’m sorry if it’s not great ! Please request for more ! )

~What dating Parker feels like on a day to day basis

THE SKYLIGHT CATASTROPHE

One night, there’s a thud loud enough to rattle the walls, followed by an ominous silence. You know exactly what’s happened even before Peter pokes his head through the window, windswept and grinning sheepishly.“So, uh… surprise! You have a new skylight!”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “You broke my roof again?”“Okay, technically, it was already fragile. I just… sped up the process.”

The next morning, you find him on the roof, duct tape and webs in hand, muttering to himself like he’s crafting a masterpiece.“Peter, you’re going to fall.”He waves you off without even looking up. “Relax! You’re being ridiculous. I’m Spider-Man—I won’t fall. Skylights are all the rage anyway. Just think of it as me upgrading your house for free!”

Right as he says it, his foot slips, and he stumbles forward, barely catching himself with a web against the gutter.“SEE? I caught myself!” he says triumphantly, cheeks flushed as he steadies himself.

You stare at him, appalled. “Peter, I’m not worried about you, you blithering idiot. I’m worried about my house! Fall on the road and break your head if you want, but I swear to god, if you break my house again—”

“Noted. No more house-breaking. Promise. Bob the Builder’s retired anyway,” he grins.

WEBBED LAUNDRY

You pull a ruined hoodie out of the wash—bright red, stretched beyond recognition, and sticky with web fluid. Marching into the living room, you hold it up like evidence.“Peter! Why is my hoodie fused with web glue?”

Peter looks up from the couch, cereal bowl in hand, his eyes widening. “Ohhh… yeah, about that…”

You glare, waiting.

“I, uh, might’ve had to yank my suit off super quickly after patrol last night—it was covered in webs—and I didn’t realize it stuck to your hoodie in the laundry pile.”

You narrow your eyes. “You didn’t realize?”

Peter sets the bowl down, flashing a nervous grin. “Look, web fluid is mostly water-soluble! If we wait a day, it’ll dissolve!”

You groan, holding up the ruined fabric. “It better dissolve. Or you’re buying me a new hoodie.”

Peter slides an arm around your waist, grinning. “Or… we could share this one? Exclusive Spider-Merch for my favorite person.”

THE GREAT SPIDER-MAN’S HANDYMAN FAILS

You and Peter finally move in together, which should have been exciting—except unpacking with Spider-Man is a nightmare.“Peter, where’s the box with the kitchen stuff?” you ask, arms crossed.

Peter scratches the back of his head, sheepishly pointing to a corner. “Uh… it’s webbed to the ceiling. I thought it’d save space?”

You sigh. “Okay, fine. But why is there a Spider-Tracer in the toaster?”

He grins nervously. “Security measure?”

Later, you catch him trying to web a shelf together instead of using screws.“PETER!”“What? This is structurally sound!”

THE HOODIE INCIDENT

Peter freezes when he sees you curled up in his hoodie, sleeves hanging past your hands.“You stole it again?”“Finders keepers.”

He steps closer, voice low and teasing. “Looks better on you anyway.”

Before you can respond, he tackles you onto the couch, hovering over you with a grin.“You’re not keeping it.”“Make me.”

MORNING HEATWAVE SNUGGLES

You wake up tangled in Peter’s limbs, his face buried in the crook of your neck. It’s cozy—until you realize he’s a human heater.“Peter. Let me go. I have stuff to do.”

“Five more minutes,” he murmurs, pulling you closer with ridiculous Spider-strength. “Spider-Boyfriend privilege.”

“You smell like sweat and bad decisions.”

Peter chuckles, his breath warm against your skin. “Want me to make another bad decision?” His lips brush your jaw as his voice drops, teasing. “I can make you sweaty too.”

Heat flares in your cheeks, but you manage to mutter, “You’re impossible.”

His smirk is pure trouble as he rolls you onto your back. “And you love it.”

SWINGING FOR BEGINNERS

The first time Peter suggests swinging with you, you laugh nervously. “No way. I like my life.”“It’s safe! You’ll love it—I promise.”

The moment he scoops you into his arms and leaps off the edge, you scream loud enough to wake half of Queens.“PETER, I SWEAR—”

“You’re fine!” he calls out, laughing as the wind whips past. “Just enjoy the ride!”

You bury your face in his shoulder, heart pounding. “I’m never letting go. Ever.”

Peter grins, holding you tighter. “Good. I wasn’t planning to let you go anyway.”

ROOFTOP MIDNIGHT ESCAPES

Peter swings into your room after patrol, his suit half-off, hair wild from the wind. “C’mon. Let’s go somewhere.”

Before you can finish protesting, he sweeps you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.“Peter!” you yelp, clutching his shoulders as he shoots a web and leaps into the night.“Trust me, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his grin softening.

The wind whips past, adrenaline rushing through your veins as he swings effortlessly between buildings. When you finally land on a rooftop, he pulls you close, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re not scared, are you?”“Not anymore,” you whisper, and his smirk grows as his lips meet yours, slow and steady, grounding you after the thrill.

POST SWING MOMENTS

After a particularly daring swing where Peter narrowly dodges a billboard, he sets you down on a rooftop, his arms still firmly wrapped around your waist.“Are you okay?” he murmurs, his voice low as his thumb brushes your cheek.“I’m fine, Peter. You can let go now.”

He doesn’t. His grip tightens, and his voice drops to a husky whisper. “You have no idea how hard it is to let you go.”

Your breath catches as his lips brush yours softly at first, then with increasing intensity. His hands slide to your lower back, pulling you closer until the world disappears around you.

“SHH, I’LL MAKE IT WORTH IT.”

Peter returns from patrol late at night, finding you half-asleep on the couch. He crouches down, brushing a kiss to your temple.“You awake?” he whispers.

You mumble something incoherent, only stirring when his lips brush yours again, this time slower, more deliberate.“Shh,” he murmurs, pinning your wrists gently above your head. His grin turns playful as he leans closer. “I’ll make it worth keeping you awake.”

Your heart races as his kisses deepen, trailing down the side of your neck. “You’re impossible,” you manage to say, though the way your breath hitches betrays you.

“And you love it,” he murmurs, his lips pressing firmly against your pulse, his smirk growing when you shiver under his touch.

SHOWER?

Peter comes home sweaty and grimy after patrol, and you shove him toward the shower. Minutes later, his head pokes out, water dripping over his shoulders as he leans lazily against the doorway.“You know… showers are more efficient with two people,” he says, his grin pure trouble.

You roll your eyes, turning back to your book. “Peter, no.”

He steps closer, letting water drip from his still-damp hair onto your shoulder as he leans down to whisper in your ear, his voice low. “You sure? I could scrub your back… or hold you against the tiles.”

Your cheeks burn, and you push him away half-heartedly, glaring. “Peter—”

He catches your wrist, pulling you to stand, his eyes locked on yours. “What?” he murmurs, tilting his head, his smirk teasing but his touch firm. “You’d look cute all wet.”

“Stop!” you squeak, swatting his chest, but he’s already laughing, pressing a kiss to your temple before finally retreating back to the bathroom.“I’ll leave the door unlocked, just in case,” he teases before disappearing behind the steam.

DATE

Peter had promised to meet you at the café after your shift. You’d been looking forward to it all day—just a simple hour with him, no superheroes, no chaos. But an emergency call from Ned about some escaped tech left you waiting alone, watching the minutes tick by.

When Peter finally arrived, his hair disheveled and guilt written all over his face, you didn’t even need to ask.“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, his voice tinged with desperation. “There was this thing—Ned needed help—and I couldn’t just leave it—”

“It’s fine,” you said sharply, though your tone betrayed your disappointment. “I get it. You have other responsibilities.”

His shoulders slumped. “No, it’s not fine,” he muttered. “I messed up. And I know it’s not the first time.”

You sighed, softening as you saw the guilt etched across his face. “Peter…”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, almost pleading. “Just… give me a chance.”

Later that night, he showed up at your window with a bouquet of daisies that looked like they’d survived a tornado and a homemade playlist.“I know it’s not much,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “But these reminded me of you—bright and sweet. And I put all your favorite songs on here, so… I hope it makes up for me being a total idiot.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you took the flowers, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered.

“Lucky you think I’m cute,” he teased, kissing your temple. “I’ll do better next time. Promise.”

TRIVIA NIGHT

Ned had invited you both to trivia night, but no one warned you how competitive Peter could get. It started innocently enough, with Peter rattling off science and history facts like a human encyclopedia. But when the questions shifted to pop culture, his confidence started to falter.

“You’ve never seen Mean Girls?” you asked, incredulous.“Uh, no?” he replied, looking genuinely confused.MJ rolled her eyes. “Peter, how do you even function as a person?”“I fight bad guys!” he defended, flustered. “I don’t have time for… whatever this is!”

As the final round approached, you noticed the way Peter’s brows furrowed, his shoulders tensing like he was about to swing into battle. Leaning over, you cupped his face gently, forcing him to meet your gaze.“Peter,” you said, your voice teasing but warm, “you’re cute when you’re losing.”

His jaw dropped, and before he could protest, you kissed him in front of everyone.

Ned let out a dramatic gasp. “In public? With witnesses?!”MJ snorted. “That’s disgusting. I’m rooting for you two.”

When you pulled back, Peter’s face was a brilliant shade of red, but the grin he gave you was dazzling.“I don’t even care if I lose now,” he whispered, leaning in for another kiss. “This is so worth it.”

HANDMADE

Peter had been acting strange all week—fidgety, distracted, and overly secretive. You were starting to wonder if something was wrong when he showed up at your door with a small, carefully wrapped box and a sheepish grin.

“What’s this?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as he practically shoved it into your hands.“Just… open it,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Inside was a sleek black flashlight, surprisingly lightweight, with a small engraved spider emblem on the side. You turned it over in your hands, curious.

“It’s not just a flashlight,” Peter said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh, noticed you sometimes leave the light on at night, and I thought… maybe this would help.”

Your chest tightened. He’d picked up on your fear of the dark without you ever telling him outright.

“It’s also kind of… Spider-Man-approved,” he added, gesturing nervously. “There’s a tracker inside, so I’ll always know where you are. And if you press the button three times really fast, it sends an SOS directly to me.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of it all. “Peter…”“I just want you to feel safe,” he said softly, his brown eyes earnest. “Even when I’m not around. You’re my world, and I want you to have something to remind you that I’m always here for you.”

Your throat felt tight as you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. “I don’t even know what to say,” you murmured against his shoulder.

“‘Thank you’ works,” he joked, though his voice was thick with emotion.

Pulling back, you met his gaze and smiled. “Thank you, Peter. I love it. And I love you.”

His face lit up, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding you close. “I love you too. Always.”

SPILLING

Peter had always admired how hard you worked. While he juggled Spider-Man and school, you balanced late-night shifts, studying at your rundown public school, and still somehow found time to make him feel like the center of your world. But admiration wasn’t the only thing he felt—sometimes, he felt inadequate.

On the other hand, you often wondered how you ended up with someone like Peter Parker. He was a literal superhero, acing advanced physics while you struggled with Algebra II. You worked part-time jobs just to help keep the lights on at home, and there were days when you felt like you’d drown under the weight of it all.

That tension finally bubbled over one evening. Peter swung by your place unannounced, but his usual warmth was absent. He dropped onto your couch with a sigh, his shoulders slumping.

“You okay?” you asked, sitting beside him.

He shook his head, staring at his hands. “How do you do it?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”

“Everything,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “You don’t have superpowers, or Stark tech, or a fancy school helping you out. And you’re still… incredible. You’re better at life than I am, and I’ve got every advantage.”

The words stung—not because of what he said, but because they mirrored your own insecurities.

“What are you trying to say?” you asked, your voice cracking as you braced yourself for what felt inevitable.

Peter hesitated, his jaw working as he tried to find the right words. “You deserve someone who can keep up with you. And I’m not sure I’m enough.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could stop them, tears began streaming down your cheeks. “Wait, are you saying this is over?”

“What? No!” Peter sat up straight, his hands shooting out to reach for yours. “That’s not what I meant! I’m talking about me, not you! I’m the one who’s not enough!”

“You are enough!” The words burst out of you, but the crack in your voice betrayed how deeply his statement had shaken you. “I’m the one who’s not enough, Peter. Look at you! You’re saving lives while I’m just trying to keep the lights on at home.”

Peter’s brows furrowed, guilt flooding his features. “What? No—no, don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” you whispered, pulling your hands free and wrapping your arms around yourself. “I can barely make it through my shifts without wondering if I’m going to mess something up. And then I see you—perfect Peter Parker, superhero and genius—and I just… I feel so small.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. Then Peter moved closer, carefully placing his hands on your shoulders. “You’re not small,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping your eyes. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Peter insisted, gently tilting your chin up so you’d look at him. “You don’t have powers, but you work harder than anyone I’ve ever met. You care about people. You care about me. And I…” He trailed off, his voice breaking. “I don’t always feel like I deserve that.”

Your breath caught at the raw vulnerability in his words. “You don’t have to be perfect, Peter. You don’t have to save me, or prove anything. I just want you.”

He stared at you, his eyes glistening. “I want you too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I just… I don’t always know how to keep up with someone like you.”

“We’re both trying to keep up,” you said quietly, leaning forward until your foreheads touched. “And that’s okay. We’ll figure it out together.”

Peter nodded, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you into his chest. “Yeah,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Together.”

The two of you sat like that for a long time, the weight of your shared insecurities fading, replaced by something stronger—a quiet, unshakable love.

SERIOUS

Peter comes home late—bruised, bleeding, and far too casual about it. You snap.“Do you like scaring me to death?”“It’s just a scratch!” he argues, dropping his mask on the couch.“Peter, you’re not invincible. What happens if one day you don’t come back?”

He pauses, guilt flickering across his face. “I can’t stop being Spider-Man.”“And I can’t stop worrying about you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

He looks away, fiddling with his web-shooter. “I don’t want to scare you. I’m sorry.”

MAYBE NOT SO SERIOUS?

Later that night, Peter finds you sitting on the fire escape, staring out at the skyline. He hesitates before sitting beside you.“I hate fighting with you,” he says quietly. “You’re the only person who makes all of this feel worth it.”

You exhale slowly, leaning into him. “Then don’t make me feel like I’m losing you.”His arm wraps around you, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll do everything I can to come home to you. That’s a promise.”

He presses his forehead to yours, and when his lips brush yours, it’s soft and full of unspoken apologies.

THANK YOU FOR READING ! PLEASE SEND KINKMAS REQUESTS AND PROMPTS! <3 Please Request if you’d like me to expand the headcanon into SMUT <3

[zazaiafe2]

My theory on shifting and manifestation: a deeper take based on experience, data and observations.

I want to explain here my current vision of the shifting process, how I personally see manifestation, and how I try to integrate scientific reasoning, personal experience, and collective data. This isn't meant to be the only truth, just my contribution, based on my own research, practice, and discussions.

1) Shifting is not purely about intention or assumptions

First I feel the need to remember people what is an assumption because I feel like something we're losing the plot regardless of what is an assumption or not .

The mainstream community often emphasizes intention or assumptions as the key to shifting. While I agree that intention plays a role, I don’t think it’s the sole determining factor.

Why I also highly doubt beliefs is the only cause of shifting.

If intention alone was enough, most people would have shifted after years of practice. Yet even highly motivated shifters with strong assumptions sometimes struggle, while others shift accidentally. That suggests that other variables are at play.

From my perspective, the emotional state, mental state, and neurocognitive profile of the person are also very important. Shifting happens when our awareness, which I personally view as informational or non-physical consciousness(or awarness), disengages partially or fully from this reality interface (the brain-body) and realigns to another system.

So yes: you need the intention, but also a certain inner state that allows this "disentanglement" to occur. Some people can enter that state easily, others need more practice depending on their cognitive profile.

2)We are not just "manifesting everything", Co-creation exists

I am highly skeptical of the narrative that "you manifest 100% everything that happens to you just by assuming it."

If that was fully true, then:

We wouldn’t experience accidents or unexpected suffering we never consciously assumed.

People wouldn’t struggle with fears that do not materialize despite strong and repetitive intrusive thoughts.

For example: I have strong anxiety sometimes about my heart, I’ve assumed many times that I was having heart issues during panic attacks, yet here I am, healthy. That’s not due to luck, but shows the limits of the "assumption = creation" model.

I believe we co-create reality. There is an interactive field of information where multiple variables (external, collective, individual) play a role. Your assumptions and beliefs influence probabilities, but they’re not almighty. Other informational structures (external laws, collective energies, higher self, system coherence) participate in this co-creation.

3)Why I still care about brain function even if shifting is non-physical

People asked me: "If shifting is non-physical, why do you care about the brain, neurocognition or psychology?"

Because even if awareness is non-physical, in this current CR, our brain is still our interface. It filters, limits, and structures how awareness functions here. Our cognitive flexibility, dissociative capacity, identity fluidity, self-talk regulation, and emotional regulation, all tied to brain functioning, directly impact how easily we can "detach" from this interface.

This explains why highly dissociative or identity-fluid individuals often shift more easily: their interface allows easier awareness movement. Others may need to "train" their interface to allow for this loosening of fixation, I believe that if everyone had the same capacity we would not have such strong correlations in certain areas.

For exemple most people who shift on command have a very fluid identity while the majority of people who have little or no shifting have a very busy mind all the time and a lot of self-criticism.

4)Emotional states: high impact vs. low impact

One major pattern I’ve observed through data (including my own small research polls) is that emotional state plays a major role , but not in a simplistic "positive = good" way.

States like calmness, serenity, even sadness (if soft and stable) seem to support shifting.

States like stress, panic, anger, high euphoria often disrupt shifting.

I call it "low impact vs. high impact" emotions rather than "positive vs. negative". The nervous system needs to be at low activation (low arousal), with some inner focus. That allows the awareness to untether more easily from this interface.(In most case)

5)identity fluidity matters more than most think

Shifters who report being able to shift "on command" often have highly fluid identities. Their sense of self is flexible and less anchored to rigid structures.

This doesn’t mean you must be "neurodivergent" to shift. But cognitive profiles with:

-Less rigid self-concept

-High imaginative capacity

-Dissociative traits (non-pathological)

-Flexible internal narratives

…tend to have an easier time. For others, it takes more training to loosen those structures.

6) Shifting ≠ Manifestation

I differentiate shifting and manifestation:

Manifestation (as I see it) is the local manipulation of probability lines within one existing reality system. You "tweak" conditions within a coherent field (can be done in any reality).

Shifting is the relocation of your awareness field to another coherent informational structure (i.e., a parallel or alternate reality).

Assumptions may play into both. But shifting seems more complex than "I assume and shift instantly". System coherence, informational entanglement, and permission of higher informational structures seem to participate.

7)"If we had full control, reality would collapse"

If every individual fully manifested instantaneously everything they assumed, we would live in non-coherent chaos. Yet reality remains generally stable across billions of individual awareness fields. This suggests structural coherence rules exist.

It’s comforting to believe we have full power, but maybe more mature to accept that we have high influence within a shared structure.

8)Shifting accidents are one of the strongest proofs of co-creation

Many shifters report accidental shifts when they weren’t even trying. This shows that there’s more than just conscious intent: it involves deeper informational permission states, external resonance, or unknown factors.

If conscious intention was 100% responsible, accidental shifts wouldn’t exist.

22% of those who shift on command say the time they will shift is unpredictable

9) We need more nuance, less dogma

The community often lacks room for nuanced discussions. Dogmas like:

-"You manifest 100% everything instantly."

-"Assumptions are all that matter."

-"If you fail, it's your fault for not assuming strongly enough."

…are mentally exhausting and unrealistic for many. We need models that allow for:

-Individual variation

-Neurocognitive diversity

-Emotional state regulation

-Acceptance of external informational structures

-That doesn’t mean disempowering people, but giving them more accurate tools.(And also recognizing we don't have all the full truth)

✅ In short in my pov :

-You do have creative power.

-Assumptions influence reality, but are not absolute.

-Emotional regulation and interface flexibility matter.

-We co-create within a semi-autonomous informational multiverse.

-Shifting involves more than just beliefs; it’s a realignment process of awareness.

-We need nuanced, mature models, not spiritual meritocracy (for me it's clearly a reflection of this reality mindset)

I hope this helps clarify my view. I welcome respectful discussion, even if you don’t fully agree. My goal is not to "convert" people, but to enrich the understanding of a highly complex, fascinating process that deserves better investigation.

I also want to add this: many of you say it’s "effortless", but I often see people beating themselves up with endless affirmations, reprogramming methods, assumption drills, and techniques you try to force into your mind. To me, that still requires a certain form of effort. While I do believe shifting can eventually become more effortless, many of you don’t seem to actually follow this principle in practice.

Some will think or say "I create limiting beliefs" well even with this way of thinking I managed to shift (13 time) and manifest more times than I can count, I plan to shift to a scientific Dr to be able to study shifting in a more scientific way with adapted tools.

[scarsnfevers]

Nothing Happend. (18+)

"I bet you grew up in a big city, running schemes, hanging out in swanky bars like this one." – "You must be thirsty." – "You're saying I'm wrong?"

synopsis: salt clung to your skin like a memory, the ocean's breath whispering secrets against your neck as the sun bled gold over the endless horizon. You wandered through the unpredictable tides of pirates and promises, each wave pulling you deeper into something you couldn’t quite name. And then there was him—sharp-eyed, carrying storms in his bones and ghosts in his gaze. You never meant to fall into his orbit. But here, aboard a ship caught between dreams and danger, you learned that some hearts don’t beat—they burn.

pairing: zoro!chan x crewmember!reader (mentions of jeongin as luffy, changbin as usopp and jisung as sanji)

genre: smut, nostalgia, semi strangers to lovers

warnings: mature/strong language, alcohol use, heavy smut, fingering, unprotected sex, dom. Chan, various positions, he just can't get enough of you

word count: 6,9k

!minors do not interact!

The sun was a molten coin suspended in a sky of polished brass, its light rippling over the crests of the waves in glittering shatters. The Going Merry groaned softly beneath your boots, the ship’s timbers shifting like a slumbering creature stirred by the sea’s slow breath. You leaned against the starboard railing, fingertips brushing worn wood, eyes narrowed against the blinding glint of sunlight on water.

You’d stopped trying to count the days at sea. The horizon had long since lost its shape—just an endless smear of blue on blue. But today… today felt different. The wind had changed. Subtly. Not in strength, but in mood. As though it whispered secrets just out of reach.

Behind you, the canvas sails fluttered like wings. Above, gulls circled—though you hadn’t seen land in days. That in itself was strange. Too strange to ignore. You tasted the salt in the air, sharper than usual. Brighter. Almost… seasoned.

A low thud echoed across the deck.

Boots.

You didn’t need to look. You knew that gait by now. Steady, measured, unhurried—as if time itself slowed to keep pace with him.

“Still staring at nothing?” Chan’s voice was dry, edged with something you couldn’t quite name. It was the kind of tone that made people listen closer, not louder. You glanced over your shoulder. He stood a few paces behind you, arms crossed, one hip tilted lazily against a barrel. The wind tousled strands of green hair across his forehead, casting shadows over his eyes. “Maybe it’s not nothing,” you said. He tilted his head, gaze shifting out over the water. “Doesn’t look like much.” “Exactly.”

A beat. Then he pushed off the barrel, slow and fluid, moving beside you. Together, you stared into the horizon—where, now that you looked more carefully, something was beginning to take shape.

It was faint. Faint enough that if you blinked, it might vanish. But it was there. A blur of color too vivid for open ocean. Not an island. Not a ship. Something in between.

You leaned forward slightly.

“Do you see that?”

Chan didn’t answer right away. His fingers curled absently around the hilt of one of his swords, the leather wrapping dark against his hand. You saw his eyes sharpen, his shoulders still. Watching. Calculating. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I see it.” “What do you think it is?” “No idea. But it shouldn’t be there.” He wasn’t wrong. There was no reason for a structure that bright, that… designed to exist out here. This part of the sea was supposed to be empty—open waters, unbroken tides, scattered wind currents and little else. But now the silhouette was growing. Slowly. Rising like a hallucination from the foam.

Somewhere behind you, a door slammed open.

“GUYS! GUYS!”

You turned just in time to see Jeongin—burst onto the deck, straw hat barely hanging on as the wind whipped through his hair. His eyes were wide with something halfway between excitement and curiosity. “Do you see that?!” he cried, spinning on his heel mid-run and pointing dramatically out toward the strange formation.

“We’re looking right at it,” you called back.

“It’s a floating—thing! It looks like a—like a—like a giant fish!” Jeongin grinned so wide it almost looked painful. “Are we going there?! Are we stopping?! Please tell me we’re stopping!” “You don’t even know what it is,” Changbin muttered from somewhere up near the bow. He had one foot propped on the rail and his slingshot looped around his wrist, though his posture was more cautious than usual.

“But what if it’s got food?” Jeongin argued.

That made everyone pause.

Food.

Your stomach twisted a little at the thought. Rations had been thin lately. Even your own cooking experiments had devolved into heated debates about whether boiled seaweed counted as “creative cuisine.” “...It does smell like something,” you murmured.

Now that you were closer, it was undeniable. The scent drifted through the air like a siren’s call: sizzling oil, roasted garlic, sweet smoke, grilled meat. And something else—lemon? Orange zest? Citrus notes dancing on the wind. “Is that... rosemary?” you added, blinking at how absurdly good it smelled.

Jeongin’s eyes widened. “Is that a yes?! Are we going?!” Chan grunted. “Doesn’t mean it’s safe.” “Come on, Chan.” Jeongin stepped up beside him, tipping his head back so his hat fell to his shoulders. “We can’t not check it out. What if it’s some kind of rare sea chef palace?” “Or a floating death trap,” Chan replied flatly.

“You always say that.”

“And one day I’ll be right.”

You held up a hand before they could start another verbal sparring match. “Look, we need food. We need a break. Whatever that place is, it’s the first sign of anything we’ve seen in days. We at least sail closer.”

No one argued.

The Going Merry creaked beneath the shift of wind, as if it, too, was ready to rest. The sails billowed, adjusting course. Water churned beneath the keel as the ship angled toward the strange floating structure now looming larger with each heartbeat.

As you approached, the full absurdity of the building came into view. It was shaped like a fish. A massive one—its mouth agape, its scales glinting in iridescent hues of blue, red, and gold. Architectural flourishes spiraled along its back like stylized fins. Windows blinked like curious eyes, and painted signs in languages you didn’t recognize swirled across the hull. Music—live, chaotic, jazzy—poured from the upper decks, mixed with bursts of laughter and shouting. The whole thing floated on a platform held aloft by massive pontoons, bobbing gently on the waves like it belonged there. Like it owned the sea.

A waiter in a pink uniform leaned over the railing above and waved nonchalantly with a white cloth. You stared up at him, speechless. “This is real,” you said under your breath. “Yup,” Jeongin chirped. “And it smells like steak. I’m going.” The gangplank extended with a satisfying clunk, attaching itself automatically to a small boarding dock that had unfolded from the lower deck. Someone on the fish-building had clearly been expecting guests.

Or just didn’t care who showed up.

Jeongin was first off the ship, practically skipping. Changbin followed reluctantly, muttering something about “bad vibes” and “trap music.” You turned toward Chan. He hadn’t moved. His jaw was tight, brow furrowed. You recognized the look—the one that meant he was watching everything. Calculating escape routes, analyzing risks, memorizing exits.

You stepped closer. “We’ll keep an eye out. Together.”

His eyes flicked to you. For just a second, something softened in them. Then he nodded once.nTogether, you stepped off the Going Merry.

The dock felt strange under your feet—solid, but too smooth. Too clean. The music was louder here. Clinking glasses, bursts of laughter, the sizzling of something being seared. The scent hit you like a wave—so rich your mouth watered involuntarily.

You climbed the curved entry steps, hands brushing a banister shaped like a fish spine. The doors before you swung open not with magic or machinery, but with the welcoming chaos of a place alive. And then, framed in gold script above the arch, you saw it. The name. Baratie. It shimmered in the fading sunlight like an invitation.

Or a warning.

The moment you stepped through the archway into the Baratie, the noise hit you like a wall. Laughter, loud and unfiltered. Glasses clinking. A woman’s voice shrieking with delight. Silverware against porcelain. Someone was arguing about a stolen lobster. Somewhere in the back, a piano tripped over a jazz melody that felt half-drunk but dangerously alive.

The space stretched wide and theatrical, ringed in color and opulence that shouldn’t have belonged on the sea. Deep cherrywood beams crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling. Lanterns swayed on chains, their golden light bathing the room in warmth and the illusion of grounded comfort. Crimson velvet curtains framed windows you hadn’t noticed from outside. Every table was mismatched and deliberate—like the owners had collected them from shipwrecks and royal chambers alike.

It smelled like heaven. Like garlic butter and roast duck and citrus and sea salt and secrets you weren’t supposed to taste.bThe hostess barely spared you a glance. "Sit where you want. No brawling, no yelling, and if you break a chair, you bought it." Jeongin was already halfway across the floor, heading for a circular booth tucked against a curved wall, arms spread like he was claiming territory. Changbin rolled his eyes but followed. You and Chan moved slower.

His eyes scanned everything. Not just the people—though there were plenty. Pirates, rich merchants, fishmen, drifters, dreamers. But also the exits, the corners, the way shadows fell in places too carefully. It was second nature by now. He didn't trust easy.

You didn't either.

Still, the booth was semi-secluded. Good lines of sight. And the table was already set with gleaming cutlery and folded napkins shaped like roses. You slid in beside Changbin. Chan took the end, back to the wall. Always.

"Okay," Jeongin breathed, practically bouncing. "Tell me we get to eat everything." "That depends," you said. "On how much money you actually have." He blinked. "I thought you had the money." "I thought you did."

A beat of silence. Chan sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

You were just about to start debating whether stealing utensils could be considered compensation when a voice cut across the space. Not loud. Not demanding. But effortless. Smooth as aged whiskey over ice. "Evening, gentlemen. Lady." You turned—and saw him.

Tall. Slim. Blond hair curled behind his ears in soft waves, his black dress shirt rolled up to the elbows with the casual elegance of someone who knew he looked good. A pristine white apron tied around his waist. One hand rested on his hip; the other held a small notepad he didn’t seem to need. Eyes like honey and heat.

"Welcome to the Baratie. My name is Jisung and I'm your waiter for the evening." Jeongin leaned forward instantly. "Do you have meat?!" The waiter arched an eyebrow. "We do. Though it comes in many forms. Be specific or you’ll end up with sweetbreads." "Steak! Big steak. With butter. And garlic. And..." He squinted, sniffing. "Is that rosemary I smell?" Jisung smirked. "Good nose. Yes, rosemary." "Then I want that!" Jisung scribbled something lazily into the notepad. Then his gaze flicked to Changbin.

"For you, sir?" Changbin crossed his arms. "Do you have anything... normal?" "Define normal."

"Like... a sandwich."

"We have duck confit with citrus marmalade on toasted rye."

"...Sure."

Another scribble.

Jisung leaned over the table with a charming—if slightly smug—smile, pen poised above his notepad. “And for you?” he asked, glancing at Chan. “Something strong, I bet.” Chan didn’t even blink. “Whiskey. Neat.”

Then he turned to you. He met your gaze, his eyes softening slightly. "And for the lady?" You tilted your head slightly, the candlelight catching in your eyes as you matched his gaze. Steady. Unbothered.

"Chef's recommendation," you said. His smile curled slowly, like warm caramel drawing across cool porcelain. Not cocky—just a little too confident. "Ah," he said, voice smooth. "Adventurous. I like that."

He took a slow step closer, his notepad lowering to his side. His eyes flicked from your face to your lips and back again—not subtle, but calculated. He rested one hand lightly on the table’s edge, leaning in just enough to drop his voice into something that felt private, velvet-wrapped.

"If you ever get tired of spice," he said, “I make a dessert that’s not on the menu. Sweet, rich… unforgettable.”

It hung there. The invitation wrapped in sugar and charm. He knew exactly what he was doing. You arched an eyebrow. "Oh?" you said lightly, voice dry as salt. "Do you serve it with flattery and disappointment on the side?" The line landed like a well-aimed dagger—swift, elegant, and without venom. His smirk faltered—just a flicker—and then he laughed, soft and surprised. "Touché," he said, scribbling your order without missing a beat. "I’ll stick to the specials, then." "Good idea," you murmured. He turned smoothly, striding away with a grace that said he’d recover quickly—but you'd definitely unsettled him more than he'd expected.

There was a beat of silence at the table.

Then—

"Pfft—wow," Changbin snorted, pressing his fist to his mouth. "Absolutely brutal."

"Did you see his face?" Jeongin leaned in, eyes wide. "He looked like you kicked his puppy." Chan exhaled through his nose, amusement flickering in his eyes. He tilted his head toward you with something between admiration and mischief. "Didn't even flinch. Impressive." You could feel the heat creeping up the back of your neck, rising beneath your collar. You reached for your water glass and took a slow sip, if only to stall the blooming flush in your cheeks.

"I didn’t mean to embarrass him," you said finally, lips twitching despite yourself. "It just… came out." "Please," Changbin said. "You didn’t embarrass him. You educated him." "Yeah," Jeongin added, grinning. "Lesson one: Don’t flirt with someone who can outwit you before the appetizers arrive." You sighed “Can we all just agree I handled it with dignity?” "You roasted him with dignity," Chan said, voice dry. "With style," Changbin added.

You groaned softly, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. It bubbled out of you before you could stop it, half-laughter, half-resignation.

"Gods," you muttered. "I hate you all."

"No you don’t," Chan said without looking at you.

And maybe you didn’t. Maybe, right here in this ridiculous floating restaurant filled with chaos and charm, you felt something you hadn’t in a while. Something that tasted dangerously close to home.

The last of the plates were cleared, leaving behind only wine-splashed linens and the distant murmur of satisfied guests. The scent of garlic, seared meat, and something faintly citrusy still clung to the air, stubborn as saltwater. Around you, the Baratie was beginning to hum again with the rhythm of the sea—a place never quite quiet, never fully still.

Jeongin had started entertaining himself by trying to stack the bread rolls on top of one another, with Changbin offering loud, mostly unhelpful commentary. You watched them for a moment, the simple joy of it pulling a smile to your lips.

"Think we’ve earned a drink?" Chan’s voice was soft beside you, quieter than the clatter around the dining floor. You turned slightly in your seat. He was watching you, elbow resting on the edge of the table, his fingers absently toying with a toothpick. His eyes were calm, but the way his brow tilted just a little upward gave him that look—thoughtful, focused, like he saw more than he said. You nodded. "Definitely."

He stood without fanfare, waiting just long enough for you to rise before the two of you slipped away from the others. Neither Jeongin nor Changbin paid you much mind, too engrossed in an increasingly unstable bread tower. The air grew cooler as you stepped outside. A light breeze drifted across the deck, carrying the scent of open water and something faintly floral from the lanterns hanging overhead. The sky above was ink-dark, streaked with the faint shimmer of stars, and the soft creak of the ship beneath your boots reminded you just how far you were from land.

Chan didn’t speak right away. He led you up the winding stair to the upper deck, where the night was quieter, the noise of the dining floor muffled beneath your feet. There was a narrow balcony railing along the edge, the perfect place to lean, watch, breathe. He gestured to a small table tucked beneath a faded lantern. Two wooden chairs stood opposite each other. He waited until you sat, then took the seat directly across from you.

He disappeared briefly into a corner bar station still manned by a yawning server. A few exchanged words, a small grin, then he returned with two short glasses, liquid glinting amber in the low light. He handed you one. "Careful. It's stronger than it looks." You clinked your glass gently to his. "Cheers." The first sip burned pleasantly, warmth threading down your throat and spreading outward, slow and sure. You exhaled and let your gaze drift over the ocean.

"So," you said after a moment. "Be honest. Did you think we'd make it this far?" Chan chuckled softly, his voice low and even. "I thought we’d make it somewhere. I just didn’t expect it to feel like... this." "Like what?" He paused, rolling the drink gently between his palms. "Like something I don’t want to lose." That made you glance over. He wasn’t looking at you, not quite, but there was something in his expression—an openness, rare and unguarded. The kind that made you sit a little stiller, listen a little closer.

"You don’t say things like that lightly," you said. "No," he agreed. "I don’t."

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It felt like space being made—for thought, for meaning. The wind tugged gently at a strand of your hair. You took another sip. "You’re different up here," you murmured. "Quieter." He smiled faintly. "You're just noticing that now?" You shrugged. "I think... it's easy to forget you're watching. You blend in until you don’t. And then it’s like you see everything."

Chan tilted his head. "That’s a nice way of saying I make people nervous." You laughed, shaking your head. "No. It’s a nice way of saying you’re not easy to fool." That made his lips twitch. He leaned back slightly in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him. His eyes stayed on the water, but his voice had softened, losing that edge of tension it so often carried.

"You held your own tonight. With the waiter." You gave a small groan. "Don’t remind me." "Why not? It was kind of impressive." "It was mortifying." "You didn’t look mortified." You sighed. "That’s because I’ve mastered the art of internal screaming." Chan chuckled, the sound like gravel shifting underfoot—warm, grounded. He glanced at you finally, eyes catching the lantern light. "You don’t let people push you around," he said. "I like that." You looked down at your drink, unsure what to say to that. So he added, more quietly: "It means I don’t have to worry about you the same way."

Your fingers tightened slightly around the glass. "But you still worry," you said. He nodded. No denial.

You let the truth of that sit between you a while. The sea stretched endlessly beyond the railing, soft waves lapping against the hull. Somewhere below, laughter echoed faintly. A violin began to play from the main floor, its notes drifting upward, fragile and wandering.

You leaned forward, resting your forearms on the table. "Do you ever miss it?" "What?" "Stillness." He was quiet a moment longer than you expected. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But I think I’d miss this more." You nodded slowly, understanding curling in your chest like smoke.

When he shifted in his seat, his boot nudged lightly against yours under the table—subtle, but deliberate. You didn’t move away. The stars above blinked down, distant and watchful. You sat there, eye to eye, the sea in front of you and something quieter—gentler—settling in the space between your breaths.

The sea had softened with the setting sun, waves turning to gentle laps against the hull of the floating restaurant. From where you sat across from Chan, the low hum of laughter and clinking glasses from the dining area below drifted up to the upper deck. Lanterns swung lazily overhead, their warm golden glow throwing flickers of light across Chan’s face, dancing over the faint scar on his cheekbone and the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The table between you strewn with the remnants of your drinks—half-finished glasses of something spiced and warm, perfect for easing into the calm of night. Chan leaned back with the air of someone who rarely let himself relax, one arm stretched along the back of the seat, eyes gleaming beneath the fringe of his green-streaked hair.

“You ever play a drinking game?” he asked casually, but there was a glint of mischief behind the question.

You tilted your head, amused. “Is that your idea of a date?” His smirk widened. “Only if I win.” You raised an eyebrow. “And what do you get if you do?” Chan chuckled, low and quiet. “Maybe I’ll figure that out later. For now, it’s just about knowing you better.”

You watched him for a moment, the way his fingers tapped idly against his glass, the gentle way he looked at you—like he wasn’t really seeing the busy deck or the crew laughing below, but just you. The thought sent a small flutter through your chest. He leaned forward slightly, voice softening. “What are you carrying around that’s so heavy?”

You glanced down, the question brushing a little too close to places you hadn’t shown anyone. Your fingers curled around your drink. “You have no idea.” Chan’s eyes didn’t leave yours. “I bet I do. I bet I know more about you than you do about me.”

A small laugh escaped you, the tension breaking just slightly. “Yeah, right. You’re an open book.” “Care to prove it?” he said, straightening in his seat. “I guess something about you, you drink. You guess something about me, I drink.” You smirked. “Go ahead. Tell me all about myself.”

Chan took a moment, his gaze wandering as if he were replaying moments in his head. Then, “I bet you grew up in a big city, running schemes, hanging out in swanky bars like this one.” You let the smile curl slowly on your lips, shaking your head as you lifted your glass. “You must be thirsty.” He blinked. “You’re saying I’m wrong?”

“I grew up in a small village. Barely a village. Just a handful of houses in the center of a tangerine grove. Drink.” Chan lifting his glass in mock defeat. “Alright, alright.” He took a sip, letting the flavor linger before setting it down. “Your turn.”

The wind brushed past, carrying the scent of salt and citrus from somewhere below. You studied him for a beat, narrowing your eyes like you were peeling back layers he didn’t realize he had. “Okay,” you said. “But I had you read all the way back in Orange Town.” You leaned in slightly, elbows resting on the table. “I’ll bet you didn’t have any friends as a kid.”

Something in Chan’s expression faltered—not entirely, just a flicker of something behind the eyes. He hesitated. “I had friends,” he said quietly. “Swords don’t count,” you said with a wry grin. He huffed a laugh, then looked away for a second, letting his fingers trace the rim of his glass. “I had one friend.”

That surprised you. Not because you didn’t believe him—but because of how he said it. The weight behind those words wasn’t light. There was a history there, buried like the bones of a shipwreck. You reached for your own glass. “Hell, one more than I had.” The two of you drank, a soft silence settling in afterward.

You let your gaze wander for a moment, over the edge of the ship, where the ocean glistened like melted starlight. The breeze carried the occasional burst of music from inside the restaurant, soft piano chords and the muted thrum of voices. But none of it quite reached you—not really. Not with Chan across the table, watching you like he was reading lines in a book only he could understand.

“Your friend,” you said eventually. “Still around?” Chan’s jaw tightened just slightly. “No. Not anymore.”

You didn’t push. The look in his eyes said the story was too old and too painful to spill just yet. Maybe not ever. Still, the quiet hung between you like a thread, fragile but real. He cleared his throat, trying to soften the mood. “Alright. My turn again.” You gestured grandly. “Take your best shot.” Chan’s lips twitched. “You were the type of kid who stole books from libraries. Probably had a whole stash hidden under your bed.” You laughed, the sound startling even yourself. “Okay, yeah. That’s not fair. That’s cheating.” He held up both hands. “Does that mean I’m right?” You sighed, then took a slow drink. “Maybe.” Chan grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

It went on like that for a while—quiet guesses and quieter truths. Sometimes you were right, sometimes he was. The drinks weren’t strong, but the warmth built slowly, buzzing beneath your skin. It wasn’t just the alcohol, though.

It was him.

The way he leaned forward when you spoke, elbows braced, chin resting on his hand like he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. The way he laughed when you teased him, soft and a little self-deprecating. The way his eyes softened whenever you let a truth slip through the cracks.

The sky darkened gradually, the stars beginning to pepper the heavens. From your seat, you could see the moon rising over the horizon, casting a shimmer over the water. The kind of view that would’ve felt too big, too distant to touch—if not for the boy sitting across from you.

“I think,” you murmured, letting your fingers trail lazily around the rim of your empty glass, “that I should head back to the Merry.” Chan looked at you, his hand wrapped around the final shot—amber liquid catching a flicker of golden light. “You want company?” he asked, voice casual, but there was a thread of softness beneath it. Not insistence. Just the unspoken echo of I'd like to.

You met his eyes. Steady. Warm. “Sure,” you replied with a nod, the corner of your mouth curving. “You’re buying the last round, anyway.”

He smiled at that, tipping the shot back with a practiced motion. The glass clicked against the table with finality. The night air outside was cooler than you expected, salty and fresh from the sea, curling through your hair and coaxing a slight shiver from you as the two of you stepped away from the Baratie’s glow. The path to the dock was quiet—just the gentle lap of water and the distant echo of laughter from somewhere inside the floating restaurant. Your footsteps on the wood were slow, unhurried. Neither of you spoke at first. It wasn’t awkward silence. Just… comfortable.

You glanced at him, the way his arms swung slightly at his sides, the breeze ruffling through his green hair. He looked almost peaceful. “I think you cheated,” you said suddenly, turning your head just enough for him to catch your grin. “No way you guessed the book thing.” Chan’s brows lifted in mock offense. “Cheated? I’ll have you know I’m an excellent reader of people.” “Oh, sure,” you said, snorting. “Master of observation." “You said I was an open book,” he shot back. “Clearly, I’m just better at keeping things to myself.” You rolled your eyes, bumping your shoulder against his. “Next time, maybe I’ll bring books and test you properly.” He chuckled, a low sound in his chest, and for a moment, you just walked.

The Merry was quiet when you reached her, the familiar silhouette of the ship nestled at the dock like a waiting friend. Jeongin and Changbin were nowhere to be seen—still at the Baratie, most likely, or off exploring some corner of the floating restaurant. Chan didn’t seem surprised by the absence, and neither did you. You climbed aboard easily, the gangplank creaking gently under your steps. The ship rocked just enough to remind you she was alive. As you made your way across the deck, you felt your balance sway a little more than it should have—alcohol and sea motion conspiring to trip you up. You caught yourself quickly, laughing under your breath.

“Remind me not to drink with you again,” you said, half over your shoulder. “Oh, come on,” Chan teased, following closely. “We had fun.” “Dangerous kind of fun,” you replied, your voice light. “The kind that ends with someone falling overboard.” “Good thing I’m an excellent swimmer.” “Are you?” He grinned. “Guess you’ll have to push me in sometime and find out.” You snorted, shaking your head. “Tempting.”

“You ever think about it?” Chan asked eventually, voice low. “How weird it is… that we all ended up here. You, me, Jeongin… even Changbin.” Jeongin’s laugh rang out somewhere from the corners of the Baratie, bright and boyish. Changbin’s voice followed, loud and familiar. “All the time,” you admitted. Chan nodded slowly, then looked back at you. “You don’t seem like you’re running anymore.” The words landed somewhere deep.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you looked out at the sea, felt the breeze brush your cheek, tasted the bittersweet flavor on your tongue. “Maybe,” you said. “Maybe I’m finally just… heading somewhere instead.” He smiled at that, soft and proud.

Your feet brought you to the hallway where the crew’s cabins were tucked away, the lanterns flickering gently against the wooden walls. The soft creak of the ship filled the silence, accompanied by your slowed footsteps as you came to a stop in front of your door. You turned, leaning slightly against the frame. Chan stood just a pace away, his arms loosely crossed, expression unreadable in the soft glow of the lantern. But his eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Thanks,” you said quietly. “For walking me back.” Chan tilted his head a little. “Of course.” The air between you shifted. Not tense. Just—charged. Like a breath held too long. Like the world around you had gone a little quieter, waiting.

“I didn’t expect this,” you admitted, almost more to the shadows than to him. “This?” he echoed. “This.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Us. Talking. Laughing. Drinking stupid games on a floating restaurant.” He smiled slowly. “Yeah. Me neither.”

And then, just barely, he took a step forward. Only half of one, really, but you noticed it. The flicker in his eyes wasn’t just reflection. “Should probably say good night,” you murmured. “You should,” he agreed.

But neither of you moved.

The creak of the wood. The soft hum of waves. The warmth of that final drink lingering in your veins. You couldn’t quite breathe. Not properly. And still, his eyes stayed on yours.

Like maybe he couldn’t either.

Another quiet moment passed. Then he said, almost too casually, “You know, I’m glad you’re here.” You met his eyes. There wasn’t any teasing in them now—just something honest. Something real.

“Me too,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

You closed the distance, your hand finding his collar before he could answer. Your lips brushed his — once, then again, firmer, as if daring him to pull back. He didn’t. Chan stood frozen for half a second, breath caught in his throat. But then his hand came up, gently curling around the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. And when he kissed you back, it wasn’t tentative.

It was hungry.

A sound escaped the back of his throat — something like a sigh and something like a growl — and he moved forward, pressing you back until your spine met the wooden wall. His body aligned with yours in a way that felt too easy, too right. Chans other hand landed on your waist, holding you like he was afraid you might vanish.

The wall was cool against your back, but his mouth was warm. Chan's kiss deepened with every passing breath, with the kind of quiet desperation you hadn’t seen in him before. You felt it in the way his fingertips brushed over your cheek, down your arm, anchoring himself in your presence.

When you parted for air, both of you stood there for a moment — dazed, breathing hard, the space between you charged and trembling. Chan leaned his forehead against yours. “You sure about this?” he asked, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. You didn’t hesitate. “Are you?” His answer came not in words, but in the way his hand found the door behind you, pushing it open. The cabin swallowed you both, lanternlight casting flickers of amber across the modest room. It smelled faintly of salt and citrus, your coat slung across a chair in the corner, and the mattress soft against the far wall beckoning like something out of a half-remembered dream. But you didn’t reach for it yet.

Instead, you kissed him again — slower this time, more deliberate. His hands traced the curve of your back, steady and sure, and your own found the hem of his shirt. The cloth slid upward, your knuckles brushing the warm skin beneath. You felt him shiver under your touch, and it sent a matching wave through your spine. Piece by piece, clothing fell away — a glove, a belt, the fabric of the day shed like the weight of old armor. Each movement was unhurried, reverent, like unwrapping something sacred.

Your eyes searched his, and in the flickering glow of the lantern, you saw the storm of emotions raging there: want and wariness, hope and hunger. Chan's mouth was hot and demanding, but his touch remained tender, almost reverent.

His fingers brushed your bare shoulder with a feather-light touch, and even that sent sparks flaring under your skin. His eyes drank you in, as though he was trying to memorize every curve, every shade of want on your face. Chan hovered, his lips just above yours, breath mingling, warm and trembling with restraint. You closed the distance, pressing your mouth to his — a silent command, a desperate plea. The kiss deepened instantly, all softness turning to heat, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before slipping inside, tasting, exploring.

Hands roamed. Eager now, hungry. His palms spanned the curve of your waist, your hips, your thighs — he held you like a man who had been starving, who now sat before a feast and didn’t know where to begin. He laid you back with slow insistence, your skin sliding against cool sheets, his body hovering above you like a storm about to break. Your legs parted willingly, thighs cradling Chan's hips as his hand slipped between your bodies. Fingers explored you — warm, calloused, precise — sliding down your belly, brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves with practiced ease. You gasped, your hips arching instinctively into his touch. He groaned against your throat, voice thick with need. “You’re already so wet.”

You answered with a moan, your hands fisting the sheets as he circled your clit, slow and rhythmic, coaxing pleasure out of you with devastating patience. His fingers slid lower, found you open, ready. He pressed one inside, then another, curling them just right — watching your face as you writhed beneath him, as your thighs shook and your breath quickened. “You like that,” Chan murmured, voice rough, reverent. “Gods, look at you…”

Your body sang under his touch, pleasure blooming fast and hot. He kept working you, steady and sure, until the heat coiled tight and unbearable. You moaned his name as your climax crested and broke — sudden and overwhelming. Your body trembled beneath him, thighs clamping around his wrist as your back arched and a strangled cry tore from your lips.

He didn’t stop right away — his fingers slowed but stayed inside you, drawing out every aftershock with gentle, teasing strokes. Your breath stuttered. You whimpered, already sensitive, already aching in a different way now. When Chan finally pulled his hand back, his fingers glistened with you. He brought them to his mouth and sucked one clean, watching you the whole time. “Beautiful,” he murmured. He kissed his way down your body, lips warm and slow — your breast, your stomach, the inside of your thigh — until he was kneeling between your legs, hard and ready. He didn’t wait long. The head of his cock nudged at your entrance, and you reached down, guided him to where you wanted him.

“Please,” you whispered. “I need you.”

With a low growl, he pushed into you in one slow, controlled stroke. Your breath caught. Chan was thick, stretching you inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, his hips pressed flush to yours. His eyes fluttered shut, a groan rumbling from his chest. “You feel so good,” he muttered against your skin.

He began to move, slow at first — a steady, deliberate rhythm that pushed the air from your lungs. Your body welcomed him, still tender and sensitive from your climax, each thrust sending soft ripples of pleasure across already-spent nerves. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your nails grazing his back as his pace built gradually — deeper, harder, more insistent.

The bed creaked beneath you. The sound of skin against skin, his labored breath, your soft moans filled the space like music.

Then he pulled out without warning.

You gasped, blinking up at him — but Chan flipped you easily onto your stomach and coaxed you up onto your knees. One strong hand gripped your hip, the other steadied himself as he slid back into you from behind, filling you again in one deep, powerful stroke. You cried out, fingers curling into the sheets as he set a harder rhythm now, his thrusts fast and unforgiving, each one hitting deep. Your body rocked beneath him. Chan's hand slid up your spine, then tangled in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat.

“You feel incredible,” he growled, biting softly at your neck. “I could lose myself in you.” His pace became relentless — his need taking over, raw and feral. You moaned for him, pleasure still humming low in your belly, a steady throb of sensitivity without the pressure of another peak. Your limbs trembled from the intensity, from the ache Chan left in his wake. He grunted your name, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and then he was coming — with a deep, broken moan and one last thrust that pushed you both to the edge.

He collapsed over your back, panting, chest heaving against your spine. For a moment, all was still. The only sound was the rush of your breathing, the beat of your hearts in sync.

Then, carefully, he withdrew. The absence of him left you hollow and sore in the best way.

Chan didn’t go far — just shifted to his back, dragging you with him until you were sprawled across his chest. His cock, still slick and flushed, twitched against your thigh, already beginning to harden again. “You’re insatiable,” you murmured against his throat. “So are you,” he said with a wicked smile, flipping you over in one smooth motion. Now you were straddling him. You grinned, reached down between your bodies, and slid him back inside you — slow and deliberate, savoring the stretch and fullness, the way his hands gripped your hips and his head tipped back.

You began to move — not chasing another climax, but simply because it felt too good to stop. Your hips rolled lazily, taking him deep, grinding down in slow, teasing circles. Chan groaned, his hands sliding up to your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until your breath hitched. “Fuck… you feel like heaven.”

You rode him like worship, like ceremony. Hips rolling, rhythm steady, letting the sensation build with every pass. His fingers slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped at the touch, hips stuttering. His eyes darkened with heat. “Don’t stop. You’re perfect like this.” You didn’t. You moved harder now, skin slapping against his, your breath rising in ragged pants. You weren’t chasing a climax, not yet—it was all about the movement, the slick heat, the way you were joined so deeply.

Then he sat up without warning, his arm around your waist pulling you against his chest. Chan's mouth found your throat, your collarbone, your shoulder—kissing, nipping, tasting. You wrapped your arms around him as he thrust up into you, your legs tightening around his hips. Each movement was deeper like this, more intimate. You felt every inch of him. When your pace began to falter, your thighs trembling from the effort, Chan gently reversed your positions. You expected him to take you from behind again—but instead, he guided you onto your side, facing him.

Spooning had its tenderness, but this—this was different. You lifted your top leg slightly as he slid into you from the side. The angle was unexpected, exquisite. You gasped, clutching at his shoulders. "Better?" he asked, voice dark velvet against your mouth. "Yes," you whispered. It was slow, languid, but deeper than anything before. He held your gaze as he moved, one arm curled beneath your neck, the other hand gripping your thigh, guiding your leg higher over his hip. He was fully inside you, filling you perfectly, every thrust pressing against your most sensitive place.

You were surrounded by him—his breath on your skin, his body wrapped around yours, his length buried deep. The rhythm was slower now, almost torturously so. But it built with maddening precision. Chan kissed your shoulder, your collarbone, your cheekbone, never looking away. Your moans were swallowed in his mouth, and you felt yourself unraveling—every thrust driving you closer to that edge again. “You feel so good,” he whispered against your lips. “So tight and warm."

But just when the crescendo seemed imminent, Chan pulled back slightly, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Turn with me," he murmured. He guided your leg further upward and gently rolled, until you were partially on your back, his body angled above you. With one swift movement, he hooked your leg over his shoulder, bending you open for him. Then he moved. Faster. Rougher.

The shift was jarring and breathtaking. Every thrust now hit with precision, deep and unrelenting, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your cries turned guttural, your hands gripping the sheets—or him—anything to keep you grounded. He groaned as he watched you unravel. "You take me so well... every time." You could only gasp, head tossing back as the rhythm pushed you beyond the edge of control. Chan leaned down slightly, the new angle making it even more intense, his chest grazing your breast, his mouth finding your jaw, your throat, whispering filthy praise against your skin.

“Fuck—you’re so beautiful like this,” he rasped. “Falling apart on my cock.” You felt the coiling heat in your belly begin to burn white-hot. Your muscles tensed, thighs shaking, the orgasm rising like a storm on the horizon. “Let go,” he whispered against your ear. “Come for me, love.” And you did.

The climax rolled through you in waves—deeper than before, slower, drawn out like silk unraveling. Your whole body tensed, then shuddered with release, and you sobbed his name into his mouth.

Chan kissed you through it, slowing just enough to let you feel every pulse, every aftershock. And only when you relaxed, body heavy and trembling in his arms, did he allow himself to chase his own end. A few more thrusts—urgent now, almost desperate—and he groaned, his release catching him hard. Chan held you tightly, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, forehead pressed to yours. The world narrowed to just the two of you. Nothing else mattered.

He didn’t pull away right away—just stayed there, buried inside you, wrapped around you, the rhythm of his breath matching yours.

Finally, when the trembling slowed and your hearts found their pace again, he brushed a kiss to your brow. “Stay here tonight,” you whispered. Chan looked at you, body still humming. “I wasn’t planning on leaving.” He smiled, the look in his eyes was something different now—softer, almost reverent.

And then he kissed you again—unhurried, like the sea brushing the shore, as if time itself had decided to wait a little longer.

Not an end. Just the hush before the next wave.

[drdemonprince]

This is a fascinating read that does not tell you what you should make of the author's observations:

Interactions with [charismatic people] come with the least number of strings attached. It feels like they are just having fun, lightly playing with possibilities. They are not holding love hostage when you don't act in accordance with their desires. They respect your autonomy and intuition. They approach your presence with gratitude, but don't demand you stay forever. There is no hint of scarcity. They live in the realm of what is possible and abundant. There is little tension in their attentional field. Because they are in a fluid and spacious yet highly receptive and responsive state, they can meet you exactly where you are and entertain whatever comes up. They can flirt, joke around, dream, and love without restraint. They are not afraid of what happens, because no matter what happens, they know it will be fundamentally okay. I've noticed they don't leave what feels like a sticky "trace" after they are gone. I certainly remember them more vividly and am more deeply touched by them than others, but it lacks the feeling of molasses. This impression of sticky traces is very personal so I should probably illustrate what I mean with examples: I get the sticky traces when people guilt me, are passive aggressive, pedestalize me, ask things of me I don't believe are what they truly want and if I gave it to them anyway it's like feeding a hungry ghost. Every interaction with them feels like they are saying, "please love me" or "please make me feel okay" or "please give me a chance" or "I need you." This makes engaging with them complicated, not because I don't care about them, but because engaging with them is a bit of a foolish game where it won't really get you what you want and will also hurt me in the process, and this keeps me from wanting to get close. I can tell they have a series of tough knots, and they are haunted by them, but I cannot unknot it for them. I can only watch compassionately and try to point them to how they can unknot themselves, and also be present to the stickiness, because it is there. The stickiness accumulates like gunk that I then have to meditate, journal about, or otherwise process. It solidifies and reifies experience, convincing us the set of infinite possibilities is anything but infinite and boundless. It suffocates. Charismatic people are like empty vessels. They receive and pass on sensations without resistance. They are usually the one with the most regulated nervous system in the room, which allows them to encounter other people's ego/attentional structures and dance with them no matter what the exact configuration is, which is why charismatic people are charismatic to a wide variety of people—they literally fit better together with people in general! Contrast this with someone who has very rigid expectations or ideas of what kind of experience they *should* be having and fighting off what is arising if it conflicts with what they want. If a person with a very particular and rigid structure encounters a wide swath of people, the percentage of people their shape "fits" well with is a lot slimmer.

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

☻ 𝒫𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒜 𝒫𝒾𝓁ℯ: 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉𝓈 ℋ𝒶𝓅𝓅ℯ𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒩ℯ𝓍𝓉 ℐ𝓃 𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇 ℒ𝒾𝒻ℯ ☻

𝗣𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝟭

Coming up next in your life is a time full of action and determination. You have your eye on something, and you’re not letting up. This is going to be a busy period where you’re focused on taking the necessary steps to achieve your goals. You’ll find yourself preoccupied with many tasks, adopting a go-getter mindset fueled by tenacity and ambition. However, this drive could lead to a hectic and even chaotic time.

Because of your intense focus, interacting with others might lead to conflict. You won’t want anyone to interfere with your plans, and this might cause tension with people who aren’t on the same page as you. The biggest challenge will likely be dealing with those who want you to slow down, be more present, or spend more time with them. Your forward-thinking, goal-oriented mindset may make it hard for you to prioritize quality time with others.

There seems to be someone in your life—possibly someone with romantic feelings for you—who feels neglected because of your preoccupation. They want your attention, time, and emotional connection. While they’re initiating communication and quality time, you’re focused elsewhere, leading to a disconnect. This person might feel as though you’re not taking them seriously or envisioning a future together, which could create conflict.

Your actions during this time may come across as selfish—not in a malicious way, but because you’re prioritizing your goals over emotional connections. This might lead to neglecting the emotional needs of those around you, leaving them feeling excluded. The person who has feelings for you seems emotionally invested, but you may not be reciprocating their energy or interest, which could make it feel as though you’re leading them on.

This imbalance is likely to create tension and disagreements in your interpersonal relationships. Misaligned perceptions between you and this person could result in a breakdown of trust and further arguments. They might feel as though you’re putting them to the side while you, on the other hand, believe you’re simply pursuing your goals.

Ultimately, this situation will push you to re-evaluate your actions and take accountability. You’ll need to confront both the person involved and your own approach to achieving your ambitions. While your ambition is commendable, there seems to be a lack of balance and intentionality in your plans. You’re moving quickly but without the structure or clarity needed to sustain your efforts.

This period of your life will be supercharged with energy and focus, but it will also require you to reflect on how you manage your time, relationships, and goals. Finding a better balance between ambition and personal connections will be crucial to moving forward in a more responsible and fulfilling way.

𝑷𝒊𝒍𝒆 2

An action-packed time is coming ahead for you, filled with passionate and driven energy. You may feel a strong desire to pursue things that make you feel free, youthful, and playful. This period brings a vibrant, positive energy to your life, and you’ll find yourself radiating charm, charisma, and warmth. People are drawn to you, enjoying your uplifting presence and good vibes.

You seem to be socializing more, engaging with different groups, and having spontaneous, meaningful interactions. Your warmth and friendliness make you approachable, and you may find yourself easily starting conversations and brightening others’ days. This positive energy likely stems from a sense of clarity entering your life. Situations that once seemed confusing are becoming clearer, allowing you to release recent worries and move forward with more confidence and understanding.

During this time, you may not be following a strict plan or focusing on long-term goals. Instead, you’re grounded in the present, allowing yourself to go with the flow and enjoy the moment. You’re taking a more fluid approach to life, observing and absorbing rather than rushing toward specific objectives. Your focus is more short-term—day by day or week by week—rather than planning for months or years ahead.

Even though you may not be chasing long-term goals, when you do have something you want, you go after it with determination and energy. Your current mindset allows you to take action without overthinking or obsessing over the details. Once you gain clarity, you’re quick to seize opportunities and take decisive steps forward.

However, you may also experience moments of emotional imbalance. While you’re uplifting others and radiating positivity, you might feel that the love, care, and tenderness you give aren’t always reciprocated. This can lead to some frustration or feelings of emotional vulnerability. As this is still a transitional stage in your life, some fragility remains. There may be days when you feel aimless, emotionally unbalanced, or unsure about the next steps in your journey.

Despite these small hurdles, this period is marked by growth and progress. You’re learning important lessons, gaining wisdom, and achieving greater emotional clarity. Though some days might feel challenging, your overall trajectory is toward a brighter, more positive future. This time is engaging, playful, and full of self-discovery, ultimately helping you take meaningful actions that align with the truths you uncover along the way.

𝑷𝒊𝒍𝒆 3

For this group, I see an opportunity on the horizon for you to restart and refresh a connection in your life. This could involve deepening an existing relationship or meeting someone new who brings warmth and fresh emotions into your life. Whether it’s a romantic interest, a crush, or even a meaningful friendship, you seem to be opening yourself up to more emotional and receptive connections in the near future. However, there is also an undercurrent of toxic energy that could complicate things.

This toxicity may stem from unresolved personal issues—either yours or theirs. For some, this new connection may start out lighthearted but shift toward something less healthy, such as a dynamic focused more on physical intimacy than emotional bonding. While there’s potential for reciprocity and warmth in the relationship, lingering toxic patterns from the past could resurface, impacting the connection.

Your current life circumstances might play a significant role here. You may be facing financial struggles, such as recent losses, overspending, or challenges in rebuilding your stability. For instance, you could have experienced a divorce, holiday spending, or job loss that left you feeling unsteady. These material and emotional concerns might weigh heavily on your ability to fully invest in this new connection.

The person entering your life seems to be sincere, kind, and giving. However, if you’re still dealing with unresolved wounds, depression, dissatisfaction, or instability, it might be difficult to reciprocate their energy. You may not feel ready to commit emotionally or consistently invest in the connection, which could create barriers. For example, you may find it hard to communicate regularly, meet in person, or form a stable bond. This could lead to frustration and prevent the relationship from fully flourishing.

There is also an underlying theme of self-dissatisfaction during this period. You may be struggling with self-love, fulfillment, and a sense of control in your life. Although this person brings warmth and nourishment into your life, they can’t fill the void of what you may be lacking internally. This could lead to emotional blockages that prevent you from fully opening up to the connection.

Despite these challenges, the person coming into your life appears understanding and willing to accommodate your current limitations. They may offer practical help, such as being flexible with plans or supporting you financially or emotionally when needed. However, it’s important to avoid taking advantage of their generosity. Instead, focus on using this time to grow, heal, and regain your stability.

This connection has potential, but its success depends on your ability to address personal toxic patterns, heal from past wounds, and regain emotional and material balance. Once you feel more secure within yourself, the relationship could become more balanced and fulfilling. For now, take this as an opportunity to reflect, heal, and allow yourself to grow into a healthier version of yourself so that you can build stronger, more stable connections in the future.

𝑷𝒊𝒍𝒆 4

For those in this group, an exciting opportunity is on the horizon. This could involve collaborating with someone on a shared goal, whether it’s a current partner, a new connection, or a professional or educational opportunity. You might find yourself planning or working alongside someone to create something meaningful, and this collaboration could bring a fresh start and positive momentum into your life.

However, I sense that you’re still tied to the past in some way. There may be lingering sadness or emotional energy surrounding something that hurt or disappointed you. It seems you’ve been dwelling on this past situation, feeling defeated or stuck, unable to fully let go. This emotional attachment has likely left you in a reflective, melancholic state, as you’re grappling with unresolved feelings or unanswered questions.

It appears that something from the past deeply impacted you—whether it was a loss, a breach of boundaries, or an experience that left you feeling wronged and hopeless. This emotional weight has carried into your present and may be clouding your ability to move forward. You might find yourself replaying moments, trying to fix or make sense of them, but ultimately remaining stuck in the same mental and emotional cycle.

Despite these challenges, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. An opportunity is approaching that will allow you to work with someone—whether it’s a person from your past or someone new—on a concrete goal. This collaboration could relate to your career, education, or even a shared project. If it’s someone from your past, it might be an opportunity to rebuild and strengthen that connection. If it’s a new person, they may offer support and help you solidify a goal you’ve been working toward. Either way, this opportunity is practical and tangible, and it holds the potential to bring you out of your current funk.

This new chapter will encourage you to release the burdens of the past. While the pain you’ve experienced may still linger, this collaboration or goal-oriented opportunity will give you a renewed sense of purpose. It could also serve as a reminder that brighter days are ahead and that you have the strength to rebuild. By engaging in this opportunity, you’ll begin to feel less stuck and stagnant and more motivated to move forward.

It’s clear that the past has weighed heavily on you, leaving you questioning whether good things are still possible. But the upcoming opportunities will help shift that perspective. You’ll start to see blessings and positive changes emerge, which will restore your hope and encourage you to believe in brighter possibilities. Though you’ve experienced a period of stagnation, grief, and heavy emotions, this is the time when things begin to turn around.

As you step into this new phase, you’ll find yourself letting go of what no longer serves you and embracing the potential for growth and healing. With the support and collaboration of others, you’ll rebuild and take meaningful steps toward your goals. This is a time of renewal, where the struggles of the past give way to hope, blessings, and the promise of a brighter future. Accept these blessings and allow yourself to move forward, leaving behind the dark times to embrace the opportunities and light ahead.

[etherealwitcherys-blog]

Understanding Deity Work vs. Deity Worship and Addressing Common Fears

Over the years of practicing witchcraft, many have come to me with questions and concerns about deity work and/or deity worship. It's completely natural to feel apprehensive, especially when starting something new. In this post I will get into the differences and address common fears to help you feel more confident in your practice!

Remember, working with or worshiping deities is a deeply personal journey. There is no one-size-fits-all approach. Trust your intuition, be respectful, and allow yourself the freedom to explore and grow. Deities are here to guide and support us, not to instill fear.

Feel free to reach out with any questions or share your experiences! We’re all here to learn and support each other on this spiritual path! Blessed be 🤍✨🕯️

-

-

Deity Work:

Deity work is more about forming a personal relationship or partnership with a deity. It can be less formal and more focused on mutual growth and learning. The aim is to collaborate with the deity for personal development, spiritual growth, or specific goals. Some common practices include:

meditation

journaling

divination

dreamwork

personalized offerings based on your interactions with the deity

Deity Worship:

Deity worship involves honoring and venerating a deity through rituals, offerings, prayers, and other acts of devotion. It's a more traditional and structured approach. The goal is to show respect, gratitude, and seek blessings or guidance from the deity. Common practices include:

creating altars

offering food, flowers, incense, etc.

reciting prayers

participating in festivals or holy days

Addressing Common Fears:

Fear of Doing Things Wrong:

Flexibility: Understand that deities are often more understanding than we think. Intentions matter more than rigid adherence to rituals. If you approach with respect and sincerity, minor mistakes are often forgiven.

Learning Process: It's okay to learn and grow. Many practitioners find their path through trial and error. Deities appreciate genuine effort and growth.

2. Fear of Negative Consequences:

Respect & Boundaries: As long as you approach deities with respect and maintain clear boundaries, negative consequences are rare. Communicate openly and honestly with the deity about your fears and intentions.

Protection Practices: Incorporate protection practices into your routine, such as grounding, shielding, or using protective crystals and herbs.

3. Choosing A Deity:

Research: Take your time to research and learn about different deities. Look for ones whose attributes and stories resonate with you.

Signs & Synchronicities: Pay attention to signs, dreams, and synchronicities that might indicate a deity is reaching out to you. Trust your intuition.

4. Fear of Commitment:

There's a misconception that once you start working with a deity, you're bound to them forever. In reality, relationships with deities can be fluid and adaptable. It's perfectly okay to take breaks, reassess your spiritual path, or even change directions entirely. Deities understand that your spiritual journey is personal and ever-evolving. They are there to support and guide you, not confine you. So, if you feel the need to step back or explore a different path, know that it's a natural part of your spiritual growth and development.

5. Fear of Judgement:

Many people fear being judged by others for their spiritual practices. It's important to remind them that their spiritual journey is deeply personal and unique to them. Everyone's path is different, and what feels right for one person may not resonate with another. Encouraging others to trust their intuition and follow what feels right for them, regardless of others' opinions, is crucial. Spirituality is about finding a connection that brings inner peace and fulfillment, and that can only be achieved by staying true to oneself. So, it's essential to prioritize personal beliefs and experiences over external judgement.

[tinydefector]

Is it too much to ask for a follow-up on the Human' Effects fic?

Prev

Next

Masterlist

This is more just some more information of headcanons I have and how I like writing the bots. So I hope you enjoy it. This one's more on the differences and similarities between humans and Cybertronians.

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: mentions of reproduction, and exploration of body's. Valveplug.

__________

So this is just a continuation for Human effects. This one also delves into some more information on biological, cultural and different frames and how they interact with each other, humans and other organic Creatures. 

Biological Humans and Cybertronians are vastly different even with quite a few similarities. 

Sparklings and children 

There is a very big difference in the body function of Humans and Cybertronians. Size for one but also Organic DNA and CNA. There are many things which can Line up with the other species but also function very differently 

Such as. 

structure and organ comparison 

Plating - skin

Helm - head

Processor, brain module - brain 

Faceplate- face

Audio Receptors, Audials, Receptor orifices - ears 

Nasal ridge, enstril, olfactory sensors- nose

Optical ridge - eyebrows

Optics, visors  - eyes and glasses sometimes visors are used as optics

Intake- mouth, throat or a breath. 

Denta, denta plating- teeth 

Glossa- tongue 

Mandibles (insecticons) - jaw 

Vocalizer- voice box 

Chin or chin plating are the same 

Chestplate, chassis- chest and higher stomach (abs area) 

Fuel tanks- stomach. 

Backplate, back struts, binary system,  bipedalism - back and spine, spinal cord. 

Servos and digits - Hands and fingers 

Sounder plating - shoulder blades 

Pede - feet 

pump and Spark - heart and soul 

Energon lines - arrays veins. 

Vents - lungs, breath. 

Pelvic plate - pelvis

Aft, tailpipe, skid plate- butt

Interface panel - covered reproduction organs

Spike - penis 

Value - vagina 

Carrier chamber, Gestation chamber - womb

Helm and head

With the fact one is filled with circuitry, coding and wires and the other is filled with flesh, fluid and other organic matter. Humans' heads are covered in hair most times. And even those who aren't their head Is still rather soft and smooth. And the bots love playing with human hair and facial hair when they are allowed too. 

It also leads to humans giving the bots head scratches, and it's something so man you the bots had never thought of and they love it. They will lay their head in their human lap and just enjoy the gentle touches to their Finial, audials, and helm crest. It becomes. Causal thing of the humans using soft little microfiber cloths to clean out dust and dirt from the small crevices in the bots Plating. Head pats and scratches really becomes something that Cybertronians love alot and it makes a lot of humans consider the bots large cats.

Faceplate and Faces. 

One of the things which is very different between humans and Cybertronians is how they show affection to each other. Cybertronians do a thing called a helm hold. Where they each hold their partner's helm in their servos while looking into each other's optics, it's how they show how much they care, because they are focusing only on that one person. And it means alot more after the war, to focus all your attention on just one bots servos shows a lot of trust, affection and love for someone.  

While humans have Hugging, kissing. So the bots are rather confused the first time they are hugged, tensing up not wanting to hurt their human. And they nearly short circuit when the human kisses them it's more out of fear. 

“Do you know how dangerous that is! What if I crushed you!” The bot hisses in panic while looking at their lover. “not to mention the fact that is my Energon Intake! Do you know what energon can do to Humans!” It nearly sends the bot into meltdowns as they hold their lover's face staring into their eyes trying to show them how much they love and care for them. It would break their spark if they accidentally hurt them. 

“it's called a Kiss, I was kissing you” the human tries to explain, their hands cupping around their bots servos. 

“a kiss?” the bot inquired. “Yea I'm sorry if you didn't want it, it's just I thought we were in that part of our relationship” the human begins rambling out of anxiety thinking they had messed up. In the end they both settle for a small gesture in-between. Pressing their head and helm, together as they cradle the other. 

Eventually they will come around to accepting kisses but it is only for very special occasions. Because the bot will make sure that there isn't a trace of energon in their system for their partner's safety. Over time it becomes them pressing soft kisses to each other's noses. 

Skin and Plating 

These are all the parts which somewhat are similar to humans, but also work vastly different than the human body does. So with this listed here are many of the things that vary with the similarities. 

Plating and skin are vastly different due to one being metal and the other being flesh, it's one of the things a lot of the Cybertronians love is how soft Human skin is. They really enjoy just fondling their human companions, pulling their checks, and enjoying how their skin moves. How pliable, warm and squishy they are. Cybertronians finding out about human breasts really takes them by storm. 

“What are those?” the bot asks while pressing a finger to their breast feeling how soft and squishy they are. 

“breast, boobs, tits they have a lot of names” 

“What are they for?” The bot continues to just slowly play with them out of curiosity, not knowing what the human would need them for. 

“they are used for feeding babies, they fill with milk, it's not a constant thing and not everyone's do but they are for feeding babies.” the human tries to explain and it just leaves the bot shocked. 

“You're with Sparkling?” The bot asked as they began fussing over the human more, gently pressing their digits to the human's body more. 

“no, no I'm not pregnant!” They laugh out loud while rather embarrassed. “‘but wouldn't they deflate?” The bot shoots back as their digits begin needing the flesh which makes the humans sigh and lean into the touch. “human babe, don't have the same functions as you.” They tease softly.

 It ends up with one bot having their human lover back pressed to their Chassis. The bot's servos just cupped around their partners breast slowly massaging them as the human leans back just enjoying the feeling because it takes the weight off their back and the cool touch of the metal feels delightful against their skin. 

Heart and spark

The difference between a human heart and spark aren't that different at all. They both pump blood/energon to where it's needed, it's the life provider of the body. Each has a beat or pulse. And the said beat and pulse sounds different. A human's heart beat feels like a thump but to Cybertronians it's an echo. Each beat they can feel and see like A beating light. And they love how it feels laying against them, their spark will actually fall in tune With their heart beat as a way to calm the human.  While for humans a Cybertronians spark pulse feels like electricity dancing across their skin it's like the build up of static but it doesn't zap. The vibration of a spark is like energy building and releasing, the buzzing sound that just resonates through their body as they lay against their bot. 

olfactory sensors and nose

Unfortunately humans don't have the enhanced scent sensors that a lot of other species do, and Cybertronians have one for the most advanced ones, they don't just smell it but they can break down the chemical compound to its base and are able to tell humans emotions based on how they smell. It also leads to bots becoming rather touching with their lovers when they can smell their cycle. It also leads a lot of bots realising they have a breeding kink after being with a human, because the moment they can feel their partners change in hormones they are hovering. It becomes an even bigger thing when they smell the scent of a young spark, they feel the EM Field. 

carriers and pregnancy 

There is a major difference between human pregnancy and cybertronian pregnancy. Humans can only be born from reproduction.  a new spark can be formed in multiple ways. 

-Forged.  

-Cold construct. 

-split spark

- Sparked 

Forged new sparks are bots that are formed in hotspots across cybertron and on occasions sparklings can also be formed from these hot spots. 

Cold constructs are bots that have been made by others for a purpose and were originally classed as 2nd class citizens, miners or lower than other bots, 

Split Sparks made from splitting your spark into another form. It was very rare due to multiple laws being inplace against it. 

Sparklings were formed through spark merging with another and creating enough energy to form new lifeforms. A carrier would then have to host said spark in their Gestation chamber until the spark could grow its own protoform. Then from there they are moved into the carrier chamber where they learn off their carrier's coding, and also receive food, coding and personal information from their Sire via Transfluid. As sparklings are still not able to consume normal energon and it has to be processed down enough for the sparkling. (Similar to how humans breastfeed) from there once they are ready the sparkling will be ‘birthed’ and from their they will need to be carried in a spark chamber until they have fully developed but gives them time to learn the world around them but still have the safety of a parent to protect them. 

This leads the bots and humans to both be horrified at the differences of the others' reproduction. The bots are horrified over the fact a human's pelvis bone breaks just to birth a baby. But also the fact that humans can carry more than one child. They eventually watch a documentary over human birth; it makes a lot of bots short out and crash. 

Humans on the other hand are shocked over the time it takes for a bot to have a sparkling. 100 years is longer than a lot of humans ever live but it's how long it takes for the full process of a sparkling to be formed and born. That's without all the issues with CNA, temperature, spark energy, energon. A Lot of Cybertronian pregnancies don't make it to term due to these factors. 

So when by some chance a human gets pregnant by a Cybertronian it has the whole planet up in a tissy. Not just the fact of how genetically different they are but how it happened. The first human Cybertronian sparkling is a miracle watched by man and documented. And it turns out the human womb is actually the best possible hosting spot for the start of a sparkling, it's the perfect temperature, and it's not a temperature a lot of bots can keep their own frames. The human womb actually short cuts a lot of time over the birth Due to the sparkling Not needing to be shifted from one chamber to another. It comes down to being pregnant for 3 years. It's a long time for a human but it's decades Less than what it normally takes for a Cybertronian if they made it through the full progress. 

And when the sparkling is born it's discovered that the sparkling doesn't have any human traits, defects or appearance. Due to the human body mainly working as a host, the CNA and DNA don't mix when it comes to creating a sparkling but they work perfectly in sync When it comes to helping the sparkling grow. And it also turns out humans are able to sustain more than One sparkling. 

That also brings me to the function of spike and Valves. For Cybertronians spikes and Valves aren't how Sparklings are created, sparklings are created from two sparks merging together and creating enough energy for a sparkling but interface is needed to start the process of how they form. Sparkling needs Transfluid to begin and that is what Cybertronians use interfacing for outside of sharing memories, information and emotions. Most times Cybertronians interface for fun, feeling close, sharing information with a loved one, or to help feed a sparkling the necessary data, fluids and programming. 

so When a Cybertronian and human interface it has a lovely mix of a 50/ 50 chance of getting pregnant due to how the human and cybertronian heart and spark link in a frequency that is almost essential Spark merging. And a human doesn't even need to interface with a Cybertronian to get pregnant.

Here is a list of ways humans have gotten pregnant/ a bot has gotten pregnant. 

-interfacing 

-spark bonding 

-a human touching a bots spark. 

-having enough hated for another you get them pregnant by sheer Anger

- spark And heart syncing 

-A human being on their cycle will make a bot pregnant. 

______________

Megatron entered the medbay of the Lost Light, feeling unusual warmth and pressure in his chest. "Ratchet," he said gruffly to get the medic's attention. "Something is...off. I feel as if I have consumed fool's energon again, but I know that is not the case." 

He looked down at the medic, his optics betraying slight concern beneath his usual stern demeanour. "Examine me and determine what ails me. I need to be at full function." His pride did not allow him to admit weakness easily, but he trusted Ratchet's skills. 

Ratchet nodded to First Aid and They as they stood ready to assist. He turned back to Megatron with a scrutinising gaze.

"When did you first notice the symptoms? Any other anomalies in your systems?" he asked gruffly, scanning the Decepticon warlord from head to foot with a diagnostic tool. The scans showed unusual activity in Megatron's Gestation chamber.

"Hmm...it appears your spark is pulsing more rapidly than normal. And the pressure you described suggests a buildup of energon flow." Ratchet paused, analysing the data. "This could indicate...no, it's not possible. Or is it...?" He leaned in closer, inspecting Megatron with keen optics.

"We'll need a more detailed scan. Over here, lay back - this won't hurt but may feel peculiar. First Aid, fire up the resonator. Ambulon you're in charge of monitoring vitals."

"What's wrong, ratchet he was fine this morning?" The human asked in concern. 

Megatron lay back on the medical berth as directed, his massive frame dwarfing its size. his expression softened ever so slightly. As the detailed spark scan began, Ratchet's optics widened in surprise. "By the Allspark...it can't be..." He motioned First Aid "Look here. What do you see?"

First Aid peered at the monitor in amazement. "Two distinct spark pulses...but how is that possible?" Ratchet glanced over at Megatron, then back at the others. "It would seem Megatron himself is carrying sparkling. The increased energon flow and pressure were signs of protoform development beginning."

He chuckled wryly. "Well Megatron, it seems that fool's energon was not to blame after all. Congratulations...you're going to be a creator." Megatron's optics widened in disbelief at Ratchet's announcement. Carrying sparkling? It made no sense as far as he knew, spark merging could only occur between cybertronians and he had only been intimate with a human. 

He sat up abruptly, almost knocking First Aid over, and glared down at Ratchet. "Explain yourself, medic! How is this possible? The human and I have been intimate but they clearly lack our means of conception." Ratchet held up a calming hand. "Peace, Megatron. I have a theory," 

Taglist: @angelxcvxc

@ladyofnegativity

[robin-evry]

Hello! Could I get a demigod named Yuu, who is the son of Dionysus?

𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐘𝐔𝐔 ( 𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐒𝐔𝐒 ) 🍇🍷

In ancient Greek religion and myth, Dionysus (/daɪ.əˈnaɪsəs/; Ancient Greek: Διόνυσος Diónysos) is the god of wine-making, orchards and fruit, vegetation, fertility, festivity, insanity, ritual madness, religious ecstasy, and theatre.

I was listening to the song cult of Dionysus when writing this

Nrc best party gower, they always know how to light up a party or festivity into chaotic fun and memorable parties till the day they died.

They have that effortless charm that makes it hard to say no to them, and their presence can light up any room. Whether it's a casual chat or a high-energy party, they can easily win people over. As well known for their flirting ways.

True to their divine heritage, demi god!yuu despises rules and structure, preferring to live life on their own terms. While they do have some respect for authority, they’re likely to push the boundaries if it suits their mood.

often lean toward the chaotic side, whether it's starting impromptu parties or causing trouble with their unpredictable magic. They're not intentionally malicious but their mischief is never-ending.

They love to flirt with literally anyone, their charm is so strong that they can make anyone open up to them, even the most reserved students like Sebek, Silver, or even Riddle. They often find themselves being the one students turn to when they need someone to vent or tell embarrassing secrets.

Their presence has a mysterious effect on people. Their ability to shift the mood makes others more in touch with their emotions, which can be positive or negative, depending on how they channels it. A quiet and reserved student might suddenly be inspired to perform on stage, or an angry one might channel their rage into a passionate speech. As well releasing people's inner confidence when around.

A very flirtatious person would rizz up anyone literally anyone, their charisma looks are by far one of the most charming of them all and during meeting neige they flirt with him and left to help vil set up leaving a blushing neige.

It's not like they purposely flirt, they would find flirting is a unique way to talk to people looking at their charisma as well knowing that this person isn't boring. It's just their way to communicate with people.

Their humor tends to be a little chaotic and sometimes dark. They enjoy making others laugh, but sometimes their humor can be a bit bizarre. Whether it’s playing pranks or making people laugh in uncomfortable ways, they’re the life of the party, and while their jokes sometimes cross boundaries, they always make amends in their own way.

You know those people that when walking towards a room every time seems to know them, yeah that Demi god!yuu literally who doesn't know them, they threw the best parties in nrc.

They are an ambivert depending on you, demi god!yuu would love to talk and interact with other people would not open up until you manage to get their trust.

The ramshackle before they moved in was a mess and a dump, after they transferred it became luxurious with a lot of plants surrounding it like flowers, vegetables and fruit plus it's much better this way because they don't have to ask from Crowley for food.

They are an art kid, they are very talented in the arts like acting, music as well being an amazing gardener. Since nrc students are still pretty underage they were banned from drinking alcohol at school but they decided to make a healthier version for the people at their party. has an intense love for music and dance, particularly anything that can be performed in a celebratory atmosphere. They might often be found leading spontaneous dance parties in the halls of nrc or playing an instrument like a lyre or flute (even though it’s not always the most "musically perfect" sound). Their dance style is carefree, fluid, and expressive, representing the freedom of the divine festivities they were born from. Crowley would usually lend the task of throwing a party towards them

Animals would be around them, demi god! yuu possessed some form of bonding with animals or connection. They are able to talk and understand animals as if talking towards a real person.

They are considered to be attractive enough to look like a famous model and actor, vil would usually ask them to participate in some of the movies he's acting in.

In their party everyone is invited even malleus they would never leave out someone, the party doesn't necessarily need to be chaotic it's just basically a social event where everyone gathered around and chat.

Vil would initially disapprove of their whimsical nature and the chaos their sometimes causes, but he can’t help but admire their beauty and the fact that she brings an intoxicating charm to any room they enters.

Ace would love their carefree nature. He’d be drawn to their fun-loving vibe and would often join their in mischievous adventures. They’d likely be partners in crime when it comes to pranks and pulling off spontaneous adventures.

Also they are pretty polygamous as well bisexual, they don't mind the gender of their future partner also the big deal of being polygamous, they find it normal. As well having a romantic interaction with people.

Their presence excels at creating an atmosphere of celebration, turning even the most mundane events into something extraordinary. Their presence alone is enough to lift people’s spirits, making them the ideal organizer of festivals or social gatherings. Whether it's a spontaneous dance party or an impromptu feast, they can always be counted on to bring people together and make the event unforgettable.

They thrive during school festivals, where their magic can fully take shape—decorating the space with flowers, creating music that flows through the air, and serving magical beverages that are a mix of both enchantment and fun.

They possessed control over vines, plants, and flowers. They can summon vines from the earth to restrain foes, create barriers, or even form magical constructs such as shelters or weapons. The vines can grow rapidly, reaching out to entangle enemies, form walls, or even act as transportation (creating pathways of plant matter for them to walk on or swing from). The flowers blooming from these vines often carry a magical aura that can enchant or distract others.

Not to mention able to use transformation magic changing the structure of things they once grab an apple and turn into gold to sell for thaumarks after being teleported there as well Crowley suck at being the support they provide for themselves and grim.

[awarenessshifts]

Unique Analogy for Awareness and Reality Shifting: Jellyfish 🪼♾️🫧🌌

Jellyfish are some of the most unique and fascinating creatures in the ocean, and they serve as the perfect analogy for awareness itself and even for reality shifting. These incredible beings don’t have a heart, lungs, or brain, yet they are fully alive and capable of movement, surviving in a vast, unpredictable environment. Jellyfish are made up of 95% water, and they have no traditional senses or nervous system, yet they still interact with their surroundings in a way that shows they are experiencing life in their own, effortless way. This is where the parallel with awareness becomes clear. Awareness doesn’t need a brain or a mind to exist. It doesn’t need effort or force, it simply is. Like a jellyfish, awareness flows effortlessly, existing without trying to control or manipulate anything. Jellyfish move with the current, responding to their environment without any conscious thought or intention. Similarly, awareness moves through all realities and experiences, simply being, without needing to control what it encounters. Jellyfish demonstrate how awareness functions beyond the structures we typically associate with consciousness. Their existence proves that awareness doesn’t require thought, memory, or sensory perception to be present, it is the essence of life and the entire Omniverse itself. They are a living representation of awareness flowing freely, fully in tune with their surroundings without resistance. Their simplicity highlights how awareness is the foundation of all existence, beyond complexity or limitation. This effortless state of being directly mirrors reality shifting. Just as a jellyfish moves with the ocean’s currents, we shift realities by flowing with the current of awareness. Shifting isn’t about forcing or controlling, it’s about becoming aware of a different experience and allowing ourselves to move into it naturally. Reality shifting, like the jellyfish’s movement, isn’t about striving or pushing against what is. It’s about realizing that reality is fluid and that shifting is as natural as floating with the tide. Jellyfish are a reminder that existence doesn’t require struggle or control. They embody the purest form of awareness, moving through life without resistance, simply experiencing. Just like them, we don’t need to overcomplicate shifting/manifesting, awareness is all we need. In a world full of noise and overthinking, the jellyfish’s quiet existence reminds us of the beauty in simply being. They are a perfect metaphor for how we shift realities, not by effort, but by awareness. Just as a jellyfish moves with the flow of the ocean, awareness moves with the flow of existence. Effortless, fluid, and free.

[mysticstronomy]

IT IS POSSIBLE TO TURN LIGHT INTO SOLID??

Blog#488

Saturday, March 15th, 2025.

For the first time, researchers have transformed light into a "'supersolid" — a strange state of matter that is both solid and liquid at the same time.

Although scientists have made supersolids out of atoms before, this is the first instance of coupling light and matter to create a supersolid and it opens new doors for studying condensed-matter physics, researchers explained in a paper published March 5 in journal Science.

But what exactly is a supersolid, and why is this new development so exciting? Here's everything you need to know.

Supersolids are a strange state of matter defined by quantum mechanics where particles condense into an orderly, crystalline solid but also move like a liquid that has no viscosity. (Viscosity refers to a substance's internal friction, governing how smoothly it flows). Usually, solids don't move on their own, but supersolids change direction and density depending on particle interactions while maintaining an organized lattice structure.

Supersolids require extremely low temperatures to form — usually very close to absolute zero (minus 459.67 degrees Fahrenheit, or minus 273.15 degrees Celsius). Most of the particles have to occupy the lowest energy state available, and heat makes particles jump up and down like excitable toddlers in a ball pit.

If a material is cold enough, the temperature no longer obscures how the particles interact with each other. Instead, the tiny effects of quantum mechanics become the defining factors in how the material behaves.

Imagine the toddlers have gone home and the ball pit has settled into a calm state. Now we can study in peace how the individual components of the ball pit interact with each other to define its characteristics.

Viscosity is a measure of how easily a fluid changes its shape. A fluid with a higher viscosity tends to stick to itself more and, therefore, resist movement, like how syrup moves more sluggishly when poured from a container compared with how water streams from a tap. All fluids, except superfluids and supersolids, have some amount of viscosity.

Supersolids have been made from atomic gases before. However, the new research used a novel mechanism that relies on the properties of "polariton" systems.

Polaritons are formed by coupling photons (light) and quasiparticles like excitons through strong electromagnetic interactions. Their properties allow them to condense to the lowest possible energy state in a similar way to some atomic gases. In other words, light is coupled with matter, and together, they can be condensed into a supersolid.

Originally published on https://www.livescience.com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, March 19th, 2025)

"IS DARK MATTER LIGHT??"