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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]

Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃

And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)

The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜

Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊

“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”

You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”

“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.

“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”

He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.

“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”

You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”

“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.

It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.

“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”

He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”

“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”

“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”

“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.

“Rog...I don’t know.”

“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”

“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”

“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.

“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”

“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”

“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”

You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.

Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.

“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”

“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”

Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”

Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”

Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”

“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”

“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.

“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.

John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”

“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”

“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”

“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?

“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”

“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.

Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”

Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”

The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”

He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.

“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”

“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”

“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.

Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”

She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.

“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.

“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.

“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”

Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”

Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.

When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.

That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.

“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”

“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.

“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”

Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.

“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.

Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”

He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.

“Let’s go to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.

“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”

“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”

John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?

Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”

He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”

John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.

“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”

“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”

“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”

“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.

“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”

I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”

John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.

With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”

“We’re going straight to the party?”

“We certainly are.”

“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”

John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”

John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.

You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”

He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.

“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”

“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”

Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.

John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.

“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”

“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.

“You look incredible, baby.”

“Roger, what’s going on...?”

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”

“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.

You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.

It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.

It doesn’t mean anything.

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appiomofchoice · 4 years

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More Than Friends

Classes started on Monday, so I may be taking a little hiatus to focus on that, but BEFORE I GO I wanted to post this...thing. It’s a little weird. I hope this makes sense????

Edit: Y’all I goofed and forgot to tag: @lucy-268 @mvalentine @seriouslybadchoices @anotherbeingsworld @choicesficwriterscreations

Synopsis: (Soulmate AU.) In a world where the rich can afford to commission Tattoo Artists (those trained in the use of the needles and the special ink which can tattoo the first name of the client’s soulmate on their skin), not much is different for the doctors of Edenbrook. The diagnostics team’s latest celebrity patient is Tattoo artist Mary Beth Porter, who’s made it her life’s mission to bring Tattoos to people of all socioeconomic statuses, introduce soulmates, and to film the ensuing drama for her hit reality TV show, What’s In a Name? As the doctors search for the cause of her symptoms, they grapple with their own complicated relationships with the soulmate system. (MC x Bryce)

Bryce’s Tattoo looked a little like a kindergartner had drawn their first number seven in glitter pen on his chest: a straight vertical line, connected to a short curve emanating from the top. It sparkled, like all Tattoos, written with a 95% Stellium ink. Darcy had seen it on her first day in the hospital---she was sure that most of Boston had seen it, thanks to Bryce’s enthusiasm for shirtlessness---but it wasn’t until the first time they slept together, the first time she was the one to peel off his sweater, that she learned the whole story.

He'd gone out to get a Tattoo for his eighteenth birthday, as every rich kid had done ten years ago. But the Tattoo Artist’s specialized needle had malfunctioned in the middle of the first letter, leaving no more than this mark on his skin and Stellium ink all over the TA’s hands. In the time it took to get cleaned up, Bryce changed his mind.

“Where’s the fun in someone telling you who you’re supposed to love, you know?” he finished, leaning back on his elbows, watching her watch him. “Or who to sleep with,” he added.

A not-so-subtle reminder that there was no soul-mating involved here. No, this was purely a matter of bodies---and she didn’t need to be told twice. Her body, for one, had regretted asking about the Tattoo the second he started the story, and she could have sworn that he’d drawn it out to torture her into begging him to remove the rest of his clothes. There was no damn way she was hiding her thirst at all.

But she wasn’t going to admit it. “Just say you chickened out,” she said, climbing onto her bed and swinging a leg over him. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Bryce laughed, sat up so that his lips were inches from hers and his hands rested on her hips. "Chickened out? Me? Let’s see your Tattoo then.” His fingers played with the hem of her shirt.

“I don’t have one,” she said. And then with a grin, she added, “But why don’t you see for yourself?”

In the year or so which had passed since then, quite a lot had changed. Darcy nearly lost her medical license. She was chosen for Dr. Ramsey’s diagnostics team. And this unnamed friends-with-benefits thing with Bryce had changed too, though not in any way she could articulate.

She’d also treated more patients than she could count for tattoo-related poisoning. Stellium was the wonder element that scientists had discovered in space twenty-five years ago, the stuff that a properly-trained TA used to commune briefly with the cosmos and extract the name of somebody’s soulmate. It had been approved by the FDA for public consumption; it was safe.

But it was expensive to inject almost pure stardust into people’s skin. So unlicensed and untrained Tattoo Artists, who preyed on poor people entranced by the fantasy of knowing the name of their soulmate, used an ink that was one percent Stellium and ninety-nine percent rat poison---or it might as well have been, for how dangerous it was. Many of her patients suffered neurological and psychological damage, and some died. And they did it with heartbreakingly generic names like “John” stuck permanently on their wrists.

And who else would be the diagnostics team’s next patient but the person perhaps most responsible for popularizing Tattoos to the masses? Mary Beth Porter, sixty-six years old and long-time host of hit reality TV show What’s In a Name?

"It's fantastic," gushed June, clasping her hands together. "Every week for the last fifteen years, Mary Beth has picked one person to give a Tattoo and set them up with their soulmate." She gave Mary Beth a warm smile. "It's just so inspiring to see the happiness you bring these people."

"Oh, thank you, my dear," said Mary Beth, her voice dreamy and ethereal, her eyes wandering the hospital room and never landing on one place. She reached for June's hands. Her own were shaky, and her entire body emitted a soft glow. “I understand that you’re afraid you may not have a soulmate, or that if you do, that they will hurt you. Your soul has been through quite a bit. But I know...that there is someone out there...”

Mary Beth patted June's hands again, took a deep breath, and let her eyes settle on a spot on the ceiling. As Ethan opened his mouth, probably to finally ask Mary Beth some questions, he was stopped by Baz, whose eyes were wide as the old woman murmured something low to June.

Darcy couldn’t hear, but June took a step back, as if she’d been hit, before she regained her composure. She plastered a smile on her lips, but it was not quite as effortless as usual. "I---Thank you, Mary Beth. We have some...other questions for you, and some tests we'd like to run."

She let the other team members have the floor, and as soon as Darcy finished collecting blood samples, June offered to run them to the lab.

Baz laughed. "June, that's why we have a resident. No offense, Darcy, you're a valued member of our---June?"

But June had already disappeared down the hallway.

"Thoughts?" asked Ethan, looking between the two remaining members of his team.

"June's probably just shocked to hear that she has a soulmate," mused Baz. “I wonder who it is.”

Ethan rubbed his temple. "About Mary Beth.”

“She’s exactly how she seems on the show,” answered Baz thoughtfully.

Darcy could sense Ethan’s growing frustration but couldn’t resist reacting. "You watch that crap?" she asked.

"The last episode destroyed a marriage,” said Baz. “I watched it twice.”

She scoffed. "But it's almost completely responsible for promoting these Tattoos to the general public in the last fifteen years and creating a market for these con artists---”

"Spoken like somebody who got a phony Tattoo," said Baz with a grin.

"Uh, spoken like somebody who's been a doctor for a year and in that short time has treated way too many dumbasses for injecting pure desperation into---”

Ethan cleared his throat, arms crossed over his chest. "If you're done, I'd like to focus on the patient. Not on her show or its moral implications, but the fact that she glows in the dark, no longer believes enough in the concept of time to tell us when it started, and believes she can predict soulmates.”

“Believes!” repeated Baz. “She’s been doing it for fifteen years---”

“She hasn’t, the Stellium ink has---”

“It’s still not a symptom, she said on the show herself that her entire life---”

“Enough about the show, Baz.”

"We’ll have to watch it,” Darcy cut in. And then, to Ethan’s exasperated look, she snapped, “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but she doesn’t know when her symptoms started, and we have a fifteen-year window into her life.”

Baz pumped his fist in the air. “Netflix and diagnosis, anybody?”

Darcy had patients to attend to and an intern to advise, but after everything had settled, she found Ethan in his office, glaring at his computer screen. She wordlessly pulled a chair up next to him to watch the sixth episode of the second season.

No glow and no tremor as Mary Beth sanitized the wrist of a young single mother and placed the Tattoo. Lucas, it read in glittery ink. The name of the woman’s best friend. But plot twist: Lucas was gay. And Mary Beth would spend the next sixty minutes trying to bully him back into a closet.

Ethan clicked for the next episode. He glanced at Darcy, as if to ask if she wanted to watch more.

"I'm sorry,” said Darcy, breaking the oddly comfortable silence. “I think you were right. About selling the soul of the diagnostics team. I didn’t think about the people we’d be treating, at the expense of people who actually need us. I’m just...sorry.”

He gave her a surprised look. "There's nothing to apologize for, Rookie. Because of you, there’s still a diagnostics team. Maybe not in its ideal form, but... I suppose that demanding unattainable perfection is the evil behind this soulmate industry.”

Darcy lifted an eyebrow at him. “An interesting observation. Do you have a case study to back it up?”

He’d said that same obnoxious sentence to her in rounds once, he must have known, because he was trying so hard to suppress a smile. “I do, in fact. Was Baz right? Did you get a phony Tattoo?”

Darcy laughed. “Changing the subject, I see. And no. My parents saved up to get real Tattoos on their anniversary. My dad didn’t even believe in this stuff. But my mom thought it would be romantic.” She paused, as if by doing so the actual story might end there. “...And then his said ‘Anastasia,’ the name of a woman he worked with. So now he and Anastasia are married and have three blond-haired blue-eyed kids. Maybe they’re soulmates, maybe they were meant to be. But then, what does it make us, you know? The not-soulmates? The mistakes? The... I’m sorry, you didn’t ask for all of that.”

“Don’t worry about it, Rookie,” he said. He paused a beat, before adding, “My parents aren’t soulmates, either. I don’t need Stellium to know that.”

She tilted her head at him. She’d believed that working on the diagnostics team would make the boundaries between them so much higher, insurmountable. But the more she worked with him, the more she felt that they understood each other. More than any of her other friends did.

Not that she was allowed to consider him a friend.

“I’ve gotta take off,” she said finally, standing up. She had an early morning shift tomorrow, which meant bedtime was soon, which meant that Bryce time was even sooner. Thank God. “But I’ll take the second half.”

Darcy traced the fractional Tattoo with her index finger as she lay on Bryce’s chest, where their heartbeats were slowing from the frantic pace of a few minutes ago. The faint sound of the What’s In a Name? intro music played from Bryce’s living room, where she’d been watching with Bryce for about thirty minutes before they became distracted. She’d have to get back to her project soon.

But for now, she simply traced the mark on his chest. There was no way of knowing what that first letter would have been, and she was consumed by curiosity, the way she was every night now. A P for Phoebe? A B for Baz? An R for Rafael?

She let her finger trace a D there. And she liked the way it looked in her head, so she followed it with A-R-C-Y...

“Interesting,” said Bryce, lips upturned in a half-smirk...and half something else she couldn’t entirely read. “Got some ideas for my next tattoo?”

“I think we’ve already established that you’re too chicken for a tattoo,” she said with a grin.

“Am not,” said Bryce, grinning back. “I’ll get one. I’ll even finish this one, if you want.” He pointed again to that mysterious mark on his chest.

“No,” said Darcy quickly.

He lifted an eyebrow at her, threw her that look she didn’t quite understand. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, firmly, looking him in the eye. “I don’t want you to find out that your soulmate isn’t me. I don’t want to know that the universe thinks you and I should love other people. Because the universe is dumb and Stellium is toxic, and I don’t think the needle malfunction was a mistake, because I---” She stopped, eyes wide.

And then she rolled off of him, hastily threw on some clothes, and darted out into the living room for her laptop. When she returned, she saw that Bryce had followed her to the doorway.

“There’s this study,” she explained, turning the laptop towards him, “about Tattoo needle malfunctions. It’s way more common than you’d think. Something about the Stellium in high concentrations and high temperatures; it’s impossible to avoid. But it hasn’t happened in the first, like, seven years of this show. They edited it out. And look at Mary Beth’s skin, here---and here---and here---it’s like twelve different tones. Not glowing, but---”

“They edited that, too,” finished Bryce.

“Exactly. And who owns this show? The producers of Stellium ink. There are no long-term studies on the effects, this stuff got fast-tracked through the FDA, and---” She looked at him. “Do I sound crazy?”

“You sound...inspired. And inspiring.” He gave her a soft smile. “And if my soulmate isn’t you, I don’t want them.”

“Dr. Ramsey, I’ve been expecting you,” announced Mary Beth as Ethan entered the room. She glowed particularly bright today, and her eyes darted around the room at light speed. “I believe it’s time to say goodbye.”

Ethan was never prepared for an interaction with her. She’d taken the diagnosis---Stellium poisoning---in stride, and if he didn’t know any better, it felt as though she’d known all along. “As we said, Mary Beth, your blood is looking better---”

“But it won’t be for long,” interrupted Mary Beth. “I always knew that there’d be a price to pay for seeing the secrets of the universe, and I’m not scared, Dr. Ramsey. My Jeremy is waiting for me, for the next journey our souls will take together. That’s all a soulmate is...someone familiar to accompany you on our long journey through the universe...” Finally, finally, her eyes focused on him, with such a knowing look that Ethan felt himself shrink. “I know you don’t believe...I know knowing can do more harm than good, I know...but I...I can’t hold it in my head anymore, Dr. Ramsey. Please.”

She held out a shaky hand for a piece of paper, and Ethan gave it to her. She was vile and irresponsible...and desperate and sick.

And damn if he wasn’t a tiny bit curious, if he hadn’t begun to wonder if he had a soulmate at all.

R, she struggled to write on the sheet of paper.

And in spite of himself, he began compiling a list of people whose names began with R. Rachel Khan from medical school. Roy Linetti, his conspiracy theorist neighbor. And what was the EMT’s name? Rafael?

That knocked quite a few off the list, thankfully.

As she scrawled the final “E”, her shaky hand dropped the pen, she glowed brighter than the sun, and then she was gone.

#mc x bryce #soulmate au #open heart #bryce lahela #ethan ramsey

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spacetimewithstuartgary · 3 years

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ALMA discovers rotating infant galaxy with help of natural cosmic telescope Using the Atacama Large Millimeter/submillimeter Array (ALMA), astronomers found a rotating baby galaxy 1/100th the size of the Milky Way at a time when the Universe was only seven percent of its present age. Thanks to assistance by the gravitational lens effect, the team was able to explore for the first time the nature of small and dark "normal galaxies" in the early Universe, representative of the main population of the first galaxies, which greatly advances our understanding of the initial phase of galaxy evolution. "Many of the galaxies that existed in the early Universe were so small that their brightness is well below the limit of the current largest telescopes on Earth and in Space, making difficult to study their properties and internal structure," says Nicolas Laporte, a Kavli Senior Fellow at the University of Cambridge. "However, the light coming from the galaxy named RXCJ0600-z6, was highly magnified by gravitational lensing, making it an ideal target for studying the properties and structure of a typical baby galaxies." Gravitational lensing is a natural phenomenon in which light emitted from a distant object is bent by the gravity of a massive body such as a galaxy or a galaxy cluster located in the foreground. The name "gravitational lensing" is derived from the fact that the gravity of the massive object acts like a lens. When we look through a gravitational lens, the light of distant objects is intensified and their shapes are stretched. In other words, it is a "natural telescope" floating in space. The ALMA Lensing Cluster Survey (ALCS) team used ALMA to search for a large number of galaxies in the early Universe that are enlarged by gravitational lensing. Combining the power of ALMA, with the help of the natural telescopes, the researchers are able to uncover and study fainter galaxies. Why is it crucial to explore the faintest galaxies in the early Universe? Theory and simulations predict that the majority of galaxies formed few hundred millions years after the Big-Bang are small, and thus faint. Although several galaxies in the early Universe have been previously observed, those studied were limited to the most massive objects, and therefore the less representative galaxies, in the early Universe, because of telescopes capabilities. The only way to understand the standard formation of the first galaxies, and obtain a complete picture of galaxy formation, is to focus on the fainter and more numerous galaxies. The ALCS team performed a large-scale observation program that took 95 hours, which is a very long time for ALMA observations, to observe the central regions of 33 galaxy clusters that could cause gravitational lensing. One of these clusters, called RXCJ0600-2007, is located in the direction of the constellation of Lepus, and has a mass 1000 trillion times that of the Sun. The team discovered a single distant galaxy that is being affected by the gravitational lens created by this natural telescope. ALMA detected the light from carbon ions and stardust in the galaxy and, together with data taken with the Gemini telescope, determined that the galaxy is seen as it was about 900 million years after the Big Bang (12.9 billion years ago). Further analysis of these data suggested that a part of this source is seen 160 times brighter than it is intrinsically. By precisely measuring the mass distribution of the cluster of galaxies, it is possible to "undo" the gravitational lensing effect and restore the original appearance of the magnified object. By combining data from Hubble Space Telescope and the European Southern Observatory's Very Large Telescope with a theoretical model, the team succeeded in reconstructing the actual shape of the distant galaxy RXCJ0600-z6. The total mass of this galaxy is about 2 to 3 billion times that of the Sun, which is about 1/100th of the size of our own Milky Way Galaxy. What astonished the team is that RXCJ0600-z6 is rotating. Traditionally, gas in the young galaxies was thought to have random, chaotic motion. Only recently has ALMA discovered several rotating young galaxies that have challenged the traditional theoretical framework, but these were several orders of magnitude brighter (larger) than RXCJ0600-z6. "Our study demonstrates, for the first time, that we can directly measure the internal motion of such faint (less massive) galaxies in the early Universe and compare it with the theoretical predictions", says Kotaro Kohno, a professor at the University of Tokyo and the leader of the ALCS team. "The fact that RXCJ0600-z6 has a very high magnification factor also raises expectations for future research," explains Seiji Fujimoto, a DAWN fellow at the Niels Bohr Institute. "This galaxy has been selected, among hundreds, to be observed by the James Webb Space Telescope (JWST), the next generation space telescope to be launched this autumn. Through joint observations using ALMA and JWST, we will unveil the properties of gas and stars in a baby galaxy and its internal motions. When the Thirty Meter Telescope and the Extremely Large Telescope are completed, they may be able to detect clusters of stars in the galaxy, and possibly even resolve individual stars. There is an example of gravitational lensing that has been used to observe a single star 9.5 billion light-years away, and this research has the potential to extend this to less than a billion years after the birth of the Universe." These observation results were presented in Seiji Fujimoto et al. "ALMA Lensing Cluster Survey: Bright [CII] 158 μm Lines from a Multiply Imaged Sub-L* Galaxy at z = 6.0719" in the Astrophysical Journal on April 22, 2021, and Nicolas Laporte et al. "ALMA Lensing Cluster Survey: a strongly lensed multiply imaged dusty system at z > 6" in the Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society on April 22, 2021. IMAGE....Image of the galaxy cluster RXCJ0600-2007 taken by the NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope, combined with gravitational lensing images of the distant galaxy RXCJ0600-z6, 12.4 billion light-years away, observed by ALMA (shown in red). Due to the gravitational lensing effect by the galaxy cluster, the image of RXCJ0600-z6 was intensified and magnified, and appeared to be divided into three or more parts. CREDIT ALMA (ESO/NAOJ/NRAO), Fujimoto et al., NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope

#space #science #Astronomy #physics #news

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shikasaku-week · 4 years

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The Masterpost is finally here, in preparation for the incoming ShikaSaku Week. We tried something different for this Hanami edition, with bilingual prompts so you could pick between two options. We had a lot of participations and we’re so happy to see this community grow and something big and beautiful forming around this event so dear to us.

As the creator (Mako), I also want to take the time to thank with all my heart the people who have helped me keep the ShikaSaku Week going over the years, even when life kicked me so hard I didn’t think I could make it happen. But we didn’t miss an event, and now, literal years later, I want to give the biggest thank you to @mouseymightymarvellous, my partner in crime and best friend from across the ocean. This wouldn’t be possible without you.

We truly hope everyone is doing well, those are unprecedented events, and dealing with them has proven to be particularly challenging. You have all our best wishes and sympathies, please take care of yourselves and each other, and wear masks!

Links to all submissions are below the cut. Please let us know if a) we missed something or b) you would like us to change the name/bio link associated with your submissions.

If you haven’t already, please make sure to let our creators know that you enjoyed their creations with likes, kudos, comments, replies, and reblogs. And we will see you soon for ShikaSaku Week 2020!

DAY ONE dawn (we celebrate our victories) des constellations dans tes tâches de rousseurs

Art:

dawn by @helen-renee

Dawn by @indrabourgoist

Dawn by @kyoties

Fic:

Dawns are really troublesome by @intellectuallyrong/IntellectuallyRong

dawn (we celebrate our victories) by @dimancheetoile

our victories (cannot be counted) by @mouseymightymarvellous

Sunrise by PanWuthAPlann

DAY TWO of stardust and galaxies les cris, au loin, des loups

Art:

“Cuando se acabó la guerra, ellos se acostaron y observaron las estrellas.“ by @doctorpepperjack

Stardust and Galaxies by @indrabourgoist

Stardust and Galaxies by @kyoties

Fic:

93 Percent by PanWuthAPlann

Decaf by @thekatthatbarks

Galaxia de Primavera by @roxasfanfics

mars in ascendence by @mouseymightymarvellous

of stardust and galaxies by @dimancheetoile

DAY THREE proud of you, proud of me fissures dans le froid de ton âme

Art:

“Are you proud of me, Sakura?” by @kyoties

proud of you, proud of me by @doctorpepperjack

Proud of you, proud of me by @indrabourgoist

Proud of you, proud of me by @sabrinart19

Fic:

Discover a New Truth by @thekatthatbarks

fruits like honey to the throat by @mouseymightymarvellous

Pride by PanWuthAPlann

Rest For The Weary by @roxasfanfics

DAY FOUR drip, drip, drip (our blood) sang toi

Art:

drip, drip, drip (our blood) by @indrabourgoist

“Jashin-sama! Let our blood mingle, let my wish come true. I want Sakura to fall in love with me.“ by @kyoties

Fic:

Black as Blood by PanWuthAPlann

Checkmate by @thekatthatbarks

in arms by @mouseymightymarvellous

Lucid Dream by @roxasfanfics

sang toi (mes rêves exsangues) by @dimancheetoile

DAY FIVE laughing, joyful and free embrasse la nuit sur ses lèvres

Art:

“A moment worth remembering is when I’m next to you.“ by @doctorpepperjack

“Even two brainiacs can have fun and let loose” by @kyoties

Laughing, joyful and free by @indrabourgoist

Fic:

embrasse la nuit sur ses lèvres by @dimancheetoile

Guy Who Takes His Time by @thekatthatbarks

Where Time Stood Still by @roxasfanfics

Worship by PanWuthAPlann

DAY SIX like air in my lungs (i need you) j’ai toujours su que les femmes avaient le goût de grenadine

Art:

“Like air in my lungs, I need you” by @indrabourgoist

Fic:

All but in Name by PanWuthAPlann

The Cliff by @thekatthatbarks

Rainshowers by @roxasfanfics

sailors forewarn by @mouseymightymarvellous

DAY SEVEN we are ruins tu couches avec ta meuf en pensant à une autre (t’as pas kiffé)

Art:

We are ruins by @indrabourgoist

Fic:

and all your prayers to her feet by @mouseymightymarvellous

Broken by @roxasfanfics

Kintsugi by @thekatthatbarks

We Are Ruins by PanWuthAPlann

DAY EIGHT (bonus day) free day or remix challenge

Art:

“If you were my wife...” by @indrabourgoist

Fic:

Kohona’s Tree by @gingergretchen

Sky Full of Song by @thekatthatbarks

#masterpost #shikasaku-week #shikasakuhanami #shikasakuhanami2020 #2020

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aelstudies · 4 years

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Seven Percent Stardust!!! Out today!!! Get your copy!!!

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all1e23 · 5 years

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Heart & Soul [One-shot]

Title: Kitties & Bumps

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky acts like a dope, but a cute dope.

Warnings: Pure fluff.

A/N: ONLY READ THIS If YOU FINISHED THE SERIES. It will give away the ending if not. ;-) Nothing special. I just missed these two.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam though! Thanks!*

Heart & Soul Masterlist

“Stardust?” Bucky called out the moment his boot his the wood floor of their foyer.

“‘Mega where are you at?”

Bucky took the stairs two at a time, panic setting in his chest. Y/n had texted him while he was on a call saying she wasn't feeling right and couldn’t wait for him to get home. The second he saw the message Bucky lost all sense of reason and any and all rational thinking was out of the window when he forced Sam to drive him home in the middle of their shift.

Y/n was laying on their bed, Gemini laying on her swollen stomach purring contently as she rubbed behind the kitty's ears. Her eyes went wide the moment Bucky appeared in the doorway to their room, he wasn’t supposed to be home for hours. The look on his face had her worried something happened to Sam or someone else in their makeshift family.

“Bucky!? What are you doing?”

“What am I doing here?” He asked as if she should already know the answer. The Alpha wandered around the side of their bed and put his hand on her belly, glaring at the hissing cat before settling a softer, sweeter gaze on his wife.

“You text me. You said you were feeling off. I called into the station and made you an appointment with the doc.”

Y/n really tried not to but she couldn’t help the laughter that spilled out. “Oh, my sweet Alpha. Of course, I feel off. I’m heavily pregnant and your daughter is sitting on a lung I think, ” She sighed, her voice filled with humor.

“Sitting on a lung?” He asked, eyes wide and panicked. “That’s not good! What if you can’t breathe?”

“Alpha,” Y/n chuckled.

“I’m talking to you. I think I can breathe just fine if I’m holding a conversation. I don’t need to go to the doctor. I just need cuddles, hm?” She held her arms out and made grabby hands for him to come and lay with her.

Bucky shook his head, “No, we’re going to the doctor.”

“But-”

“Omega.” His voice dropped just enough to make her shiver and almost immediately he regretted it.

“Just listen, please? I know I’m probably being crazy but, I - Let me be nuts, okay?” She stared at him with her brow raised and his shoulders slumped.

“I’m sorry I used the voice. I didn’t mean to! I’m a little on edge. You can yell at me tonight and I’ll make dinner to make it up to you.”

Y/n smiled and held her hands out for Bucky to help her up, Gemini quickly jumping off her belly due to Bucky’s proximity. She slowly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, gingerly getting to her feet.

“The damn cat shouldn’t be laying on your stomach.” Bucky griped and she rolled her eyes in response.

“She barely weighs anything. It’s fine, buck.” Y/n waddled her way to the closet where her boots were sitting, ready for her to slip on with ease. Bucky narrowed his eyes at the cat and the stupid cat narrowed her eyes right back as she stretched her claws into his pillow, pulling at the fabric and stuffing.

“I’m gonna toss you out the damn window you keep it up,” Bucky growled at the cat.

“What was that, Buck?”

“Nothing,” He said a little too quickly for Y/n’s liking.

“Let’s go. I don’t want you on your feet too long.” He walked towards her with this... look and she just knew he was going to try to pick her up and carry her down the stairs. This was getting out of control! She grabbed his hands when Bucky got within in reach and he frowned in response.

“What?”

“You’re not serious right now, are you? Oh my god. You are. James Buchanan Barnes! I can walk down the stairs!”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt!” He defended. “At least walk in front of me so I can catch you if you slip-”

“Get downstairs before I make you sleep on the couch.”

Bucky sighed heavily as he made his way to the stairs like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. He’s one hundred percent certain that damn cat snickered at him.

----------

“Okay, what do we have happening today?” Dr. Blake asked upon entering the examination room. “I hear there was… some complications?”

He met Y/n’s eyes over the chart and she could see the hint of humor glimmering in them. Bucky stood next to his Omega, holding her hand tightly in his left hand and his right sitting protectively over her bump. Y/n went to open her mouth but Bucky spoke up before she had the chance. “She was feeling really off and our cat was sleeping on her stomach. I can get rid of the cat if necessary.”

Y/n looked over at Dr. Blake and gave him an apologetic smile, subtly shrugging one shoulder.

“Well, let’s just see what’s going on.”

He sat down wheeling his stool over to her bedside across from Bucky and pulled the ultrasound machine over to the side of the bed, amused grin still on his face as he locked eyes with Y/n.

“Okay, how about we take a look? See how cute the little peanut is today?”

Over the last seven months, their doctor has become well versed with just how overprotective her Alpha was. He’s not the only overprotective Alpha the doctor has to deal with though. Just came with the job. She looked over at Bucky and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re gonna have to move your hand if you want to see our baby girl.”

Bucky grumbled something under his breath and slowly pulled his hand away but stood up to his full height, towering over the doctor and it only made Y/n shake her head. He watched every single thing Dr. Blake was doing. He knew, knew he was being crazy, but the Alpha part of his brain was in overdrive. As he has always said, biology was a bitch.

Dr. Blake pulled up her shirt just enough to leave her baby bump visible ignoring the glaring Alpha standing over him. He pulled a bottle off the side of the cart and held it up for Y/n to see, giving it a little shake with an apologetic smile. She knew what he meant. It was about to get cold. She smiled in return but still let out a gasp when the cold gel hit her belly.

Bucky, however, wasn’t laughing.

His eyes were quickly slipping from blue to red and there was a soft growl coming from his chest. They went through this every time they came in for an appointment.

“Alpha?” Y/n squeaked from his side.

Bucky’s head immediately snapped towards her, red faded back to cool blue and the hard Alpha melted away the moment his eyes landed on hers. She was never going to get tired of watching the way he melted for her, from only his title slipping from her lips. If Tony ever asked, she would never ever admit that he was right all those years ago but she was absolutely the one in control.

“Let him do his job.” She purred softly, bringing his hand up to her lips and placing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “You know I’m perfectly safe with you here.”

He was so wrapped up in her sweet soft voice he didn’t notice their doctor already had the wand on her belly and had been taking pictures of their little girl.

“Want a sneak peek of the baby Barnes? She looks perfectly healthy and right on track.” Bucky turned his head just in time to the black and white image of their daughter on the screen and his worry was replaced with a huge grin. He slowly sat down next to his mate and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, placing a kiss to her temple as he tugged her shirt back down over her belly. Doc had seen enough if you’d ask Bucky.

“She’s gonna be cute isn’t she Alpha?” Y/n asked.

“Beautiful like her momma.”

Dr. Blake excused himself and gave the pair a moment alone. He knew, as well as Y/n, that this visit was more for Bucky than it was for her or the baby. She could feel the small movements and it helped give her a bit of peace when she had a moment of panic, but Bucky didn’t have that reassurance all the time and after everything they have been through, he had every right to worry over his girls. It would all calm down once she was there in their arms and he could see with his own eyes that everything was alright.

Or so she was telling herself.

“I’m sorry I’m being all… Alpha.” He sighed and let his cheek rest on top of her head, eyes stuck to the screen. “I can’t help it. I don’t want anything to happen to the two of you. What would my nights look like if I lost all my stars, huh?”

Y/n smiled and tightened her hold on his hand. “We aren’t going anywhere. You don’t have to explain anything to me. Ever. No more worries today though. She’s just fine. Look at her.”

“Yeah, I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “I guess we should get Doc back in here so I can say sorry for being a knothead.”

“You do this every appointment,” Y/n deadpanned. “I think he knows the drill by now. Glare. Growl. Apologize.”

“Smartass,” Bucky mumbled. “Oh! He didn’t say if having a cat was okay.”

“Buck, lots of people have cats while they are pregnant.”

“I can get rid of her easy peasy, stardust. I’m sure someone would want a cat that destroys everything they own.”

“Alpha! You are pushing your luck today!

#alpha!bucky x omega!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #alpha!bucky #cop!bucky #heart and soul series

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toxitalks · 5 years

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ROBSTAR WEEK 2019 - DAY TWO

day two! this prompt was really hard so shoutout to my friends for getting the creative juices pumping!

|| day one: wayne manor || day two: stardust || day three: lost ||

|| day four: fever || day five: tba || day six: tba || day seven: tba ||

“This is bizarre! A discovery such as this one we have uncovered today is indeed something to remark about! Oh, who among us can say that they are responsible for identifying and conducting studies on a new species?!”

Starfire buzzed and bumbled around excitedly, something akin to a bee as she babbled on to Cyborg, then Beast Boy before moving on to Raven and finally stopping beside Robin, feet hovering above the ground.

“Remind me what we have decreed them as?” Starfire queried, hands clasped together. Her emerald eyes remained affixed on the glass that separated the group of Titans from the stardust-composed creatures.

“Specklings,” provided Robin as he continued to observe the creatures. They danced and wove together in the vacuum of space, their white beady eyes embedded with glowing dust from the cosmos surrounding them. “We don’t know if they’re docile or not, but… I guess they are a tad bit cute.” He cracked a grin.

“Cute, but potentially deadly,” chimed in Cyborg as he approached the duo with a holographic screen projecting from his arm. He typed away at the keyboard embedded in his cybernetic parts, occasionally shifting his gaze to the Specklings gathered outside of the spacecraft. “I took a sample of one to see what these things are made of and they’re almost 100 percent stardust. I just don’t know where they came from. If I did, I’d bet we’d know a lot more about ‘em, too.”

Starfire’s eyes lit up with excitement as she flew over to Cyborg with a wide smile. “We must conduct a search!” beamed the Tamaranean girl, giggling to herself. “I will venture to all the nearby planetoids, nebulas, and asteroid belts to find them!”

As the alien princess began to float down the hall to the ejection bay, Robin snatched her by the hand to stop her from flying out into the emptiness of space on her own.

“Hold up, Star,” Robin frowned as he dragged Starfire back to his side. He gestured with one latex-covered glove to the Specklings behind the glass. “It’s like Cyborg said; we don’t know if they’re a hostile species or not. The experiments concluded they don’t have anything similar to a brain, but they obviously exhibit intelligence. They’re kind of like-”

“Like a jellyfish!” chimed Beast Boy as he popped up between Robin and Starfire with an award-winning grin. “Those things are way cool, dude. No brains, no heart, nothing! They’re like, almost totally made of water or something.”

“Sounds like you two have a lot in common,” Raven remarked with the ghost of a sly grin on her lip. Beast Boy shot her a venomous glare that Raven returned wordlessly, leaving the sorceress and the changeling to begin bickering.

Starfire sighed to herself and planted her feet back on the ground, resting her chin on Robin’s shoulder despondently, snickering quietly as she felt him tense up. His face flushed at the sudden contact, but the Boy Wonder only cleared his throat before tugging at the ends of his latex gloves.

“B-but what if they’re out there? Alone?” Starfire’s eyes were as big as moons now as she looked at Robin both endearingly and pleadingly. She jut out her bottom lip in a pout as her emerald eyes glistened. “We cannot leave the Specklings to isolation! Who knows what will befall their colony should we neglect them?!”

“Star, they’re made up of dust particles,” pointed out the dark-haired teen with a smile, his brows furrowed beneath the mask at his accomplice’s evident concern. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Cyborg and I suspect that there’s some sort of gravitational core holding them together, but we have no clue how they’re sentient. Either way, I’m not too worried for them.”

“Though if we proceeded with the investigation, perhaps we would know more about their kind and their components,” argued Starfire with a mischievous look written upon her features. When Robin shot her a hesitant stare, the Tamaranean recoiled with a sigh, her shoulders shrugging in defeat.

“Maybe another time,” said Robin, entwining their fingers together. He guided her down the hall of the spacecraft they stood in; their temporary home as they conducted a series of tests on the newly-discovered species. “I’d like to keep you on the ground for a bit—keep your head of the stars.”

“I suppose so,” Starfire sighed, though the corners of her lips were upturned in a smile. “Eventually, we will voyage to uncover more about this species, yes?”

“I’m sure we will, Starfire. You have my word.”

Starfire squealed in delight, suddenly beaming with unbridled joy. “Oh, glorious! I shall wait with the most eager of anticipation until that day arises! What will be done with the Specklings in the meantime?”

Robin frowned, shrugging in response. He guided Starfire down the hall of the spacecraft with one hand, pressing a button on the wall that would slide open the door to his room. “Cyborg, Raven, and I will probably keep studying them to get the information we need. We’ll make sure nothing happens to them. Promise.”

“Then, for now…” Starfire squeezed Robin’s hand tight and brought it close to her heart. Her lips were twisted in a gleeful smile; eyes earnest and reminiscent of reflective pools the brightest green the Boy Wonder had ever seen.

Robin was sure he felt his heart skip a beat.

“May we observe the creatures of stardust together?”

Robin smiled with a nod, guiding Starfire to a window that took up an entire wall. From there, the Specklings were visible as they danced amongst one another; their cosmic bodies glistened with a foreign glow that filled the Tamaranean with the energy to fire off a million starbolts. It made her feel light as a feather, watching the Specklings as they entwined in groups with nothing but darkness surrounding them. Their own glow, however, brought a beautiful light to the emptiness of space they lived in.

Their own cosmic dust mirrored the stardust-like glow of amazement in Starfire’s eyes as she observed them. She was mesmerized by their alien movement, her mouth ajar as emerald eyes locked onto them.

When Robin tugged her towards him gently, shocking her back into reality, the Tamaranean gasped as the Boy Wonder unraveled their hands for a moment, setting one of her own on his shoulder. He placed his free hand gingerly on her hip, entwining Starfire’s into his once more as he held it in the open air, his secure grasp supporting her.

As Robin began to sway, guiding Starfire alongside him through each step of the room, he smiled at Starfire’s awestruck gaze. Her breath was hitched and Robin snickered to himself in satisfaction. Each step in the room mirrored that of the Specklings as they waltzed in the vacuum of space.

Starfire’s lip drew back into a smile as they danced among the stardust.

#robstar week #robstar #robstar week 2019 #robin #starfire #dick grayson #richard grayson #koriand'r #teen titans #dickkory #nightwing #dc #titans

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joannalannister · 6 years

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I'm not sure who to ask this question, and I tried Googling, but came up with no answers. Why is it that iron is so prominent in ASoIaF? There's the Iron Throne, Iron Islands, Ironborn, Iron Price, Iron Bank, Ironwood, etc. So just curious why that's the element GRRM chose to use/focus on so much. BTW, I love all your lovely blogs! 😊

Thank you so much! I love these kinds of questions! We would probably have to ask GRRM to know for sure why iron inspired him in ASOIAF, but we can speculate!

Iron features prominently in folklore, including in-world westerosi folklore: “A child’s rhyme echoed in his head. Oak and iron, guard me well, or else I’m dead, and doomed to hell.” Interestingly, this rhyme is not invoked by any highborn POV, only by Dunk. And Davos remembers something similar: “A knife in the heart, though…even demons can be killed by cold iron, the singers say.” Even lowborn Will of the Night’s Watch, from the AGOT prologue, takes comfort in cold iron.

Perhaps it’s only a smallfolk superstition, but I’m inclined to believe the smallfolk remember a truth the nobility have forgotten. Whether they remember or not, lords often build their gates and doors of oak and iron. For example, one enters the Great Hall of Winterfell by “wide oak-and-iron doors,” big enough to ride a horse through. More importantly, Winterfell is guarded by “massive oak-and-iron gates” though by the end of ACOK they’re hanging “charred and askew”. Combine this with @racefortheironthrone‘s idea that Winterfell was built as an engine to fight the Others, and I think GRRM’s grand design might be getting a little clearer. All the stuff listed here is going to be important in the War for the Dawn:

“Winterfell…grey granite, oak and iron, crows wheeling around the towers, steam rising off the hot pools in the godswood, the stone kings sitting on their thrones…how could Winterfell be gone?”

Winterfell isn’t gone. Just dormant.

Winterfell lies dreaming, waiting to be reborn in oak and iron and granite. There’s magic in Winterfell’s walls. (More about Winterfell here.)

I know you didn’t ask this part, but I think we need to explore the question of “Why oak?” before we tackle “Why iron?” Oak trees represent strength and steadfastness, endurance and long life. The oak is considered a holy tree, closely associated with pagan gods of Northern Europe, and GRRM is aware of this association. In King’s Landing, “The heart tree was an oak, brown and faceless, yet Ned Stark still felt the presence of his gods.” The Ghost of High Heart also associates oak with the old gods.

“Oak-trees have always been regarded as great protectors and guardians of the virtuous.” A fitting tree for Duncan the Tall to be invoking. Arya herself is called an oak tree. The oak has a duality to it, with “deep roots [that] penetrate as deep into the Underworld as its branches soar to the sky.”

“The Sanskrit word, ‘Duir’, gave rise both to the word for oak and the English word ‘door’, which suggests that this tree stands as an opening into greater wisdom, perhaps an entryway into the otherworld itself.” [x]

I don’t know if there will be a connection between oak and the Others, or if oak is just symbolically important in the War for the Dawn, but it will be interesting to find out.

“Of all the trees in Britain and Ireland the oak is considered king” and we know what GRRM thinks of kings: “a king protects his people, or he is no king at all.” Oaks are a popular fantasy element. C.S. Lewis used oaks and other trees to fight alongside the Narnians in Prince Caspian and of course Tolkien had the Ents, some of which resembled oaks. I don’t think GRRM’s trees are going to get up and start walking around, but I think ASOIAF themes support the idea that even the trees oppose those who would seek dominion over you. The Others are certainly seeking dominion over the earth. The walls of Winterfell are going to fight against them, oak and iron and granite, and protect people.

So, what about iron? Because you’re completely right to pick up on the iron motif. GRRM references iron from the very beginning. In the prologue of AGOT, when Wymar Royce battles the Other while Will climbs a tree (not an oak but something GRRM calls a sentinel … which is not a real type of tree but GRRM’s own fantasy brand of evergreen) … Will is mentioned to have “cold iron”.

He whispered a prayer to the nameless gods of the wood, and slipped his dirk free of its sheath. He put it between his teeth to keep both hands free for climbing. The taste of cold iron in his mouth gave him comfort.

He’s unwittingly invoking oak and iron. And remember, the Others leave Will to be killed by wight!Wymar. Could the Others have killed Will? Did Will’s iron make any difference? idk, GRRM isn’t saying, but I hope we get more definitive information in future books. “Cold iron” in literature has historically meant any weapon designed to draw blood, but I don’t know if GRRM is making a distinction between iron and steel.

*****

ASIDE: What is the difference between iron and steel? I didn’t know so I had to look it up:

Steel is a mixture of several metals (this is called an alloy) but most of it is iron and often some carbon. Steel is harder and stronger than iron. Steels are often iron alloys with between 0.02% and 1.7% percent carbon by weight. Alloys with more carbon than this are known as cast iron. Steel is different from wrought iron, that has little or no carbon.

Something made of pure iron is softer than steel because the atoms can slip over one another. If other atoms like carbon are added, they are different from iron atoms and stop the iron atoms from sliding apart so easily. This makes the steel stronger and harder.

Changing the amount of carbon added to steel will change its properties:

Hardness

How easily it bends

Ductility: can it be made into thin wires

Strength

Is it magnetic

Will it rust (or corrode)

Steel with more carbon is harder and stronger than pure iron, but it also breaks more easily (brittle).

Iron is an element and a metal. It is the second most common metal on Earth, and the most widely-used metal. It makes up much of the Earth’s core, and is the fourth most common element in the Earth’s crust.

***

I’m out of my depth here, but I would like a chemist or metallurgist to discuss the potential carbon-content of Valyrian steel and relate that to the fact that all known life on Earth (and probably Terros - with the exception of the Others, probably) is carbon-based, and then tie that into ASOIAF’s life-affirming themes in the War for the Dawn.

something something carbon as a life force in the Valyrian steel being anathema to the Others something something steel made with human blood sacrifice something something…

Has someone already written an essay about this? If so, please link me.

*****

In the meantime, we can consider iron in folklore. Iron is believed to repel fairies. GRRM has said that the Others are like “the Sidhe made of ice” and the Sidhe are the fairy folk of Ireland. So when Westerosi invoke “oak and iron" to guard them, I think this is a remnant of the cultural memory of the Long Night. (I’ve talked about the Others here and in my tag for #the Others.)

(There are other scraps of cultural memory that recall the Others. For example, in TSS, Egg hears vicious rumors about Rohanne Webber from the smallfolk:

“Four,” said Egg, “but no children. Whenever she gives birth, a demon comes by night to carry off the issue. Sam Stoops’ wife says she sold her babes unborn to the Lord of the Seven Hells, so he’d teach her his black arts.”

Obviously these rumors about Rohanne were not true, but demons coming by night to carry off babies is eerily similar to the deal Craster has with the Others in exchange for protection.)

What’s special about iron? Pliny the Elder, who lived in the first century, believed that iron could protect and heal people, and some of these ideas persisted well into the 20th century.

I don’t know if the potential magnetism of iron is important but idk, the heroes probably have to go to the North pole, that might be important.

Also, “iron can attract and conduct electricity, focus and release it, store it as magnetic energy, or disperse it by returning it to the earth. Iron can change form. It can be made molten, fluid, and malleable, and then set into unbending forms of our design.” Considering that ASOIAF is about rebirth and duality and transformation and shapeshifting (please see this post about Tyrion - please click), iron is thematically important to ASOIAF, to our malleability, our rebirth.

Victorians believed that the first iron found was in meteorites. “Of course, even today, iron still seems magical in many respects. It is the most plentiful metal in the universe. All iron was initially forged in the hearts of stars, and only gifted to the cosmos when they exploded in supernovae. This stardust is in each of us; it is what makes our blood red.”

Consider:

Dawn, forged from the heart of a fallen star.

The Daynes of Starfall are one of the most ancient houses in the Seven Kingdoms, though their fame largely rests on their ancestral sword, called Dawn, and the men who wielded it. Its origins are lost to legend, but it seems likely that the Daynes have carried it for thousands of years. Those who have had the honor of examining it say it looks like no Valyrian steel they know, being pale as milkglass but in all other respects it seems to share the properties of Valyrian blades, being incredibly strong and sharp.

The iron content in Dawn is probably important.

***

(GRRM has said that, while the Daynes share the violet eyes of the Targs, they’re not the same ancestry. I’m guessing that Dawn and Valyrian steel are like that too, parallel in their formation but different. (There is a term for parallel evolution in biology but from completely different ancestors. Biologists, help me out!))

EDIT: @victorvontooms supplied the term I was looking for: convergent evolution. That’s how I think of Daynes vs Targs and Dawn vs Valyrian steel, both made to fight the Others but forged completely differently.

***

Also, Tyrion tells us:

Dragonbone is black because of its high iron content

(No one shows the dragon bone in ASOIAF as black!! But it is!! Dragonbone is black!!!

^^Detail of art I commissioned from @bidonica, showing the dragonbone as black!! Will I ever stop screaming about this? No!! It’s my desktop, it’s so important to me!!! Not that I ever see my desktop through my tab forest but it’s the principle of the thing…)

Anyways, “Dragonbone is black because of its high iron content”. If that doesn’t set off the Others’ alarm bells, it should. I really think the Others dislike iron, not just Valyrian steel, and we have these giant high-iron content, fire-breathing beasts coming for them.

In terms of the setting, I think GRRM might be invoking a lot of iron imagery to suggest humanity’s Iron Age, a period that extended into the early Middle Ages in Northern Europe. All this iron carries connotations of a time long, long ago.

TV tropes actually has a great little article on cold iron, suggesting that iron is part of some magic vs technology symbolism.

The Iron Age is generally understood as the period during which the technology to make iron items — particularly weapons — spread from the Hallstatt culture in western and eastern Europe during the 8th century BCE. […]

Clearly, the peoples of this extended period did not one night go to sleep in the Bronze Age and awaken the next morning in the Iron Age. There were considerable overlaps as the technology of iron developed and travelled throughout the European continent by way of trade. This also appears to coincide with a violent period of history, with hill forts springing up all across the British Isles, particularly in the southern regions. […]

The Britons had a reputation for being small in stature yet fierce warriors, and possibly adept at magic. They seemed to be able to appear and vanish at will from among the trees of the forests and among the hills. According to some early Roman accounts, the Britons would spike their hair with white lime and cover their bodies in swirling patterns of blue woad for battle, possibly to enable them to vanish into the pattern of clouds in the sky or reflected on the surface of lakes. This resulted in a belief that they could appear out of thin air and make their getaways via ‘portals’ in lakes and rivers. Some have suggested that this is where the myth of the fairy folk began. These ‘fairy folk’ who used ‘magical’ tactics were armed with bronze, which was no match for the iron blades of the invaders. Therefore, iron became known as the enemy of the ‘fairy folk.’ [x]

I’m not sure that the magic vs technology war applies to ASOIAF (idk maybe it does!) but what I would say applies to ASOIAF is a war between the Old Way and the New, obviously a reference to Ironborn culture, but something I think applies much more broadly to ASOIAF as a whole.

Right now in ASOIAF there is a war between the Old Way of doing things by dehumanization, led by men like Tywin and Randyll and Roose, and the New Way of doing things by valuing people’s humanity, spearheaded by people like Jon and Dany and Brienne.

So people paying the iron price in blood, sitting the iron throne … I think that’s all representative of the Old Way, something outdated and tired and without forward motion or progress. Something that is (hopefully) on its way out.

Just as the early Britons’ bronze swords yielded to iron, I think we’re witnessing in ASOIAF the iron Old Way (metaphorically) yielding to … I don’t know yet…kindness? valyrian steel? idk, ask me when the books are done.

Whatever it is, we have to be careful. Iron can be a force of good (repelling the Others), but it can be terrible too. We have to be careful. Because the iron is in our blood. The potential to dehumanize is inside all of us; as Professor Moody would say, “Constant vigilance!” Or as GRRM might say, the war is inside us. We’re all capable of great acts, and terrible ones. We have to choose. And we have to be careful.

*****

“There are more esoteric explanations, like iron being seen as the lifeforce of the earth, or associated with lifeforce because blood smells like iron.“

“All iron was initially forged in the hearts of stars, and only gifted to the cosmos when they exploded in supernovae. This stardust is in each of us; it is what makes our blood red.”

The War for the Dawn is a war between life and death … a war between life and something worse than death.

It’s a war for our humanity, it’s a war for the earth itself. It’s a war for our flesh and blood and bone.

I said … way up above now … I said the trees are fighting for us against the Others’ dominion. Not the way Tolkien’s trees fight, but still they’re fighting.

GRRM likes to trick casual readers into thinking his world is nihilistic … but deep down, it’s not. The Magic wouldn’t have saved Daenerys from the flames if it was truly uncaring.

In this war, (almost) everyone’s pulling for us, I think. We’re all in this together. The weirwoods and the ravens and the Children of the Forest and all the elements of life, all the way down to the iron in our blood … it’s all rooting for us. Winterfell is rooting for us, with its fires deep within the earth and its life-giving waters rushing through its walls “like blood through a man’s body” and the earth is rooting for us, lending us its lifeforce of iron to oppose the Others.

But we have to stand. We have to fight for it.

*****

So there’s lots of possibilities right now in terms of what Iron means as a motif. Ask me again when we have more books and maybe I can talk more.

PS - I think those bankers are gonna fuck people over in twow. Watch out for them. This might be my Lannister bias tho.

EDITED TO ADD:

@essayofthoughts replied to your post:

Iron swords were the first really meaningful weapons (bronze dulled too quickly) and would sometimes by ritually broken and sacrificed due to their value. An iron or steel sword that has been used and let get rusty, when polished will “bleed” the bloodiron back out.

Oak and Yew have significance as life/death dichotomies in tree folklore. Without English Oak the British Empire and Navy wouldn’t have happened. Oak mistletoe is sacred bc Oak as a hardwood would almost never grows mistletoe, also ties into its status as kings of the forest. Oak once cut and aged is one of the hardest woods out there and even a modern steel knife can’t easily cut aged oak (speaking from experience; my home is made with century old oak beams). Oak also ties to dryads and hamadryads - life from trees in myth -and technically all dryads are of oaks. idk why but the dryads thing makes me think of the children of the forest

@nobodysuspectsthebutterfly replied to your post:

re the first war against the Others– the First Men didn’t have iron as such, they were bronze users. Iron and steel only came to Westeros in sufficiency with the Andals. (Possible proof of the theory that Ironborn are not First Men, but from somewhere else? As their islands are a great source of ore.) What little iron the First Men had was rare and treasured, almost magic to them probably. See Jon’s description of similar among the wildlings today (including the bronze-working Thenns).

Think of the First Men fighting the Others with their bronze, failing. Except for the few who have help from the CotF and are using dragonglass too. And the very few with their rare iron, they must have considered it magic– no wonder it became part of a crown! And then the Last Hero somehow got a sword of dragonsteel– even more magic–and saved the world.

Though interestingly the Others may hate cold iron, but it can’t kill them. See them checking out Waymar Royce’s sword before approaching him, it’s only regular steel. Iron defends, but dragonsteel, Valyrian steel, that’s the game-changer.

#asoiaf meta #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #rosesandrenaissance #replies #lannister thoughts #winterfell #the others #the war for the dawn #iron #oak and iron #oak #dawn #house dayne #endgame #asoiaf speculation

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musingsofadrunkensailor · 5 years

Video

Rudy Francisco - Scars

One If I could, I would nail these hands to the edges of stars, I would sacrifice this body to the sky Hoping it resurrected someone spiteful enough to not give a fuck about you.

Two Staple me to a cross, Pierce my side with a broken promise And I will bleed all the crippled reasons why you deserve one more chance.

Three Your bed smells like the last thing that I was really good at.

Four You wanna know how I got these scars? I ripped every last piece of you out of my smile.

Five I whispered you stardust,

Six I spoke you into sunflowers,

Seven I dipped my hands into forever, touched you infinity, Treated you as if you were the last molecule of oxygen inside of a gas chamber, I was good to you.

Eight You wanna know how I got these scars? See I swallowed my pride, And then it clawed its way out of my mouth.

Nine I realized that I was never really your boyfriend, I was just your fucking hypeman.

Ten I hope your next boyfriend gets smallpox.

Ten Yes I said smallpox.

TEN I HATE YOU

TEN I MISS YOU

TEN I LOVE YOU

Ten It’s hard for me to count when I get emotional.

Ten I heard that ninety percent of human interaction is non-verbal so

…

Ten If I could, I would tie your arms to a daydream And then auction you off to my fondest memories.

See, I wrote this poem in my own spinal fluid I put it on the backbone of a white flag so before you read it you’ll already know that I’ve given up. I’ll just keep you here

Shackled to the most important chapter of my life story pressed into the basement of my eyelids like liquid salvation so I remember you beautiful with amazing underneath your wings and an orchid smile you gorgeous earthquake, you cracked hourglass with sand spilling from behind your ribs you wasted my time

How dare you linger on my lips and then kiss me like a stuttering apology with excuses stapled to the roof of your mouth I still remember you like a dream tattooed to the inner walls of my long-term memory but some days I wonder if you existed at all

And of course, you wanna know how I got these scars. Well fine, I’ll tell you. I got these scars the day that I fell in love with you. I landed face-first.

#rudy francisco #poetry #spoken word #slam poetry #scars

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notcaffeinated · 5 years

Text

93 PERCENT STARDUST AND SEVEN PERCENT LUST. THAT'S WHAT WE ARE WHEN WE MAKE LOVE UNDER THE STARS// naomi.m

#song lyrics #real poetry #poetic #poets on tumblr #poetry #poetrycommunity #stars

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thenameigavemyself · 4 years

Text

I have a lot of feelings about bees, apparently.

#saltwater roses #poem #poetry #seven percent stardust

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iris-writes-things · 5 years

Text

Loving The Alien chapter 4: Lady Stardust

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut!

This fan fiction contains themes of racism and heavily prejudiced characters. If you are sensitive to any of the above, proceed with caution or not at all.

The story takes place in 1954, in a town in New Mexico. Roughly seven years after a mysterious object crashed into the nearby desert, a woman Shiro met that night returns to his diner when he needs it the most. Or will she only drag him into an adventure he never asked for?

Chapter 4 of ? Ongoing 1478 words Romance/historical/science fiction

“Don’t look at me like that, Shiro, I saw it with my own eyes!” Keith shouted as he frantically paced around the narrow space between the booth and one of the other tables. “I saw the color of her skin change, you can’t explain that one away! White hair, sure, you can bleach hair. Pink markings under her eyes, whatever, eyeshadow can do that. But nothing, and I mean nothing on God’s green Earth can change someone’s skin color like that!”

“Look, Keith, I know she’s a little different…” Shiro argued to his younger friend, glancing at Allura who was sitting at the counter, waiting for the intervention to be over. “But I’ve been in love with her ever since she set foot in this place seven years ago. Can’t you just, I don’t know, give her a pass? The benefit of the doubt?”

Keith groaned, his face buried deeply in his hands before he stood back upright to regain his composure and looked at Shiro. “You know, if this was any other girl, I would be doing that right now. But Allura is an--... an--!!”

“Extra terrestrial.” Pidge finished.

“Thank you! Shiro, we don’t know what we’re dealing with here!"

"That's because you haven't let me tell you." Allura said quietly but full of determination, getting up from where she sat and making her way over to the gang, her piercing blue eyes looking straight through Keith.

"Then you'd better start talking." Keith demanded. However, his voice faltered, trembling ever so slightly as she came closer.

Allura was beautiful, of course, but could be just as intimidating if she tried.

“Thank you.” She started. "It all happened eight years ago."

The Royal palace of Altea, 9.146, eight years ago.

Princess Allura let out a deep sigh as she glared into the mirror. She was modeling a dress for herself that she was meant to wear to an event that was being held at the palace later that night. It was a nice dress, sure, made of high-quality silk in her favorite blues. Expertly made, too. But it wasn't entirely what she was hoping to wear to her intergalactic diplomatic debut.

She was going to mediate between two rivaling factions that had more or less the same end goal, but utilized vastly different methods in order to get there and became extremely hostile when one came too close to the other.

It was a tangled mess that was rooted much more deeply than it needed to be, like so many skirmishes in the vastness of the known universe. People with affinity and talent for untangling these messes, such as princess Allura, were sought after throughout the entire universe.

And, you know, first impressions mattered.

She brushed her hair for the umpteenth time that day as she mulled over and anticipated anything and everything that could be said at the negotiation tables and every possible outcome to every possible thing she could say. Ninety percent of them weren’t pretty.

And it was frightening to be put on such a complicated case as your very first venture into diplomacy. However, it wasn’t as frightening as her guards kicking down the door of her bedroom. The princess barely managed not to shriek when her usual guard grabbed her wrist and guided her away from her room and to the hangars.

“What is going on? Where are you taking me?” Allura demanded.

“The factions you were to negotiate with changed their minds and are attacking Altea.” The guard said, not stopping the relatively short journey to the hangars for a second. She tried to be all-business, but the concern in her heart bled through to her voice. “With two intergalactic empires fighting us from both sides… We don’t know how much longer we can hold them off. We’re sending you away for your own safety.”

“What?!” The princess exclaimed in disbelief. “Let me talk to them, perhaps I can fix this!”

“Please, trust me when I say everything has already been tried.” The guard said. Her tone had grown more despairing. “This doesn’t have to be permanent, princess. You’re going to a sister planet that has close ties with us, Pollux. When it’s safe for you to return to Altea, you may.”

Allura sighed and resigned to her fate. “Is anyone coming with me?” She asked, but her question was immediately answered when she saw a man sitting in the pod she would supposedly take to Pollux. Coran. Her father’s most trusted friend and advisor.

“Hello, princess. Ready for our little trip?” Coran asked as he helped Allura into the pod. He smiled at her, but she wished he hadn’t. It was full of pain and sorrow.

Hesitantly, she nodded. “Yes. I think so.”

“Alright Coran, let’s go through this one more time.” One of the engineers spoke up. “We turned off all communication devices and under no circumstances are you to turn them on until you reach Pollux. This way we minimize the risk of you being tracked and followed. On the other hand, the navigation system and autopilot are fully operational and we urge you to use them. The battery is fully charged and should get you there in three phoebs, give or take. The back of the pod is filled with enough food to last you that long. Lastly, this is an old model, Coran. I know you know how to fly this, but don’t try to pull any of the stunts you would with a new one.”

“Of course not.” The man said, patting the engineer’s shoulder. “Thank you all for helping us make this escape. We hope we can see you again soon.”

The guard shot Allura a last, sad smile. “Goodbye, princess. Goodbye, Coran.”

“Goodbye.”

“Coran and I left everything we knew and loved behind that night…” Allura whispered, wiping tears from her eyes that she didn’t even realize were there. “My friends, my family, my whole planet… I don’t know if they’re even alive.”

The room was so quiet, one could have heard a pin drop.

Ever since Keith had come back with the news that Allura might not be human, everyone had started to fill in the blanks as to who and what she was, and where she came from, in their own minds. The entire gang had theorized that something like this would probably have happened to her, but they were in strong denial. Because everyone had seen that Allura was a genuinely nice girl, even Keith, and they wouldn’t have wished this upon their worst enemies.

Pidge was the first to lean forward and reach out to place her hand on Allura’s in an act of sympathy, but was interrupted by a loud crash, a projectile passing right by their heads, soon followed by the sound of shouting shouting across the street and a car speeding away as the window next to their booth shattered and came raining down in billions of razor sharp pieces.

Lance shrieked.

“What was that?!”

“Is everyone okay?” Hunk asked as he carefully shook the shards out of his hair.

“I think so.” Pidge mumbled. “And be careful, that stuff gets everywhere.”

Allura still seemed frozen in shock. Not sure what to expect, Shiro carefully reached for her arm, but hesitated to touch her.

“Allura, are you okay?” He asked.

In the blink of an eye, the princess seemed to come back down to Earth.

“I’m… Yes, I’m fine.” She whispered, even though her breath still hitched and her hands still shook.

“I’m so sorry this happened, Allura.” Shiro looked down. “I mean, today of all days… You deserve better than this.”

“It’s alright, Shiro.” She said, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder. “You deserve better, too.”

“I’m gonna go to the back to get a broom.” Lance announced. “Anyone coming with?”

“Save me a dustpan. I’ll help you clean.” Keith said.

“Yeah, I’m coming too.” Pidge said, sliding out of the booth, scattering even more shards onto the vinyl floor. “I’ll call my dad, see if he can somehow help motivate the police.”

“I’ll drive over to my dad’s woodshop. Maybe he has some boards we can use to close up this gaping hole.” Hunk said as he got up as well. “Shiro, you wanna tag along?” He asked, only to receive a sharp elbow in the side from Pidge.

“Maybe it’s best to leave them alone for now.” She hissed through gritted teeth.

“Oh, right.” He whispered back.

The conversation wasn’t lost on Shiro, but he nevertheless elected to ignore it for his friends’ sake.

They stood there in silence for a while as the rest of the gang scurried off to do their thing, until a sob heaved Allura’s body.

“I’m sorry, Allura.” He whispered into her hair.

“I’m sorry, Shiro.” She whispered into his shoulder.

#fanfic #Voltron #Voltron legendary defender #shallura #50S AU

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shirlleycoyle · 4 years

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The Oldest Material Discovered on Earth Is 7-Billion-Year-Old Literal Stardust

Scientists have identified the oldest material ever found on Earth inside a space rock that crashed into Australia more than a half-century ago.

The meteorite is filled with tiny grains of ancient stardust that predate the birth of the Sun and our solar system by more than two billion years, according to a study published on Monday in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

The “presolar” grains were dated with the help of NASA’s Voyager 1 probe, which collected necessary new data when it crossed into interstellar space in 2012. The stardust is an unprecedented time capsule from an era of our galaxy before the solar system had coalesced into existence.

“It is something I can never get used to because it’s so fascinating,” said lead author Philipp Heck, a curator at the Field Museum and associate professor at the University of Chicago, in a call. “Just to have a rock in the lab and extract minerals and learn something about the history of the galaxy—I think it is just amazing that nature made such samples available to us.”

The grains measure just a few microns across (for reference, a human hair is about 100 microns in width). They were delivered to Earth by the Murchison meteorite, a huge chunk of extraterrestrial rock that fell in pieces near the Australian town of Murchison in 1969. The impact has become a major part of the town’s identity, but locals still donated most of its 220-pound mass to the Field Museum in Chicago.

“The people of Murchison, this rural community, collected the meteorite and were aware that it was something important to science, and made most of it available to science,” Heck said. “Without that, we wouldn’t have this study and many other studies.”

The grains of stardust inside the meteorite were formed by dying stars billions of years ago. At the end of their lifetimes, stars start to blow some of their heavier elements out into the surrounding environment, where the material cools into dust grains.

“Once the dust grain forms, it gets pushed away by the radiation pressure from the star into the interstellar medium and travels in the galaxy,” explained Heck. “The forming solar system 4.6 billion years ago incorporated that presolar dust into objects that were forming at that time, like Earth, the Sun, asteroids, comets—everything that formed in the solar system contained these presolar grains.”

The Egg Nebula, a possible source of the large presolar silicon carbide grains found in meteorites like Murchison. Image: NASA, W. Sparks (STScI) and R. Sahai (JPL). Inset: SiC grain with ~8 micrometers in its longest dimension. Inset image courtesy of Janaína N. Ávila

Though early Earth was initially riddled with the grains, geological processes such as internal heating, plate tectonics, and volcanism have obliterated them. However, the grains survive on inside about five percent of asteroids and comets in our solar system. Multiple meteorites have carried presolar grains to our planet, though the Murchison rock is the only one that preserves grains large enough to provide age estimates.

Some 30 years ago, University of Chicago scientists extracted these stardust grains by crushing a sample of the Murchison meteorite into powder and using chemical agents to pare it down to minute specks of silicon carbide.

“There are other types of presolar grains that we know of, but silicon carbide is the most robust and retentive one,” Heck said. “It’s almost as hard as diamond. The crystal is very tight, essentially.”

Scientists already knew that the grains predated the solar system, but the new study has produced far more accurate age estimates and pushed the timeline of grain formation much further back. Heck and his colleagues were able to achieve this breakthrough in part because of NASA’s Voyager 1 probe.

“We now have data from a spacecraft that left our solar system and measured the cosmic rays outside,” Heck said. “Those rays are key to our dating method.”

When these grains were floating through the interstellar medium billions of years ago, they were constantly exposed to the cosmic rays, which are high-energy particles that pervade the galaxy. As the rays smashed into the grains, they triggered the creation of neon isotopes inside the stardust.

This process enables scientists to provide age estimates for the grains, as the older samples show longer cosmic ray exposure and thus higher neon isotope levels. Heck and his colleagues used a mass spectrometer to measure the neon isotope in the grains to zero in on their ages.

“We could use the cosmic ray data that was measured by Voyager to determine what type of cosmic rays, and how many cosmic rays of each energy, the grains were exposed to more than 4.6 billion years ago,” Heck explained. “We didn’t have that data 10 years ago.”

Not only did the researchers find that some of the grains date back about seven billion years, making them by far the most ancient material available on our planet, they also discovered that about two thirds of the grains dated to about 4.6 to 4.9 billion years ago.

This hints at a “baby boom in star formation,” Heck said. The Milky Way may have produced a bumper crop of stars that burned out and died during a period of about 300 million years, right before the solar system formed.

The lives and deaths of those bygone stars are now written in the grains trapped within the Murchison meteorite, which serendipitously ended up on Earth. The results corroborate theories that the Milky Way may have a stellar boom and bust cycle, rather than a constant rate of star formation.

As mind-boggling as all of this is, Heck and his colleagues expect many more discoveries to emerge from these presolar grains in the future. The team plans to continue extracting and dating the stardust, plus they will now be able to incorporate cosmic ray data obtained by Voyager 2, which followed its twin to interstellar space in 2018.

“It is a career-spanning project but I’m training my students in it as well, so hopefully we’ll get more ages in the next years and decades,” Heck said.

The Oldest Material Discovered on Earth Is 7-Billion-Year-Old Literal Stardust syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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