#virtual particles

[allengreenfield]

Quantum Squeezing: At the Edge of Physics

[superpte]

Gravity Theory So Far

Buridan held that planets turned around the sun from inertia, pulled in by what would become gravity (circa 1350 CE). No doubt studying canon balls’ trajectory helped in the following centuries. By 1600 CE Kepler knew that masses attracted each other, and exactly reciprocally so… and inversely to the distance between them (it’s actually the square of the inverse). Gravity was theorized to be…

[aurosoulart]

made one of my old VR artworks into an AR painting 🖌🎨✨

[little-p-eng-engineering]

Little P.Eng. for Discrete Element Modeling (DEM) Services

In a world driven by technological advancements, the ability to understand granular systems at a particle level has never been more essential. This precise understanding has been made possible through a computational technique known as Discrete Element Modeling (DEM). While many entities offer DEM services, Little P.Eng. has carved a niche for itself as a front-runner in this specialized domain.

Understanding Discrete Element Modeling (DEM)

Before diving into the specifics of Little P.Eng.'s offerings, it's essential to demystify DEM:

DEM is Calculation-based Modeling: At the heart of DEM is mathematics. This method uses precise calculations to predict the behavior of individual particles within a system. By doing so, it can accurately predict the interactions and outcomes when these particles are subjected to various conditions.

DEM Allows for Visualizing Results: One of the standout features of DEM is its ability to provide visual results. Users can observe:

Particle Velocity: Understand the speed and direction of individual particles.

Forces: This includes shear (parallel to the surface) and normal (perpendicular to the surface) forces that the particles experience.

Moments: This refers to the bending and torsional (twisting) moments affecting the particles.

Acceleration and Material Scatter: Track how quickly particles move and the variations in their dispersion patterns.

DEM: More than just Flow Simulation: While DEM is instrumental in predicting the flow of bulk materials, its capabilities extend beyond this. It plays a crucial role in understanding:

Wear Patterns: Predict how equipment will fare over time by simulating particle interaction and the resultant wear.

Mixing: Understand how different particles mix, which is vital in industries like pharmaceuticals and food production.

Center Loading: This refers to the loading pattern where materials concentrate towards the center, crucial in industries like construction.

DEM Programs: The Power Behind the Predictions

Any tool is only as good as the software powering it. When it comes to DEM, numerous programs can be used to perform this intricate modeling:

EDEM: A market leader, renowned for its comprehensive modeling capabilities.

PFC (Particle Flow Code): Known for its versatility, offering both 2D and 3D simulations.

LIGGGHTS: An open-source powerhouse that's both versatile and widely accepted.

Rocky DEM: Its strength lies in simulating realistic particle shapes, crucial for specific industries.

Yade: An open-source tool prized for its extensibility.

Abaqus: A multi-faceted software that, beyond its renowned finite element analysis, offers DEM capabilities.

Ansys Rocky: Building on the Ansys platform's strengths, it focuses on granular flow simulations.

Barracuda Virtual Reactor: Ideal for energy sector applications, especially particle reactions.

Also there are some open sources:

Kratos Multiphysics is developed by CIMNE (International Center for Numerical Methods in Engineering) in Barcelona and covers all kinds of numerical simulations, including DEM/PEM and DEM/PEFM-FEM coupling.

YadeDEM is a DEM package that is specifically designed for geomechanics.

Woo is a fork of YadeDEM with a strong focus on parallel computing and portability.

LAMMPS is a general purpose DEM/PEM.

LIGGGHTS is a general purpose DEM software that includes heat transfer simulations and is based on LAMMPS.

ESyS Particle is developed at the University of Queensland, Australia, with a focus on geoscientic/geotechnical applications.

GranOO is a general purpose DEM.

MercuryDPM is a general purpose Discrete Particle Method (DPM) software.

Little P.Eng.: Setting the Gold Standard in DEM Services

In the expansive realm of DEM, Little P.Eng. shines brightly, and here's why:

Mastery Over Multiple Platforms: Their team is proficient in a diverse array of DEM programs, ensuring they always have the right tool for the job.

A Client-centric Approach: They tailor their solutions, ensuring that each client's unique needs and challenges are addressed.

In-depth Analysis: Beyond merely running simulations, they delve deep, integrating real-world measurements to enhance simulation accuracy.

Applications and Implications of DEM in Industries

The true power of DEM, as harnessed by Little P.Eng., lies in its diverse applications:

Equipment Design: Through DEM, companies can design equipment that's optimized for longevity and efficiency.

Optimizing Production Lines: By understanding how granular materials behave, industries can fine-tune their production lines for maximum efficiency.

Safety Protocols: Predicting particle behavior, especially in industries dealing with hazardous materials, can lead to enhanced safety protocols.

Challenges in DEM and How Little P.Eng. Overcomes Them

DEM, while powerful, isn't without its challenges. The accuracy of simulations is heavily reliant on input parameters. Additionally, the computational demands for large-scale simulations are immense.

Little P.Eng. rises above these challenges through a blend of rigorous experimental data collection and a deep understanding of the DEM software landscape. Their iterative approach ensures that simulations are continually refined for better accuracy.

Conclusion

Discrete Element Modeling (DEM) is transforming our understanding of granular systems. With its capability to provide in-depth insights at a particle level, its applications span a wide array of industries.

In this domain, Little P.Eng. emerges not just as a service provider, but as a trusted partner, guiding businesses towards better efficiency, safety, and innovation. As we venture further into an era where the micro informs the macro, the services of entities like Little P.Eng., underpinned by the power of DEM, will undoubtedly be invaluable.

Read more:

Little P.Eng. for Discrete Element Modeling (DEM) Services: Unveiling the Power of Simulation

The Importance of Discrete Element Modeling (DEM) Studies and What Problems It Can Solve

Tags:

Little P.Eng.

Discrete Element Modeling

Mixing

Granular systems

Particle behavior

EDEM

PFC (Particle Flow Code)

LIGGGHTS

Rocky DEM

Yade

Abaqus

Ansys Rocky

Barracuda Virtual Reactor

Calculation-based modeling

Particle velocity

Shear forces

Normal forces

Bending moments

Torsional moments

Acceleration

Material scatter

Flow simulation

Wear patterns

Center loading

Equipment design

Production line optimization

Safety protocols

Computational simulations

Input parameters

Simulation accuracy

Bulk Material Handling & Processing

Engineering Services

Located in Calgary, Alberta; Vancouver, BC; Toronto, Ontario; Edmonton, Alberta; Houston Texas; Torrance, California; El Segundo, CA; Manhattan Beach, CA; Concord, CA; We offer our engineering consultancy services across Canada and United States. Meena Rezkallah.

[gunpowderdtim]

It's no wonder Out happened when you really think about it. Nastya doesn't like organic life because it's complicated, it can break, sometimes it's even unfixable.

quote from gender rebels

Nastya is in love with Aurora, and in saying that she is saying "you are not organic life, I can deal with you because you are metal and algorithm and predictable" - we can see this in bedtime story when she says she'll tweak Aurora's story creation algorithm

screenshot from A Bedtime Story

Aurora is not inorganic. She is not ai. She is a space moon made of flesh and blood and teeth and bone. She is not an ai. She is a body that was taken and stripped of autonomy, of the right to self identify, of the right to think- to be imperfect and organic.

The metal is a veneer that hides how messy and traumatized and unfixable she is. From the outside she is a starship. From the inside she can still bleed.

And this makes them fundamentally incompatible. But yet, they are in love.

And really, it's no wonder Nastya fell in love with Aurora. Let's take a look at Nastya's home planet, or at least home society:

"Terminals were scattered across the planet. There was one on every street corner, one beneath every lamppost and one in every commune block." "The midwife-machine performs a series of programmed manœuvres to quieten [the baby]. It cradles it and hums at several pitches until it finds one that seems most soothing. Mechanical arms stroke the baby’s flesh even as others start the process of implanting augmented reality interfaces into its nervous system." "The Czar an atrophied frame, never present in the real world and worn to dust by the chemical compounds that kept his brain alive so it could live forever in a perfect virtual paradise. The Rabotnik a copy, a mind preserved unchanging in the instant before its death and placed in an everlasting metal frame." (Cyberian Demons)

Its safe to say the world Nastya was born into, from the very minute she was born, was ridden with technology. She has augmented reality interfaces inplanted into her from birth. It would stand to reason that being taken from this society, wherein technology is everywhere, inside and out, would stand for a bit of a shock.

Aurora too had been augmented by the Cyberia.

While it is stated that the last time Nastya had used the ports themselves was directly before her death — "The last time she had used the ports, her tutor had ripped them out of her as the rebels stormed the palace" — Aurora is laced with Cyberian technology. I'd imagine she has something of a 'bluetooth wireless connection' with Aurora, rather than the physical data transfer of files between the ports and Nastya, it may as well be similar enough.

Imagine being Nastya, going from Cyberia, wherein there is augmented reality contantly, transplanted onto a ship with metal blood, a jonny, and a vampire. To Aurora, where the only bits of augmented reality run through Aurora.

Of course she'd fall in love with her. Aurora is familiarity. Aurora isn't organic. Aurora isn't human.

And of course when the undeniable part of aurora that is organic, that is a flesh moon plated in metal with her brain hooked to machines, when so much has broken and been replaced, when, presumably, aurora is less of an algorithm, nastya leaves with the brand cyberia left on her.

Because Aurora healing, becoming more of herself and less of a starship, is messy, and organic, and human.

and hard for nastya.

‘Think how long she’s been flying you around. Think how many bullet holes you’ve punched through her and how many atmospheres you’ve dropped her through. Think how many alterations and improvements we’ve made, Tim to her guns and Ashes to her storage and Brian to her engines and the Toy Soldier to who knows what. How much do you think is left of her after all she’s brought you through?’ Nastya held up the ancient, battered piece of hull plating. Just visible under the grime and scars of particles of space junk was a fragment of the Aurora’s original logo and serial number. Jonny honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a version that hadn’t been painted by the Mechanisms themselves. ‘So she’s free, now.’ Nastya gestured around at the spaceship they were standing in. ‘This Aurora can take you where you want to go. I’m going to take my Aurora somewhere else.’

Aurora was ship of theseus'd. Aurora was improved. Aurora was no longer cyberian. (both literally, and metaphorically)

So nastya left.

[mindblowingscience]

Could plants be the answer to the looming threat of microplastic pollution? Scientists at UBC's BioProducts Institute found that if you add tannins—natural plant compounds that make your mouth pucker if you bite into an unripe fruit—to a layer of wood dust, you can create a filter that traps virtually all microplastic particles present in water. While the experiment remains a lab set-up at this stage, the team is convinced that the solution can be scaled up easily and inexpensively once they find the right industry partner.

Continue Reading.

[allengreenfield]

Holding Information in Mind May Mean Storing It Among Synapses - Neuroscience News

[1800titz]

Hi friends! I’ve been sitting on this for about 3 months now and had the spontaneous urge to share. More lengthy authors note is over on wattpad. ٩(◕‿◕)۶

This one is going to be a long, chaptered fic, and here's the first chapter!

Also, big thank you to Miss @freedomfireflies for her help brainstorming <3

WC: 6.5K

Harry thinks that prissy, pretty little princesses stowed away in his cabin, tied up with ropes like haphazard, shibari interpretations, outweigh all chests, upon chests, of dainty sapphire emblems and chunky pendants of gold. This particular …treasure, in fact, is worth far beyond her weight in pure gold. A sight for sore eyes, too. Still sopping from the sea, her low-cut neckline clinging to her flesh and her skirt sheerly draped over her parted thighs. 

It’s a nice view. 

Seren doesn’t know how she’s ended up strapped to some horribly uncomfortable stool in a rocking room that’s wood, ceiling to floor. 

Well. 

She knows that the boat she was on was a victim of piracy. She knows that the ship, aimed for Holland, met an unsightly demise at some point, in open ocean, between Rotterdam and Harwich. She knows she’d been in a cabin of the Mary when the first strike landed, when flames erupted over the forecastle, when the deck turned to screams and a beautiful morning of calm skies, wisps of white she’d admired minutes prior, meant virtually nothing to the tightening in her chest. 

The pirate leans back against the wall. His eyes, like emeralds, wind over her shape. She grits at the balled fabric between her teeth, chest heaving. He’s a man — a man’s man, unlike in appearance to the men she’s used to spending her pastime around, back home. The kinds who wither at the sight of the wrong fork at the dinner table or something, and turn their noses up at the thought of carrying something heavier than forty pounds. The kind whose hair coils pristinely, seemingly solidified rock in place. The kind who carry umbrellas to ward off the glaring rays of the sunlight as they stroll through the courtyard of shrubbery in their fancy shoes and fancy garments. This man is not that type of man. 

He’s different, she can see it just in the way he carries himself. He’s not scared to get his hands dirty, he’s not scared to do the work. The crest of his left cheekbone wears a scar, a nick, so small she wouldn’t see it had he not stepped into the buttery beam of the daylight cast through the little window on the precipice of wall and ceiling, particles of dust dancing in the makeshift spotlight. His fingers, adorned with chunky rings, his hands — they’re calloused, like a laborer. She can see it from her view. His garb is simple, clad over his skin for purpose and comfort, solely. 

But simple isn’t the term she’d deem best to describe him, not with his myriad of accessories, from the trinkets glinting from his holster, to his plethora of rings, to the mysterious, rusted key that dangled in the glen between his pecs. That one’s highlighted against bare skin in the vale of his haphazardly unbuttoned shirt. From there, she can see ink over his torso, carved in shapes over swarthy flesh. All sorts of pictures; beaks, and wings, lines of careful shading and others of jet emphasis; thicker, deeper sketches in contrast.  

He’s clean shaven, which is unlike any pirate Seren’s ever heard tall tales of. His mouth is pink, cushiony in shape, and when the corners of his mouth turn up, dimples wink awake beside the curl. An even slope of a nose, and jade irises that brew with mischief. Seren can almost see the way that the flinty shade would brew with a storm, like the sea. If he wasn't a pirate of the boat that’d throttled her own, sent it spiraling into the ocean as nothing but husks of chipped wood and dying ember, maybe she’d find an alluring quality to him. But it’s not food for thought. 

“Should we try again?” he prompts, in his tantalizing cadence. 

When she’d heard him speak, for the first time, she was floored. An Englishman. An Englishman, youthful and spry,  sailing a pirate ship, and pillaging when so much more could be in the books for such a man. So much potential, wasted. What a crying shame. She’d heard of pirates, of brutish criminals from her homeland, but they were always, for some reason or another, older, unprepossessing, scarred and crude with unkempt beards and a lack of morals, too far gone to redeem. They had eyes much too hungry for riches, and lewd, groping hands that were much too focused on flesh. Seren eyes his hands. They’re colossal. He hasn’t touched her in that way, not like that, but the lazy smirk over his plush mouth, the way his irises rake over her neckline, down the meshified front of her dress — that practically urges her not to count her blessings too soon. 

When he squats just ahead of her, watching her in pause, his eyes glinting with this sort of condescension, because she’s indisposed and at his whim, Seren wishes her legs weren’t bound to the legs of the chair. She’d kick him, if she could. She’d scream, and kick, and claw, and—

“Are you going to start shouting again? Is that what you’re thinking about?” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth buckling. When she’s unable to respond, for obvious reasons, the man cups his palm over the shell of his right ear and twists his head a tad, leaning towards her a smidge. 

“M’gonna need an answer, if you’d like to me to un-gag you. M’specifically gonna need a no,” the pirate prompts, a jesting air to his tone that Seren would love to crush. Her chest is still heaving from the last screaming fit, from the first time he’d tugged at the rope pressing to her cheeks and pulled the smushed fabric off of her tongue. His mouth twitches wryly. 

He plants his forearms onto his thighs, casting his gaze to her as he weighs out the options, lips crooked, but eyes narrowed, just a bit, in a way that wordlessly suggests she comply. 

“Let’s give this another go.” 

When the man digs his forefinger under the abrasive rope and yanks it down, over her chin, and then plucks at the outside of the makeshift gag, Seren doesn’t nip at his fingertips. She’d tried that, the first time, but he’d retracted before her teeth could come into contact, his mouth jolting at the fire within her he’d underestimated. She expected a smack, she’d expected her neck to twist as her cheek bruised in response to the attempt, but he’d just stuck his tongue against his cheek, all mirthy, until she’d started to scream. Then he’d gagged her again. 

So. 

That was a failure. 

The second the back of her throat meets the air, rather than the garbling cloth, the young woman starts screaming. Again. He’d kind of expected it. It’s a very lovely attempt, she’s quite loud, and all, but unfortunately, her efforts are sort of moot. That kind of thing tends to happen when you’re miles, and miles, and miles out in the open sea aboard a ship of men who work for the opposing team. Harry would clap if he wasn’t putting on a show of tucking a finger into his ear at her shrill cries. Eventually, he just watches her, letting her scream for a bit, and she holds seething eye contact as her help rises in pitch. 

“Okay— alright,” Harry shakes his head, balling the cloth, daubed with her saliva, and shoving it past her lips haphazardly. She attempts to spit, but can only wriggle as he presses the rope back over her mouth like the task is effortless. 

For a moment, neither of them say anything. The princess can’t. Harry tuts. 

His tone carries notes of amusement when he tells her, “You’re quite pitchy. D’you know that?” 

Seren stares him down. 

“Have you got rocks in your head?” his lips nearly jolt up at the blunt nature of his own inquiry. They don’t. “I tell you not to scream,” he waves with an arm, “you scream anyways. I say, let’s try one more time, because— you know. Maybe you didn’t get the memo, the first time.”

The princess watches him talk, bemused. He gestures with his arm like a tired parent, stressed and lecturing a menacing, little child. 

“And you yell again. So I’m wondering, have you got rocks in your head?” 

Seren says nothing. She does wriggle in the restraints, like his question has insulted her enough to launch at him. But she stills when he squats ahead of her, once more, her heart hammering behind her ribcage. 

“Who’s going to rescue you?” the pirate asks. It’s obviously rhetorical, and he knows she can comprehend that much. When the roll of her chest slows and she settles back, he can see it in her eyes that his point has left her crestfallen. His mouth quirks, and Harry presses again. “Who?” 

When he knows that the message has sunk in, when she stares at the wall behind him, blankly, the only evidence of her consciousness being her glazed over gaze and the flare of her nostrils on every inhale, Harry sighs down at his palms and shakes his head. 

“I’d just like a chat.” 

Seren twists her head away. As much as the binding over her neck and face allows for, anyways. Harry tuts. 

“So glum. You’re alive, aren’t you?” he cocks his head, voice low, “You’re not at the bottom of the sea. Not like your little boat.” 

Those words hit a nerve, he can see it in the way she side-eyes him, the flame reignited, kindling in her scorching gaze. The pirate nods down at his hands, twisting a ring with a ruby red gem, like a shitty mockery of a moment of silence. 

“It can’t possibly be comfortable, sitting with your mouth full, like that. And you must be thirsty, what with all that saltwater you were gargling,” he raises a shoulder, a coy reasoning to his speech. 

Seren doesn’t want his stupid water. He’d probably poison her, have his way, and roll her off the ship, back into the raging waters he’d pulled her from. Harry blinks. She doesn’t offer an inkling to show that she’s willing to comply, but he stands and reaches for the rope, digging the pads of his fingers under the binding, over her cheek. His forefinger brushes the corner of her parted lips. 

“Third time’s the charm.” 

Though, he doesn’t sound the least bit convincing, not even to his own ears. He cradles the square of cloth between his fingertips and listens to her screams for a moment. 

And then he startles her when he starts to harmonize with her screeching pleas. The first one is enough for her vocal chords to stutter, for her to jolt back in her seat, alarmed. 

“HELP!” Harry calls, stretching the vowel outweighing her own scream in volume as the young woman’s own dies off, and the princess balks, startling in the ropes at the sound. He takes a pause for a deep breath, and screams again, “HELP!” banging on the wooden beams over the ceiling, bumping with his palm loudly, in an outrageous display that’s clearly meant to taunt. The sound of him striking it, alone, causes her to jump in her restraints.

He’s unhinged. Seren is convinced. Her spine straightens out like an arrow, and her shoulders square as she ogles the bizarre display, watching him strike over the ceiling, the walls, stamp the soles of his boots against the floorboards. After a second, he settles down. His hand is crooked against one of the beams overhead, and his gaze roves over her slowly. Purposefully. The corners of his mouth curl up sardonically. 

“It’s not a very nice sound, is it?” 

He’s deranged. His screws are loose, Seren decides, her eyes still wide as the racing pace of her heart settles in her chest — but any man who sinks ships for fun, in the open sea, who sails and pillages, and murders innocents with a hunger for riches, has screws loose. These aren’t insightful revelations. Maybe she’d just expected him to be less …bizarre, in their interrogation. He was going to get his answers out of her — they were his, they were going to be, and there’s no kidding about it — but the young woman is unsure of what answers he’s looking for or why. Why, why, why. Why did these pirates sink her boat? It was nothing but a small ferry in comparison to the opposing monster of a galleon. It wasn’t even a merchant ship, there were no riches to be stolen. Ironically, the pirate reaches a hand out, and Seren fidgets until his fingers clasp over her ruby pendant. He lifts it from her skin with prodding fingertips and a gaze of scrutiny. 

She won’t give him answers, the princess decides. Whatever dialogue he may want from her, she won’t comply. She doesn’t know what he has in store for her lack of subservience, but she doesn’t care. She will not bend her will for this mangy brute. 

“This is a pretty piece.” 

Loose tendrils, clumped wetly, sway as she jerks her neck to tug the pendant from his grasp. She fails. His digits twitch and flex over the pendant, and the chain digs into the skin at the back of her neck with the faulty motion. The corners of his mouth quirk up as the princess makes an mmph. 

That’s a pretty sound. 

“M’not going to steal it. What kind of a man do you take me for? We’re good men here, on this ship,” the pirate declares, a sort of vehement passion to his statement, but the crook of his mouth says it’s an unlikely story. 

So do the remnants of her boat, somewhere at the bottom of the sea, Seren thinks dryly. Maintaining eye contact, he lets the pendant settle back between her collarbones. It is a pretty piece, Harry wasn’t lying. Real gold, too — no princess would wear something less. But he’s got no need to pilfer it from her. Every molecule of her being, every cell, will pay out tenfold the cost of the necklace. It’s with that thought that he fixes the gag back into place and leaves her, trussed to that chair in the cabin. 

“Ta,” the pirate bids in his slow roam towards the door, a glance aimed over his as he tucks his fingertips into the belt holstering his array of daggers, one handle bejeweled. The look he fixes her is sure, the kind that’s relaxed, but showcases that his word is final and will be the outcome. “Chat soon.” 

Fun fact; being tied to a shoddy, little wooden chair for hours on end fucking blows. Especially when your hands are bound, in such a way where the rope weaves through the pegs of the back of the chair, keeping your joints wrung together tightly. It’s really aggravating to have a coarse rope, its weaving splintered with pinprick-y tufts, stuck up over your cheeks to hold some sordid rag in place between your teeth. 

It’s safe to say that the experience is not one of Seren’s most favorite past-times. She’s not sure how much time has passed before that heavy wooden door creaks open on its hinges, again. Only a few hours, it must be. The crack of a window behind her hasn’t broken with nightfall, though the light cast through its opening has dimmed, if only a little. 

It’s the same pirate as before. All glimmery jade and the bare vale of tanned skin from the unbuttoned sector of his shirt, where she makes out a faint dusting of chest hair, between his pecs. 

The princess is still a gorgeous view, in Harry’s opinion. Her thighs are still splayed, but her cream dress has dried some, now, and so has her hair. It’s wild, mussed and frizzy. A half-soaked clump rests over one of her eyes. 

“Hello to you, too, darling,” he says in response to the glare she fastens him with through the one that’s visible, like instant daggers. The corners of his mouth crook. He ambles toward her with a steel cup of …something. Something mysterious, something unknown, something she eyes warily up until the point where he’s towering over her. The young woman tears her gaze away, casting it up to his handsome face, instead. 

He pries and tucks his digits up under the rope that’s settled over her cheeks and drawn ruddy hues, but he pauses before he pulls it down. 

“Y’gonna get loud?” 

Seren doesn’t say anything. In fact, she sort of can’t, which is quite nice, Harry thinks, but she doesn’t even make a garbled sound to appease or amuse him. The captain is thankful for what little fragments of peace he’s been granted before he’s forced to endure her ludicrously grating screeching. He weighs his options for a moment, but ultimately, tugs. 

Of course, the second he’s pulled the cloth out, the young woman is screaming, of-fucking-course she’s screaming. And at this point, it’s so obviously a ploy to irritate him, and Harry would laugh if the whole display wasn’t so vexing. There’s a tick in his jaw when he sets the lip of the tin cup to her parted, strawberry mouth, roughly — and he wouldn’t be so rough if she wasn’t so fucking loud — and tips. Instantly, that shout is garbled by liquid. It morphs into a cough and a much more tolerable string of sputters, as water leaks over and drenches down her chin, her chest, the front of her dress. 

“There we go,” the pirate says, the smooth baritone of his cadence louder over the fit of her coughing, “Attagirl. That’s much better.” 

He doesn’t tip more of the beverage into her mouth — a ransom on a princess who’s drowned in her own lungs is worth virtually nothing — and lets her cough and sputter a little longer. She strings together a sequence of breaths he deems good enough, before he smushes the rim of the metal cup back against her bottom lip. 

“Drink,” Harry advises and nudges the tin back in a way, again, so that the liquid sloshes and spills out into her open mouth. 

This time, she doesn’t cough. She expects it, the water. The princess affixes her top lip lower to siphon the beverage and takes a few swallows. Harry watches her throat bob, and he watches a little rivulet escape, too, dribbling down the corner of her mouth in a little streak. It drips down her chin, down her neck. His pupils follow the trail. He gives her a little break part-way, once the tin is close to empty and her neck is craned back with the swallows. He draws it away. Good. That was good, nice and easy. As easy as it could be, given the circumstances. 

Except she fixes him with this horrible glare, again, as he pulls the cup away. This glare that speaks volumes, this glower that should warn him of his error before he lets it happen. Harry doesn’t catch the drift. Only a glimpse of her cheeks puffing before she puckers her lips and spits the remnants at him, coating the bottom-most half of his linen with a mist of the water. His belt too, and a bit of his trousers. 

And then her mouth is empty and she’s just scowling at him, head tipped down in a way so that the chunk of her frizzy tendrils settles back over an eye. Harry doesn’t waste a second before angling the cup, miffed, and flinging what little water is left in the cup right back in her face. 

And the way her eyes screw shut, the way her lips fall open in silent appall the second he returns the energy, (except, he’s far more polite, in his humble opinion. He doesn’t spit at her like an improper animal), when she’s doused in the chilled liquid, and it coats the face-framing layers of her hair, her lashes, and drips down her chin — that’s the highlight of his day. 

He doesn’t instantly fix the gag back into her mouth, or slip the rope back over her irritated skin. He watches her, his jaw set, and when the young woman opens her eyes, she sees that storm brewing, manifesting — the kind she’d only imagined prior, in the flinty green of his irises. Like he’s harnessing his own composure. But then he takes a step back, and just. Leans against the closed door. Like he’s scoping her with his gaze. Like she’s just this shiny thing for his sight to pore over. 

And Seren thinks that feels worse than if she were to face the bite of his skin against her own, the swat of his palm against her cheek. She’d rather that, honestly. 

Her skin is cold from the water. She’s still sort of reeling that he’d done that, to begin with. He’s drumming the pads of his fingers against his bicep, over the nearly-sheer, cream sleeve of his shirt when he asks, a serious note of authority to the molasses of his speech, “Do you know who I am?” 

Seren curbs parroting the question wryly. As much as she’d love to tell him her father will torch the ship he rides upon and hang every member of his crew, him and his stupid fucking dimples included, she’s sure that all she’ll receive in response is a grating twitch of his pink mouth. 

“Hm?” he prods, making a show of cupping a palm behind his ear and steering his torso forward a smidge, half-expecting her response to be a series of shrill cries, for the hell of it.

Her answer is not one he expects. Frankly, the man doesn’t expect an intelligible response, the history of her opting for incoherent shouts, considered. But she speaks, afterall. It’s soft in decibel, feminine, and pleasant — her voice, unlike the aimless yelling he’d become accustomed to. Even still, it carries that undeniable note of derision. 

Seren tells him, “Someone …terribly disturbed.” 

Harry almost can’t help the way his cushiony mouth quirks. 

Almost. 

“Disturbed?” he scoffs, sardonically mirthy, “She spits at me like a fucking …filthy animal, and I’m disturbed. Aye, I’m disturbed.” 

The princess makes daggers with the gaze she sends in his direction. He lets her simmer in the wake of the light insult, for a moment, just drumming over his bicep, his mouth twitching in a kind of way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“I’m the captain of this ship,” Harry supplies softly, jade narrowed. 

There’s a twitch to her face then, something that slots by and withers in the blink of an eye. Something like recognition. And, fucking finally, Harry thinks — he can practically hear the angels croon at the crumbs of reception, from her, to his authority. 

“That means,” he motions out with the cup, his other arm still crossed, fingers wrapped about his waist now, “I’m in charge.” 

His voice is soft-spoken, a croon that spells it out for her, if she hasn’t already caught the drift. 

“I’m in charge of this ship. This crew,” he takes a step forward, ducking his chin as his eyebrows tip up a bit, “And you. And that means I’m in charge of what happens to you. So don’t you think it’s in your best interest to behave?” 

If he expects her to bow down and kiss the toes of his scuffed boots, the young woman doesn’t bite the bait. 

“You’re nothing but a mangy sea brute,” Seren declares, then, her chin held audaciously high, despite the ropes binding over her breasts and the foreboding ocean that sways beyond, with ravenous threat. He could lug her off onto the deck and chuck her off the plank, tied just like this. 

He doesn’t.  

He just stays leant against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest. 

“Mangy sea brutes,” the pirate weighs her words, nodding slowly as he purses his lips in deliberation. And then his brows pinch together, “that’s quite insulting, actually. I take pride in my appearance, I’ll have you know.” 

“Mangy,” the young woman confirms, venom in her tone. 

The pirate props himself up and off, taking a languid step, each syllable of his cadence laced with condescension, “Now, rugged—“ and open mouthed smirk, a nudge with his chin, “I’ll accept. You don’t think I spend time in front of the mirror, darling? Mangy. What a rude word. I wasn’t aware that Siren, Princess of Essex was so abrasive.” 

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes when they flash to him — something like sharp surprise, mottled with pique. Like she didn’t expect him to know who exactly he was harboring upon his ship. The corners of his mouth crook. She’s seemingly appalled that he’s done his research. The glint of shock is gone, as soon as it shows itself. 

“Oh,” the captain takes a slow step forward in this sort of way, as if his body language is entirely meant to taunt her, hand in hand with his tongue, “I see. You thought I didn’t know who you were. Just some nameless, pretty little thing on my ship.” 

It’s a purposeful dig — the mispronunciation of her name. It’s only a vowel off, it could be chalked up to simple error, but it’s blatantly to mock her. Really, it’s a funny little dub since she enjoys spending so much screeching like the nuisance of a blaring alarm that just won’t shut off. It’s meant to demean her, to belittle her, because not even her name, blue-blooded and all, is worth correct pronunciation. That’s what she seems to hone on from the whole revelation, Harry finds. 

“Seren,” she corrects with bite, that same glower she’d worn prior reincarnated. 

The man takes another step. He cups behind his ear, and Seren promises herself that the moment she’s freed, she’ll personally chop off his stupid fucking ear for all the times he’d cupped behind that shell of it that way, so condescending. “What was that?” 

“Seren,” the young woman scowls, “Seren, Princess of Essex.”

He pauses, a cinch in his brows with this patronizing nod, like he’s weighing her correction, and then he tells her, motioning with an arm as the cinch relaxes, “Siren, Seren. Tomato, tomato.”

He motions with his palm nonchalantly. She wants to bite at his fingers. She doesn’t. 

“How dare you?” the young woman says instead. 

Harry’s mouth quirks. How dare he? What a pompous inquiry, molded by prissy lips. 

“How dare I?” the pirate repeats, and then just lifts his shoulder in a casually apathetic shrug. He takes a third step forward, raspberry lips smug and curled, “I just… dare.” 

And before the princess can voice her obnoxious protest, he shoves the cloth into her mouth and tugs up the rope, plucking a garbled sound of anger from her in the process. 

The silence is wonderful. 

By the time Harry returns to her for the third time, it’s well past nightfall. Light stops leaking from the crack of the window. Seren watches the shift, the way it rolls as the hours tick by, in the room. It morphs from behind her, its bright gold slipping into a darker orange, mottled with pink, and then dimmer, and dimmer, and dimmer, as minutes leak away, until all that’s left is dusk and the glow of the moonlight. 

The door creaks. She almost doesn’t see it, but she hears the pad of his boots over the wood and twists her neck to catch the sight of his legs as he steps through the threshold. 

“Honey, I’m home,” the pirate calls. 

Her eyes strain their sockets to catch the moonlight cresting off his cheekbones as his head dips, the dimpling that rises awake beside the corners of his mouth as they turn up at his own jest. He’s holding something. The captain winds around her, through the coat of darkness, and settles somewhere she can’t see. A thump, like something being set onto a table. Then, soft breaths fill the void of the silence. A strike of a match. Her eyes are forced to adjust to a warm, buttery glow as the little beam of fire, merged to a lantern, and then another, sends gold bouncing wall to wall. 

That’s when Harry sees that she's managed to make a home for herself on the floor, the chair she’s been restrained to tipped on its side. He almost doesn’t think anything of it, for a split second, but then, as the pads of his digits work buttons through their slits to disrobe, the pirate casts his gaze up for a double take. A twisted coil of satisfaction blooms in his chest as he observes her, the thought that whatever faulty maneuver she’d made to escape had resulted in this, and, well. That makes something joyful and mean bud. 

Seren listens to his boots, the step of them slow against the floorboards, until she sees him towering over her, in her peripherals. Her pupils shift. 

“Comfortable?” his brows climb with emphasis. The work of his fingertips over the buttons on his shirt are sluggish. Tired. She notes that motion, too — that fact that he’s actively shedding clothes. Nonchalantly. And it must show in her eyes, then. Something vulnerable, something uncomfortable, something raw, and petrified, because, yeah, she’s a petulant, little princess strapped to a chair in his cabin, against her will, and she fights him tooth and nail in every instance that he comes to visit her. But she’s a princess strapped to a chair, against her will, and it’s nightfall, and his skin is growing more bare, square inch by square inch, as the seconds pass. 

He must note that — whatever that shows, because the quirk of his priorly mirthy, strawberry mouth slips a tad. And then his features shape something relaxed. Something tired, again. Like he’s too worn. 

The sarky comment has those same traces of exhaustion seeping into it as his dismissive gaze disengages, honing on the work of his digits as he loops the final button through, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”

The cloth slips apart, showcasing more skin. A line of hair from below his belly button, in soft, dark wisps that melts off behind his belt. Sturdy muscles of his abdomen that ripple as he moves, chin ducked—

His palms cup over the belt of holsters, and that clinks as he discards it, too, winding around to, she assumes, set it somewhere. And then, more skin to pore over when he returns, the sharp cut of a V, decorated with laurels, emphasized by the low hang of his trousers. He cocks his head down at her, like he’s contemplating. Contemplating what, Seren’s unsure. He moves out of her line of sight again. 

Her arm aches. She’d tipped over onto it what felt like hours ago, and it’d taken the brunt of the fall, lodged against the side of the chair with the situation of her joints being married in the bindings, behind her. She’d managed to roll forward on her shoulder, just a tad, so that the press against it wasn’t constant, but it still fucking hurt. Her palms, down to the tips of her digits, were numb, she had this heinous crick in her neck, and she’s sure that the moment she’s able to stand her tailbone will hurt like hell. If she’s ever allowed to stand again. Maybe he’ll hurl her into the open ocean, strapped to this godforsaken chair, afterall. 

For now, he just hauls her up. His touch — warm — skims the opposite arm before his palm wraps over the beam over the back of the chair and tugs, leveling her with ease. The young woman squeaks against the gag as she hovers, terrified to drop straight onto the limb again. She doesn’t. The pirate sets her straight with a tired grunt. His sight scales her arm, the one she’d toppled onto, and Seren can’t see, but she assumes it’s not in the most pristine condition. And then his touch smooths over the ache, a crease over his brow bone as his eyes pry, and she bristles. 

His mouth twitches, but it’s tired. Tired after having to deal with her, tired from whatever he’d spent his time doing beyond the cabin. Tired after sinking her ship and taking her hostage, Seren thinks bitterly. How exhausting. And Harry takes his hand away. 

From her new, upright view, she can see that little metal cup — the same one he’d brought her hours earlier. He’s set it onto the table, and she knows it wasn’t there before, which means he’s brought it with new water. Seren turns her head to face it. It’s the most she can manage given that she can’t tell him what she wants, what with the gag and all. 

“Thirsty?” he notes, chin over his shoulder in her direction as he shimmies the sleeves of his shirt off. Seren eyes the expanse of naked skin as it expands, from cuts of muscle to ink sunk into the flesh of his arm. Certainly, if she wasn’t before. 

The princess doesn’t answer. She can’t, and she’s not going to resort to a string of pathetic hums to get his attention. The captain sets his shirt onto the table in a pile of disarray, beside his belt, and takes the cup. When he makes his way over to her, Seren’s eyes don’t follow his figure. And for a moment, there’s only a deliberative sort of silence. She doesn’t look until he talks, until his tone is far more serious than she’s heard thus far. 

“If you spit it at me again, I will personally make sure you lick it back up, off the floorboards.” 

And wisely, she doesn’t spit the liquid back up at him when he tugs the gag free and tips the rim of the cup against her mouth. Seren doesn’t doubt he’s the type of man to follow through on his words. But that’s not why she drinks — she drinks because she’s fucking thirsty. Her tongue’s gone dry, and the back of her throat pinpricks with an uncomfortable soreness, and because the lukewarm liquid feels good spilling down her throat. She cranes her neck back, throat bobbing, and doesn’t stop until he’s pulled the cup away himself, and a little rivulet of water dribbles down the corner of her mouth. She takes a big gulp of air and expels it. 

And then, with angry sorts of eyes, the princess declares, “I’m hungry.” 

“You’re hungry,” the pirate mirrors, but it’s only wryly amused — his tired, sardonic smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and he sets the cup back onto the table with little urgency to get her food. “We don’t offer room service.” 

“You haven’t fed me once today,” Seren declares indignantly when he winds behind her, out of sight. And then there’s a sigh and a creak, the kind that seeps from mattress springs compressing. “This is— this is cruel, I’ll have you know. This is torture, this is—“ 

“Thank you for your honest review, we’ll make sure to take your feedback into account,” Harry chimes at her in true, facetious fashion, scrubbing over his eyes with a palm as he knees his way onto the bed. And then the pirate tells her, with a more serious note to his drawl, before she has a chance to interject with another complaint, “If you’re going to talk all night, I’m going to put your gag back in until the morning.” 

Seren doesn’t say anything. Finally, she doesn’t say anything at all, and it’s splendid. It’s peace and quiet, and all he hears, for a perfect moment, is the creak of the wood and the subdued roar of the waves. 

“I don’t want to stare at the wall,” the princess speaks, eventually, like a petulant child. “Why am I staring at the wall?”

“Because …that’s the way the chair’s facing,” Harry responds, matter-of-factly and almost instantly, sure that a note of irritation has managed to teem into the words despite his best efforts. He will not let her know that her efforts of poking are chipping at his composure, he won’t. 

And for another moment, Seren doesn’t say anything. He lets his eyes drift shut. 

“I want to face you,” the princess says, eventually, and her tone implies she’s taken the bridge of silence to build the phrase up into something more demanding, something royal and authoritative. If he wasn’t so fucking tired he’d laugh. 

“You want to watch me sleeping?” she hears the pirate from behind her, his honey-smooth drawl grown raspy and lower from, seemingly, exhaustion, “That’s an odd request.” 

Her brows furrow as a scowl paints her mouth. The bed creaks in the gap of quiet. Every hair stands on end when, suddenly, he’s inches from her, his presence looming and warm from behind, with calloused fingertips brushing the side of her neck in their venture towards that godforsaken gag. 

“Just turn me!” Seren shrieks, “Just turn me, and I’ll be quiet!” 

He doesn’t put the gag in. He winds around her, hand still on the rope, his features shaped with apathetic seriousness, “If I turn you because you want me to turn you, what good am I at putting my foot down? Hm?”

Seren blinks up at him.

“Please,” the princess tells him, hushed and earnest, “I don’t feel …safe.” 

His brows twitch. There’s something that blooms in the jade at her admission, but it flits by, gone as quickly as it’d appeared. And then his brows furrow, and he looks absolutely exasperated, the subtle downturn at the edges of his mouth emphasized with the roll of that same jade. The pirate scoffs, and his boots stomp over the wood, each step an inclination that his frustration has leaked into his body language. 

“I told you—“ the legs of the chair screech against the floorboards — he doesn’t even grunt as he maneuvers her with ease, the motion rough like it’s a chore, “—that you’re not my type. Not everybody wants to fuck you, your highness.” 

Seren blinks, pupils poring over the priorly unseen sight of the opposite end of the room. A slit of a window, brushing the edge of the wall that merges into the ceiling. A bookshelf of literature and knickknacks. A dresser, a queen-sized mattress on the floor. The pirate still looks absolutely miffed when he walks toward the table with the lantern, bare shoulders squared and the muscles in his back rippling. He sets the light out, kicks off his boots, and falls into the bed unceremoniously. 

It’s a victory. 

And for a moment, Seren thinks he’s just going to wordlessly roll over to avoid her prying gaze. He doesn’t do that. They bask in the crash of the waves outside, the darkness, and their quiet breaths. He’s got this knack — Seren’s learned. This skill of morphing from sarcastic and teasing to broodingly serious, and it’s mercurial, sort of. She wonders if this brooding side’s what’s brought him to lead an entire ship. 

“Be quiet now,” the pirate drawls from the sheets, in that broodingly serious cadence, “If I hear another word, I’ll personally carry you out onto the deck, and you can sleep in the chair out there.” 

The man rolls over to face the wall. Seren doesn’t say another word for the rest of the night.

[mysticstronomy]

WHAT IS "NOTHING" IN SPACE??

Blog#433

Wednesday, September 4th, 2024.

Welcome back,

We can define physical reality pragmatically as all that which exists in the cosmos, and there is no such thing as complete emptiness in it. Quite the opposite, it seems that the more we learn about nature, the busier space becomes. We can contemplate the idea of a metaphysical emptiness, a complete void where there is nothing. But these are concepts we make up, not necessarily things that exist. Even calling nothingness a “thing” makes it into something.

Leucippus and Democritus, the Greek philosophers credited with the invention of atomism — that everything is made of tiny bits of matter that cannot be divided — suggested the joint existence of atoms and the void. Atoms make up everything that exists, but they move in a complete emptiness, the void.

As an exercise in the always evolving way we figure things out about the world, we can make a list of the things we know fill up empty space. (The list does change. For example, 120 years ago, it would have included the ether, the medium in which light was supposed to propagate.)

Starting with classical physics, the key concept is that of a field. A field is a spatial manifestation of a source. If an object sensitive to the field is placed within its range, it will respond in some way, usually by being attracted to or repelled by the source that creates the field.

In classical physics we know of only two forces, gravitational and electromagnetic. Every object with mass attracts every other object. You attract and are attracted by everything that exists — by butterflies and whales, by the Sun and all the planets of this Solar System and across the Universe.

The intensity of an object’s gravitational field grows in proportion to its mass and decays with the square of the distance to it. In that sense, space is filled with interconnected fields that link us to the rest of the Universe.

Gravitational fields extend their threads to all corners of space. Since fields carry energy, we can say that space is filled with the energy of these gravitational fields. Electromagnetic fields also have energy, of course. But since electric and magnetic forces can be attractive and repulsive, they usually are neutralized and rarely manifest themselves at great distances.

At the quantum level, space gets even busier. Indeed, quantum physics tells us there is no such thing as zero energy. In the world of atoms and subatomic particles, movement is constant, and there is an energy associated with a particle’s residual motion called zero point energy, or vacuum energy.

If we now connect this fact to the famous E=mc2 formula, which states that energy and matter may be interconvertible, it is possible for particles of matter to spring out from the energy of the vacuum — the energy of empty space.

The Universe itself could emerge in this way, as we have discussed. The fact that matter may come out of what we would call “nothing” shows that the “nothing” of quantum physics is far from a complete void. Virtual particles appear and disappear like bubbles in a boiling soup. In the current view of quantum physics, the void bubbles continuously with the creation and destruction of matter particles.

We met the concept of fields in classical physics, but it carries over to quantum physics with even more dramatic effects. We no longer refer to particles, in fact, but to the fields that create them. An electron or a proton is an excitation of the electron or the proton fields, respectively, like small waves drifting on the surface of a lake.

Particles are pictured as knots of energy moving in their fields, with physical properties like mass.

The physical picture that emerges is that of space filled with quantum fields that boil up with real and virtual particles. As the Fox said to the Little Prince in Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s fable, “What is essential is invisible to the eyes.” This is as true for love and friendship as it is for the “nothingness” of space.

Originally published on https://bigthink.com

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, September 7th, 2024)

"WHY IS EVERYTHING IN SPACE ALWAYS MOVING??"

[ozzgin]

So, how is your Harem? Quick question does every member of you harem share the same bed with you (in which case that must be a giant ass bed) or does each of your spouses have their own room? Or is it optional, like they can share a bed with everyone or have their own bed and/or own room?

You must leave the conventional ways behind, anon. Here it’s all about aesthetics.

Are we feeling kinda edgy and mysterious? Then it’s either the bat-formation (hooked stripper heels coming soon on our store) or the grave cuddle (we’re holding hands under the soil).

Of course, that doesn’t mean we disregard the classic option of sharing a bed.

Occasionally we’ll just disintegrate into pairs of quarks and virtual particles and reassemble into macromolecular beings once the sun shines again. If we’re feeling goofy like that. 🤭

[animatedjen]

Jedi Survivor Photomode Tips: Portrait Lighting!

There are four lighting features that impact Survivor’s photomode: the environmental light, Cal's lightsaber, the exposure slider, and the three spotlights. Let's use them all 🔆

Environment

The environment/lighting teams at Respawn have designed incredible locations across all these different Star Wars planets. Pay attention to how the already-placed lights impact your portrait: I have a running shortlist of favorite locations that I often go back to when creating a specific look.

Environmental lighting also includes effects like fire particles, weapons, Merrin’s magick, etc. If you get your timing right, these can add extra color and visual interest to your photo.

Lightsaber

Cal’s lightsaber! It’s made of light! While everyone has their own color preferences (ginger saber supremacy) keep your color choice in mind when using the saber as a key light.

Bonus tip: Cal’s saber can also be used to help light NPCs 👀 Photomode allows you to toggle Cal’s visibility on and off, but the ambient glow from the saber will remain. It’s pretty easy to tell when I’m using this trick: just look for a bar-shaped catchlight in the character’s eyes.

Speaking of catchlights - they’re a great way to add life to your portrait. If the environmental light doesn’t hit the character’s eyes, I’ll often use the first spotlight as a key (main) light to try and create that reflection.

Spotlights

I’m often using spotlights in two ways, either intensifying the environmental light or pushing the image with stylized lighting. The first creates more interaction between the character and their surroundings, while the second adds drama and visual interest. My favorite portraits are often a mix of both.

Here’s a breakdown from a recent photo: the unlit photo (1), a yellow spotlight as a key (2), a red rim light that connects to the neon sign in the background (3), a green rim light for stylization and repeating color (4), and the final image (5)

Other spotlight tips: play with moving them closer/further away from your subject, along with the intensity of the light itself. Some colors (white, yellow) are more powerful than others (red, blue). If I can’t get the color I want from one light, I’ll place two in the same location and drop the intensity to blend them - blue and green make turquoise!

If you want to be a nerd like me (though I'm in this industry so it's kind of my job) study lighting that’s used in real life portraiture and cinematography. Techniques like short lighting, three point lighting, butterfly lighting, etc.

Exposure Slider

The exposure slider in photomode is a helpful option when the entire scene is darker/brighter than you’d like. It’s also a good way to isolate your subject from the background: drop the exposure down, then use spotlights to add light back to your subject. Note that the spotlight brightness is impacted by the exposure as well, so you’ll need to crank the spotlights up to compensate.

Photo editing

Survivor’s visuals have a beautiful dynamic range and photomode does a great job protecting its highlights and shadows, though that often means less contrast. So if it’s a favorite portrait, I’ll add some contrast back in and often push complementary color into the shadows (yay color theory!)

--

So I've been slowly writing notes for a full-fledged video tutorial and wanted to try a thread-style post in the meantime. Lighting is such an important part of photography, both IRL and virtual, but it's not the easiest tool to use. This is more theory than a practical how-to, but hopefully some of it is helpful?

If you made it all the way down here, you get... a turbo dog or something. Two turbo dogs! 🌭

[sebstanaddict]

The Prettiest Girl

Sebastian Stan x Reader One Shot

Summary: When you interview Sebastian Stan but all he wants is to flirt with you 🤭

A/N : I've been wanting to write this for a while. It's just a little something I wrote for fun. Hope it brings a smile to your face 😊

Warning : just pure fluff and maybe A Different Man spoiler although the movie isn't even out yet, so 😆

Word count: 2.9k

My other one shots >

---

Soho, New York - November 11th 2023 - 3.50 pm

—

Millions of soft icy particles fell from the heavens down to the earth on that fateful Saturday afternoon in Soho, New York. They covered everything from trees, buildings, pavements and the top of people's heads. Some had stuck on one particular window of an apartment and created beautiful patterns.

Y/n looked out the window and smiled. It had been snowing all day and it didn't look like it was going to stop soon. Everything looked white and the atmosphere felt serene and beautiful. Despite the cold she had always loved looking at snow and playing with them. She couldn’t wait to go out and make some snow men at the nearest park once the snow had stopped falling. But now she had a job to do.

She sat at her working corner in her bedroom and turned the laptop on. Moments later she opened the zoom application and started setting up her webcam so it showed her clearly with one of the walls in her bedroom as the background. She tidied her hair a little and fixed her white buttoned up blouse so that she looked presentable. Satisfied with how she looked, she entered the empty virtual room in the zoom application.

Her heart rate started to rise as she looked at her laptop screen. As a senior editor at one of the world’s top entertainment media, she was used to interviewing many celebrities. But that afternoon she was scheduled to interview the Hollywood A List actor and Marvel star Sebastian Stan, someone whom she had been in love with for quite some time. Despite having worked at the entertainment media for ten years, it was the first time she got the chance to interview Sebastian and she couldn’t help but feel very nervous about it.

She picked up the paper which had a list of questions she was going to ask him as well as some facts about his upcoming movie. Yes, one of the reasons for the interview was for him to promote the new movie. She had seen the movie and it was quite an interesting movie. She couldn’t wait to hear from him more about it.

She was re-reading the third question when the screen in front of her flickered and Sebastian’s face was shown on the screen.

“Hello!” Sebastian smiled wide and greeted her, making butterflies fly around in her stomach. How could someone look so gorgeous? She pondered as she stared at the screen and admired his beautiful face. Sebastian had let his hair grow but not that much. It was short but fluffy at the top. He had a very light layer of stubble like he just shaved yesterday. But of course it was his ocean blue eyes that mesmerized her the most.

“Hello Y/n.. earth to Y/n. Can you see me? Can you hear me?” Sebastian asked and she blinked several times, finally snapping out of being drowned in his gorgeous eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I can see you. I can hear you. Sorry.” She blushed as he smiled again at her.

“Oh okay, that’s good. I'm sorry but I'm currently traveling and I'm stuck in traffic right now. So if I get disconnected or something it's ‘cause I'm on the road.” He said as he turned his camera around making her see that he was in a car.

“Oh okay. You know if it's a bad time, we can do this later.” She suggested.

“Oh no, it's okay. I mean as long as it's not two hours long. You know.” He chuckled.

“Oh of course not. Depending on your answers this could take half an hour to an hour at most.” She replied.

“Alright. I'll try to keep my answers short.” He said.

“Well, if you need to elaborate please feel free to do that.”

“Yeah.. yeah.. of course.” He smiled and for a second she could see like he was really seeing her for the first time.

“You look great by the way.” He winked and she felt like her heart leapt out of her chest.

“Uh.. thank you.You look great yourself.” She blushed yet again that she was sure she looked as red as a tomato.

“Oh, thank you.. “ He smiled shyly and she could see that he was blushing too. She loved how he could sometimes be uncomfortable when people compliment him. It was so endearing to her.

“Anyway, how are you? How is Atlanta?” she asked. As it happened, Sebastian was in Atlanta to shoot the next Marvel movie.

“I’m good, thanks. Atlanta is, well, it’s been cold but not that cold. We’ve been shooting indoors a lot with wires and stuff. It’s been hard and exhausting. But, you know, I shouldn’t complain. I really shouldn’t. It’s been great fun.” He replied.

“Can you tell me if Anthony is there?” she asked with a small smile on her lips.

“You know I can’t tell you that. I signed an NDA! I can’t.” He chuckled.

“But.. maybe off the record I can tell you. Later on.” He winked again and she felt butterflies yet again. She couldn’t believe how flirty he was to her.

“Okay, anyway, are you ready?” She asked.

“Yes, of course. Go on.” He smiled and she felt butterflies again in her stomach. Maybe this was a bad idea. She thought as she tried to compose herself.

“Good afternoon, Sebastian.” She finally greeted him after hitting the record button and smiled at him.

“Good afternoon!” He answered, smiling wide at her.

“Thank you for doing this for us and giving your time amidst your busy shooting schedule.” She said.

“Oh no, thank you for allowing me to do this.” He said and she nodded.

“So, Sebastian, you have a new movie releasing soon called A Different Man, directed by Aaron Schimberg starring yourself, the Norwegian break out actress Renate Reinsve and the British actor Adam Pearson.” She said and this time he nodded.

“I had the privilege to see it yesterday thanks to you and the director Aaron, and I must say that it is a very interesting and out of the box movie. Could you tell me how you got involved with it?” She asked.

“Oh yeah. My agent sent me the script and I think it was such an interesting script. I mean, it’s very rare to see movies with this subject matter. The director Aaron had done another movie before this called Chained For Life that had a similar subject matter. In that movie he also cast Adam. And I watched the movie and I fell in love with it. The way Aaron told the story was very unique. I haven’t seen anything like it in a long while. And yeah, I thought that the movie was something that I would love to be involved in.”

“Aside from being the main actor, you are also a producer in this movie. Is that correct?”

“Yeah I am. It’s the first movie I ever produced.”

“What made you decide to be involved not just as an actor? But also as a producer?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about producing for a while but never got anything I was excited about until this one came. Aaron needed some help and seeing his talent and his previous work I decided to jump into it and help him out.”

“I see. So, in this movie, you play someone with neurofibromatosis, and you had to change your face completely. How did it feel to be under all those prosthetics and looking in the mirror and saw a completely different version of you?”

“It felt surreal of course. It took a long long time to get the prosthetics on correctly the first time. I think it took almost a whole day. But then they figured it out and the next day I basically just had to put on like a mask and then they added some more stuff on my face to blend it in.”

“Oh, that’s really interesting. I’m sure it helped a lot in your performance looking completely different.”

“Yeah, yeah. It helped a lot in that I just needed to look in the mirror and just like that I felt like a completely different person.” He said as he snapped his fingers.

“And it showed. Being someone who have seen your work a lot over the years, I must say you have done the best job of your career.”

“Oh my gosh. That’s.. really?” He asked, his face reddened and he put one hand on the side of his face.

“Yeah. Really. It was your best work in my opinion and I wouldn’t be surprised if you get an Oscar nomination for it. I really wouldn’t.” She smiled.

“That’s.. wow.. it means a lot, coming from you. Really.” He smiled and she couldn’t help but blush again. She couldn't believe he would say something like that.

“Umm.. yeah. Anyway, could you tell me how Adam and Renate got involved?” She asked, deciding to ignore what he said. She was just going to cut that part out and pretended he never said it.

“Oh yeah, with Adam it was a no brainer really. Aaron had cast him even before I got involved. Adam was actually involved waaay before I did. As for Renate. I had seen her movie The Worst Person In The World and I loved her performance in it. It was so real and raw. I knew when I read the script I wanted someone like her to play Ingrid. So I suggested her to Aaron and he agreed and I sought her out and well, the rest is history.”

“I can see why you wanted her to play Ingrid.”

“Yeah, she possesses this instinct as an actor that I haven't seen in a while. It was really a pleasure to work with someone who can keep up with you and even challenge you in their own way. You know. It was very rewarding as an actor to be able to work with someone like her. She was really something else. Kind of like you.” He winked.

“Excuse me?” She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“Yeah.. I'm sorry but.. umm.. I really have to say this. I have never seen any girl looking as pretty as you are, especially when you blush. You’re quite literally the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” He said and her heart seemed to leap out of her chest as she heard him. Once again she couldn’t believe how flirty he was to her!

“Oh stop it, Sebastian. I will definitely edit this out.” She chuckled as her face continued to redden.

“Oh no, don’t. I want people to see that.” he teased again.

“But that has nothing to do with the interview so I will definitely edit it out.” she insisted.

“Fine, I’m just gonna repeat it along the way, on the record and off the record, later on.” he winked and she just shook her head.

“Okay, back to the topic of your movie.”

“You’re so serious. I like that about you.” He teased her again and she felt herself blush yet again.

“There it is.. the blush. I love it.” He chuckled.

“Sebastian, please.”

“Please what, Y/n?” he asked as his voice suddenly changed to be huskier, as much as she didn’t believe it.

“Please stop flirting with me. I’m trying to do my job.” she protested.

“I'm sorry. I'm being really unprofessional aren't I?” He sighed and she nodded.

“Okay, I'm sorry. I'll try to be more professional as long as you promise me something.”

“Okay.. promise you what?”

“That you'll go out with me.”

Her heart seemed to stop as she heard him. This couldn't be happening, she thought in disbelief.

“You're in Atlanta and I'm in New York. How are we going to do it?” She asked, suddenly feeling courageous enough to tease him back about it because she was certain he was just joking with her for whatever reason.

“You know I go back to New York every weekend. So, we can go this weekend!” He said excitedly.

“Okay. Sure. I need to ask my husband's permission first though.” She said as an idea popped into her head and his eyes widened.

“Your husband's permission? I should have known someone as gorgeous as you is already taken. I'm too late aren't I?” He said dejectedly and she couldn't help but chuckle. He looked so cute pouting like that.

“Well.. yeah. You are too late. I'm sorry. But, he's quite an open minded person so maybe I can ask him.“ she said teasingly.

“Oh good! Where is your husband? Let me ask him myself.” He challenged.

“Wait here.” She chuckled and she stood up. She went to her bed and picked up a life size human shaped pillow with Sebastian's face on it then brought it back to her working desk.

“There he is. Sebastian say hello to pillow!Sebastian.” She said, showing the pillow to the webcam and the real Sebastian on the screen threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh my God! Hello pillow!Sebastian! I would like to ask for your permission to ask your beautiful wife out, please. I can't stand looking at her being so pretty like that. I must have her. Please. Could you do me a favor and divorce her?” He asked and she laughed.

“He said over his dead body.” She replied after her laughter subsided and he pouted again, making her laugh again.

“Hey pillow!Sebastian, I literally bought you for her and now you have the audacity to steal her from me?! Unbelievable!” He protested.

“He's sorry but he said he loves me and he can't divorce me.” She teased him again and he pouted yet again.

“Sweetheart, listen to me. I can’t do this and sit here miles away from you when you look so amazingly beautiful like that just teasing me with your pretty face. You have no idea what I'm imagining right now.” He said, gazing at her with eyes full of love and dare she said it, lust.

“Oh, what are you imagining?” she asked. Despite knowing this was very unprofessional of him, she couldn't help but be curious about it.

“I'm imagining being there with you and placing my hands on the sides of your face and just.. kiss that pretty lips of yours.” he said slowly, his voice low and husky.

She shivered as she listened to him and felt butterflies again in her stomach.

“I miss you, sweetheart.” He continued, staring at her with longing and she smiled.

“I miss you too, Iubirea mea.” she replied, making him smile.

“There it is. I love when you call me that.” He smiled.

“I love calling you that too.” She smiled.

“So, go out with me this weekend?” He asked and she of course couldn't answer with anything else.

“Sure. I'd love to go out with you, my darling husband.” She winked and he laughed.

“Glad to hear that my lovely wife.” he replied making her smile.

Just then his camera shook and he turned to the side.

“Oh, great! We're here!” He said excitedly.

“Sorry, I have to go, sweetheart.” He turned to her.

“Oh okay. Yeah. I'll talk to you later?” She asked.

“Wait.” He said as the camera continued to shake. She could hear the sound of a car door opening and closing and then the camera turned to show the sky as Sebastian continued to move.

“Seb? Sebastian?” She called out.

It seemed he didn't hear her as his phone's camera continued to shoot at the sky and then it showed a ceiling as Sebastian seemed to be entering a building. She studied the ceiling and thought that it looked familiar. Then it seemed like he was entering an elevator. A familiar ding could be heard as the elevator stopped and Sebastian got out of it. She continued to watch with a smile on her face as Sebastian seemed to be walking. Then he stopped and turned his phone's camera back on his face.

“Sweetheart. There's a surprise for you at the door.” He said with a twinkle in his eyes.

She laughed and immediately ran out of her room and towards the front door. She opened it wide and there he was, Sebastian Stan, staring at her like he saw the sun for the first time.

“Hi.” He smiled as he switched his cellphone off and put it in his pocket.

“Hi.” She smiled back, her heart beating so fast in her chest.

“I was right.” He said as he walked slowly closer to her.

“About what?” She asked, feeling like she was going to faint seeing him so close to her.

“You are.. literally.. the prettiest girl.. I've ever seen.” He smiled as he gently placed both hands on the sides of her face and gazed at her with longing.

“Oh shut up and just kiss me.” She said and he laughed.

And with that he pulled her closer to him and gently kissed her lips, causing fireworks to explode in her chest. She pulled him into her apartment and closed the door behind him as her plans obviously changed that afternoon. Interviews can wait. Snow men can wait. At that moment all she wanted was to be with him. Sebastian Stan. The love of her life.

[linkemon]

Revenge (Dracula x Reader)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

"ꜱʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴡᴀꜱ ʀᴜꜱʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ʜɪᴍ. ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ɪɴ ʟɪɴᴇ."

ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: 1. ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀ��� ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ 2.

[Reader] looked around. The desert stretched as far as the eye could see. Dune after dune and nothing else. Not a single plant, even the smallest one. Heat was pouring from the sky. The air was dry. She reached for the sand, not believing what had happened. Yellow particles fell between her fingers.

The entire landscape seemed the opposite of where she was just a minute ago. The dark, cold, old chambers of Dracula's castle — that's where she should be standing now. She had a duty to defend the vampire. She took an oath.

And yet Vlad sent her away. For her supposed good. When he pushed her into the magic mirror, she wanted to scream. He didn't save her at all. She couldn't be his lover, so she wanted to at least be a faithful servant. She wanted to die by his side. She didn't even get that. Fate never gave her anything she wanted.

— Sir. — She bowed.

She saw him less and less. However, it still happened that he visited her not only to talk about matters related to the army.

It was one of the evenings when he asked strange questions. She knew it. She could tell by the way he sat in the big red chair. He then seemed to shrink in on himself. As if all the power he wielded was draining from him.

— Why are you still here with me, [Reader]? I want to murder your race. — The wine in the goblet shimmered in the light coming from the fireplace. — I also can't give you what you want.

He didn't look her in the eye.

— I've known this for a long time — she replied, unmoved.

She sat down on the floor, by the fire. She looked towards Dracula.

She saw how tired he was. The flame of life burned out in him long ago. He was no longer the same vampire, craving justice for his wife's death. He continued to finish what he started long ago. However, he did it mechanically. There was no passion in it. Mass murders no longer brought him relief. He left it to others. Generals, armies and other vampires. He knew there was no turning back, so he went with the flow. She couldn't comfort him. And even if she could, she knew he wouldn't want to. He drowned in his sadness too deep and did not want to surface at all.

— My love doesn't matter. It doesn't have to be reciprocal. I followed you and I will do what needs to be done. Humanity never cared about me or Isaac or Hector either. — She tightened her fingers on her weapon. — We don't care about people. The fact that we are people has nothing to do with it.

Sometimes she wondered what she was doing with her life. She could have left. Leaving a person who never looked at her the same way. And yet she stayed here. In a gloomy castle, commanding an army of vampires. Creating creatures that kill her kin. But if she stopped, what would she be left with?

She felt that if she refused to help him, she would regret it. In the end, she didn't care anyway. And he needed her. He chose her to help him avenge Lisa. It didn't matter that she should be looked at as a dead rival. No one and nothing would replace the emptiness left by her. Even she couldn't do it. So she stuck with it all. She joyfully rushed towards her own destruction. For him and herself.

She couldn't know that death was rushing faster to meet him. She wasn't first in line.

Isaac seemed less lost than she was in his new surroundings. He stood up and offered her his hand. Throughout their acquaintance, he showed virtually nothing about himself. Now, however, she saw uncertainty in the brown eyes — slight, but still. He was wondering the same thing as her. Is there a chance that the vampire they loved survived?

— He won't kill his son. Not Alucard. Her voice sounded strange in the great wilderness. — So he will die.

She was afraid to say it. This sentence seemed to make real the fact that he was going to die. It was as if by admitting the truth she was killing him herself.

She was answered by a nod of her head.

— There is still revenge. — The man pulled out a dagger, looking at his reflection in the blade.

He never said much but he didn't have to. She understood him enough.

The list was long: Hector, Carmilla, the traitorous army, Alucard, and millions of nameless people. They all had to die. They had no right to walk in this world if Vlad was no longer there.

— Revenge. — She nodded. — And then we'll join him.

She was angry. This wasn't how she imagined it. They should finish the job together with Dracula. She was supposed to leave before him. She felt that when she finally allowed herself to meet death, she would welcome it with joy. However, she had a long way to go before that happened. There was so much she still had to do before she could die in peace.

There was no time for tears or mourning. They had to make plans. For a moment she felt tired. However, she recovered and followed the Forgemaster. Step by step they marched through the wasteland. 

[amazingamyy-y]

What If We're Living in a Simulation? Exploring Simulation Theory

Simulation theory is one of those concepts that can make your brain do a double take. The idea is simple, yet profound: what if our entire reality—everything we see, hear, and feel—is just an advanced simulation? It’s a thought that’s been explored in science fiction for decades, but in recent years, it has gained traction in academic circles and pop culture alike.

The Basics: What Is Simulation Theory?

At its core, simulation theory posits that the universe and everything within it is a highly advanced computer simulation. This could mean that we are living in a virtual reality created by a civilization far more advanced than our own, potentially to the point where their simulations are indistinguishable from what we perceive as reality.

This idea was popularized by philosopher Nick Bostrom in his 2003 paper, Are You Living in a Computer Simulation? Bostrom suggests that at least one of the following propositions is true:

Almost all civilizations at our level of technological development go extinct before becoming capable of creating such a simulation.

If civilizations reach the capability to create such simulations, they choose not to for some reason.

We are almost certainly living in a computer simulation.

The third proposition is the one that has sparked the most interest—and controversy.

Why Would Anyone Create a Simulation?

The motivations behind creating such a simulation could vary widely. Some theorists suggest that an advanced civilization might create simulations for scientific research, historical reenactments, or even entertainment. If you think about it, our own society is moving towards increasingly immersive virtual realities. We play video games, use virtual reality headsets, and create digital worlds. As our technology improves, who’s to say we won’t create simulations so complex that the inhabitants don’t even realize they’re in one?

Evidence and Arguments

So, what evidence is there that we might be living in a simulation? While there’s no definitive proof, several arguments have been made:

Mathematical Structure of the Universe: Some physicists and mathematicians point out that the universe seems to operate according to a set of underlying mathematical laws. If the universe is code, then it makes sense that it would have a structured, logical framework.

Quantum Mechanics: At the quantum level, reality behaves in strange, almost digital ways. Particles appear and disappear, and the act of observation seems to affect outcomes. This has led some to speculate that what we’re seeing is akin to how a computer simulation might render only what is necessary for the “player” to see.

Cosmological Fine-Tuning: The universe appears to be finely tuned for life, with physical constants falling within a narrow range that allows for the existence of complex structures like stars, planets, and humans. Some argue this could be evidence of a simulation designed to support life.

Counterarguments

Of course, there are plenty of skeptics. Critics of simulation theory argue that the hypothesis is unfalsifiable—meaning it cannot be proven or disproven. This makes it more of a philosophical musing than a scientific theory. Additionally, some argue that assuming we are in a simulation leads to a kind of nihilism, where our actions and experiences are rendered meaningless.

Others point out that just because something is possible doesn’t mean it’s probable. The idea of an advanced civilization creating simulations is fascinating, but there’s no direct evidence to suggest it’s happening.

Why It Matters

Whether or not we’re living in a simulation, the idea itself has significant implications. It forces us to question the nature of reality and our place within it. Are we the creators of our destiny, or are we just characters in a cosmic video game? Simulation theory also raises ethical questions—if we create simulations with conscious beings, what responsibility do we have toward them?

Final Thoughts

Simulation theory might sound like science fiction, but it’s a concept that has captured the imaginations of philosophers, scientists, and the general public alike. Whether you’re a believer or a skeptic, it’s an idea that invites us to think deeply about the nature of existence. And who knows—maybe one day we’ll find out the truth.

In the meantime, the idea that we could be living in a simulated reality adds a layer of mystery to our everyday lives. Next time something strange or inexplicable happens, you might find yourself wondering: Is this just a glitch in the matrix?

Feel free to dive into the comments—I'd love to hear what you think about simulation theory! Are we living in a simulation, or is it just another wild idea? Let’s discuss!