#quantum computing explained

[tpointtechblog]

Quantum computing | Why Need | How does Quantum Computers Work?

What is Quantum computing? Quantum computing is a rapidly growing technology that uses the laws of quantum mechanics to solve complex problems that are not easy for supercomputers. But why do we need Quantum Computers? There are some problems for which even supercomputers are not enough. When engineers faced challenging difficulties in solving some issues, they used supercomputers.…

Classical computers struggle with complex problems like encryption, drug discovery, and AI modeling due to their limited processing power. Quantum computers can solve problems exponentially faster, making them essential for scientific breakthroughs and advanced computing.

How Do Quantum Computers Work?

Unlike classical computers that use bits (0 or 1), quantum computers use qubits, which can exist in multiple states (superposition) and interact through entanglement. This allows them to perform complex calculations simultaneously, making them incredibly powerful for optimization, cryptography, and simulations.

[olivergisttv]

Quantum Computing Side Hustles: How to Earn $5K/Month in 2025 Without Being a Scientist

Quantum computing used to sound like something out of sci-fi. But in 2025, it’s becoming surprisingly accessible—even for non-scientists. You don’t need a PhD or a lab coat to start earning in this space. All you need is the right niche, curiosity, and the will to ride the next wave of tech innovation. Here’s how to break into quantum computing side hustles (and yes, some pay over…

[stars-obsession-pit]

(Another) Ghost in the Machine

DP x Hellblazer (the original John Constantine comic)

Ritchie Simpson continued to search frantically for the connection out of the computer and back to his body as he begged John to explain what he meant by saying “Goodbye.”

Had John disconnected him? He knew John’s sense of humor wasn’t the lightest, especially after Newcastle drove them all a bit insane, but that felt too far even for him. Nah, he’d probably just gotten himself a bit lost in the wave of energy he’d experienced in the Tongues of Fire network and was accidentally looking for his body in the wrong spot.

He pulled himself back and let his mental connection to the digital world expand outward, probing the rest of the machine for the connection. He knew he was in the right system, so as long as he looked thoroughly he’d definitely fi—

Everything flashed a surge of blinding white and then was replaced by pure darkness. He thought he screamed, but he couldn’t hear his own voice. Couldn’t even feel his own thoughts. Trapped in one single instant that stretched for indeterminable eons. Then, eventually (or was it immediately?), awareness began to trickle back.

He was still in the computer, though it felt… different, somehow. His thoughts still weren’t entirely in order. The first possible hints towards his location he found were the sound voices trickling through from the outside world. Voices he didn’t recognize. Young voices.

“I’m happy to help, Tuck, but I’m not really sure what you expect me to do here. You’re way better than me at this computer stuff than me.”

“By all means, feel free to keep complimenting me, but this has been frying my brain, man. I got this thing secondhand, and the system should be quite powerful, but there’s something using up a ton of its processing and I can’t figure out what. I was hoping you could do your ‘enter into the computer’ thing and see if you see anything.”

[jcmarchi]

Microsoft’s Majorana hype: Real proof or just marketing?

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/microsofts-majorana-hype-real-proof-or-just-marketing/

Microsoft’s Majorana hype: Real proof or just marketing?

Introduction: The quest for reliable qubits

Quantum computing faces a fundamental challenge: qubits, the basic units of quantum information, are notoriously fragile.

Conventional approaches, such as superconducting circuits and trapped ions, require intricate error-correction techniques to counteract decoherence. Microsoft has pursued an alternative path: Majorana-based topological qubits, which promise inherent noise resistance due to their non-local encoding of quantum information.

This idea, based on theoretical work from the late 1990s, suggests that quantum states encoded in Majorana zero modes (MZMs) could be immune to local noise, reducing the need for extensive error correction. Microsoft has invested two decades into developing these qubits, culminating in the recent “Majorana 1” prototype.

However, given past controversies and ongoing skepticism, the scientific community remains cautious in interpreting these results.

The scientific basis of Majorana-based qubits

Topological qubits derive their stability from the spatial separation of Majorana zero modes, which exist at the ends of specially engineered nanowires. These modes exhibit non-Abelian statistics, meaning their quantum state changes only through specific topological operations, rather than local perturbations. This property, in theory, makes Majorana qubits highly resistant to noise.

Microsoft’s approach involves constructing “tetrons,” pairs of Majorana zero modes that encode a single logical qubit through their collective parity state. Operations are performed using simple voltage pulses, which avoids the complex analog controls required for traditional superconducting qubits.

Additionally, digital measurement-based quantum computing is employed to correct errors passively. If successful, this design could lead to a scalable, error-resistant quantum architecture.

However, while the theoretical framework for Majorana qubits is robust, experimental verification has been challenging. Majorana zero modes do not occur naturally and must be engineered in materials like indium arsenide nanowires in proximity to superconductors.

Establishing that these states exist and behave as expected has proven difficult, leading to past controversies.

Historical controversies: The 2018 retraction

A major setback for Microsoft’s Majorana initiative occurred in 2018 when researchers, including Leo Kouwenhoven’s team at TU Delft (funded by Microsoft), published a Nature paper claiming to have observed quantized conductance signatures consistent with Majorana zero modes.

This was hailed as a breakthrough in topological quantum computing. However, by 2021, the paper was retracted after inconsistencies were found in data analysis. Independent replication attempts failed to observe the same results, and an internal investigation revealed that a key graph in the original paper had been selectively manipulated.

This event, dubbed the “Majorana Meltdown,” significantly damaged the credibility of Microsoft’s approach. It highlighted the challenge of distinguishing genuine Majorana modes from other quantum states that mimic their signatures due to material imperfections. Many physicists became skeptical, arguing that similar issues could undermine subsequent claims.

Experimental progress and remaining challenges

Despite the 2018 controversy, Microsoft and its collaborators have continued refining their approach. The recent announcement of the “Majorana 1” chip in 2025 presents experimental evidence supporting the feasibility of Majorana-based qubits.

Key advancements include:

Fabrication of “topoconductor” materials: Microsoft developed a new indium arsenide/aluminum heterostructure to reliably host Majorana zero modes.

Parity measurement success: The team demonstrated that they could measure the qubit’s parity (even vs. odd electron occupation) with 99% accuracy, a crucial validation step.

Increased parity lifetime: The qubit’s state exhibited stability over milliseconds, significantly surpassing superconducting qubits’ coherence times (which are typically in the microsecond range).

Digital control implementation: Unlike analog-tuned superconducting qubits, Majorana qubits can be manipulated with simple voltage pulses, theoretically enabling large-scale integration.

While these are important steps forward, the experiments have not yet demonstrated key quantum operations, such as two-qubit entanglement via non-Abelian braiding. Until this milestone is achieved, claims about the superiority of topological qubits remain speculative.

Comparison with other qubit technologies

To assess Microsoft’s claims, it is useful to compare Majorana qubits with existing quantum computing platforms:

Superconducting qubits (IBM, Google): These have demonstrated successful quantum error correction and multi-qubit entanglement but require extensive calibration and error correction. Fidelity levels for two-qubit gates currently range around 99.9%.

Trapped-ion qubits (IonQ, Quantinuum): These offer superior coherence times (seconds vs. microseconds for superconductors) but suffer from slow gate speeds and complex laser-based control.

Majorana-based qubits: Theoretically provide built-in error protection, reducing the need for extensive error correction. However, experimental validation is still in progress, and large-scale integration remains untested.

Microsoft has argued that Majorana qubits will enable a quantum computer with a million qubits on a single chip, a feat that conventional qubits struggle to achieve.

While this is an exciting possibility, many researchers caution that scaling challenges remain, especially given the extreme conditions (millikelvin temperatures, precise nanowire fabrication) required for Majorana qubits.

Despite recent progress, many physicists remain skeptical of Microsoft’s claims.

Key concerns include:

Lack of direct evidence for Majorana zero modes: While Microsoft’s 2025 Nature paper presents strong supporting data, the scientific community has yet to reach a consensus that Majorana modes have been definitively observed.

Alternative explanations for observed phenomena: Many experimental signatures attributed to Majorana states could be explained by disorder-induced states or other trivial effects in semiconductor-superconductor interfaces.

Unverified large-scale claims: Microsoft’s assertion that its approach will lead to fault-tolerant quantum computing “within years, not decades” is met with skepticism. Experts note that even the most advanced conventional quantum computers are still years away from practical applications, and scaling from an 8-qubit chip to a million-qubit processor is an enormous leap.

Comparison to competing approaches: Some argue that improvements in quantum error correction for superconducting and trapped-ion qubits may render topological qubits unnecessary by the time they are fully realized.

A Promising but unproven path

Microsoft’s Majorana-based qubits represent one of the most ambitious efforts in quantum computing. The theoretical promise of intrinsic error protection and simplified quantum control is compelling, and recent experiments provide encouraging evidence that topological qubits can be realized.

However, historical controversies, ongoing skepticism, and the lack of key demonstrations (such as two-qubit gates) mean that these qubits are not yet a proven alternative to existing technologies.

While Microsoft has made significant strides in overcoming past setbacks, their claims of imminent large-scale quantum computing should be met with caution.

The coming years will be critical in determining whether Majorana qubits will revolutionize quantum computing or remain an elegant but impractical idea. As independent verification and further experiments unfold, the scientific community will ultimately decide whether Microsoft’s bold bet pays off.

[mrbizz1]

Unlocking Success: The Power of Perseverance

Unlocking Success: The Power of Perseverance. The Power of Perseverance Perseverance isn't just about not giving up. It's about consistently working towards your goals, even when things get tough. It's about facing obstacles with courage and determinatio

Imagine yourself ten years from now, reflecting on your life. Do you see a life filled with regret, where dreams were left unfulfilled because you gave up too easily? Or do you see a life of satisfaction, where you pushed through challenges and achieved your goals? The choice is yours. Disclaimer: This blog post was created with the assistance of AI writing tools. AI has been instrumental in…

[techtoio]

Quantum Mechanics in Modern Technology: The Science Explained

Introduction

Welcome to TechtoIO! Today, we explore the intriguing world of quantum mechanics and its profound impact on modern technology. Quantum mechanics, once a purely theoretical field, is now driving innovations that are transforming industries. But what exactly is quantum mechanics, and how is it applied in today’s tech? Let’s break down the science behind this fascinating topic. Read to continue

[etibarn]

The Evolution of Artificial Intelligence: Beyond Machine Learning

Explore the evolution of AI: from its early days, through machine learning, to the cutting-edge frontiers of quantum computing and beyond. Dive into a future redefined by AI's limitless potential. Join us on this transformative journey! #AIEvolution

In the ever-expanding universe of technology, Artificial Intelligence (AI) stands as a monumental achievement of human ingenuity. From its nascent stages to the complex algorithms of today, AI has undergone a transformative journey, continually pushing the boundaries of what machines can do. This article explores the evolution of AI, spotlighting the journey beyond the realms of traditional…

[reallytoosublime]

With the power to create unbreakable encryption, supercharge the development of AI, and radically expedite the development of drug treatments, quantum technology will revolutionize our world. In this video, we're diving deep into the world of the power of quantum encryption.

Quantum encryption, a groundbreaking advancement in the realm of cryptography and data security, has unveiled a new era of impregnable communication and data protection. This revolutionary technology harnesses the bewildering principles of quantum mechanics to enable the creation of unbreakable codes and shield sensitive information from the ever-looming threats of cyberattacks and surveillance.

Traditional encryption methods rely on complex mathematical algorithms to encode data, requiring vast computational power to crack these codes. In contrast, quantum encryption leverages the peculiar properties of quantum particles, such as photons, to establish an unbreakable link between the sender and the receiver. This link, often referred to as a quantum key distribution, is based on the principle of quantum entanglement, where the states of two particles become intertwined in such a way that any change in one particle instantaneously affects the other, regardless of the distance separating them.

The emergence of quantum encryption marks a watershed moment in the ongoing battle between information security and cyber threats. By harnessing the mystifying behaviors of quantum particles, this technology promises an era where sensitive data can be communicated and stored with unprecedented levels of security. As researchers continue to refine its implementation and address its challenges, quantum encryption holds the potential to revolutionize the way we safeguard our digital world.

#quantumencryption#quantumcomputing#encryptionquantumcomputers#limitlesstech#quantummachines#quantumcomputers#quantumtechnology#quantumencryptiontechnology#quantumencryptionalgorithm#quantumencryptionexplained#quantumencryptionsystem#quantumcryptography

The Mind-Blowing Power of Quantum Encryption Revealed

[youtubemarketing1234]

With the power to create unbreakable encryption, supercharge the development of AI, and radically expedite the development of drug treatments, quantum technology will revolutionize our world. In this video, we're diving deep into the world of the power of quantum encryption.

Quantum encryption, a groundbreaking advancement in the realm of cryptography and data security, has unveiled a new era of impregnable communication and data protection. This revolutionary technology harnesses the bewildering principles of quantum mechanics to enable the creation of unbreakable codes and shield sensitive information from the ever-looming threats of cyberattacks and surveillance.

Traditional encryption methods rely on complex mathematical algorithms to encode data, requiring vast computational power to crack these codes. In contrast, quantum encryption leverages the peculiar properties of quantum particles, such as photons, to establish an unbreakable link between the sender and the receiver. This link, often referred to as a quantum key distribution, is based on the principle of quantum entanglement, where the states of two particles become intertwined in such a way that any change in one particle instantaneously affects the other, regardless of the distance separating them.

This phenomenon guarantees the security of the communication channel, as any attempt to intercept or eavesdrop on the transmitted quantum information would disrupt the delicate entanglement, leaving clear traces of tampering. This fundamental principle, known as the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, dictates that any observation of a quantum system alters its state, making surreptitious decryption impossible without alerting the parties involved.

The mind-bending implications of quantum encryption extend beyond secure communication channels. It has the potential to fundamentally transform industries reliant on data privacy, including finance, healthcare, government, and defense. Financial transactions, medical records, and classified government communications—all stand to benefit from the ironclad protection offered by quantum encryption.

However, the practical implementation of quantum encryption is not without challenges. Quantum systems are exquisitely delicate and susceptible to disturbances from their environment, which can lead to errors in transmission. Researchers have been diligently working to develop error correction techniques and robust quantum hardware to overcome these hurdles and make quantum encryption a viable reality.

The emergence of quantum encryption marks a watershed moment in the ongoing battle between information security and cyber threats. By harnessing the mystifying behaviors of quantum particles, this technology promises an era where sensitive data can be communicated and stored with unprecedented levels of security. As researchers continue to refine its implementation and address its challenges, quantum encryption holds the potential to revolutionize the way we safeguard our digital world.

The Mind-Blowing Power of Quantum Encryption Revealed

[luv4arinn]

I Just Wanna Feel

Author’s Note: So—sorry for not posting in weeks, but I had a massive writer’s block, and well… I’m back! I was heavily inspired by THAT Robbie Williams song. Yes, I watched his biopic. Yes, I cried. Yes, I recommend it. And… surprise?! There will be a whole chronology with the others, all themed around Robbie’s songs! Yayy <3!! Consider it a gift? from me for taking so long 🥺. Love you all.

Pairing: Bayverse!Donnie x female reader

Tags: Intense fluff, nerd having an emotional crisis, extreme overthinking, unexpected kisses, Donatello’s mental breakdown, romantic panic, “oh no I messed up” but in HD, happy ending.

The sound of the keyboard echoed through the room—a rhythmic, steady tapping that blended with the low hum of the monitors. The bluish glow from the screens cast irregular shadows across his face, reflecting off the lenses of his glasses with every line of code appearing and disappearing on the monitor.

Donatello was there, as always.

The work was easy. Thinking was easy.

It was like a well-structured algorithm: receive information, process it, execute a plan of action. The world had rules, patterns, probabilities—formulas that predicted outcomes with near-absolute precision. No matter how chaotic a situation seemed, there was always a logical solution waiting to be uncovered.

Computers don’t lie.

Data has no biases, no whims. It doesn’t suffer irrational fluctuations. It doesn’t beat faster without reason. It doesn’t have to remind itself to breathe.

But then…

There’s you.

And everything falls apart.

Not immediately. Not like a fatal error shutting down the system in the blink of an eye. It’s more subtle. Like an unexpected variable in an equation that had, until now, been perfect. Something that doesn’t fit into the rigid structure of his world—but something he can’t ignore either.

He thinks about it often. About how his brain operates like a well-calibrated machine, each thought clicking into the next like the teeth of a moving gear. Logic is his native language. Reason, his compass.

And yet, when it comes to you, all that logic becomes blurred.

The gears grind.

The code becomes erratic.

The equation fills with unknowns.

Because when you step into his space, when your voice disrupts the steady rhythm of his keyboard, when you lean over his desk without a second thought for the scattered circuits and switch off his monitor without warning…

His first instinct is to think. Analyze. Quantify.

What does this mean?

Why does his heart react this way?

Why does his skin register the shift in temperature more intensely when you’re near?

But thinking doesn’t give him answers.

Feeling does.

And that is terrifying.

Because feeling isn’t predictable. Feeling has no neatly arranged lines of code, no graphs to chart behavioral patterns, no equations with exact solutions.

Emotions, in themselves, are a chaotic system.

And you…

You are the anomaly he still doesn’t know how to decode.

Nights shouldn’t feel this short when spent alone in front of a screen. And yet, when his mind drifts to the memory of a laugh, the fleeting image of a glance, the echo of an accidental touch… time dissolves in a way not even quantum physics could explain.

When he feels the weight of his name on your tongue. Like an access key to a system he never thought anyone would try to hack.

And he watches you from the corner of his eye as you lean closer, and in that instant, every variable in his mind shifts. Every equation rewrites itself.

A shiver runs down his shell.

Feeling.

He knows because his chest tightens with an undefined pressure, a sensation he can’t attribute to any specific physiological variable. His heart rate isn’t elevated from exertion. He’s not under attack. He’s not in danger.

So why does his body react as if he is?

There’s no equation to explain this.

Because if there were, he would have solved it long ago. He would have identified the problem, broken it down into its components, eliminated any errors. But every time he thinks he’s close to an answer, another unknown appears, shifting all previous solutions out of place.

Music filters through his headphones, slow and melancholic.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

A shiver runs down his spine.

His body reacts to the sound before his mind does. It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. There is no logical reason why a progression of chords and a set of words arranged in a certain way should have this effect on him.

And yet, here he is.

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, motionless—caught between the instinct to keep working and the strange, undeniable realization that… he can’t.

Not because he’s tired.

Not because he lacks information.

Not because there’s a problem that requires more processing.

But because, for the first time in a long time, the data isn’t the most important thing.

The screen flickers with information he should be absorbing, but he isn’t. His glasses reflect numbers and graphs that would normally hold his full attention, but his gaze is empty, unfocused.

The room remains unchanged—draped in shadows, illuminated only by the bluish glow of his monitors and the faint blinking of LED lights from his equipment.

The mission had been difficult. The margin of error had been higher than he liked to admit.

It wasn’t often that his calculations failed.

But sometimes, calculations weren’t enough.

Sometimes, reality simply… refused to adhere to logic.

“Feel the home that I live in…”

His jaw tightens.

He doesn’t know how that song ended up on his playlist.

But he has a reasonable theory.

One that involves Mikey, his blatant disregard for personal privacy, and his insistent need to “help him connect with his emotions.”

(Sure. Right.)

And yet…

The lyrics hit him harder than he’d like to admit.

It’s not the melody itself. It’s not the chords or the rhythm. It’s the way the words seem to slip through the cracks in his mind, seeping into the spaces that logic has never quite managed to seal shut.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

Donnie exhales slowly, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard, motionless.

He thinks about the battle.

The mistakes.

The risks they took.

Numbers flash through his mind like a simulation running in reverse—impact probability, the margin of error in his calculations, the reaction speed needed to avoid damage. Fractions of a second where the difference between victory and absolute disaster depended on decisions made under pressure.

But more than anything—he thinks about you.

He thinks about the way, at the end of the fight, you rushed to check if he was okay.

About how, without even thinking, your hands—warm, alive—ran along his arm, searching for injuries he had already identified and dismissed milliseconds before with his visor.

He could have told you it wasn’t necessary.

That he was unharmed.

That he had concrete data to prove it.

But he didn’t.

Because logic dictates that worry should be extinguished by facts.

But feeling…

Feeling dictates that your touch lingers, even after you’ve gone.

That the sensation of your skin against his stays beyond his capacity for reasoning.

That the light pressure of your fingers on his forearm still burns in his memory, like an unsolved equation looping endlessly in his mind.

“Come and hold my hand…”

Donnie closes his eyes.

He could turn the song off.

He could erase the anomaly from his system.

He could rewrite the equation, adjust the variables, find a way to rationalize what he feels.

But… he doesn’t want to.

Because for the first time in his life, the result of a problem doesn’t matter as much as the unknown.

He doesn’t just want to think.

He wants to feel.

He wants to understand why being with you feels like the only constant that truly matters.

And then—you arrive.

Without warning, without fanfare, without the slightest idea that the world inside Donatello’s mind is teetering on the edge of a collapse even he can’t explain.

The lab door slides open smoothly—barely a whisper against the silence, thick with static electricity and the faint murmur of music in his headphones.

He notices everything.

The shift in air pressure.

The sound of your footsteps, softened against the floor.

The faint scent of shampoo and fabric laced with the chill of the night.

The way the temperature in the room rises by just a fraction of a degree when you step inside.

But he doesn’t turn around immediately.

Because he doesn’t know what to do with the anomaly that you are in his equation.

He doesn’t know where to place you within the rigid parameters of his logical, structured world.

His operating system slows, his brain—so used to processing information with the precision of a surgeon—stalls in an endless loop, searching for a resolution that refuses to exist.

And then—your voice.

“Donnie?”

Soft. Not because you’re hesitant, but because you know him. Because somehow—through a method he can’t quantify—you can read the tension in his shoulders. You can see the way his fingers have stopped typing, even though the screen is still waiting for input.

He closes his eyes for just a moment, as if that alone might be enough to reboot him, to restore the control that feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

He knows he should say something.

He knows he should act normal.

But his normal means efficiency, speed, precise answers delivered at the exact right moment.

And right now, every command in his mind is failing.

You watch him with quiet curiosity, tilting just slightly toward him—just enough for the air between you to feel heavier, more tangible.

“Everything okay?” you ask, voice soft in that way that completely disarms him. Then your gaze sharpens slightly, scanning him with quiet scrutiny. “Are you hurt?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looks at you.

His mind runs an automatic analysis of your expression—eyes slightly narrowed, lips barely pressed together, the faintest crease in your right brow, as if you’re already calculating the probability that he’s lying.

Logic dictates that he should reassure you with data. That he should tell you his visor has already run a full diagnostic scan and that his physical condition is optimal. That there is no rational reason for concern.

But then his gaze drops.

And he sees his own hand, still resting on the desk—still tense.

And for the first time in a long time, he chooses to do something without overthinking it.

He looks at you again.

His throat feels dry. Without realizing it, he wets his lips—a quick flick of his tongue over skin cracked from hours without proper hydration.

Then, in a voice so quiet it barely sounds like his own, he asks:

“Can I… hold your hand?”

It’s not the kind of question anyone would expect from him.

And he knows it.

Because it doesn’t fit his usual patterns. It’s not something that makes sense in any logical context.

But right now, logic is utterly useless to him.

Your lashes flutter in subtle surprise, as if the words take a few extra seconds to fully register.

“What?”

His instincts scream at him to backtrack, to rephrase, to find a way to explain what even he doesn’t fully understand.

But he doesn’t.

“I want to…” He inhales, trying to reorganize his thoughts. “I mean, just—”

He shuts his eyes for a second, frustration flickering across his face. He has never felt this clumsy with words before.

When he opens them again, you’re still there. You haven’t moved. You haven’t looked away.

And somehow, that alone gives him the courage he’s lacking.

“I just… want to feel it.”

The truth escapes him so easily, so quietly, that it almost embarrasses him.

Your expression shifts.

It’s not amusement.

It’s not rejection.

It’s something softer. More intimate.

And without questioning it—without hesitation or unnecessary words—you let your hand slide over his.

Not hurriedly.

Not hesitantly.

Just with the quiet certainty of someone who understands exactly what he’s asking for.

And when your fingers intertwine with his, Donnie feels every equation, every algorithm, every carefully structured rule in his mind… simply dissolve.

As if they had never really mattered in the first place.

“Well?” you ask, your voice carrying a faint attempt at lightness.

Donnie knows you’re trying to sound casual, that you’re masking your uncertainty behind a relaxed tone. But he notices.

He notices the delicate dusting of pink on your cheeks, the almost imperceptible tremor in your lower lip, the way your thumb brushes against the back of his hand—like you’re adjusting to the contact just as much as he is.

And something inside him… softens.

His lips curve, at first unconsciously—a smile, small and barely formed. Then, from deep in his chest, a quiet laugh escapes, unbidden and genuine, as weightless as the air after a storm.

It’s not mockery. It’s not disbelief.

It’s something purer. Something real.

—Nothing, —he murmurs, his thumb moving awkwardly against your skin— Just… this is nice.

The confession catches him off guard.

Because he hadn’t planned it.

Because he hadn’t filtered it through his logic before speaking.

Because it simply happened.

And then, you look at each other.

Maybe for too long.

Maybe just long enough for the world around you to blur into a distant murmur, as if nothing else exists except the space you occupy together.

He finds himself mesmerized by you.

Fascinated.

But not in the way he is fascinated by a new equation, by an unexpected pattern in the data, by the perfect symmetry of a well-designed structure.

This is different.

This is raw.

This is visceral.

This is feeling.

His other hand, trembling in a way he doesn’t understand, lifts with a slowness that borders on reverence.

And when his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch is so light it feels like an experiment in itself.

He feels.

He feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the way it molds so effortlessly to his touch, the way your body leans ever so slightly toward him—responding to an equation he hasn’t yet written but, for the first time, doesn’t feel the need to solve.

He feels the erratic pounding of his own heart, too fast, too unsteady, as if it has forgotten its natural rhythm.

He feels the heat gathering in his chest, expanding outward like a shockwave, defying all logical explanation.

And then, he hears you sigh.

Small.

Soft.

Almost imperceptible.

But he feels it.

He feels the warmth of your breath against his skin, the subtle vibration of your exhale in the nonexistent space between you.

Feels,

feels,

feels.

As if every one of his senses—once so meticulously calibrated to process information—has now been repurposed for a single objective:

You.

Your warmth seeping into his skin.

Your quiet, rhythmic breathing.

The barely-there weight of your gaze resting on him.

The familiar scent of you, imprinting itself onto some hidden corner of his mind he never thought necessary.

Just you.

Only you.

Nothing else exists.

Nothing else matters.

And then—without thinking, without calculating, without rationalizing it into exhaustion like he always does—

he kisses you.

It’s brief. Just a brush of lips.

A moment suspended between doubt and need, between impulse and fear.

A single heartbeat contained in a single point of contact.

And then—

He hears you gasp.

His entire body locks up. Every muscle goes rigid with a tension so sharp it’s almost painful.

His brain—so efficient, so precise, so relentless in its ability to analyze every variable in a situation—enters a total shutdown.

He stares at you, eyes wide, pupils blown.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He misread everything.

What the hell was he thinking?

You don’t see him that way.

Why would you?

Why would you ever?

Shame crashes over him like an unstoppable wave. His stomach twists, his skin burns, his heart clenches into an invisible fist that threatens to crush it from the inside out.

He pulls back, his hands loosening, his voice catching in his throat.

—Oh, God, I didn’t mean to— —he stammers, his voice cracking under the weight of his own panic. His thoughts are a mess of unsolved equations, of probabilities collapsing into a singularity of pure dread— I just… I thought it was a good moment, I—

—Yes.

Your voice cuts through his spiral.

His brain short-circuits.

—It was.

…

What?

His breath halts.

The air thickens, pressing in from all sides, as if the entire universe has stopped—right here, right now, in these words, in this reality he never accounted for.

And then—

You close the distance.

You are the one to bring your lips back to his.

And his mind—his brilliant, overanalyzing mind—

for the first time in his life—goes completely silent.

And he simply—feels.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #1

Don’t get me wrong—I love DP X DC, but I want more post for DP X Marvel, so I decided to write my own.

Danny had been in Amity Park, dodging international press, paparazzi, and the occasional FBI van parked outside his house, because, well, saving the world and exposing the existence of ghosts kind of made him a big deal. The whole “I’m actually Phantom” reveal had sent the world into a meltdown, with headlines like “Teen Ghostboy Saves Earth, Wears Same Hoodie for Six Days” and “Should Phantom Pay Taxes?” clogging up the internet.

That’s when Tony Stark showed up.

In person.

“You ever consider switching teams?” Tony asked while eating a hotdog in Danny’s kitchen like he owned the place. “I don’t mean ghost to human. I mean ghost to Avenger.”

Danny, halfway through microwaving leftover pizza, blinked. “Is this a recruitment thing or are you just lost?”

“A little of both.” Tony admitted. “I’ve got a proposition for you. Comes with a full scholarship, housing, no taxes, and a lifetime supply of Pop-Tarts.”

“…Okay but like. Why Pop-Tarts?”

“I have a theory about your ghost metabolism and artificial preservatives.” Tony said, waving his hand like it was normal science and not the start of an exorcism. “Anyway. Stark Industries internship. Full ride to Midtown School of Science and Technology. We pretend this is for science—understanding ghosts and ectoplasm and your stupid glowy ice powers or whatever—and I get to say I recruited the coolest teen superhero before the other billionaires.”

“You just don’t want me joining Batman.” Danny muttered.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say the B-word in my presence.”

So that’s how Danny Fenton—Amity Park’s favorite undead menace—ended up in New York City, living in a swanky Stark-funded high-rise with a fully stocked lab, an entire ghost-proof gym, and a contract that explicitly stated “NO OPENING INTERDIMENSIONAL PORTALS BEFORE 9AM” in Comic Sans.

Midtown High was wild. First of all, every student looked like they either had a skincare sponsorship or fought crime on the weekends. Second, the STEM program had actual quantum computers. Danny’s old school had a vending machine that exploded if you pressed B5 twice.

Third: Peter Parker.

Danny met him on his first day, right after being hit by a rogue drone in robotics class and slamming face-first into a whiteboard that read “No running in the lab.”

Peter looked down at him. “You good, man?”

Danny blinked. “Spider-Man?”

Peter blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Danny smirked. “Uh-huh. Tony says hi.”

Peter yanked him up by the arm and shoved him into a janitor’s closet so fast it could’ve given someone whiplash.

“Shh!” Peter exclaimed. “You can’t just say that out loud! People don’t know!”

Danny shrugged, now intangibly phasing halfway through a mop bucket. “Relax. Everyone already knows I’m Phantom. It’s not like we’re on equal secret identity footing here.”

Peter blinked at that. “Wait, you’re Phantom? Like THE Phantom?”

Danny stuck his head through the wall dramatically. “Boo.”

Peter shrieked and punched him. Which didn’t work. At all. From then on, they were inseparable.

Mostly because Tony made them sit next to each other at every Stark-sponsored science conference with assigned seating and a label that said “Teen Angst Section.” But also because they kind of understood each other. Weird powers. Exhausting double lives. Constant media attention. Love lives that were mostly disaster zones.

Also, because every time there was an emergency in New York, Danny would dramatically yell, “I GOT THIS!” turn into a glowing ghost, phase through the ceiling, and leave Peter holding their science project like, “Great. Now I have to explain this to Ms. Warren.”

There was a running bet in the school on how many times a week Danny would ghost out during class. The record was four times in a single Monday. Once during math. Twice during lunch. Once mid-presentation, when his eyes flashed green, and he mumbled, “Hold up, I think a ghost just tried to eat a nun,” before vanishing.

He got an A. Mostly out of fear.

They became known around Midtown as “Science Boyfriends,” a term coined by their English teacher after they accidentally blew up the chemistry lab and rebuilt it with better airflow and a smoothie bar.

Peter tried to deny it. Danny didn’t.

“I mean, he’s cute.” Danny would shrug while eating a granola bar and floating upside-down. “And have you seen his calves? Spider thighs? Man’s got spider thighs.”

Peter threatened to web his mouth shut. Danny turned intangible and said “do it, coward.”

Happy Hogan was having a mental breakdown.

“Mr. Stark.” He said once, after catching Danny phasing through a vending machine and Peter falling out of a ceiling vent. “They’re going to destroy the school.”

“They’re already destroying my will to live.” Tony muttered, sipping coffee while watching Phantom carry Spider-Man bridal-style on a street livestream. “But you can’t deny the brand synergy.”

And oh, the public loved Danny.

Kids wore Phantom backpacks. There was a whole TikTok trend called “Go Ghost Challenge” which was just teens flinging themselves over furniture in hopes of catching flight. People stopped him on the street for selfies. A company released a Ghost Repellent Spray that was literally just Febreze with a green label.

Meanwhile, Danny and Peter were balancing AP Physics, ghost attacks, Stark internships, and trying to keep a low profile despite Danny being literally neon.

Peter was this close to combusting.

“I can’t keep doing this.” Peter whispered during lunch, forehead pressed against a table. “My GPA is dying. I’m dying. My soul is cracking. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Danny, completely fine, sipping chocolate milk through a straw, replied, “I think a banshee tried to possess the home ec teacher.”

Peter stared. “… Danny.”

“Her cupcakes were glowing.”

“DANIEL JAMES!”

It didn’t help that the media kept speculating if Phantom was dating Spider-Man. There were articles like “Who’s the Top Ghost? Our Editors Discuss” and “Teen Heroes: Roommates or Soulmates?” Danny read them out loud during lunch.

Peter screamed into a burrito.

And then there was that time someone tried to kidnap Peter during gym class. Bad idea. Danny turned invisible, slammed the guy through the bleachers, and then flew Peter to safety in front of the entire school.

“You didn’t have to carry me!” Peter hissed later. “I had it under control.”

“You were duct-taped to a chair.” Danny pointed out.

“I was about to chew through the tape!”

“Like a squirrel.”

“Like a spider!”

After that, it wasn’t just the school that shipped them. The city did. There were shirts. Stickers. Fanfiction. Someone made a rap.

Tony started selling merch.

“We’re not even dating!” Peter yelled one afternoon, dodging a drone with their faces painted on it.

Danny just winked. “Yet.”

And honestly? They made a good team.

When ghosts got loose, Danny handled the supernatural. When aliens showed up, Peter webbed ‘em to the nearest wall. When things exploded, they blamed Flash Thompson.

Midtown might have been chaos. Their lives might have been actual flaming garbage fires. But in the middle of it all, Danny and Peter were the weirdest, most terrifying, most effective duo the teen superhero world had ever seen.

One had ghost lasers.

The other had web shooters.

Both had the fashion sense of stressed-out raccoons.

And somehow, they made it work.

Until Danny accidentally opened a portal to the Ghost Zone during prom. But that’s a story for another day.

[swappedandtrapped]

Swapping Research - Part 3

Read part 1 here Read part 2 here

"Fix this." Marcus's voice—Tyler's voice—cracked as he grabbed Alex's shoulders. "Whatever you did, undo it. Now."

Alex stepped back, her face tight with conflict. "It's not that simple. The quantum entanglement that facilitates the transfer has been modified. Tyler asked me to—"

"Show me!" Marcus pointed toward her computer. "Show me exactly what you changed. Now!"

"I can explain," Tyler said, the familiar features of Marcus's face contorted with unfamiliar desperation. "You still have a body, a life. I'm not taking everything."

"Not everything?" Marcus laughed bitterly. "Just my future. My medical school. My brain."

"My procedure wasn't designed for permanent transfer," Alex said quietly, pulling up complex neural mapping on her monitor. "But Tyler convinced me the research value was—"

"Research value?" Marcus stared at her. "You're using us as lab rats?"

Alex's shoulders slumped. "You don't understand. My brother Michael, after his car accident… He's trapped in a body that doesn't work while his mind is intact. This technology could help thousands like him."

"So you used us."

"I used the opportunity," she corrected. "And Tyler was—"

"Show me what you changed," Marcus demanded again.

Alex pulled up a complex neural diagram. "The initial transfer created quantum entanglement between your neural signatures. For temporary transfer, the entanglement naturally degrades. For extended transfer…" She pointed to a modified segment. "I stabilized the entanglement and introduced a selective degradation algorithm that reinforces Tyler's signature in your original brain."

"And destroyed the original components of the device," Tyler added quietly.

Both Alex and Marcus turned their heads to Tyler. Marcus felt the floor drop beneath him. "You what?"

Alex interjected. "This isn't what we talked about Tyler. What the hell?"

"I can't go back," Tyler said, voice breaking. "You don't know what it's like, Marcus. For the first time in my life, I can think without fighting my own brain. I read an entire textbook yesterday. Just sat and read it, front to back, and understood everything." His eyes, Marcus's eyes, gleamed with tears. "Do you know what that feels like? To be smart after a lifetime of drowning?"

"And I'm supposed to live in your body? With your basketball scholarship I can't maintain? With your father constantly on your back?" Marcus's hands shook with rage. "My medical school interview is Monday!"

"I'll nail it," Tyler said. "I've been studying your notes, practicing with your flash cards. This brain, your brain, it remembers everything. First try."

"It's my future!" Marcus grabbed a nearby monitor and hurled it against the wall. The unfamiliar strength of Tyler's arms sent it crashing with far more force than intended. "My life! My parents' sacrifices!"

Alex stepped back, eyes wide. "Marcus, please—"

"My parents immigrated with nothing. Worked double shifts for my education." The words came out in a roar, Tyler's voice filling the small lab. "And you're stealing everything they worked for!"

"You get to be athletic, popular," Tyler countered. "People respect you now. They listen when you talk."

"I don't want that! I want MY life!" Marcus swept his arm across a desk, sending equipment clattering. The physical release felt alarmingly good in Tyler's body, the raw strength an outlet for his despair.

"Marcus, stop!" Alex moved between him and the equipment. "Violence isn't going to solve this."

"What will, then? Tyler destroyed the components." The fight drained from him suddenly, replaced by hollow despair. "I'm trapped."

"Not trapped," Tyler said. "Just… different. I can help you navigate my life, the basketball—"

"Stop talking." Marcus sat heavily. "Monday is the Kellerman interview. The program that's accepted three students in five years. The entire reason I—" He stopped, overcome. "My parents are flying in to celebrate after. They think it's guaranteed."

Tyler's expression changed, a subtle shift in Marcus's features. For a moment, something like guilt crossed his face. He looked away. "I'm sorry, Marcus. I didn't have a choice."

"You had a choice," Marcus whispered. "You just made the selfish one."

---

One month later, Marcus sat on the bench during a crucial conference game, his knee wrapped tightly, watching his team lose without him. His Coach had benched him after weeks of declining performance.

"Reeves, what the hell happened to you?" Barrett had demanded after Marcus missed yet another defensive assignment. "It's like you forgot how to play over summer."

How could Marcus explain that muscle memory wasn't enough? That Tyler's instincts were fading while his own analytical approach couldn't compensate? That each day, his connection to his original life slipped further away?

His phone vibrated. Tyler, checking in with artificial cheer, maintaining the pretense that this was temporary, a research extension: Got the med school acceptance letter today. Your parents are ecstatic. Your mom cried.

Marcus pocketed the phone without responding. Tyler called less frequently now, their conversations strained. What was there to say? "Thanks for maintaining my GPA while I lose your scholarship"? "Enjoying my parents' pride while yours threatens to disown me"?

---

After the game, Marcus returned to Tyler's apartment—his apartment now—and stared at the anatomy textbook he'd been trying to study. The words blurred and swam, his new brain struggling with the complex terminology that once came naturally. Trapped in Tyler's dyslexic patterns, he couldn't retain the information that had once been effortless.

Worse than the academic loss was the sense of his own identity dissolving. He'd catch himself using more of Tyler's phrases, laughing at more jokes he wouldn't have understood before, responding to Tyler's name without hesitation. His memories of childhood felt increasingly distant, replaced by physical memories embedded in this body, how to execute a perfect jump shot, how to charm a date with a specific smile, how to deflect a father's cutting criticism.

He couldn't remember his mother's birthday last week. He'd forgotten the Mandarin phrases his grandmother had taught him.

Even in his dreams, he was Tyler now.

He tried reciting the bones of the hand, his old calming ritual. "Trapezoid, trapezium…" The third bone eluded him. Had it been lunate? Hamate? The anatomical terms that once ordered his anxious mind were slipping away.

His phone rang again. Tyler.

"Hey," Marcus answered, too exhausted for anger.

"Just checking in." Tyler's voice was careful, controlled. "Alex wants more data on our adaptation progress."

"Tell her my adaptation is going great," Marcus said bitterly. "I'm failing Kinesiology despite living in a athlete's body. Forgot my own mother's birthday. Can't read more than ten pages without the words scrambling."

Silence stretched between them.

"I never meant—" Tyler began.

"Yes, you did," Marcus cut him off. "You saw a chance and took it. I just never thought you'd sacrifice my future for yours."

"I was drowning," Tyler whispered. "Every day."

"And now I am." Marcus stared at the basketball on his living room floor. "Congratulations on med school. My parents must be thrilled."

"They are." The quiet pride in Tyler's voice, using Marcus's voice, was unbearable. "Your dad called me 'son' yesterday."

Something broke inside Marcus. "Don't call again," he said. "We're not researching anymore. We're not friends. You're living my life, and I'm disappearing into yours. Just… let me fade away in peace."

He ended the call and picked up the anatomy textbook again, staring at meaningless symbols on the page. He tried once more to remember the bones of the hand, a final desperate attempt to hold onto the person he had been.

But the stranger in his head had already taken up residence, and Marcus Chen was gradually becoming a memory that even he couldn't fully recall.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Hi, could u p please make a one-shot where the reader is tony Stark's wife and she is diagnosed with autism and people are so mean to her or the Avengers and tony goes over protective mode and comfort her like he is the fluffiest thing but still make them pay for hurting his reader ( please again I just really want to feel safe )

A/N: Hello dear anon! Here you go, I really hope you like it. sending you all my love ✨🤍

Pairing: Tony Stark x Autistic!Reader

Warning: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Tony

.

It starts small.

A shift in the tone of conversation. A few side-eyes during the gala. A well-meaning but absolutely patronizing “Oh, that explains a lot” from someone who clearly doesn’t understand anything at all.

You try to focus on the glass in your hand. It’s smooth, familiar. Grounding. You trace the rim with your finger, tuning out the buzzing voices that sting more than they should.

Tony is across the room, talking to Sam and Rhodey about something that sounds vaguely rocket-related. His smile is bright, but not the one he gives you. That one’s softer, quieter, like a safe house built in a glance.

You breathe, count. You survive the moment.

But then someone leans in.

“You know, it’s so brave of Tony. Being with someone like… you.”

You blink. Not exactly knowing how to react.

“Someone like me?” you ask, tone careful, flat.

“I mean—because of your diagnosis and everything. It’s just really noble, you know?”

You stare.

It’s not brave. It’s not noble. It’s not some charity case. It’s love. It’s you. And for Tony Stark, that’s more than enough.

Before you can respond, a voice cuts in—sharp as shattered glass and twice as dangerous.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tony says, appearing beside you like summoned lightning, arm slipping smoothly around your waist. “Did you really just say that to my wife? My incredibly brilliant, mind-like-a-damn-quantum-computer, immeasurably-patient-for-putting-up-with-all-of-you wife?

The room falls quiet. It always does when Tony turns down the charm and turns up the heat.

The person stammers. “I-I didn’t mean—”

“Oh no, you meant it. That’s the problem.” Tony’s voice is even. Deadly. “You thought you were being kind, but really, you just reduced her entire personality to a diagnosis and called me the hero? That’s not kindness. That’s condescension with a cheap perfume.”

He turns to you, and the ice in his gaze melts instantly.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, voice dropping to that tone that’s just for you—warm, steady, and soft like starlight through curtains.

Your throat is tight. Your hands shake a little. But you nod.

Tony pulls you in closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Let’s get out of here. You’ve tolerated enough human nonsense for one night.”

“But—”

“Nah. They can deal. You’re the most important person in the room.”

You leave together, his hand protectively on your back, shielding you from stares, whispers, and judgment with the casual strength of a man who’s built armor out of grief and love in equal measure.

⸻

Later, in the comfort of your shared bed, you sit under the weighted blanket he had custom-made for you, and he’s rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder.

“You’re not too much,” he whispers. “You’re never too much. They’re just not enough.”

Tears slip down your cheeks—not from pain, but from the overwhelming warmth of being understood.

“I hate that people see me like that,” you murmur.

Tony lifts your chin gently. “Then screw how they see you. I see you. I know you. You’re the most honest, vibrant, brilliant soul I’ve ever met. You don’t need to change a damn thing.”

You curl into his side, heart beating steadier. And Tony?

He holds you like you’re the center of his universe—because you are. And while the world might judge or misunderstand, he’ll always stand between you and the fire, wearing his heart on his sleeve and his love like armor.

And if anyone tries again?

Well. Iron Man doesn’t do warnings twice.

[woradat]

Hold me tight

SUMMARY - before you drift away, into the galaxy —too far for him to reach, he should have held onto you tighter, but he didn't (pre-war)

PAIRING - jetfire x reader, skyfire x reader

·

·

He should have left the moment the projector’s beam sliced through the dim chamber and cast the silhouette of another onto the polished obsidian floor

The light cut across the dust-moted air like a blade of frozen sunlight—soft, but unyielding. The silhouette did not shift. Merely stood there, tall and still, as if carved from old starlight and authority

Jetfire’s vents caught in his throat

He remained rooted. Not out of defiance—no, never that—but because the variables of movement and consequence had suddenly multiplied beyond calculation. His body refused to obey logic. The simplest action—turn, retreat, explain—felt like a catastrophic misstep on a precarious quantum equation

He could feel the temperature change in the air. Not with heat, but with presence—that ineffable shift when another mind steps into your radius and rewrites the gravity of the room

He tilted his gaze upward, slowly. Reluctantly. Bracing for a voice made of judgment and protocol

Expulsion. Citation. Public apology. Reclamation

A thousand outcomes bloomed in his mind like faulty computations

Instead, the voice that came was neither clipped nor cruel

It was curious

“If the universe is a question... are you attempting to answer it with a nobleman’s equation?”

The words rolled out with a peculiar elegance—like poetry smuggled into science, soft and sharp in equal measure. The voice was stately but playful, as though both mocking and indulging him

Jetfire blinked. His vocalizer crackled slightly before functioning

“I’m sorry. I just… the datapads fell, and I—”

“And you chose to pick them up” the other said, stepping closer. Their silhouette became clearer in the light, glinting at the edges—like moonlight caught on the lip of a goblet “And you read them”

Jetfire stiffened

“Not the worst choice. But don’t expect praise for daring to think without permission. Not in this building”

He looked down, shame creeping like corrosion through his circuits—until the next words caught him off-guard

“But I commend you”

His gaze snapped back up, optics wide

The other offered the datapad back to him with a delicacy that bordered on reverence—like handing over something fragile, alive, and perhaps forbidden

“Are you the kind who reads to believe, or the kind who reads to question?”

It wasn’t a trick question. And yet it felt like it held a lock to something far beyond data

Jetfire opened his mouth—but the question was too rich, too strange. Not designed for swift answers, only quiet undoings

The stranger smiled. It was not warm, but it was honest

“I ask for one hour of your time. Each day. In the lower chamber. The one they abandoned after the war scare. I wish to see whether your gravitational equations map the stars as I do”

“You mean… you want me to research with you?”

“No” A quiet, indulgent laugh “I want you to answer one question a day. No more”

They stepped past him then, their field brushing faintly against his like the edge of magnetism—unseen, but undeniable

“Here’s one to begin: do you believe the sinusoidal fluctuations in the gravity of dying stars suggest any pattern in the behavior of consciousness?”

Jetfire made a choked noise

“What?”

“Too soon? Forgive me. I tend to start conversations in the middle.” They turned, pausing in the doorway like a scholar on the brink of forgetting their own name

“Let’s begin again. What’s yours?”

“…Jetfire”

The figure did not offer their own. They merely studied him—as though reading a newly named particle—and murmured:

“Fitting. One day, perhaps, you’ll fly”

Then, without waiting for response, they vanished into the hall—leaving Jetfire to stare at the flickering projector still humming softly, and wonder if he had just been inducted into a secret society of one

—

No one had ever once suggested to him that silence, in a space built to amplify the smallest of sounds, could resonate in such a peculiar, almost devastating manner. Silence in a laboratory wasn’t a void, not quite. No, it was a substance, something that wrapped around you like an invisible fog, as if every molecule of the room itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next disruption, the next event, the next explanation. But tonight, the air felt particularly thick with it—as though the universe had paused for a heartbeat, just for him

It had taken him years of training, of learning how to concentrate in the face of chaos, of adapting his mind to the punctuated rhythm of data and deductions. Yet it was in this silence, this suspended moment, that Jetfire realized with a sudden jolt of clarity: he had been waiting

Waiting for what? He wasn’t entirely sure, but the answer lingered just at the edge of his awareness, like a half-remembered dream or a word you knew was on the tip of your tongue but couldn’t quite pull to the surface. Perhaps he had been waiting for the familiar hum of his sensors to be disturbed by the singular presence that always found him here, at the desk beside some unfinished analysis, surrounded by research notes, and the faint scent of machine oil

“You're two and a half minutes late”

The words—no, the voice—cut through the stillness with a precision Jetfire could never quite predict. Dry. Unfazed. The perfect example of an observation made simply because it was there to be noted, like the path of an asteroid traversing the cold void of space

Jetfire smiled faintly—a rare, slanted curl of his mouth that he never showed to anyone else

"I was detained by an emergency briefing. Apologies, I—"

“Mmm… A grave offense indeed” you replied in a drawl, lifting a bottle of lubricant and giving it a shake like someone mixing a midnight cocktail

A faint snort interrupted him, not mocking, but amused in the way that only someone who knew how to reduce the weight of all things could manage "Grievous misconduct. And as for your punishment, I’m afraid you’ll have to endure my complete and utterly enlightening lecture on The Gravitational Philosophy of Dream Oscillations"

Jetfire let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head slightly "I... didn’t realize that was an actual field of study"

"No, of course not" came the immediate response, with an exaggerated lift of the speaker’s shoulders as if it were entirely unimportant whether or not they were speaking of any truth

"But you see, I had a dream last night—a dream—and in it, the entire universe existed without a gravitational core. It was, naturally, quite difficult to navigate, because everything, every matter, every thought, just… drifted. But strangely, there was one constant. One force"

The absurdity of the words struck his mind like a needle to the most tender part of thought—sharp, precise, and disturbingly accurate

Jetfire lowered himself into the lab's rickety swivel chair. The metal frame groaned in protest

“And in that dream of yours… did anyone survive?”

There was a pause. The other bot stilled, set the bottle down, and looked up with an expression halfway between amusement and strange clarity

“There was one. The one who created gravity themselves… and pulled all the stars toward them — with sheer will of heart"

Jetfire didn’t reply right away. He simply sat there, listening as the scientist across the room rambled on in whimsical metaphors—half-poetry, half-forgotten philosophy. And while his logical mind attempted to separate fantasy from fact, his spark was doing the opposite

It was pulling everything inward. Toward a center

Toward you—the one who always sounded like you were joking, but never once lied

At first, he had merely been here because the lab offered access to rare instruments—free from bureaucratic rituals. Then he had chosen to stay because you understood the language of science. But now…

He didn’t want to leave

"Do you always dream like that?" Jetfire asked, his voice softer than he intended. It wasn’t just about the dream, of course. It never really was. But this—this peculiar pull, this gravity between them, that wasn’t the kind of thing Jetfire could admit easily. And so, he hid it behind his inquiry

You smile, when it came, was a quiet thing, edged with a knowing that only made Jetfire more uncertain of his own thoughts "Sometimes" they replied. "I think it’s the only way to escape the weight of everything around us. Dreams don’t have to make sense, after all"

He wanted to argue with that, wanted to say that dreams weren’t supposed to be some ethereal escape, but the truth was, he couldn’t. Not when the room itself felt so real when it was just the two of them standing at its center

There was a tension here, one that neither of them had asked for, but neither could escape. A strange, compelling force between them that felt like the pull of unseen stars—a pull neither had the strength to ignore. And yet, there was no admission. No declaration. Just an ever-growing understanding that, in the quietest moments, they both understood the same thing without ever speaking it aloud: the universe, in all its infinite complexity, could very well be shaped, and bent, by the simplest of forces—whether gravity, or will, or even something as unmeasurable as a glance

It was when the silence stretched again, both of them sitting side by side, neither of them quite able to leave, that Jetfire realized with a sudden clarity that the silence between them had changed

It had shifted, imperceptibly, but undeniably

And the only thing left for him to do now was to accept that it had happened. And maybe… maybe he didn’t need to fill it with words

Maybe the absence was the answer

—

After day and after day, Jetfire returned

He told his superiors that he was conducting field surveys around the Senate Tower perimeter. In truth, he just kept finding reasons to enter the lab again. To sit across from you—the planetary scientist who seemed less like an academic and more like a verse carved from the cosmic dust itself

You explained quantum entanglement with the cadence of a bedtime tale. Your hand gestures painted orbit lines in the air. You labeled your document drawers with star charts instead of numbers

You once asked, in a perfectly serious tone: “If stars could write letters to one another, what grammar would they use?”

It wasn’t a question he could answer. But he remembered it

—

Each day, once the experiments ended, there came a brief, weightless moment—just the two of you, sitting quietly beside cooling machinery. Watching an unfinished star map flicker on the display screen. Sometimes, no words were exchanged. And yet, the silence felt full—like a breath the universe was holding in

“You know” your voice broke the hush, “in this vast universe… perhaps we’re nothing but space dust. Maybe none of this means anything"

Jetfire turned to look at you. He had never considered the thought in quite that way before. But then, unexpectedly, words slipped past his lips

“Maybe… it means something to us. Just now.. like this”

You gave him a faint smile. You looked like you were going to say something else, but chose not to

The silence that followed wasn’t like the one from the first time you met. It wasn’t hollow. It was full of questions that didn’t need answers

“Do you have a plan for what comes next?” Jetfire asked, voice almost hesitant

“Explore the whole universe” you replied at once, mischief dancing behind your optics “And you?”

He paused, then smiled too “I’d like to go with you.. but I don’t know where to start"

And in that moment, he realized: it wasn’t just about the stars above, or the trajectories he could calculate. It was that with you beside him, even the smallest questions in life felt like they carried immense weight

“Sometimes, it only takes one strange little question to lead us away from everything we thought we knew” you said gently, your voice already drifting into another realm

Jetfire looked at you, and the universe suddenly felt smaller

Maybe… the journey didn’t need a destination

“And what if there's no path to follow?”

“Then we’ll find one. Or make one. Together”

The answer came clearly, as if it had been waiting inside you all along

And for the first time, Jetfire felt as though he was beginning to understand his own journey—not through drive or ambition, but through a stillness that could not be measured by instruments

—

Jetfire was hunched over a data console, utterly immersed, when they leaned on his side—too close, of course, deliberately so. They always had a knack for standing where they weren’t needed, asking questions that twisted like Möbius strips and left interns fleeing for quieter company. But Jetfire never asked them to leave

You didn’t speak at first, only watched the patterns scrolling across his screen, their chin resting in one servo, optics half-lidded like a cat watching a bird it wasn’t quite hungry enough to catch

“So"

You murmured eventually “if quantum field fluctuations respond to proximity and intent—what do you suppose that says about us, hm?”

Jetfire didn’t turn. He paused, one servo frozen mid-input, then resumed typing with a sudden stiff precision “It says you’ve been reading fringe journals again"

“And flirting, if you noticed"

“I noticed"

A beat. Then another, long enough for them to step back like they usually would, laugh it off with a joke about social experiments gone wrong. But you didn’t. You stayed

“You always act so composed” you said softly “but your EM field is terribly loud when you're pretending I don’t affect you"

Jetfire’s digits stalled again

They continued, letting their words fall with the kind of offhand rhythm that made people forget how sharp they really were

“Do you know what I think? I think you like being bothered. I think you find me—” Their digits lightly tapped the back of his shoulder, where circuitry was most sensitive “—stimulating"

Now he did turn, ever so slightly, not enough to meet their gaze but just enough to suggest caution “You’re not usually.. be like this"

“I’m not usually this serious” you replied, smile lopsided and voice light as starlight

“But you are. You’re always so precise. So heavy with your truths. So terribly fond of structure. And I… well” you stepped closer again, tone dipping into something uncharacteristically tender “I’d like to see what happens when something... unstructured gets under your plating"

Jetfire inhaled sharply, and for once, didn’t have an answer ready. Not a theory. Not a quip. Just the steady thrum of his field responding, betraying him

You tilted your helm and added—half playful, half hopeful “Would you permit the hypothesis that I’m fond of you?”

Jetfire stared for a moment, then—slowly, achingly—nodded

A beat passed

Then you smirked

“Excellent. Expect several invasive follow-up experiments. Peer-reviewed, of course"

He sighed, the sound brittle with half-swallowed laughter, and muttered under his breath “I should’ve known”

“Oh, you did” you grinned, optics bright “You just hoped I’d be subtle"

.

.

They didn’t leave that evening

Not when the lights dimmed for shift-change. Not when Jetfire’s screen flickered into idle starlight. Not even when silence began to pool between them like liquid static, heavy with unsaid things

You stood beside him, arms folded, posture languid—but your optics gleamed with calculation, as though you were calibrating an orbit

“Did you know” you began in that infuriatingly smooth tone “that shared frequency alignment over time can be... accelerated, if both subjects are in prolonged proximity?”

Jetfire glanced at you warily “Are you proposing that we sit closer?”

“Oh, sweetspark. I’m proposing far more than that"

You stepped in until your helm nearly brushed his shoulder, their voice a low hum—part mockery, part invocation “I’ve been circling your orbit for cycles, Jetfire. Tapping at your shields. Reading your footnotes. Tuning myself to your silences and you—” your servo brushed his arm, a fleeting contact that felt measured, deliberate, almost reverent “You always flinch like truth is a wound. But I wonder... what happens if I don’t let you look away this time?”

Jetfire inhaled sharply. His optics flicked to theirs, wide, vulnerable—and caught

“I ..I didn’t mean to mislead—”

“Oh, I know” they interrupted gently, stepping closer still “You were trying to protect yourself. You always do. But I’m not here to dissect you, Jetfire. I’m here to choose you. Again and again. With all your walls and silences and nervous, noble spark"

He swallowed thickly “You can’t just say things like that"

“I can” you whispered “and I will"

A moment passed. And then, as if gravity had given up—

Jetfire reached for them

It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t rehearsed. It was the startled, breathless motion of someone who had spent too long holding back—and now couldn’t

Their bodies met in a slow, deliberate collision, a hush of metal and warmth. His arms enfolded them like he was afraid they’d vanish, and they leaned into him with a smile that tasted like triumph and tenderness all at once

“I love you” he whispered, almost inaudible “Primus help me"

The confession landed like stardust—soft, infinite, real

They leaned up, brushing their mouth along the edge of his jaw in a kiss so subtle it felt like a secret, and murmured “I know. You were terribly obvious. But adorable about it"

He gave a shuddering laugh—and when they kissed him fully, it was slow and breathless and aching, like two minds syncing after endless static. No rush. No chaos. Just resonance

When you pulled back, they pressed their forehead to his and added with mock-seriousness “Now that we’ve aligned... may I begin the real experiments?”

Jetfire exhaled, optics fluttering shut “Primus. What have I unleashed?”

“A lover with a lab and very ambitious hypotheses”

—

The world was already fraying at the seams

Cities once humming with philosophy and particle dreams now bristled with paranoia, blared slogans through smog-thick air. Everywhere, signs were changing—banners raised, sides drawn, colors worn not with pride but with the desperation of identity carved into metal and flame. War had not yet come in name, but its scent was already in the circuits of every thinking mech

You stood in the hangar of the survey vessel they once treated like a daydream—tall, sleek, built for long-term celestial research. It was the kind of ship only a handful of scientists could even touch. But you had clearance. You had always been too curious, too vocal, too exhausting for bureaucratic comfort—but undeniably brilliant

Enough to be tolerated

Enough to be trusted

Enough to leave

You had recalibrated the nav systems two cycles ago, quietly. Stocked the coolant, loaded rations. Ran diagnostics under cover of "long-range sub-quantum testing" All ready and now, Jetfire stood before them, half-shadowed by the cold white light

“You knew I wouldn’t come"

You smiled softly. Not sad. Not angry. Just... aware

“Yes. I knew” your voice was like paper slowly folding in firelight—delicate, measured, but glowing from within “But knowing doesn’t dull the wanting, Jetfire. I wanted to believe we’d chase nebulae together. That we'd map the gravitational poems of the void and argue about nothing for a few million years"

He looked away. His Decepticon badge wasn’t fully painted yet—half-dried on his plating, like a promise he hadn’t learned to carry “There’s too much wrong here to run from"

“I’m not running” you stepped closer “I’m leaving. There’s a difference"

Jetfire’s optics flicked up, stricken “Don’t say it like it’s noble"

“It’s not..” A small, tired laugh “It’s cowardice and dreamdust and a touch of statistical pragmatism. There’s nothing noble about solitude, Jetfire. But... I have to go"

You reached up, gently resting two digits on the badge’s edge. Not to peel it away. Just to feel the heat of it

“I know what this means to you. I know why you chose it. And I don’t blame you for choosing a war over the stars. Someone has to stay and fight for the ones who can’t escape"

He looked at them as if they were already a ghost

“And what if I regret this?” he asked quietly

“Then I hope you find me” they said simply “Out there, among the dark harmonics of some distant system. I’ll be cataloguing the spin of dying suns. Waiting. Not for you—but for the version of you who’s ready"

Silence bloomed between them like a nova

No kiss. No hug. Just two minds, once aligned, now drifting—still caught in each other’s gravity, but on diverging trajectories

And then you turned, boarding the ship alone

As the launch thrusters powered up and the docking bay peeled open to the black, star-speckled vastness, they allowed themselves one final indulgence—a line spoken softly to the emptiness beside them: “You were my favorite hypothesis, Jetfire. I hope the data proves me wrong"

And then you were gone

—

Some nights,

he sits in front of the console, reading through your logs—the ones detailing anomalous gravitational phenomena you were trying to make sense of

And in one of them, there’s a single line that has nothing to do with science at all: "If I became a star no one could see, would someone, somewhere, peer through a lens and know that I was lonely?"

Jetfire quietly closes the datapad

He understands now… you weren’t asking for an answer. You were reaching out, wondering if someone was listening

And he—he always was

Even if he never said a word back

·

·

NOTE - don't be so surprised. I mean yeah and they broke up like that. Ha

[mindblowingscience]

An international team led by Rutgers University-New Brunswick researchers has merged two lab-synthesized materials into a synthetic quantum structure once thought impossible to exist and produced an exotic structure expected to provide insights that could lead to new materials at the core of quantum computing. The work, described in a cover story in the journal Nano Letters, explains how four years of continuous experimentation led to a novel method to design and build a unique, tiny sandwich composed of distinct atomic layers. One slice of the microscopic structure is made of dysprosium titanate, an inorganic compound used in nuclear reactors to trap radioactive materials and contain elusive magnetic monopole particles, while the other is composed of pyrochlore iridate, a new magnetic semimetal mainly used in today's experimental research due to its distinctive electronic, topological and magnetic properties.

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