#I'm at like the edge of the aurora zone

[tearlessrain]

I want to see an aurora so bad you guys

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

Any ways in which a location on a planet can view the sun all day/night all year long or at least 80% of that time? I've definitely heard of midnight sun at the poles, but it's only half the year. I'm really looking for more? Thanks.

Synth: Easiest way to get a location where the sun is always visible? Give your planet zero axial tilt. The reason the midnight sun at Earth’s poles doesn’t last the entire year is due to Earth’s axis being tilted approximately 23.5°. On a planet with an axial tilt close to 0°, the sun at the poles will be visible just above the horizon all year long. The greater the axial tilt, the more consecutive days when the sun is not visible from locations at high latitudes, up to a maximum of half the year. If Earth's axis was tilted to the max extreme of 90° the Sun would be visible and then not visible from the poles for six months straight at a time.

Another way to get All Sun All the Time is to have your planet tidally locked to its sun. When an astronomical body is tidally locked to its primary (the larger body that it is orbiting), its orbital period — the time it takes to make one trip around its primary — is the same as its rotational period — the time it takes to spin once on its axis ­— and this causes the same side to always be facing the primary. The Moon is tidally locked to Earth. It takes approximately twenty-eight days for the Moon to rotate once on its axis, and also twenty-eight days to travel completely around the Earth, so we always see the same side of it.

This, however, comes with some big problems. The part of the planet always facing the sun will be getting charbroiled, while the night side is in permanent deep freeze. Not exactly comfortable places to live, though there may be a ring of habitability between the day half and the night half encircling the entire planet. The sun would be visible all the time from the areas closer to the day side of this ring.

A previous Ask touched on similar points regarding the location of the sun in the sky at different times of the year. You may find it useful for your worldbuilding: https://scriptaworld.files.wordpress.com/2021/07/saw-science-channel.pdf

It is very long. The first part talks about a planet that is almost-but-not-quite tidally locked to its sun, and from page #9 onward it’s all about that axial tilt.

Utuabzu: Tidal locking can have a couple results, depending on the atmosphere and distance from the star. The most likely result is what Synth described, a burning desert on the sunward side, a vast icecap on the dark side, and a ring of habitability along the twilight edge, where the night-icecap melts into rivers that flow towards the day-desert where they evaporate and blow back around to the night side to fall as snow.

Closer to the star, if the atmosphere is thick enough, the day and twilight zones might both be uninhabitable, while the night side might have enough heat from atmospheric convection to have liquid water and thus life, while further from the star only the day side might be warm enough for liquid water.

Something important to note about tidally locked bodies is that they tend to be very close to their primary. You're most likely to get habitable tidally locked planets orbiting M-class dwarf stars (red dwarfs), because these are the smallest and coolest stars and thus their habitable zones (the area where they put out enough heat to allow liquid water, but not so much as to boil it all instantly) tend to be so close in as to force tidal locking. Conveniently, these are the most common stars in the universe. However, these stars can be highly prone to flares, which could cause problems if your planet doesn't have a strong magnetic field to protect it. If it does, it should just result in lots of very pretty aurorae.

[sentfromwolves]

TUMMY KISSES 💗💗💗💗 (atticus & aurora come to mind, but any wishlines or Cleavecross thing too— HERON AND EIST HERON AND EIST)

💝TUMMY KISSES!!!💤

I did this for Heron and Eist from Cleavecross because... because I love them, I miss them!! Heron is mine, and Eist belongs to @pinespittinink. I want to write more of them. t____t this got way longer than it was supposed to be but I hope you like it!

Most of the time when Eist is gone, Heron can't sleep. His anxiety sprouts eight hairy little legs like a spider and crawls all over him until he's jittery with nerves, bouncing all around the Helix or the apartment, rebounding off every hard surface until he finally knocks himself into a corner to wait. But that's because most of the time, Eist is flying drop ships into dead zones, and Heron is sitting and praying that nothing with wings comes shooting out of the sky to eat the entire ship.

Tonight, it's a simple family matter away from the high walls of the Helix, out in the greater bend of the Cleavecross proper. Eist had opened the invitation to Heron to join him, and had been kind and understanding enough not to break up with him when Heron had stumbled over his tongue trying to explain why that might not be the best idea. It wasn't that he didn't want to meet Eist's moms or sister, and he had, over video chats and voice calls.

But Heron was an acquired taste on a good day, a basket case to most on an average one, and he didn't want to ruin a rare whole family get-together by babbling on about the Milky Way or black holes or the likelihood of a new Calamity spawning into their half of reality in the next fifty years because that was all he did when his nerves sprung on him like a poorly rigged booby trap.

And for all Heron loves the world, it doesn't really love him back. Big crowds, loud places, high society--it all spooks him in ways that never settle well on his shoulders when he's out inside it all, like a freshwater fish dropped unceremoniously in the middle of the sea.

So he stays home instead, or as close to home as the Helix gets. He takes the dogs out for one last walk before bed, watches an episode of vintage Gundam and then another when he can feel an itch of anxiety curling awake in the back of his mind. Somehow, between the low white noise of the anime and Bunny snoring in the doorway of the bathroom, Heron manages to fall asleep.

He doesn't dream a whole lot, tumbling through a light enough sleep that when the front door opens a few hours later, softly swaying shut again, a lone braincell somewhere at the far end of the galaxy that is Heron's brain mumbles that Eist is finally home.

It's a fleeting thought, lost among the dredges of sleep, and in the stretching infinity between when some part of Heron acknowledges his fiance's return to when the other side of the bed dips slowly, Heron nearly passes back out entirely, long limbs all curled up around his form.

Maybe it's the soft, sweet scent of winter snow and mint that catches Heron before he slips over the edge. That familiar earthy aftermath, like fresh damp soil and subtle pine. Or maybe it's the slow touch of a hand over his side, an arm curling further around him that coaxes him even in sleep to unfurl bit by bit, latch onto the warm body next to him instead.

Eist's name slips from Heron's lips, a mumbled thing, barely two syllables slurred together over the heavy cotton of his tongue.

Eist's voice hushes him, an oaken burr of sound.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

Heron shakes his head into Eist's shoulder, nose brushing over the exposed heat of his collarbone above the loose cotton of a sleeping shirt. His eyes are too heavy to open, but that's alright. He's got one foot through sleep's door, but he's got another alongside his whole beating heart through Eist's.

Heron thinks he strings together enough syllables that sound like "it's alright" to get the point across. A little more focus and he lets out a breathy mumble of a whisper.

"How was it?" he asks, but maybe it comes out closer to "howsit"--he's never been good at pronunciation after all, even fully awake.

Eist combs a hand through his hair, the worn pads of his fingers brushing over the high notch of Heron's spine above the sunflower yellow of the sweat shirt he fell asleep in.

"Good," Eist murmurs. "It was good."

Heron nods again, exhaling softly. Eist's mouth brushes over the crown of his hair.

"I suggested somewhere quieter next time," he murmured against Heron's forehead, his hand stroking warm under the hem of Heron's sweater to his spine. "But only if you'd like."

Heron stirs a little more at the words. They tumble over him slowly, and it takes his brain a few moments to catch up.

"Oh," he says. "Um--"

"It's alright." Eist rolls his palm against Heron's back, firmer, heavier, the touch a grounding one. "You don't have to think on it now."

Heron can already feel sleep nagging at him again, but there's something else there too, rocking in and out of the shores of his heart with the broad span of Eist's palm settled against his back. He nods without saying anymore, tongue too heavy for words.

But he noses sleepily against Eist instead. A question, posed quiet and unremarkable, Heron too tired to be struck down by his own nerves. Eist lets out a baritone sound, the way an oak might sway in strong wind. Heron noses at him against, mouth open slightly as he narrows the gap between them, pressing dozing kisses against Eist's neck.

Eist lets out another rumble, rolling them slightly so that Heron is splayed over his chest, a long, gangly creature so in opposition to the broad stockiness of Eist's shorter frame. He doesn't mind in the slightest though, slipping his arms under Eist's, hands curling into the sheets as he curls up close.

Eist rubs his own palms in turn over Heron's spine. It's a grounding motion, up and down, fingers splayed flat over every bony notch. Heron mumbles unintelligible noises in response, low animal sounds as he slips down from Eist's neck, eventually finding a home with his head pillowed on his lover's belly, mouthing over the warm skin there.

Eist reaches down, combs a hand through Heron's hair. Heron presses another kiss and another and another to Eist's belly, the bone of his hip. A few years ago, he would have been too embarrassed even in this dozing state to do something without babbling his way out of the whole room and onto another planet.

Now though, Eist tugs just slightly at the nape of Heron's neck, fingers tightening lightly into the curl of his sandy hair. He draws Heron's gaze back up to him, and Heron finally opens his eyes, squinting into the warm dark. Eist rubs a thumb over the bow of Heron's cheeks, a breathy, oaken noise rumbling through the whole corridor of his chest.

It's a question, a quiet consideration. Heron loves Eist for it always, loves him for everything he ever does just to make Heron feel more at home than any four walls could ever be to him.

Heron exhales a plaintive sound, near enough to Eist's name to be an answer and a question both. Eist drops his head back down to the pillows, the broad palm of his hand squeezing at the base of Heron's neck in answer. After all, for all the words stream from Heron's mouth uncensored in moments of nervousness or anxiety, fear or boredom or exasperation, there are none needed here.

There's a language the two of them have learned together over the years in this quiet dark, and they both speak it fluently now. They both speak it, and no one else ever will.

Heron closes his eyes and kisses Eist's belly again, hands slipping down to catch at the elastic edge of his pants, Eist's encouraging rumble enough to guide him on, to give answer to everything Heron will ever ask, ever need.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ NO WITHOUT YOU ❜

First part: Don't cross the line.

with Hank ‘Tranq’ Loza.

Warnings: none.

Word count: about 1.8k

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @sonsofeorl

Masterlist.

You were happy playing that tug-of-war through the years, feeling loved, appreciated and wanted. Feeling as if you were at home whenever he managed to hug you secretly, separated from the rest, imagining that you were completely alone in the world; with no worries, no fears, no unhappiness. Just you two enjoying the closeness, your skins, your scents getting mixed, your breathings dancing with the other. Just you two, alone. But he had to make it real. To push you out from your bubble, from your comfort zone. And now you're fucked, more than ever. Maybe you're acting like a coward, after days without stepping on the clubhouse, hiding yourself from him. Avoiding and declining his calls, not texting him back. Not opening the door when he comes to your house, even if he sits to wait for you for hours. You could never have thought that loving someone could be this painful. It feels like you're drowning, like when a wave swallows you and makes you roll towards the bottom. And no matter how many efforts you use to swim to the surface, because the wave pushes you down again, when you think that you are reaching it.

Pouring some tequila inside the small shot, you drink it by one gulp, feeling the burning sensation hurting your throat. Cleaning your mouth with the back of your left hand, you have a smoke from the cigar, with your eyes fixed on the horizon. The night has fallen down, covering the desert with his darkness but slightly illuminating it by the moon shine and all the stars spread across the sky. That would be the perfect night to die for love, if it weren't for the door that gets opened and closed in almost three seconds. With your legs curled against your chest and your chin resting over them, you have another drag waiting for your tío to step out to the small garden. He has seen you acting weirdly lately, but he didn't ask. And he didn't ask anything either, when you told him that you were going to stay at his house for some days. But finding you like that changes everything. Taking off the jacket of his suit and rolling up the sleeves by his arms, the mexican sits by your side, serving himself a shot. You rest your cheek over your knees, you watch him drink it in silence.

“It's okay if you don't want to talk with your father, mija, but talk to me, sí?” Marcus pulls away a tuft of hair, behind your ear.

“I'm in love, tío”. You mumble with your lips trembling about to cry again.

“Oh, mi niña”. He says hugging you with a fleeting smile appearing on his lips, in the meantime that his arms surround your body. “And why are you sad, ah? Being in love it's something amazing”.

“Being in love is a fucking shit”. You spit full of rage, with some tears touring your cheeks.

“Why do you say that? Is it not reciprocated? That man has to be fucking crazy to not fall in love with you, mija”.

“He does, tío. He does with all his heart”. You shake your head, pulling yourself away from his arms to look at him. “But… my father would never accept it”.

“Why?”

“Because… he is a Mayan. A brother. Part of the family”.

“Tell me it's not Ang—”.

“Shit, no”. You chuckle cleaning your cry from your face.

“Don't misunderstand me, he's a good man, but… I can't imagine you together”. He replies then with a soft laugh between his teeth. “So, are you going to tell me who is the lucky one?”

You doubt. You know he's not going to judge you, but you're not sure how he is going to react. Having a long, long smoke, until it drags your throat, you let it go through your nose.

“Tranq”. You just answer in a whisper.

Marcus leans back his head some inches, assimilating what you have said. The name you have given him. He's trying to remember some moments of you two together. Ephemeral caresses, some dearly and furtive smiles, pet-names in random occasions. He is starting to spin the situations, in a silence that makes you feel uncomfortable.

“Tío, say something…”

“You just…” He tries to speak, rubbing his chin with one of his hands. “How I didn't notice it before? Since when it's happening?”

“Since we met, six years ago”.

“Damn, mija! Six years? You two have been carrying this shit for six years? Hiding it from your father?” Marcus is really surprised, but you are not because of his reaction. “But, what is the matter? Why aren't you two together?”

“Do you think that my fa—?”

“Your father only wants happiness for you, mija. If he loves you, he will understand it. We don't choose who we fall in love with, or of who not”. He tries to make you understand, gently caressing the back of your head and your hair. “You should go to the clubhouse. Talk with them. Take charge of your life, mija. And stop hiding what you feel for what people could think. Even if it's your father who you are worried for”.

“I… drank six shots, tío”.

“I can take you”. Shrugging his shoulders, he stands up over his feet offering you a hand. “Take a shower, change that… horrible pajama and get ready. I'll be waiting for you here”.

Pursing your lips, you nod getting up from the grass, shaking your clothes before coming inside the house right to your room. You try to be quick, and the cold water covering your body is very helpful. Wearing black jeans, a crop top and a pair of sneakers, grabbing your phone and the keys of the house. Drying your hair again with a towel, you go out of the dorm looking for Marcus. You're literally shaking when you put the seat belt around you, facing the fact that you are really to end with your pain. That you are going to tell your father that you are in love and that he has to accept it, as your tío said. And when the black SUV reaches the front yard, you feel that you're about to die, seeing the older men sitting there and sharing some beers. Taza, Riz, Tranq and your father are staring at the car, watching you step out of it accompanied by Marcus.

Bishop is about to get up to greet you, but your raised hand towards him stops his moves, sitting down again confused and intrigued. Rubbing your face with both hands until your skin burns a little, you try to organize the words inside your head. But as much as you think about it, it only gets worse. Licking your lips, you first focus on your father.

“Dad… I love you and I respect you more than anyone, but I have to do something that you may not like it”.

Turning some inches towards Tranq, you bow your head for a second trying to breathe before looking for his eyes.

“These days have been a fucking shit without you. I'm sorry for not calling or texting you back. For not opening my door when you came. For avoiding you at all cost. For acting like a… fucking coward. But the truth is that I can't live without you. I don't wanna live without you. Not anymore. I love you. I've been doing it since six years ago”. In your speechless you can see how your father hits Tranq's chest, tangling his fingers in the green rosary, spitting some beer on the floor. If there's a level over being ‘fucking surprised’, your father is there. Totally maddened in silence, turning his face from you to his brother, once and again.

“It was you, cabrón?” He asks with both eyes opened too much.

“Bishop, list—”. Hank is about to defend himself, when your father throws himself to the floor, kneeling and his hands tangled in a huge fist.

“¡Por el amor de Dios, gracias!” (For God's sake, thank you).

Maybe it's the effect of the six shots you drank, but you're as lost as the crew is.

“Shit… All these years thinking you were with Angel… Oh, fuck!” He yells to the air, getting up and hardly breathing with a hand on his chest. “Oh, shit, mi vida. For a second I thought you came to tell me that you're pregnant or something like that. Fuck! I was on the edge of a heart attack”.

“See? I told you”. Your tío whispers into your ear.

“Oh, man…” Your father is laughing, starting to scare you because of his excitement, until he turns around to face Tranq showing him a serious gesture. “Because you haven't gotten her pregnant, right?”

“Bishop, I haven't touch her in sex years”. He just replies, getting up from his chair and leaving away the beer.

“But, do you love her or what?”

“Yes. Of course, I do”.

“Why yo—”.

“Dad, it's okay. We just… I think we need to talk”. You mumble, keeping your hands inside the pockets of your jacket, making a gesture with your neck towards Hank to follow you.

Biting your lower lip by a side, you start to walk right to the clubhouse. The most difficult part is done, and you can't stop thinking how stupid you have been. Setting him apart just for a paranoia. Just because your father might have retaliated against him. Coming inside, you wait for Tranq to close the door.

“I'm so so—”.

You can't finish the sentence when he takes two big steps closer, holding your face into his arms to crash your lips with his. You're about to falter, feeling the tears of relief filling your closed eyes. His tongue tastes much better when it finds yours, walking backwards through the hallway to the dorms. You need it. So he does. You can't wait for much more, blinded looking for the doorknob to turn it and open the room. His hands on your ass urged you to jump onto him, surrounding his waist with both legs.

“Fuck, mi vida…” He whispers lying down on his bed. “I don't give a shit about the distance, if you have to leave again”.

His voice breaks between short kisses, going down to your neck and his hands pawing your body over the clothes.

“I'm not leaving”. You gasp softly, taking off the leather kutte to throw it somewhere on the floor.

“What?” All his moves stop dead, pulling himself away for a second to look at you.

“I came because… I have a job offer in the hospital of Santo Padre. A permanent one”.

“You're not… leaving to New York again?” Simply shaking your head, you smile gentle, intertwining a hand in his necklace to push him closer.

“I wanna stay with you”.

“Of course you're staying with me, mi amor”.

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