#helium dance

[acetheticsdraws]

Corteo was such a beautiful show! Here are the two art pieces that I gifted the clowns! The latter I got to PERSONALLY HAND TO VALENTYNA DURING HER HELIUM DANCE!!! I have hit my Cirque magnum opus

[discocholforever]

I’m sorry I can’t subscribe to ‘Kim doesn’t care about Harry or anyone really’ bc wowwww like he sees the most pathetic miserable stinky creature on the planet and becomes infatuated (either platonically or romantically, whichever floats ur boat) enough to do a silly little dance in a church-slash-nightclub and play a silly little board game even tho it’s got nothing to do with the murder and oh yeah he deadass ditches his precinct to work with (and keep an eye on) this sopping wet man who reeks of dysfunction but gives him hope

don’t even speak to me about the car in the ice I’ll start sobbing uncontrollably he’s so patient and gentle w harry the whole time and heals his morale if u address how bad he fucked up. Kim isn’t a perfect guy for many reasons but he cares about Harry and that’s more than most ppl in game

[fazgoo-connoiseur-1987]

I think william and henry getting together in the fix it au would be so chaotic. like. how would they even confess

the power of alcohol and releaf that Bill's son actually didn't die to the giant robot bear probably

[dahyun]

I LOVE JEONGYEON!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[kpopmultifan]

SHINee’s KEY has released the dance practice for “Helium,” a track from his 1st mini-album “Bad Love.”

[Apple Music/iTunes] [Spotify] [YouTube Music]

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

BRO I'VE BEEN HOLDING BACK CAUSE I THOUGHT YOU'D ALREADY HAVE TOO MANP CAP. MACTAVISH REQUESTS I-

I'm here to rectify this issue immediately, how about one with him and the reader being soft? something bout seeing this rugged man melt when he comes home to his darling just egIUAfosnkew IT'S SO SWEET

—Look At The Stars; Look At Me

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Stargazing in the middle of an overgrown and wild glade.] ❞

You breathe slowly, eyes gazing longingly far above you at the twinkling lights. They take up your pupils in the low glow of the moon—the dots of those far-off globes of hydrogen and helium shining bright. 

The glade behind the hidden forest home is filled with the scent of wildflowers, grass, and the grind of fresh earth; it captures your nostrils as the fireflies come out to dance on iridescent wings. Under you, John’s blanket lets you be just the tiniest bit closer to him for the moment, limbs loose, sleep-clothes compliant to the flow of the breeze as it spreads a whisper through the leaves. 

A deer snorts downwind, a low call over the air that can be felt in the gentle quiet. Crickets creak like the old floorboards of a lived-in home. You’re eased by the knowledge that, as your Lover drives back to this place—back to you—he’s under the same stars as the ones you gawk at in the skin of an awe-drunk woman who loves him more than even this. 

A car pulls down the worn-grass road, and you hear the brakes lightly squeak on that shitty rental, a smile twitches along your face, but you don’t move.

He knows where to find you this late; knows you wouldn’t go to sleep when he’d called you not two hours earlier to say he’s back. 

The both of you are stubborn and know the other more than a priest knows his own God.

A soft whistle lets you know he’ll be there in a moment, coming from behind the treeline before the sound of a car door getting closed echoes. The birds pause for a moment, though not seconds later they re-start their bedtime symphonies. 

There’s a rustling, and your heart picks up the pace gradually, excitement making your lips peel slowly back into a wide smile as you gaze at the Herdsman and his glittering Arcturus star. Painting pictures in your mind, you think of the untold number of things he’s seen from his deep-space throne as your lover returns like a lumbering hound, already hearing his large sigh at the sight of you. 

You don’t shift your gaze until an accented comment makes you chuckle. 

“Bit of a cold night to be doin’ this,” John’s face peaks into your field of view, leaning above you with his arms crossed—one of those dark brows raised.

He looks worse for wear with a big bruise over the left side of his jaw, and medical tape on his dark eyebrow ridge. The scar is still there, over his left eye; his orbs that continue to glint more than the stars ever could in your gaze. 

You hum in your throat, blinking up at him with a tilted nose. 

“What?” Your voice makes the hardness of his face dim, a small sigh through his nostrils as if he could never truly get out of that version of himself without hearing you speak first. “Did you expect me to miss a view like this?”

He scoffs, tilting his head. “I’m not that much of an idiot. Move it.”

You smile widely, staying directly in the middle of his blanket as a smirk slashes the Captain’s lips, his blues deepening. A bird darts away from above his head. 

“Already misbehaving, then? Not a good start, Little Lady.” 

“I was here first, MacTavish.” He makes an amused noise in his throat, moving his hands from his arms to grasp under yours. You squeal, laughing loudly as he drags you up with a low chuckle into his large shirt and tucked pants. 

“Aye, you were here first,” he brings you up into his arms—a bridal hold that leads you to wrap your arms around his neck as you shake with glee, burying your head into his flesh. “Never said you weren’t.” Lips whisper into your ear and he can feel your smile as it spreads against him. “But you’ve got to pick your battles wisely, eh? I’m the one who can carry you on my arm.”

You kiss his neck a few times, quick kisses in between mutterings of love; his beard shifts as he lets a small smile, amusement lingering yet dimming for something far more important. The word seems more alive than it had moments ago, but that’s not a bad thing. No, not at all. 

“What’s the point of interest tonight, then?” He slips off his boots and walks you back onto the blanket, smoothing it out with his foot before he grunts and settles down—you in his lap. “I’ve lost where we were last time.”

“The Herdsman, John,” you remind gently, pushing on his chest so he lays back with no argument, shifting you into the crook of his right arm as it circles you. He gently squeezes and presses you tighter. 

On his chest you place your head, arm snaking around his waist to suck in his warmth with a soft sigh.

“Ah, that’s right. Herdsman.”

He kisses your forehead, digging his nose into you and closing his eyes softly. None of the stars could compare to the one in his arms—he’ll leave the gazing to you in the meantime. 

Your body in the gap between his arm was all he needed. 

TAGS:

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[mysticstronomy]

WHAT'S A DARK STAR??

Blog#358

Saturday, December 16th, 2023

Welcome back,

Black stars may be the most influential celestial bodies in the universe that no one knows for sure ever existed.

In fact, they may be the elder stars of the cosmos, twinkling long before stars — at least as we know them now — showed up.

So why is there no evidence of them today?

They may have literally faded to black. As in, black hole.

At least that's the theory posited by University of Michigan physicist Katherine Freese in a recent interview with Astronomy.

Freese suggests dark stars are actually the seeds of the supermassive black holes that lurk in the heart of every galaxy. After all, even time-bending, light-hoovering regions of space have to grow from something. And that something may be a dark star.

But how does a bright and shiny celestial body take such a dramatically dark turn? Well, for one thing, a dark star — unlike the stars we know and occasionally wish upon — would already have darkness, literally, running through its veins.

The stars we see today all abide by the same general rule of nuclear fusion. The sheer mass of a star means it's always in a state of collapsing on itself. But that kind of constant pressure on its core also produces energy that radiates outward.

The result is a perfect balance of inward pull and outward radiation.

Our sun, for example, has reached that perfect equilibrium, parlaying gravitational pressure into the giant battery that essentially powers the solar system.

Dark stars, on the other hand, do things a little differently.

Sure, they've got hydrogen and helium running in their veins — but also, a touch of dark matter.

Yes, that's another material that no one has seen or even detected — making dark star theory even more ... theoretical.

But here's how Freese suggests it could work:

About 13 billion years ago, when dark stars were forming, the universe was a very different, and much denser, place. They likely incorporated dark matter in their DNA, in the form of Weakly Interacting Massive Particles, or WIMPs.

Even as a microscopic ingredient in a star's makeup, dark matter could keep a body huffing and puffing for a billion years thanks to a unique process called dark matter annihilation.

Essentially, dark matter gives a dark star its superpowers — it could expand and radiate energy without having to rely on that delicate dance known as nuclear fusion.

That would also unburden a dark star from its core, allowing it to sprawl outward and, despite its name, shine much brighter and bigger.

"They can keep growing as long as there is dark matter fuel," Freese tells Astronomy. "We've assumed they can get up to 10 million times the mass of the Sun and 10 billion times as bright as the Sun, but we don't really know. There is no cutoff in principle."

And, she suggests, at some point, a star with that much mass would have to collapse, becoming a black hole.

But how does a theory that hinges on theory ever end up becoming a reality? We just have to spot one on the endless haystack that is the cosmos.

And that may be a job for the James Webb Space Telescope.

Originally published on www.treehugger.com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, December 20th, 2023)

"CAN A BLACKHOLE CREATE A STAR??"

[sudokuplayer]

MY LOVE IS A WEAPON THROWN ONTO THE OBLIVION OF YOUR BODY (taken from booklet of original art and essays by Sufjan Stevens, written to accompany his new album Javelin)

read essays ↓

1.MY LOVE My first love was an involuntary sound – the music of the spheres – a subdued, white-noise shuddering of my heart, a fluster of hummingbird vibrations that I could taste in the prenatal hemispheres of my mouth, body against body and brain against brain, two conjoined selves conjuring an off-shore thunderstorm in the horizontal distance, dazzling with flashes of metallic music and elemental chaos in the safe harbor of my mother’s womb. There was no light and no dark, no semblance of simile or semaphore. There was only the blurred and audible presence of a distant and divine voice hovering above the waters where I balanced between the prism of absence and presence on an inflatable dirigible of sea foam, wandering into the oleaginous abyss with a half-smile of hazardry and wizardry – my maiden voyage into the “unbeknownst” of oblivion. For what did I really know at this point in my primordial mindlessness? Nothing at all. I was struck dumb, created from ignorance and ether, first without function or features, then without order or form. I was sensation and consciousness postponed, a wet and placid portion of monotonous fruit cut in quarters awaiting heaven’s blessing. My only occupation at this point was to occupy, be occupied, preoccupy, and prevail nature in a womb-world of benevolence and buoyancy. The music of the heartbeat of the universe danced me to sleep. Within this realm, I was love and life supreme, undivided by thought, word and deed, a small promise kept until the act of doing would undo me for good. My birth was my undoing. And then I was born into oblivion.

2.IS I remember in college, falling in love for the first time, two spring months of rapture, residing on the tail end of a helium balloon. I was so giddy about everything: washing the dishes, tying my shoes, scrambling eggs, binding books, pulling berries off juniper trees. My infatuation had such an arrogant persuasion on the world around me. Everything as metaphor ascribed with romance. I remember, while mowing lawns on the college campus, finding an injured fledgling crow by the dining hall. I carried it to the biology lab, where we called a woman who ran an animal sanctuary from her home. She met us on a bike with a wicker basket. “You are doing the universe a great favor,” she said, holding the bird to her breast, like Mother Goose. The event provided endless fodder: for prose poems and folk songs and long conversations on the roof of the aspirin factory, where we got drunk on Boone’s Farm sangria, speculating on cosmic intentions and the order of the universe. So much meaning, so little time. I was young and dumb and in love. Guided by a perverse curiosity and a voracious sensation-of-the-imagination pivoting at the tip of my tongue, I marveled at the mysteries of life laid out before me, awaiting in the calm commotion between innocence and experience.

3.A WEAPON And then experience pummeled me. Many years later, after the long-suffering exhaustion of life had driven me into the bleak underbelly of realism, my most profound thought was sad and static: that nothing really matters, nobody loves me, and loneliness would always be my most devoted companion. In my new sobering worldview, absent of love, I began to encounter everything as an object without meaning, without modifier. The homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway was just a homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway. There was no metaphor, no rapture, no cosmic intentions. I had to ask myself: does this make the man, the newspaper, the subway, or myself any less meaningful? No. Quite the opposite. For what resided in that substantial vacancy where I was always prone to symbolize the world to death is exactly what I needed right then: Opportunity. Presence of Mind. Peace On Earth. Stable Stoicism. Absence of Metaphor. Responsibility. And Hard Facts. That was my prayer: to shake off the doting artistry of an over-eager poet with a proclivity to create dreams from doldrums; to approach the world as a concrete object, a thing to be held, not a thing to behold, or allegorized; to remain at peace and in careful jurisprudence in spite of the resentful intonation of my overarching loneliness that devastated innocent bystanders with all the magic castles of the imagination. I told myself: I must snuff out the candle of candy-corn dreams. I must soldier on like a dead-end daydream undeterred. I must be steadfast in the stolid presence and essence of common sense and survival. I must be true to life internal and reside in resignation at last.

4.THROWN My second love was less ecstatic, but more tragic: the “gift” of sight – an elemental flash of lightning, which struck me like a bag of metal shavings thrown out onto ice reflecting back at the centerpiece of my sternum. A sucker punch to the chest. My cold consciousness came into sharp focus, rattled by illuminating waves invading everything around me. The light was loud and extraordinary. And even with my eyes closed, my pupils began pontificating at the pornography of sight, and I was momentarily carved into madness. Seeing is believing is birth. I shuddered and shirked at the tangible evidence of something else – the others – the imposition of a sensation outside myself, in which everything was separated into opposable armies: the land from the waters, the air from the earth, the seasons from the doldrums, the seen from the unseen, sin from sainthood, light from dark, good from evil. Everything was put in its place by the curse of namesake. The world was now before me, beneath me, above me, and ultimately against me, a pressure foot pressed down on all sides. I felt a cold claustrophobia, empty and alone, trans-natal and tragic, baffled by the violence of this new environmental context. And to think I was just a silly beansprout of a thing shivering under the medical lights, squirming like an open earthworm, now tasked with this terrible act of naming. God gave me a pen and a pad of parchment paper. “Transcribe your feelings and your findings,” she said. “Do your thing. First thought, best thought.” I did as I was commanded, a dutiful sea urchin inching its way to the possibility of words and wisdom.

5.ONTO A world without language was once the indication of certain death. Soundless, voiceless, nameless vapor. A typography of empty vessels. The void! But now, what of the tragedy of names, spoken into existence with the demystification of words? I was culprit and complicit, identifying all the divergences, differentiations, variations, permutations, diversities, dichotomies and double entendres. Categorizing the animals, cutting them down to size, organizing the parts of the body with the parts of speech, a fanatical grammar-game of possession, domination and death. I had to ask myself: Is this manner of identification in the name of higher knowledge even if it disregards purpose, analysis, and compassion (observation absent of intention)? And how could it be undertaken without idolatry and ulterior motive? I desired the objectivity of the photography of the baby-brain, whose fuzzy visionary reception was a delightful nebula of perfumed consciousness and joy. I wanted to see the world coherently and without discretion, discernment, reduction, and deduction – unintelligible intelligence. Instead I began to perceive how intimate knowledge generates prosperity (fullness) and progeny (fruitfulness) – of ideas and offspring. To be “made known” was to be consummated: “Adam knew Eve” – intercourse as discourse (knowledge as physical/sexual engagement). To know someone was to take possession (to gain access, in confidence and with confidentiality). The exchange would potentially unveil the secret knowledge between lovers (the nominative ordinances of arousal) – wherein posterity would become the observable antecedents of this sacred wisdom, and pleasure would be its misfortune (of infatuation and love, of chaos and order). My sexual discourse began to die a slow death of observation and objectification, a nonsense category of substances seen and deemed believable, predicating a cosmic break from the universe: a psychic rebirth, from which invisible things transformed into figures of speech, wherein figures of speech were left dead in the wake of rivulets and rivers, drowning in a molten waterfall of dread, where they would meet their maker in linguistic whimsy. My death was now new life. My reincarnation, a reverse sublimation. I was made known; therefore, I knew nothing.

6.THE For a short time, my pet peeves were my shortcomings: dry skin in the morning – brushing off the bed sheets with bits of outer insulation from my body. Was I molting? I needed to drink more bitter herbs, I thought. I had chronic stomach pain, below the clavicle, a small fist of air. Sweet antacid, mint leaves, fennel seed tea. Invisible Anxiety. The pain in my leg: a hypochondriac’s dream. Soothing myself with palm oil and camphor. Small applications on the surface. At dinner with guests, supplementing aspirin with ice-water, saying very little otherwise, a friend agreed with everyone’s assessment: “Yes, sometimes you are cold and unfeeling. You could warm it up a little.” My apparent coolness – was it a matter of objective safety? That remote vacancy which I brought to every engagement, keeping the world at arm’s length, the anthropologist’s vantage point, sustaining the presumptive: was that my vocation – the judicious spectator, an odd outlier outlining all this activity while staying behind the line of sight? As the youngest sibling, I was always evaluating my older sisters with fierce judgment from the corner of the room, just out of reach: eavesdropping on phone conversations, catching glimpses of padded bras, curling irons, and maxi pads passed between casual doorways. Taking stock of the panoply of premature adulthood (teenage pregnancy), unruly rebellion (sneaking out at night), clumsy and combative excursions with our wicked step-mother (cat fights with elegantly finger-nailed fisticuffs). I watched from a dutiful distance, careful not to engage, harboring a catalog of tragicomic events and all their moral assessments in order to avoid the worst-case scenario for myself. I was in the world, but not of it. I learned from the mistakes of others: that I was nothing more than a mistake waiting to happen, potential energy. I learned from the mistletoe to keep watch overhead so as to avoid the dangling modifier of accidental affection. I learned from the stone in my shoe to keep walking through the pain with a staggering refrain in my step, a constant reminder of the brokenness of my body and the indefatigable self-loathing of my own self-consciousness.

7.OBLIVION My third love was a surprise affection – ticklish touching and tender swaddles of terry towels and cotton cloth wrapped in armfuls of goose down feathers transfixed in the careful undertaking of childcare. A sensual delight! I was an object to be objectified, a thing to squeeze and prickle, caress and carry about in a breadbasket. I grew from a pinecone to a pine tree, from a newt to a dinosaur, from a poppy-seed to a poppy flower bursting with fireworks. This love then transferred its fornications onto something wet, wild and ornithological – a flying, feathery python ascending to its countenance as a bastion of bridegrooms in a flaming aviary chariot of leathery kisses all aimed at my elbows. Hope is a thing with bird feeders. So I watched the feathered fowl crowd around the seeds and suet, grubs and grains with dinosaur intensity, beaks and claws doing their vast prehistoric business with messy execution. My lovers cawed at their community of plumy mishaps like transcendental mother hens: nuthatch and creeper, tanager and titmouse, blue jay and junco gallivanting together like an armful of woolen throw blankets clapping the dust from their ornamental features. Our fairy dance of foreplay lasted for days. Cat calls as birdsong with balloons, iambic pentameter poems, chimes that rhymed with clanging crystals hung on fishing line, and all the fanciful costumes with sequins and fringe, flowered bell bottoms, metallic body suits, reggae music, ballroom dancing, charm bracelets, diamond rings, glimmering little earrings with fly-fishing ornaments, and, on the last day, a very long and serious monologue about global warming. Our lovemaking was quick and witty, a little slutty and clumsy – nothing more than a jaunt, a quick choreography of slaps and body slams, two pigeons in a mosh pit, working things out in juvenilia. Nature had done its work. Afterward we lounged together in the afterglow with soft pillow talk and dreams of nest eggs and parenting, protecting, foraging, feeding, and changing diapers, all the domestic labors of love. But for now, in a warm bird bath, sunning ourselves with a glistening glow, I could only think of the sweet bliss of here and now, the wetness of loving kisses on my nape, my neck, my back, my rump, my foreshortened wings and a sweet nectar nightcap. Hope is a thing deferred, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

8.OF My fourth love was peripatetic: a suitcase stored in an overhead bin on an airplane. Things beget things beget responsibilities. I procrastinated my life by traveling far from it. A day before the voyage, I stayed up late in the polar forces of the night, diligently packing the baggage on the couch, opened up like can of tuna fish, a glass of lemon juice on the nightstand (master cleanse), the Siamese cat washing itself, the dollar store dishes in the sink, my dirty clothes in a paper bag. The last time I had left for this kind of trip, my things were in boxes in one room on the second floor of a gated town house in God-knows-where, New York. Now everything had been transferred as in a swap meet, boxes upon boxes, things upon things, other voices, other rooms. The living room was a labyrinth of speculative journeys, a crossword puzzle of travel prompts. Outside, gale force winds rose to the occasion, knocking on the windows like unwanted guests. I imagined the weather overtaking everything in an apocalyptic frenzy: cups and saucers trembling in tongues, plastic wrap coming undone in a transparent wedding train, pillowcases falling over our heads like hard hats, ceiling fans circumnavigating the neighborhood like helicopter rides, the colored crayons on the kitchen shelf thrown asunder to make slapdash hieroglyphs all over the window panes, the mysterious penmanship of the gods! My mind was preoccupied by disaster, a force majeure, an act of God, a ball of yarn, and the four horses of the Apocalypse. I wanted nothing of it: this origami suitcase lifestyle of travel and transition. I wanted to be here and now. I wanted silence, solace, and stillness. I wanted the simplest of things: a bowl of vanilla ice cream, a warm bath, and a quiet place to sit and stitch my hand-crafted cross-stitch of rainbows and sailboats framing a sexy cartoon portrait of Dionne Warwick diligently working the lines for the Psychic Friends Network from way back in the 1990s, when every solution to every problem was just a phone call away.

9.YOUR History repeats itself, defeats itself, cheats itself, berates and beats itself. I am not historic. I am histrionics. I must hate my mother and my father. I must hate myself and take up the cross and be born again. In this way, my fifth love was an immutable shadow following me with sticky tricks and schemes, a cancerous contamination of the mind that could only be cured with the deadly venom of a cone snail. I couldn’t quite shake it, the cobalt-blue memory of a ghost haunting my sophistry, a prescient reminder that the knowledge of faith and the substance of hope were right behind me this entire time (and not something to pursue, or follow, like an ornamental object on the horizon, dazzling, elusive and alive in the distant future). The Divine Inside was a “previously known encounter.” I could never see it face to face, but only feel it in my shadow, the former patterns of an aura left behind, pushing forward, pursuing, persuading, steering and navigating my memory through the valley of the shadow of death. I wanted so desperately to “have and to hold” the real substance of things (evidence!), the physical, intimate engagement with the body and the blood, which I actively sought out in transcendental activity, prayer and supplication, the sacraments, the feasts of the saints, a metaphysical substance to salivate and sublimate within the natural order of things. But this was a false pretense. God is not natural, but supernatural. The real material of divinity is ineffable, unassailable, unknowable, unutterable, and unreal. The evidence of providence is not within our line of sight, nor within our grasp, but instead beyond and behind our physical kinesphere. It is unapproachable, unspeakable, unobservable, and ultimately “erstwhile”. And yet still we continue to feel it “under our skin” and “within the universe” of our own personal history: The Past/The Passed/The Repossessed. God is our delayed consciousness – the nameless, faceless dichotomy of our secret truth. And we are made in its indistinguishable appearance. Therefore our own true “image” is without a name or a face – a baseless, shapeless cloud hovering above the waters, a countenance of empty atmosphere (signifying nothing) – a gothic apparition, a vision of love, a dance of the eternal travesty of life, a burrowing beetle of impenetrating curiosity. Digging for the true grit of life in the eternal dirt of the universe. 

10.BODY  My last love was a kind of science fiction. I was out running errands at the mall when I saw a fleet of lampshades falling like flying saucers from the sky. The alien robots came to me in an escalating beam of light and said: “We come in peace! The obverse seeks to make its face shine upon you, while the inverse hides in shame.” They did their thing with my body, prodding and poking around for some good news, but at first I would have none of it. I struggled and squirmed under nylon restraints strapped onto a stainless steel operating table. I was a basket case of curmudgeonly vitriol, pointing out everything that was wrong with the world around me: Fossil fuels. Cancer. Money. Greed. Sales Tax. Frozen Yoghurt. Religion. Varicose Veins. Junk Mail. But the alien robots were unflappable. They said, “We just need a little DNA, not a diatribe,” while swabbing the insides of my mouth with a cottony Q-tip. Then, after careful intubation and a slow drip of aesthesia, I eased into the abyss. They removed my clothes and covered my body with a marshmallowy spray foam. They swaddled me into a warm cocoon of maroon goo, where I remained in stasis to the end of the ages, slowly resuming into the soft, pillowy features of my former self – pre-natal, premature, pre-conceived – a slippery and succulent primordial membrane of soupy warmth and illuminating agency awaiting, once again, the cosmic journey laid out before me like a yellow-brick road of possibilities – the secret oblivion of love, the “unbeknownst!” Within this pinprick vision, I saw a tapestry of afterbirth in afterglow as an addendum to an immaculate after-thought of rapturous joy. I was born-again in fullness and truth. I was a peanut. I was a pretzel. I was a pan-fried shrimp. I was pandemonium personified. I was once again myself waiting to happen again and again and again and again and again … until the end.

— Sufjan Stevens

[spacenutspod]

Water is the most common chemical molecule found throughout the entire universe. What water has going for it is that its constituents, hydrogen and oxygen, are also ridiculously common, and those two elements really enjoying bonding with each other. Oxygen has two open slots in its outmost electron orbital shell, making it very eager to find new friends, and each hydrogen comes with one spare electron, so the triple-bonding is a cinch. Hydrogen comes to us from the big bang itself, making it by both mass and number the #1 element in the cosmos. Seriously, the stuff is everywhere. About 75% of every star, every interstellar gas cloud, and every wandering bit of intergalactic space debris never to know the warmth of stellar fusion in 13.8 billion years of cosmic history is made of hydrogen. That hydrogen got its start when our universe was only about ten minutes old, and all the hydrogen that has ever existed (except for random radioactive decays and fission reactions, but that would come later) formed before our universe turned 20 minutes. A dozen minutes, 13.8 billion years ago. When you quench your thirst with a healthy glass, that’s what you’re consuming. We can understand this epoch of cosmic history, known as the nucleosynthesis era, because over the past century we’ve become rather skilled at dealing with nuclear reactions, and in one of the hallmarks of our species we have unleashed this radical understanding into the physical nature of reality and deployed it for both peacetime energy generation and wartime bombs. Our understanding of nuclear physics tells us that earlier than the ten-minute mark, our universe was too hot and too dense for protons and neutrons to form. Instead their subatomic parts, known as quarks, were unglued in a heaving maelstrom of nuclear forces, constantly binding and unbinding in a seething rage-filled sea of gluons, the force carriers of the strong nuclear force. Once the universe expanded and cooled enough, condensates of protons and neutrons formed like droplets on the windowpane, low-energy pockets capable of keeping themselves together despite the temperatures. Eventually, however, as soon as the party got going it fizzled out: when the universe became too large and too cool, a mere dozen minutes later, there wasn’t sufficient density to bring the quarks close enough together to perform their nuclear binding trick. Some protons and neutrons would find each other in those storm-filled days, though, forming heavier versions of hydrogen, some helium, and a small amount of lithium. And since then those hydrogen atoms have wandered about the cosmos; most lost in the intergalactic wastes, some participating in the glorious construction of stars and planets, and a lucky few finding themselves locked in a chemical dance with oxygen. The oxygen has another tale to tell, also a story of fusion, on its way to becoming water. But not the fusion of the first few heady minutes of the big bang, but in the dance within the hearts of stars. There, crushing pressures and violent temperatures slam hydrogen atoms together, forcing them to fuse into helium, in the process releasing an almost vanishingly small amount of energy. But that forced marriage happens millions of times every second, in every one of the trillions upon untold trillions of stars strewn about the cosmos, enough to light up the universe for all conscious observers to enjoy. Near the end of a star’s life, it turns to fusing the built-up ash of helium piled in its core, The fusion of helium produces two products: carbon and oxygen. Now this oxygen would end up forever closed off from the cosmos, locked behind a million-kilometer thick wall of plasma, if it were not for a trick of physics that happens when the star meets its final days. Our Sun will someday experience this fate, about four and a half billion years now. When it grows old and weary, it will swell and turn red, violently spasming as it draws its last fatal breaths. Those gargantuan shudders release material from the star, launching it into the surrounding system, billowed by gusty winds of fundamental particles streaming away at nearly the speed of light. Fit by ragged fit, the Sun will lose its own self, driving away over half its mass into a spreading nebula, the only sign that distant eyes can perceive of yet another noble star laying down its struggle against the all-consuming night. But in that gruesome death, a miracle. The cycle born anew: the hydrogen and helium, the primordial elements of the star, now mixed with carbon and oxygen drift off into the interstellar void, someday to take part in the formation of a new star, a new solar system, a new world wet with water, and, if the chances are perfect, a new life. The post Thirsty? Water is More Common than you Think appeared first on Universe Today.

[rel124c41]

NOW PLAYING ‘EVERYBODY LOVES A CLOWN’ BY GARY LEWIS & THE PLAYBOYS. floyd leech

The truest mark of a jester is not in his ability to make others laugh, but in his capacity to find humor in his own pain.

tags: unrequited love, hurt no comfort, character study, friendship, wishful thinking, angst, floyd is in his stańczyk era, complicated relationships

word count: 2,282

The game is in the first quarter. There are twelve minutes on the clock.

Floyd does not know where to start his confession to you.

As he plays, he tries to come up with ideas of love confessions: a dance, a letter, a bite, or a gentle touch? Planning however puts a damper on the sweetness of what should be a romantic fantasy. Not that Floyd allows the turmoil to show, he plays perfectly. Each move of his is effortless, on the court and when playing with you.

He has been trying for a while to confess. Cowardness ties him up like seaweed.

If anyone were to rival Floyd’s energy, it would be you. You are eudaimonia incarnate. Flourishing with happiness and good spirit, you are a wonderful yet unexpected addition to Night Raven College. Where even Floyd falls into tepid moods of anger or sadness, you stay afloat. Somehow, someway, you are always happy.

Dribbling at practice, Crabby once joked that you were made of sugar, spice, and everything nice. Floyd yearns to know what a combination like that would taste on his tongue in a mating bite, sealing you two in marriage.

The Coral Sea is a triptych of shadow black, unwelcoming black, and cold black. You jump into his world, exploding with the color your soul carries. Through grimacing eyesight, he watches the gaiety of you bounce around even if it is blinding. You are the pinkest of pinks. You are the brightest orange that would rival sunkist shrimps. You are as yellow as the sun or a sky of stars, all consuming.

If shooting stars could fall into anyone’s eyes, they would fall into yours. Making little homes of fluctuating solar energy and the thumping glow of hydrogen and helium. The only eyes worthy of having stars in them.

He can feel the heat of those blazing stars on his neck as Sea Snake passes the basketball to him at midcourt line.

You sit in the bleachers with a handmade poster in your hands. To keep himself happy, Floyd deludes himself with the image of you making it alone. Without anyone handing you certain markers or glue for the glitter, you wrote WIN WIN WIN FLOYD in big, bubble letters for him and him alone. In his mind, you did not ask for the green colored pencil from anyone’s hand to shade in the caricature eel’s skin and you did not hyena-laugh when you accidentally got glitter on someone’s cheek or clothes.

The delusion of a reality where you only think about him 24/7 is sugar, spice, and everything nice. That is eudaimonia.

When Floyd scores twice in the first quarter with the aid of Sea Snake, you raise that poster up. Cheers from you are whole-hearted and never half-assed, you put everything into rallying encouragement you hope reaches and motivates Floyd.

You could frown and it would still motivate him.

When he scores for the third time, there are no vocal cheers shining down from the bleachers. Looking at the sea of unimportant guppies, he finds the reason your lips are silent. You are sharing a kiss with Jade, just two short pecks. Something you definitely initiated as Jade is timid with affection.

As he turns back to the court, Floyd imagines his confession would go like this:

“I love ya, Shrimpy.”

You laugh, almost falling off your seat, and say with a happy grin, “That’s a good one, Floyd. Tell another joke!”

The game is in the second quarter. There are twelve minutes on the clock.

Floyd is a clownfish of an eel. Not entirely like Crabby or Sea Otter, but Floyd has been marked as a class clown enough. Loud and boisterous, he is a presence that fertilizes laughter and amusement with ease. Perhaps the amusement is only shared by him, Jade, and Azul mostly, but it is still a jester’s position he has fallen into.

Nothing he says is ever taken seriously unless his words are threats. Unlike Jade, whose words are always heeded and who is taken seriously as a plague.

Floyd can be serious too though! Him and Jade are cut from the same cloth. Why can’t you see the other side of him? Why can’t your bright star eyes comprehend him as something more than a joking jester?

For a while, Floyd was content in that position. Jingling bells, stomping around in oversized shoes, falling over himself to fish that melodious laughter out of your throat. And then one of Jade’s mushroom puns got you snort in the midst of stomach deep laughter. Since then, no matter how many more quarters he plays, Floyd knows he lost.

Pure laughter is pure love in many cultures. And he, trapped in that monk’s cowl and sea anglerfish bells costume, has failed to make you laugh in that same intensity.

As he dribbles and passes the basketball, blocks shots and runs across the court, Floyd unpurposely distracts himself with a vile memory:

A party in Ramshackle. Not as extravagant as Sea Otter’s but still entertaining. As always, Floyd was like a lamp for tiny moths to gather around. Despite his pendulum-ing emotions, his company is enjoyable.

One off stories and jokes were a jester’s speciality. Capturing the attention of your friends and his fellow second years, Floyd keeps the conversation light and draws laughs out of throats like the Sea Witch once did with the little mermaid’s voice. The corner of where he is in Ramshackle is usually the loudest, brimming with comedy. The kind that should have gotten you to come over and ask curious, “What’s so funny?”

Crabby would have dismissed you but Floyd would have reeled you right in. His little Shrimpy, snug under his protective arm, as he recounted another story.

You do not laugh.

You do not look.

You just do not care.

That fucking party in Ramshackle? You spent it giving Jade a tour around the place, showing him the garden you started in the backyard, and chatting with that magnetizing, permanent smile on your lips. Before you two even were dating.

Floyd knows he does not have your total attention. Your attention is always spread in too many directions in his opinion. But sometimes, he wants more than anything for just one period of twenty-four hours where all you think about is him.

You may hold a sign with his name on it but he is not your focus. Star eyes follow the basketball that bounces from player to player; you watch the game fully, but not him.

Who would ever want to see a crying clown?

The game is in the third quarter. There are twelve minutes on the clock.

And Floyd finds himself benched.

Coach pulls him out of the game when five minutes are left in the second quarter. Coach worries about that rapidly declining mood of his in the second quarter. It is a volatile, gambling choice but the Coach thinks it is the correct one. Better to have him refuel and get back into the swing of the game. “Have a Gatorade and take a minute, Leech. No need to dig yourself down.” Floyd doesn’t want to drink his passion fruit Gatorade, he wants a different drink and he wants a peppermint to crush between his sharp teeth.

Elbows on knees and head in hands, Floyd watches the red clock go down number by number. Anger pulses off him like smoke. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven. Fifty-six. Fifty-five. Stupid fucking Coach. Stupid fucking game. Stupid fucking Gatorade. Forty-nine. Forty –

“Peppermint for your thoughts?”

Stupid fucking Coach, Floyd thinks a second time. As is per tradition, if Floyd ever finds himself on the bench, call in Shrimpy. A small little crustacean that can reverse whirlpools back to sailable water and can make even the hungriest shark swim in the opposite direction of blood.

“It's a penny for ya thoughts,” Floyd grumbles into his hand.

“Nah, I don’t think so!” Is it possible to hear a smile in a voice? Because it feels like you speak in smiles; he imagines an alien language made by grins, one where no words like bad moods or anger exist. “Can’t eat a penny, can you?”

You take a seat by him on the bench. The space is left wide open because no one ever wants to risk being so close to the eel-mer when he is explosive with rage. When you sit, your shoulders bump together and from hip to shin, you two press against one another.

“So, the doctor is in. Doc. Shrimpy.”

Even when you are handing him something, his world minimizes down to the sight of your star eyes. The crunch of a peppermint wrapper in his hand is infinitesimal to the scorch of nuclear fusion and fire.

Still, he pops it in and relishes in the calming breakage of candy in his razor sharp teeth, replying, “I don’t know, just pissed I missed that shot.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” Liar. “I also saw you make two of the cleanest shots of the entire game in the first five minutes of the game.” Floyd hums instead of grumbling. It is the slightest, micro improvement but you still hammer on your past doctor-slash-therapist metaphor. “Say aaah for Doc. Shrimpy!”

This is the hardest part of being a clown. You do sweet, pseudo-romantic things with Floyd and never take it seriously. Everything between the two of you is shrouded under the blanket of comedy. There are zero feelings behind it. Even when you unknowingly partake in eel courtship (opening your mouth wide as you demonstrate your ‘aaah’), it is hollow and satire. And when you learn about his species’ courtship you will really only mean it with intent when you are with Jade.

“Aaah!”

Into his mouth, you pour a drink. His shoulders recoil at bit, premature disgust at the thought of tasting passion fruit which he is not in the mood to drink. Floyd is surprised when the drink starts to fizz in his mouth.

As he savors it, the carbonation and sourness a welcome burn in his throat, you smile and show him the drink you have on hand. “Shit’s good, right?” In front of him, you shake a monstrously bright pink and yellow can with the words Ghost on it. “Sour pink lemonade.”

You take the Ghost you just waterfall into Floyd’s mouth and down your own sip. Be careful, Shrimpy, Floyd thinks. Sharing food and drink is also a part of courtship.

“Gross, Shrimpy. You backwash?”

“Yeah, I did. How does loogie and lemonade taste?”

At that, Floyd snatches up the energy drink from your hands. He downs a much larger sip, going as far as to have some spill around the corner of his mouth. He takes the opportunity too to touch his lips on where yours once were.

Once he robs you of half your lemonade, Floyd brings his wrist to wipe his chin and grins wolfish, “My compliments to the chef! Think Azul’ll add it to the menu?”

You laugh just as Floyd was aiming for, all saccharine and lovely, and joke, “Oh my spit could make a fortune! I can see it now!”

“Shrimpy spit?”

“Oh my God, Shrimpy spit! It has alliteration!”

You two fall into each other, cackling and laughing at the stupidity. When your hair brushes his cheek, Floyd thinks of how easy it would be to find his lips falling to a place more forbidden than the metal rim of an energy drink can.

After you both stop laughing: “Ya gonna feed me some more, Shrimpy?”

“Hm, I don’t know. Mmm, how about this,” you grin, stretching out your sentences teasingly. “I have some takoyaki with your name up there on the bleachers. Jade and I made it yesterday. You can have the rest when you win this game!”

Your star eyes burn him. Floyd melts under their intensity.

The game is in the fourth quarter. There are twelve minutes on the clock.

Everybody loves a clown, so why don’t you?

Has he not been enough? Self-sacrificial to always keep you bright and laughing, giving you his own light, letting you bleed him dry until his skin is sandpaper and his bone rice. This constant fear that he should always try to keep you happy lies in his heart like a nematode worm.

His sugar, spice, and everything nice Shrimpy who does not belong to him.

Standing on the edge of the 3 point line, Floyd, despite his cowardice, sends out the last shot of the game.

The basketball glides across the rim like a ship caught in a whirlpool, once. Then a second time, it makes its circular route around the open mouth of victory, leaning capriciously. With a suicidal fall, the basketball falls to the right. It bounces double on the ground before rolling away out of Floyd’s reach. Over the white tape of the endline, the orange ball is now out of the court, signaling the end.

Though under typical circumstances that losing shot should usher him into despair, a smile grows on Floyd’s face. It is only broken when he starts to laugh, his own joy singular in the groans and moans of his teammates.

He turns towards the bleachers, knowing you are expecting a miserable frown; he waves happily at you when your worried eyes fall onto him. You are out of his court. But … eels mate for life which means … Floyd gets to keep you in his life, just a bit out of reach, as he dreams of your love, not knowin’ where to start.

The game ends in the fourth quarter. There are no minutes left.

[capitaloffense]

he can dance, he can sing! he is, not, however, equipped with a built in helium tank…

hi guys! i make minecraft skins! here’s my mcd laurance one :-)

[hootbon]

What does pomni do exactly? Does she get to do nothing and people just stare at her or does Caine force her to dance or something?

She can dance, she can sing! She’s equipped with a built-in helium tank for inflating balloons right at her fingerti-

But yeah, you gotta put on a show somehow, all of them have an act they work in particular. The show must go on and looking pretty ain’t gonna cut it

[chameleon66]

Laugh for Me!

Ships: Intrulogical (Logan x Remus)

Word count: 2785

Warnings: Censored swearing, Remus being Remus, mild angst, tickling, pranks, teasing (Let me know if I need to add anyhting)

Remus was unhinged in every way possible, good and bad. Part of the reasoning behind it was just who he was. I mean he is the personification of every morbid, sexual or intrusive thought that danced its way through Thomas’s head so no one could really blame him for being himself. But another part of it was because he enjoyed others' reactions to it, every reaction he got.

When Patton would scream in terror or when Virgil would hiss at him, it all filled him with glee. He loved observing the other sides reactions to his antics and figuring out what freaked them out and what didn’t freak them out.

But one reaction he did love getting from others was laughter, other’s laughing just made his heart figuratively explode in his chest. So after stewing on the fact that he enjoyed making other people laugh for a fraction of a second he created a new experiment and so began “Operation make every side laugh and figure out what makes them laugh so he can exploit it whenever necessary and also think of a shorter name for this operation.”

Surprisingly Virgil was the easiest one to figure out with minimal research, he laughed whenever Patton made a pun and Remus couldn’t tell at first if it was because it annoyed Logan when Patton made puns or if he actually liked them, so he would have to gather more data.

Luckily after some spying, he found that even when Logan wasn’t in the room when Patton made puns, the jokes always made Virgil laugh, quite honestly he was expecting something very different from ‘Charlie Frown’. But he wrote it down in his notes nonetheless as Virgil’s Hysterical Hacker (That's the name he came up with).

Patton was also elementary to figure out, as the happiest side he would laugh at a lot of things. At first Remus thought that Patton’s Hysterical Hacker would also be puns but it occurred to him Patton didn’t really laugh at puns, even if they weren’t made by himself but then Remus made a discovery.

One day as he went to the kitchen to fetch one of his Cock shaped popsicles from the fridge he found Patton sitting in the kitchen on the computer laughing like a hyena of helium, Remus almost had to be concerned if he was breathing or not.

When he asked Patton what was so funny he was shown a twenty minute compilation video of cat videos on youtube. Some cat’s fell into boxes and others played with balls of yarn but regardless it all made Patton squeal so Remus wrote ‘Cat videos’ down as Patton’s Hysterical Hacker.

Roman took a bit of investigating but as it turned out the answer was right in front of Remus' face, it was rooted in his dear twin brother’s love of Disney. One family love night it was Roman’s turn to choose the movie and he went with a Winnie the Pooh movie much to Remus’s, Janus’s and Logan’s displeasure.

Watching the movie was like folding socks level boring but then something caught Remus interest, after the gang tried to catch a ‘Backson’ all of them fell down a hole except for Piglet who then was challenged to find something to get them out of the hole with.

Piglet’s attempts were all stupid and fueled by miscommunication between Piglet and Rabbit. The scene wasn’t what caught Remus’s interest though it was Prince's not so charming reaction that got him listening.

Roman was rolling with laughter throughout the scene which led Remus’s to the ever so boring conclusion that Roman’s hysterical hacker was, family humor. Something that could be found in every Disney movie ever to exist.

Remus still wrote it down though and moved to the next side.

Janus was a challenge, despite having lived with him in the darkisde of the mindscape for most of his life, Janus never really went into hysterics, sure he’d chuckle but that was all Remus usually saw out of him.

But Remus did get an idea, Janus always seemed to be amused at other’s pain or displeasure like when Logan would get a papercut and Patton would insist on kissing it better or when Virgil’s pet spider Kat would escape his room and Patton would jump on the table and scream.

So as an experiment Remus poured a big helping of salt into Roman’s coffee one morning and when Roman began screaming of how it felt like he was ‘drinking the water of cold, unforgiving and salty seas’ Janus went into his deep villainous belly laugh at the scene. While Logan just rolled his eyes and Patton ran up to Roman all concerned like the father figment he was.

(Virgil was still asleep because he’s not a morning person)

That result said it all, Janus’s Hysterical hacker was another's pain/misfortune. Remus beamed as he wrote it down in his notes.

Hysterical Hackers

Emo widow — puns

Daddy — cat videos

Romano Cheese — family friendly humor

Lies and dulls — other’s pain

Logie bear —

But as Remus finished writing he came to a realization, there was one side left to figure out. His boyfriend. Logan.

You’d think that being his lover Remus could figure out his Hysterical Hacker with ease but now that Remus was thinking about it, he hadn’t really seen Logan laugh before. Maybe he had seen him chuckle once or twice but Remus couldn’t even recall a specific time he saw Logan do that.

That realization made Remus feel sad, He couldn’t remember a time his own boyfriend, the freaking light of his light, had laughed.

But that realization also made Remus more determined than ever to complete his research project. He'd make Logan laugh even if it was the last thing he would ever do.

It was time to get serious. Logan as the logical side didn’t spend time doodling on emotions or things like that so Remus had little to go off of. So that meant he’d need to experiment.

Remus cracked joke after joke around Logan day after day but came up empty handed each time.

Remus upped his pranking game on all of the other sides but each time Logan observed a prank happening he would only roll his eyes at the display.

Remus spied on Logan for hours on end but he got nothing even, when Logan was alone he wouldn’t laugh at anything.

Remus kept trying day after day to get Logan to laugh, he kept getting more and more desperate for it. It almost became like a craving to hear Logan laugh; it was starting to drive Remus insane. He just had to hear Logan laugh, he just had to!

After a full week, Remus had run out of patience so that meant he would need to get information straight from the source and not through spying, experiments or research.

“Logan, I need your help.” Remus rose up into Logan’s room with no warning and interrupted the rhythm of clattering keys of Logan’s computer.

Logan turned in his spinnable desk chair to face his boyfriend, Logan’s rise teemed with interest. They had collaborated on many different projects together and it only made sense really, they were a perfect pair for answering questions.

“Yes Remus, how may I be of assistance?” Logan asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Remus didn’t hesitate before he started explaining his predicament to Logan.

“So I started this research project a few weeks ago about what each of the sides hysterical hackers are.”

Logan’s head tilted to the side like a curious puppy’s would.

“Hysterical Hacker?”

“What makes each side laugh, like really laugh.” Remus contextualized

“Ok, please continue.”

“So after I figured out the other’s Hysterical Hackers and I moved on to yours but I couldn’t really find anything that makes you laugh even after I did experiments, observations, you know that sciency stuff you're supposed to do.”

Logan gave a hum of understanding before he got up from his desk chair before speaking again. “I must admit I don’t have much of a sense of humor.”

“Well I could tell that much.” Remus joked sarcastically but inside he was bursting with curiosity. He had come to find out what makes Logan laugh but it appeared that even Logan didn’t know.

“But if you wish, I can help you gather more data.” Logan offered and Remus didn’t hesitate before he responded.

“Yes, so where do we start Logie?”

“Firstly I’d like to hear what results you got with the other’s”

“Well P*ssys is family disney humor, papa bear’s is cat videos, Double dee’s is other pain and tickle me emo ‘s is pun of all things.”

Logan's face tinged with a blush and Remus wondered for a minute if it was something he said. Logan didn’t mind Remus’s colorful vocabulary and his usual reaction to it was an eyeroll, so what prompted the blushing?

Logan centered himself and pushed more words out. “I see, well then since everyone’s Hysterical Hacker is different, we can assume that mine is different too.”

“Lo lo are you ok, your face is all red?”

“I’m quite alright Remus.” Logan’s answer however did not satisfy Remus and he didn’t need the snake like lie detector to know Logan wasn’t telling him the truth. So Remus did the only Logical thing.

Remus ran forward full speed at Logan and tackled Logan down to the floor, sitting on his hips and hands pushing down on his belly to keep him down

“Re–Remus what are you doing?” Logan’s voice was up a few ocatives and the blush on his face got redder and spread across his face.

“You are going to tell me why you are all blushy or I will leave at the top of a broken ferris wheel until you confess!” Remus never made an empty threat and Logan knew this all too well.

“I’m fine–just get your hands off–off me!” Logan's voice also sounded a bit strained and Remus could help but wonder why. That’s when he noticed Logan’s belly trembling under his hands and before Remus could truly think it through he began skimming his fingers over Logan’s tummy.

Logan’s lips flattened and he bit down on his bottom lip which was enough for Remus to understand.

“Aww… is the nerd ticklish?” Remus asked in a baby voice that made Logan so flustered he couldn’t even get words out.

But that still answered Remus' question, Remus found a way to make Logan laugh and he’d say now was a pretty good time to exploit it.

Given Logan seemed to be able to hold in his laughter while Remus was tickling his tummy that meant it wasn’t his weak spot and that meant Remus would need to experiment some.

“Where are you ticklish Starlight?” Remus asked, pausing the movement of his hands for Logan to catch his breath and answer. Remus, being smart, also pulled both of Logan's hands above his head and put them both in his left hand freeing his right hand for tickling.

“I am not ticklish!” Logan insisted, which was the biggest lie Remus ever heard.

“Oh ok, so if I were to pinch your side then you wouldn’t react?” Remus' hand went to pinch Logan’s side and Logan’s mouth tightened around itself probably in an effort to not laugh.

“You need to laugh!” Remus stated. “I command you to laugh for me!” With that being said Remus started scribbling his nails into Logan’s side and then it was all over.

“Ahhhhhahahahahahah no no no REEhehehmush nohahahahahahaht there.” Logan’s laugh was so sweet and light and Remus became addicted to it almost instantly.

“No way Jose, now I need to find all of your tickle spots, so you make things easy and just tell me where your tickle spot is or I can tickle you everywhere until I find it.” Both of Remus’s options were not what Logan was hoping for but Remus was so adorable and maybe he would go easy on him if just told him.

All taken into consideration Logan got out in between laughs “Knees” and Remus did not need to told twice.

Remus let go of Logan’s hands and turned around and sat on Logan’s thighs. Remus' hands went onto Logan's knees and gave them each a squeeze, Logan let out a squeal and his leg began thrashing around, trying to escape.

“Someone’s got very ticklish knees.” Remus smirked at Logan as he began to trace circles around them which got Logan giggling. “But I don’t think your knees are what I’m looking for.”

“Wehehehehehell whahahahat are you lohohohahahaking for?” Logan’s speech was infested with giggles and it made the ever so stoic logical side look a little sillier.

“Your Hysterical Hacker of course!” Remus exclaimed, punctuating the sentence with a squeeze of Logan’s kneecap. “If you won’t laugh on your own, then I’ll make you.”

Well if Logan wasn’t flustered before, he most certainly was now. Remus stopped tickling his knees and Logan took the chance to catch his breath because he knew that Remus wasn’t done with him yet.

Remus carefully examined Logan trying to decide on where else to try tickling him. His sides and knees were certainly good spots but not the best spot clearly. Then Remus’s eyes fell on Logan’s feet which were still dressed in shoes and socks.

In all of the time Remus had spent spying on Logan he hadn’t really seen Logan take off his shoes much. Except when just before he went to bed.

Oh Remus was good.

Wasting no time Remus moved down and sat on Logan’s legs and began to untie the laces on Logan’s shoes, it didn’t take long for Logan to catch on to Remus' devious plan.

“No, no Remus! No, not there!” Logan tried pulling his legs out from Remus but with no success due to Remus’s weight being on top of him.

“Actually Lo lo you said you’d help me find your Hysterical Hacker and if you really want to help me then you’ll sit nice and still and let me experiment.” Remus’s voice had gone uncharacteristically flat as he talked to Logan and Logan found himself with no other options than just to sit there and wait.

Once Logan’s socks were off his feet Remus started Gently running his fingers down the arch of Logan’s foot and he was not expecting the reaction that he got.

“AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA *Snort* HAHAHAHA REHEHAHAHAH *Snort*”

Remus’s finger’s stopped and he looked back at Logan, who was bright red and now had a hand covering his mouth in embarrassment.

“Jesus f*cking christ Logan, did you just snort?” Remus asked in disbelief, were his ears playing tricks on him?

Logan looked away but nodded, Remus shocked expression turned into an ear splitting grin as he squealed to Logan. “Oh my f*ck that’s so adorkable!”

“No it’s not, it's embarrassing!” Logan argued, Remus's gears were now turning. Was this why Logan never laughed? Because he was embarrassed. Well wouldn’t do at all.

Remus grabbed Logan's foot again and began tickling the skin under his toes and that got Logan screaming.

“AAAHAHAHAHAHA *Snort* NHOHOHOHOHOHO *Snort* REHEHEHEHAHAHAMUHUHS.”

“Logan, you listen to me, and listen well!” Remus ordered to the laughing side beneath him. “Your laugh is amazing and you had better start laughing more often and if you don’t then I’ll tickle you until you pass out everyday, ok?”

“YEHEHEHEHAHAHAHSHSHSH OK JUHUHUHSTSTST STSTAHAHAP!”

Remus let go of Logan’s foot and got up off of him. Remus sat and watched his Boyfriend catch his breath and once he saw Logan lay limp on his bedroom floor he spoke to him.

“Hey, you alive?”

“Well no thanks to you.” Logan grumbled back to him.

“It was for science, my laughy Logie.” Remus insisted to Logan.

“Don’t call me that.” Logan though found himself giggling at the silly pet name.

“But it suits you so well.” Remus came down to Logan and gave him a kiss on the cheek which must have changed Logan’s mind because he didn’t argue back anymore.

“Well then I need to go update notes, I love you my laughy Logie.” Remus sunk down and rose back into his room to finish up his notes.

Hysterical Hackers

Emo widow — puns

Daddy — cat videos

Romano cheese — family friendly humor

Lies and dulls — other’s pain

Logie bear — tickling his sides, knees or feet (further research might be needed for my laughy Logie)

[noisyquokka]

Script Change

PAIRING - Jisung x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS - After an off the cuff kiss leaves you anxious and confused, you decide to confront your feelings and your best friend.

WORDCOUNT - 3.6k

WARNINGS - Wholesome fluff, Best Friend!Jisung, Jisung interacting with a child, subtle teasing, your basic crush anxieties, reader's on babysitting duty (for those who aren't into kids, I gotchu)

A/N - So this is part two of a fic that should've been posted four years ago on Han's birthday, but hey! There's no time like the present, right? Happy Han day!!🎉

Part One (I recommend reading, as some of this won't make much sense otherwise)

"Higher! Higher!" Your little cousin squeals, kicking her little legs back and forth on the swing.

You and Jisung had decided on taking her to the park after stopping for a bite to eat, settling on dinosaur nuggets at her favorite restaurant. You'd sat there mute the entire time, watching your best friend and your cousin interact amongst each other. No thanks to your brain having been thrown into a whirlwind not an hour prior.

Even now, you sit on a swing a few feet away, watching Jisung push the small child higher. You know you should be focused on spending time with the two people in front of you, but your mind has been focused on Jisung's lips.

Jisung had kissed you. And not just some little smooch on the cheek like he normally would. Always the jokester, but no. He had full-on kissed you. Your sneakers dig into the mulch under your feet, swinging slightly as your mind buzzes. His actions have left you scratching your head.

"Higher!!!"

"If you go any higher, you're gonna fly to the moon!" Jisung exclaims, ignoring his own warning as he bends to the little girl's demands. Her head sweeps back with a giggle, the wind playing with tangled pigtails as she kicks her feet forward.

"Maybe I wanna go there! Or even Mars," She sticks her tongue out in thought, "Or Saturn!"

Jisung gasps dramatically, hopping on the swing beside hers.

"Are you going on a secret space mission? Are there, perhaps, some evil aliens up there who need a firm butt-kicking!?" He asks, following up with an animated wag of his fist. More giggles resound through the empty park and Jisung beams with pride at the giddy child. He always hopes for a giggle, doesn't he?

"Nooo! I don' know," She giggles again, a toothy grin taking over chunky cheeks. "My teacher says Saturn has lots of moons!"

"Really? Just how many moons does Saturn have, Sweet Pea?"

You chuckle to yourself, listening in on the banter as she ponders her answer. Brown eyes find yours for a moment and you swear your heart is imploding in your chest at the soft smile he blesses you with.

"Uhhhh, Saturn has tons and tons of moons." A tiny finger gestures to the clear sky above, faint masses of hydrogen and helium dancing in a gravitational choreography that twinkles through the atmosphere. "Like as many stars as there are up there!"

Jisung scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

"No way, Little Astronomer!"

"Yes way!! It's the truth, Sung Sung! You can search it on the computer and everything!" She's sticking her nose up in a know-it-all fashion, losing momentum from all the animated movement she's been pulling on her swing. She pumps her legs again, trying to get back in a fluid back and forth motion.

Jisung chuckles, sneaking behind the six-year-old to swiftly lift her off the swing. She squeals at his prodding fingers, grabbing at the collar of his T-shirt when he settles her on his hip. You can't help the smile on your lips, watching the two of them poke and prod at each other until your cousin is shying away with timid little giggles. But when Jisung makes his way towards you, her face quickly falls.

"We aren't leaving yet, are we?" She asks, her bottom lip jutting out. Jisung mirrors her, booping the tip of her nose with a finger.

"Hey, turn that frown upside down! We've still got a movie to watch at home." He reminds her. Another gentle poke to her cheek. And now she's poking his cheeks with that same gentle nature and Jisung is giving her the biggest grin he possibly could and you're pretty sure you're going into cardiac arrest.

"What do ya say, Sweet Pea?"

Little hands find the chain around his neck as he talks, fiddling with the links like she always does.

"Okay... can we watch The Princess and the Frog?"

"We can watch whatever you want." He replies, eye sparkling as he holds her gaze. You watch her face light up, looking between you and Jisung with unbridled excitement. She nods and giggles, and you're just about to pull yourself up from the swing when a hand extends to you.

"Your Highness..." He bows as far forward as is possible with a clingy six-year-old on his hip, a small quirk on his lips. Your gaze lingers far too long there and you try to pull off an eye roll and exasperated mannerisms, taking his hand in yours.

"It's Your Cowness, thank you very much!" You mutter as he pulls you to your feet.

"Bovine-ness, if we're being technical."

"Really?"

"Really."

You're lucky it's dark out, because the blood is probably rushing to your cheeks.

"Look, Sung Sung!" A tiny hand pulls at Jisung's shirt, quickly getting his attention. "The swan is in the sky!"

"Ah, you're right, Peanut!" His focus wanes, looking to where she's pointing. "What's the swan's name again? I forget."

"Cygnus!" She shouts. With a missing front tooth, it comes out a little more like Cygmus, but you give her an E for effort.

Indeed, Cygnus soars high above your suburban town, most stars too faint to see with the nearby lights of the city. But you can easily make out most of the familiar constellations up there through all the light pollution.

"Ah, you really are an astronomer!" He says, fingers coming up to scratch the underside of her chin. You're thankful for those magical giggles right now, helping to shake off your nerves from a moment ago.

It's just Jisung being Jisung, you remind yourself as the three of you begin the walk back home. The weight of a tiny head rests on Jisung's shoulders, grumbles coming out here and there as she attempts to get comfortable in his arms. He chuckles at her comical little noises, shifting her so she's cradled in his arms.

"That better?" He asks, grinning as she tilts her head back into the crook of his elbow. The perfect stargazing position. She nods, continuing her search with a gummy grin. Jisung does his best not to sway her as he walks, keeping his arms steady as she keeps those brown eyes skyward. Hercules slaying the magnificent beast, Draco. Aquila flying closely to the swan she'd first identified. Ophiuchus; the snake man, as she labels him. She points out what she knows

But before you know it, those brown eyes have closed and soft breaths have replaced that mousey voice.

And then it was you and him.

Jisung adjusts the child in his hold, being careful not to wake her. That smile still sits itself on his pretty face when he glances over to you and you press your lips together, offering him a lopsided grin before you look away.

How many times had he smiled like that tonight?

And at you, no less. It felt like Jisung had toned down on his usual joking since you had left the house a few hours prior. His interactions hadn't changed with your little cousin though - always the playful, accommodating King in her eyes. You, however?

Since you'd left the house, you took note of the glances he had spared you. Many. Often. Even as he did his best to look casual about it, he had failed. When you would catch his gaze mid-admiration, he would shoot you a smile so soft and genuine, you were certain you could hear the choir of angels above singing. And then there's the paying for dinner. He was adamant about it, even as you insisted that you would foot the bill this time. It wasn't out of character for him. Jisung was always bringing over snacks or picking up takeout before he'd see you, and you'd often try to pay him back your half, at the very least. Didn't work most times, but tonight wasn't the usual.

Was he just being the usual gentleman he always is, or was it that ki-

"You've been pretty quiet."

Jisung's voice is soft, but he still manages to make you jump out of your skin. You turn your head toward him, eyes wide.

"Me?"

"Unless there's a ghost here with us... yes, you." His little quip manifests a teasing grin and you inwardly groan. That smile... Stop that!

"Just tired," You reply, shaking your head. "Babysitting royalty takes a lot out of me."

Jisung chuckles, adjusting the sleeping princess in his embrace with all the care in the world.

"That smile is worth it, though." He admits.

Even in sleep, the little tyke has a soft curl to her lips, her head resting against his shoulder. Your shoe scuffs lightly against the sidewalk, too enamored by the smile that's taken over your best friend's face.

Your smile is worth it!

"You must be pretty comfortable." You murmur, and his brown eyes dart up to yours. The child's head falls slightly from his movements and he curses under his breath, readjusting himself so her head finds purchase in the junction of his neck. He's so careful with her, bringing a hand up to cradle her head as you both walk the dimly-lit street. You can't stop your heart from fluttering at the scene. The grin on his face says it all; she has him wrapped around her little finger.

"My arm would beg to differ." He jokes, but he makes no more adjustments.

"I can take her."

"No, no." He promptly rejects the offer, gesturing down the street. "We're almost there. I wouldn't wanna wake her on accident."

You chuckle at his response.

Yep... wrapped tight.

You fall into another silence as you round the corner of your street. It's comfortable, really - Jisung keeping himself occupied with the comfort of the sleeping child, and you sneaking glances every so often. The wind picks up, wisping strands of hair into your line of sight as you walk. You glance over again, eyes going wide at the deep browns that are already staring back. It instantaneous the way your head snaps forward, eyes darting to anywhere else as you clear your throat. You feel your heart stall in it's usual function. Jisung's laugh perks your ears, watching you try so hard to look nonchalant.

"What...?" He asks, his head slowly craning towards you. His voice is soft as ever when he speaks, even your heartbeat quiets in your ears, listening graciously to the way he articulates his words. Dark eyes flicker between your face and your body language. Studying your mannerisms. Those lips quirk into a teasing grin, and-

Oh. When did your gaze fall on his again?! How long have you been staring? Why are you still staring? You bring a hand up to scratch the back of your head.

"Nothing!" You say, perhaps a little too loudly. You can feel yourself flush slightly, tucking your hands into the fabric of your jacket pocket. He snickers at your response, glancing down at the little girl still sound asleep in his arms. Then, he returns his attention to you.

You're speed-walking now, more than a few steps ahead of him as you get closer to your house. His expression is one of amused curiosity. Your cousin stirs in her sleep, shifting until the crown of her skull rests just under his chin. His arms tighten around her, and she nuzzles into his shirt.

"Sure looks like nothing, hm." He mumbles to the child, sighing as he picks up his pace.

Your cheeks burn as you make it up to the front door, slotting the key in the lock with all the focus in the world. The door swings open and Jisung follows you inside, slipping his shoes off at the door before doing the same for the child on his hip. Before you can even speak, he's making a beeline for the hall with your little cousin still cradled in his arms. You follow behind him as he shoulders the door to your bedroom open, pulling the sheets back on the bed. There's a tiny whine that escapes her throat, and Jisung furrows a brow.

"Come on, Peanut." He whispers, fingers gently grasping at the tiny hand clinging to his shirt. You can't keep your eyes off Jisung as he coddles the grumpy little tyke. It only causes her to bury herself further into his chest, eyes shut tight and face scrunched up in displeasure. You lean against the door frame with raised brows, watching as he figures out how to put her to bed with little issue.

It takes a moment of thought - you see him calculating a plan behind those deep browns as he stands there with her in his arms - before he tilts his head down. You can't make out the soft murmur of words that are shared, but your heart flutters as the harsh lines that wrinkle her face soften. Tiny fingers release their grip on the fabric, and Jisung turns back toward the bed, cradling her head until it hits the pillows below. She slowly but surely relaxes into the comfort of your bed, long lashes fluttering as the duvet is brought up to her chin.

When Jisung turns back toward you, he pauses at the look of admiration you're giving him. It's his turn to clear his throat, glancing back at your cousin and running a hand through his hair. You gesture toward the door when he looks back at you, leaving the lamp on the nightstand on as you step out. He follows you, leaving the door ajar in case the lurking monsters disturb sweet dreams.

"You still wanna watch that movie?" He asks, entering the kitchen. "Or- a movie?"

"Movie... yeah, right!" You nod. "Uhh, you wanna pick it and I can get some snacks? Popcorn?"

"Sure, yep."

You can practically feel your heart jumping in your throat, but you clap your hands and nod again as Jisung makes his way toward the living room. Once he's out of sight, you sag against the kitchen counter, releasing the breath you didn't know you were holding.

It's getting harder and harder to avoid the elephant in the room. The massive best-friend-kissed-me-shaped elephant that's just trampling through the house, mocking you. You want to ask him about it, have wanted to all day now. The words are locked and loaded on the tip of your tongue.

But right now?

You take another deep breath, letting off the white-knuckle grip on the edge of the counter.

"Snacks... we're looking for snacks." You mutter to yourself, pushing off the countertop and turning toward the cupboards in search of popcorn and anything else to munch on.

—

You don't want to overanalyze Jisung's choice in movie, but the rom-com currently playing was not what you'd expected. That elephant in the room? Sitting it's big ol' elephant ass on top of you as you watch the main character confess to their crush. You're actively suffocating into the couch cushions.

You blink, shifting your head just enough to side-eye your best friend. Jisung's sitting cross-legged in his usual spot, popping bits of popcorn into his mouth. He seems so unfazed by the scene. In fact, he's seemingly leaning towards the screen as if it's the best thing he's ever watched. Got a smile plastered on his face to boot. It's enough to make your heart beat out of your chest.

Now you're wishing you would've said something to him earlier about the kiss, if only for the sake of your sanity. You've related to almost every single instance of pining in this fucking movie, sitting here with your internal monologue while stuffing your mouth full of microwave popcorn. You're fairly certain that you've almost cracked a molar from the few kernels that didn't fully pop, too busy eating your stress away to pick them out of the fistfuls of crumbling corn.

It takes everything in you to sit there and wipe your mind clean of earlier events as you stuff another handful into your mouth, watching the big kiss scene unfold on the screen. The movie's been going for an hour now and based off of everything happening, you can only pray it'll end soon.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't-

He's watching you. You can practically feel those eyes boring a hole into the side of your skull, searching through your mind's file folders until they can uncover the answer they seek. You spare a glance his way, melting into warm cacao and an even warmer smile. Neither of you break eye contact as the credits roll, your heart actively attempting to burst from your chest cavity.

You have to say something.

"You know, this movie kinda sucked."

You nearly choke on the leftover popcorn in your mouth, bringing a hand up to butter-tainted lips as you laugh through the pain.

"You- you chose the movie, Ji."

"I did, didn't I..." The corner of his eyes crinkle as he scrunches his nose in amusement, shrugging his shoulders. It's silent now, the credits skipped and the main menu of the chosen streaming service idling on the screen.

"So, uh, there's something I'd like to talk to you about…" You find the words falling out faster than you expected, and you internally curse. Your heart skips beats as Jisung sits back against the cushions, his face illuminated by the light of the TV screen. He nods, taking an inward breath.

"The kiss."

"You knew?"

He huffs a breath of laughter, turning his head.

"Shall I remind you of the way you've been acting around me all night?"

Your drink is sweating probably about as much as you are, fingers slipping lightly on the glass as you bring it to your lips. You don't know how to respond to that. There's obviously no way around it; you've been acting like a teenage girl fawning over their crush all day. Ever since that kiss...

You attempt an air of casualty, setting your drink back on the coffee table, but it's difficult when he's got his eyes trained on you so intently. You shift your weight on the cushion, although the pins and needles prickling up your right leg is a welcome distraction. You swallow hard, fingers clenching around the bowl in your lap. Oh god. Think! Think!

"I, uh..." A nervous chuckle escapes your lungs, your face heating the longer you scramble for an answer. "That's beside the point-"

"I think it's right on point." Jisung cocks a brow ever so slightly, and it's enough to make your face burn. That sparkle in his irises tells you everything. He's teasing you.

"You know what I'm gonna ask, Jisung." You don't shift your gaze from his, reading the expression that flickers over his face.

"It wasn't in the script, if I'm honest." He admits, brows knitting together as he replays the moment in his head. "Neither was the impromptu pillow fight, or falling off the couch... which is a safety hazard, by the way! Your parents really need a lower one ya know, I almost-"

"Jisung."

"Right, sorry." He's getting flustered now, reaching for the nape of his neck with twitching fingers. Now you're wondering if he's stalling for the sake of your feelings. That's it, isn't it? He just doesn't feel that way about you? It was the heat of the moment? You can feel the change in trajectory of your relationship with him the longer you stare. The silence is excruciating. You can't stand it anymore. You let out a breath, about to tell him to just forget it when he interrupts you.

"I just- I... wanted to-"

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with a soft groan.

"The kiss... that wasn't planned, but I have wanted to."

"To?" You sound dense as fuck, but you aren't getting your hopes up until you hear a full coherent sentence.

"I want us to be..." Another pause, his words trailing off as his eyes flicker to your lips. You mirror him, catching the bob of his throat as he swallows. "I want this. You. I know this is all so unexpected, but I've wanted to take you out on a proper date for forever and you looked absolutely gorgeous today. I definitely wasn't expecting you to overpower me like you did. That was hot. Like really hot, and then when I pulled you closer your eyes just- mmph!"

Jisung's words get washed away, your lips like some kind of fucked up siren's song that lures him into calm waters. It's heaven to feel him relax into your kiss, to feel him lean in after a moment and pull you closer to him. His hand finds your jaw, brows creasing as he focuses on the warmth of your mouth and the feeling of your fingers tangled in his hair.

You can't help the giddy laugh that escapes your throat, pulling away even as Jisung follows your lips. His confession has your whole body vibrating down to the bone.

"Have I mentioned you're a very good kisser?" Jisung asks, his eyes flitting down to your lips like he wants to experience it all over again. Your eyes catch the illumination from the TV, twinkling as you bite your lip.

"Could say the same about you, Your Highness." You reply with a grin. He chuckles at that, reeling back into the couch.

"You know the Little Peanut is gonna want a script change." He mutters, and you climb into his lap with an accusatory stare.

"You seem to be fine with changing the script, Mister 'Magical cows are cursed'."

"Hey, I had to come up with something on the fly, alright!" His hand finds your wrist, pulling you down just like he'd done hours ago; face to face, the tip of his nose brushing against yours teasingly. His body heat bleeds into yours as he wraps the other arm around your shoulders. "You didn't object. Seemed like you enjoyed the idea of being my Queen."

"A little hard to object to something I've been thinking about for a long time." There's no point in hiding it anymore, you just kissed your best friend dumb in the midst of his confession. Jisung tilts his head and hums, his hand following the curve of your back.

"I guess I should ask if you'd want to go out then? This weekend?"

You can't help the smile that takes over your face. He wants this just as much as you do.

"Took you long enough."

"It took long enough for that kiss, too." Jisung chuckles as he gazes at you with those beautiful browns, leaning back in with a grin.

"Need to catch up now, don't we?"

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

[mysticstronomy]

HOW WAS OUR SOLAR SYSTEM CREATED?? PT.2

Blog#397

Wednesday, May 1st, 2024.

Welcome back,

Close to the young sun, the heat and light were too intense for anything other than rocky material to remain; the ices evaporated and the loose gas like hydrogen and helium simply blew away. Those remaining rocky bits slowly coalesced, sticking together to form ever-larger clumps.

Eventually, with enough time (and the universe always, always has plenty of time to spare), those bits formed planetesimals, small almost-planets. There were a lot of them, and it was quite a violent time for our solar system as these planetesimals collided, shattered and reformed countless times.

Our own Earth was struck by something nearly the size of Mars, and the debris from that impact eventually became our moon.

Out past what would eventually become the asteroid belt, however, planet formation took a different approach. Out there, it was cold enough for ices to survive, allowing planetary cores to grow to immense proportions in a short amount of time. Those large cores were then able to hoover up any surrounding material, like hydrogen and helium gas, enveloping those worlds in thick, swaddling atmospheres. That's how the giant planets were born.

Once the planets matured, however, all was not calm in the solar system. The inner rocky worlds had stabilized, and the sun had ignited nuclear fusion. But the outer giant planets were surrounded by swarms of hangers-on — the leftover bits of debris from the chaotic planet-building process.

So they began to dance.

Astronomers suspect that the four giant planets of our solar system — Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune — initially formed much closer together than they are today, and subtle interactions with the remaining debris surrounding them caused them to shift their orbits.

It took hundreds of millions of years to resculpt our solar system, and we're not exactly sure how it all went down.

In one scenario, Jupiter and Saturn migrate inward toward the sun, which caused Uranus and Neptune to drift outward. In another scenario, the worlds of our outer solar system play a game of gravitational hot potato with a bonus fifth giant planet that eventually got ejected altogether. In yet another, Jupiter wanders nearly to the orbit of Mars before jumping back out, disrupting the otherwise placid orbits of the remaining outer worlds.

No matter what, this last reshuffling caused havoc. Astronomers think that the migrating outer planets gave rise to an epoch called the Late Heavy Bombardment, a period of intense comet and asteroid impacts in the inner solar system about 4 billion years ago. The shifting of the giant worlds disturbed all the remaining material in the solar system, either sending them to safety in the frozen outskirts or barreling inward to cause trouble for the rocky planets.

Despite the violence, it wasn't all bad: the procession of comets raining in toward the inner solar system delivered an abundance of water to the rocky worlds, potentially making life, including us, ultimately possible — once the solar system settled down, of course.

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

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, May 4th, 2024)

"DOES THE MOON HAVE OXYGEN??"