#Co-orbital objects

[embracing-the-ineffable]

It has everything. A mystery, misread handwriting, dance memes and metaphors, 25 year old movie posters, and a reminder about "how weird and temporary and connected everything in the universe is".

Zoozve, my beloved

[murderbot-moodboard]

This story is fascinating and entertaining enough that you should absolutely read the full thread in this post, but I'm just doing a partial repost to announce that a new non-mushy synonym for friendship/relationship just dropped:

💫Co-orbital objects✨

Again, please read the rest of the original post about co-orbital objects here!

Co-orbital objects is especially apt given how it relates to the meaning of Perihelion. From space.com, "The term "perihelion" refers to the point in the orbit of a planet or other astronomical body, at which it is closest to the sun."

Also, the other name for a co-orbital object is quasi-moon, which of course might be an appealing connection for fans of a show called Sanctuary Moon.

All that to say, this one's for you, Murderbot. I hope you approve.

[amnhnyc]

New research alert! With recent observations on NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope (JWST), Museum astronomers and collaborators have uncovered a complex atmosphere on a free-floating “super-Jupiter” that’s about 20 light years from Earth. First discovered in 2006, the object SIMP 0136 is about 13 times the mass of Jupiter and spins extremely fast: a full rotation is just 2.4 hours. Because it doesn’t orbit a star, it is not classified as an exoplanet, but SIMP 0136 could be a rogue planet or a brown dwarf, an object with a mass between planets and stars.

“SIMP 0136 has always been one of my favorite objects to study,” said Jackie Faherty, a senior research scientist in the Museum’s Department of Astrophysics and co-author on the new study, published recently in The Astrophysical Journal Letters. “From previous work we knew it was young, nearby, and low mass, and that the light from it varied widely. We suspected it was an object with turbulent weather patterns, but we needed JWST to help solve the mystery.” Read about the findings in our latest blog post.

Image: NASA, ESA, CSA, Joseph Olmsted (STScI)

[heli0s-writes]

intricate rituals*

a/n: You know how kids pick on each other but it's actually because they like each other? It's like that. 4.7k words. I don't know why this one was so long. I wrote this as a companion piece to slow hands. warnings: fantasizing & masturbation, language, the usual helios sprinkle of angst because Steve. Please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

Judgmental red numbers gleamed from the alarm clock on your beside table. 2:50, it leered like a schoolyard bully, and you could only groan in reply, shoving your pillow over your face and muttering into it a string of unintelligible curse words.

The day stretched too long after you were hit—socked—square in the left orbital. Your skull ached and thrummed, congregating pain at the welt along your brow bone, and beneath all of it, your brain was at once empty and full of insistence.

And although you’d have to be vertical again in about three hours, your nerves were still uneasy, still roiling beneath your skin because adrenaline could be a bitch and a half like that.

You were floating aimlessly in limbo, trying to force-sink into the distance of sleep. Thoughts skated behind the back of your eyes and around your ears, restless fingers twitching beneath blankets. Each time you slipped off, the rug was pulled out beneath your feet and your body jerked awake, leaving your heart racing. Self-sabotage.

You were too tired to attempt a jog, not trusting your sore muscles to maneuver the compound’s wooded perimeter. The best option was the easy route: quick, simple, and only a little offensive. After all, imagination after a certain hour of the night was a dangerous thing but flirting with danger in private was worth it once you could rest after.

Besides, asking Tony for any strange white pill to put you to sleep was perilous at best and fatal at worst, and asking to be gently placed in a sleeper hold by a friend was a one-way ticket to seeing the on-call psychiatrist.

And, anyway, they’d think you were a masochist.

And, well, maybe you were. But that’s not their business.

Maybe you’d like it to be though. Maybe you’d like to see the flutter of interest, the reciprocity, admittance that they were also a little masochistic because who in this line of work isn’t?

Volunteering to get pummeled day in and day out must be diagnosable in the DSM-5 manual. Yeah. At least a few of your teammates are masochistic. You’d bet good money on it.

Bucky, for one. And—oh—wouldn’t his cheekbones look so good bright red? You could cut your palms on those.

Here was the danger with imagination past a certain hour of the night:

Co-ed dormitory style living with a gorgeous cast of characters—all deranged in their own right—but still gorgeous. Lovable despite their many, many flaws. Egregious, maddening flaws.

Some were shared, inhabited by every member like they decided to build homes inside of their neuroses. Martyrdom, obstinacy, the occasional withholding of all worldly pleasures when they thought they deserved deprival—when someone would fuck up unnoticeably on a mission and then self-flagellate inside their mind for days afterwards.

Bucky’s refusal to trust his own instincts sometimes; Tony’s incurable lust for sticking his foot in his mouth like he’s starving for the taste of dirt; Natasha’s quiet, catastrophic need to be useful whether it made her a teammate or an object.

Steve— the basket-case. A whole shitshow marathon of issues all crammed up in his bright blonde head, and it’d get so full it would rush out of him by way of seething rage, reflex reactions, his boot pressed against yours as he’d stare down. His hands curled into boulders, jaw working in slow, powerful movements as clenched and unclenched his teeth.

You couldn’t help but think of it now and again. Imagine him turning all that misplaced anger to good use.

One hand ventured to your thigh, the other crossing over your chest, rubbing up your bicep to your shoulder. There was a knot you couldn’t massage out, that Bucky couldn’t either despite his best efforts. His flesh hand first and then his other hand when he thought a temperature change would help. It whirred by your ear, the plates shifting like bee song.

You could hear yourself hum lightly at the memory. It felt nice—smooth, cool, heavy. The weight of his curled fist as he kneaded, the strength in his fingers he was always holding back, even more so as he worked over the delicate skin near your neck. You didn’t shudder then, but you began to.

He’d probably laugh if you did. Roll his eyes even though he’d be pleased about it.

And excuse you for being like everyone else in the world who’d ever seen Bucky Barnes and his arm in action.

You might just say, shut up, just touch me, and he would. Touch up your neck, thumb propped at the base of your skull, the rest of his fingers around your throat where he’d drum out the beat of an old 40’s song.

And then Steve began emerging from darkness along with a couch, cheek propped on his fist, watching lazily. It was indigo all around him. Just a lamp somewhere in the corner making the side of his pale face warm orange.

Guess three’s not a crowd in your book—

Shut up, Bucky.

His hand was still on your neck, but you’d gotten in his lap, thighs spread until your legs were on the outside of his. He’d lost his shirt and landed on the couch next to Steve, who asked, petulantly, I’m here to watch?

You weren’t sure. You didn’t expect your own half-awake mind trying to reason itself out of a sex fantasy. Not when Bucky was shirtless beneath you, slightly tanned skin displaying a scatter of freckles like the time he ventured to the tropics and came back with a grin lasting almost two weeks.  

But Steve was expecting an answer and the critical eyebrow high on his forehead repeated the question: I’m here to watch?

Apropos of nothing except being 85% shut down, you replied with, you hit me today, and fell forward into Bucky’s arms. It was sullen and Bucky snickered, pressing his nose into the dip between your collarbones, a kiss somewhere nearby.

I didn’t mean to, Steve said cooly, still unamused.

Oh yes he did. Bucky touched you again, the webbing between thumb and forefinger beneath your breast for a second before he tweaked a nipple. Your toes curled slightly, chest jolting upward, and Bucky confirmed, masochist.

Steve perched his elbows on knees, leaning forward. One hand reached out, stroked the tapering edge of your eyebrow down to your cheekbone. His face was sweet, pleased, mischief cutting across his features. He pressed his finger down just a fraction, made your bruise sore with it, and the sweetness in his face glinted sharply.

Okay, he said, what else do you want?

He pressed down again and a handful of Steve’s flashed past as you exhaled. All those glimpses of him in various phases of his life, light-speed. There were suspenders and pressed white shirts too large for him. There was short hair and ballcaps and aviators. The way his shoulders hunched as he made himself invisible in a crowd. Captain suits in bright blue, then dark blue, and finally the deep night of the stealth number, material of tough neoprene and dull and sturdy across his chest. His hair was long flipped out at the ends. His beard grew and then shortened in length.

You couldn’t decide what else.

He was standing and then he was sitting. He leaned back on one elbow, sprawled like a Greek statue on a chaise lounge.

He was behind Bucky, arms coming to rest on either side of his neck, hands hanging limply forward, palm up, as if coaxing you closer, pressing Bucky tight in the middle until he huffed with discomfort.

Guess three is a crowd in your book.

Bucky disappeared and Steve came forward until he was flush against you.

In my dress uniform, really?

He sat with his thighs spread, contemplating your choice of Steve. His hair was slicked back, the high collar of his dress shirt starched and cupping his sharp, gorgeous jaw.

He was a garbled assemblage of an old photo in olive-green military wear. His blue eyes sparkled with attentiveness. He looked down his chest at the ribbons you were sure were incorrect, but they approximated something official. The jacket was starched and crisp, slacks well-pressed and fitted nicely.  

You liked the idea of him young, hopeful, and—smiling.

He placed his hands on your biceps before moving to your waist, stretching his fingers as far as he could to snare you. The fabric of your white button-up crinkled between your body and his. Three top buttons were undone, your breasts spilling out.

Steve’s hair was a mess, like it’d been yanked at fiercely. His mouth was wet and red and he was pawing at your back, rolling his hips upward until your groins met. His voice was rumbling and stuttery, brows together and cheeks rosy.

He stopped moving, only looking up at you with enormous eyes like a dog waiting for a command— which he’d never, ever looked like before. Panting as he caught his breath, he took a labored gasp, pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and asked.

Ma’am?

Oh. God help you.

There he was in all his glory, one foot into martyrdom and the other still in boyhood. Before everything crashed and burned and he was still clumsy with it. Just a bright, beaming thing pleading for  you to notice his light.

He began to fumble, hardly used to his body and so different than how you’ve seen him hurl himself through the air head-fucking-first because he was always ready to die on some hill or another.

He was shy, worrying his gorgeous mouth into a small line as he looked and looked. Over your face, down your neck, your chest, the mismatched set of underclothes you were still dressed in—and he stared at it entranced as if you were some kind of centerfold.

Like he ever would—but your brain was an electrified lump of meat, so dream-Steve could forgive it for irrationality.

But you were still sane enough to feel guilty about it because he was 24, and in a flash of genius engineering, he’d be weary beyond all his days.

Which hurt, which was stupid, which was really killing your whole endeavor.

You couldn’t do it with the thought of him careening into war at 20-something and couldn’t even worse with the thought of him, terrified and alone, the same giant, blue eyes searching the modern world for a sliver of recognition only 7 years later.

So your fingers halted between your legs, letting his nervous, boyish face shimmer away into the back of your mind.

Your eyes opened back up. The clock taunted 3:15, sizzling fuchsia.

You closed your eyes again.

The numbers shifted, rearranged until they were two curved lines and Steve’s mouth was there, hovering over yours, and he’d grown up some—you could see it in the pallid sheen of his skin, the creases in his face that were less from age and more from suffering. He waited, saying nothing.

There was supposed to be a lot you could do here. All manners of debauched acts to imagine— involving rope and whip and raking your nails down his back until your name burned in his throat, his considerable figure reduced to a tremble as he ached for you.

But you couldn’t, because suddenly the agony of not being able to sleep pivoted into a strange, new turn of events. From wanting to touch yourself to wanting nothing more than jumping into a lake to erase the turmoil his big, blue eyes roused in you, you struggled on a little longer, peeking around his haloed head of blonde, faint light behind him like a corona.

No? He drew one eyebrow up toward his hairline, his full pink lips quirking into a smirk. Not doing it for you? Why’s that?

You put a hand over his mouth, but dream logic was in no mood to be silenced, and Steve’s voice crept up in your ears anyway. No matter how much you wanted to shut him down, to push him away, he remained.

The truth, soldier. He tipped his head and looked at you past long, dark lashes. Give it to me straight.

-

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was gravelly.

You rubbed your eyes, wincing. 4 A.M. approached while you were still caught in a loop in bed—drifting, then jerking awake, nauseated with each new scenario.

Finally, it had been enough. You couldn’t force a thing that wouldn’t arrive, and so you trudged to the training room with your water bottle and forgot shoes along the way.

“Just need to get my mind off things,” you replied, and swatted weakly at a punching bag.

Steve was still wrapping his knuckles because he would always have more foresight than you do and watched you from the corner of his eye. You tapped at the leather, jabbing one-two, one-two, until it began to sway marginally wider, the link chain holding the bag rattling like windchimes.

You wished he wasn’t in the gym. You could feel him in the corner of your mind, a presence that sensed you as much as you sensed it, that weighed heavily, waiting.

“You’ll split them open.”

You jumped in surprise and then it only took a few steps before he was in front of you, hand outstretched with the wrap.

“I’m fine,” you protested, but his mouth was a thin straight line that didn’t need to emit any words. He’d just nag until you gave up. Then he’d throw you onto the wrestling mat and call it a lesson.

Maybe you were cranky.

“I can do it myself,” you attempted, but he ignored it steadfastly, focused on pulling your fingers apart.

“Sure, you could.”

You shifted your weight, “You think I’d fuck it up or something.”

“I think you’d do it clumsy. Think it’d be a rush job.”

He secured the loop onto your thumb before tugging it over the back of your wrist. You watched his fingers, wrapped up skillfully, as they turned and twisted around yours. For all his calluses, he was handling you delicately, and it was all too strange.

Sweat beaded along his brow, his pink cheeks from an earlier warm-up were settling the longer he stood still. He wasn’t making eye contact even as you ducked to find his gaze. It felt like part of an apology.

Nothing passed but his breath and yours, both awkwardly out of their regular tempo. You knew why you were being so weird, but couldn’t guess a damn what reason he would have.

Suddenly, he said, “If I pulled my punches in practice, it would skew your perception in the field.”

You deliberated this information, and the way he offered it up. Like he was bringing you a precious relic you’d be grateful to receive. What an honor. The stinging aftermath of his bones against your bones.

“So this,” you tilted your face forward, showing him where his forearm landed this morning and the pulp of your skin that ice, for fifteen minutes after, did nothing for, “This is a favor?”

He frowned, something complicated skittering across his face.

After a minute, which was quite a long time for Steve to meditate when you were obviously baiting him, he said, “It’s a warning. Enemies won’t go easy on you. I can’t either, even if I wanted to. It’s my job to make sure you’re prepared for whatever is coming next. It’s my job to bring you back home.”

“That’s nice—"

He cut you off, firm. “That’s the truth.”

The truth.

You felt it with your entire chest as Steve stood there, attention fixed upon your hand, his own circling your wrist and palm and then between the sensitive webbing of your fingers with diligence.

A lock of hair fell over his forehead, obscured one eye, and when he looked up behind it in wait of your reply with that open, honest expression, you gulped.

The truth, he asked in your dream— that he seemed to be wanting now wordlessly. That you’d been punching down every morning and night because it was so simple, and excruciating.

The truth was, you were stupid for him. And just stupid, in general, because you could never tell him. Because he was Steven Grant Rogers, for fuck’s sake. He was stunning and tortured and you wanted to die sometimes, just looking at him because you didn’t know how else to express it.

Because there wasn’t a world where you could step up to Steve, stare down the magnum opus of his monumental hero’s journey and feel like you could be a contender for a single, sad crumb of his attention. 

And yet you could never quite help yourself.

The truth:

Sometimes you’d do it to get his hands on you—to motivate him, to have him spare a single glance your way. Screw up the training exercise just so he’d spend an extra hour beating the drill into you.

Because outside of your private quarters and battered-tired imagination, when would he ever?

Because short of begging him to touch you, when would he ever?

The baiting. The backtalk. Challenging him at every turn. You were a spiraling addict, grabbing any high within your reach.

Hell, you were just as deranged as the rest of them. DSM-5, eat your heart out.

He dropped your hands, finished, and brought his thumb up to your temple where the welt throbbed under his pulse. “There,” he said. Almost silent, almost like you imagined it.

Then between one heartbeat and the next, his lips parted, bottom one pulled in almost imperceptibly— and— fuck, you didn’t understand a damn thing.

You made a noise like a fish out of water and he rubbed the back of his broad neck, craning his sight to the high ceiling. When he turned back down, he was soft at his edges, the tired years on his face placated.

“I know what you’re doing. You don’t think I know?”

You were nearly sure you were still in bed, and the fantasy was turning on its head, coming up absurdist and you were ready, nowpleasegod, to wake up.

“Pickin’ fights in alleyways since I could throw a punch. Why’d you think so?”

You sputtered, because you’re a ham-fisted, sleep-deprived, single-minded moron, “Because you’re a glutton for punishment?”

Steve snorted. “Like you are?”

You could feel the burn of agony twist its way up your neck, the way fact exposes itself when there’s no other cowardly avenue to run down. He watched, his sea-glass eyes stormy and insistent, and the lights of the compound gym were like stage spotlights now, white, and localized.

You found interest in your feet, because you were still missing shoes, and Steve followed the path and saw your toes curled up tight like hiding themselves.

“Jesus,” he huffed with dismay.

“I was tired. Am. Still tired.”

 “Go back to sleep.”

“I tried. Why do you think I’m here? Have you ever seen me here?” You swept your arm out toward the abundance of equipment that have not yet been acquainted with even your shadow.

“Now that you mention it,” he replied.

“Not once—my god, Rogers, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

“Hey,” he said, because you were doing that horrible, compulsive, nervous-tic conflict thing again, and this time he put his hand on your shoulder and it was warm.

Your skin crooned his name.

“What. Are you doing.” Your throat was bone dry.

He stepped closer—not a dream, he was real, he was there, he was breathing your hair and touching your shoulder—and he dipped his head down, in wait.

“Oh,” your mouth decided sentences were beyond its means. “O-oh.”

“That a yes? Or no.” He moved to step away, his serious expression fluttering into embarrassment, and then guilt, and then you were doing an aerobatic move between a hop and a hurdle to reach for his face.

Teeth clicked, and you winced. He didn’t seem to mind, only stabilizing you with one hand on your neck and the other at your hip. His lips were full, hot, like there was a pulse in his mouth that was trying to overcome yours. He towered, not just in height, but—you couldn’t describe it. Your head was swirling, dizzy.

“You haven’t had any water today,” he murmured—and what kind of psycho would say that during a kiss.

“Do you mind?” you grabbed at his hair, “I’m trying to—” You kissed him some more, your brain a fluttering, ecstatic mess. You shivered when he licked your tongue, fisted his collar when he made a huff—a moan—and then he was gone, a faint hiss between his teeth and his eyes burning darkly.

You wanted to fall down to the gym floor, take him tumbling with you, hands impatient and wild as you felt for each other. Up t-shirts and down waistbands, tongues sloppy and missing each other, leaving lines of spit along chins and necks.

It felt silly—stupid, reckless, fantastic—but it was damn good. Like two kids figuring out their bodies for the first time. So natural and luxurious that you could literally fall forward into him, let him do everything. Strip you naked in the damn gym, fold you in half atop some mats, over a bench, leave marks down your spine and up your throat. Curl himself so deep you could feel him in your mind for days after—you wanted it all.

He was laughing a little bit, the creases of his eyes lit with joy as he weaved left and right, getting all the right angles to mouth at you with. He pawed and squeezed and sighed as he touched you, feeling every inch. He was excited, and it kind of killed you to know—made your belly swelter and clench with pride.

You rolled your hips lazily into his, and he backed up until he found a bench to sit down on, pulling you by the hand, the wrap yanking open and unspooling onto the floor.

“This okay?” He asked.

You made a low, pained sound.

“Hey,” he said, and you blinked at how concerned he was. He steadied your shoulders, his long fingers comforting and heavy. “You okay?”

You yawned, and when you looked at him again, he was confused. And he was standing.

You couldn’t keep up. You looked down dumbly at your empty hands. He was just there.

Oh, gods.

Steve was standing—at the punching bag, not sitting on a bench with you between his thighs. And the wrap that had unspooled from your left hand was limply hanging from your right, the necessary supplies in a bag next to your foot.

You went ice cold.

You wobbled and caught yourself, because you were standing in the middle of the gym idly, realizing that you’d spent the last 10 minutes losing yourself in a fever dream about Steve.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” you said too quickly, recoiling when he side-stepped from his position to head toward you. Your knees trembled, the place between your thighs warm and clenching madly on nothing.

“You don’t look okay.”

“You’re… worried about me?”

Steve narrowed his eyes and said “yes”, like you were stupid. But then he breathed soft, and looked so much like that fantasy you’d conjured up a few seconds ago, that you turned and made ready to bolt.

He caught your wrist.

“I need to—” he began firmly. “You need to listen--”

But you didn’t. You licked your lips because he was so close and you were insane with want for him, and he stopped dead in his tracks for a split second, eyes tracking your mouth and the short, puffs of air that your chest was pushing out without you meaning it to. Just quick huffs as you bit down on your lip to make yourself quiet and small and unseen.

Steve swallowed. He said something almost silent and it sounded like sorry before he leaned forward and caught your mouth with his.

He sighed into it. Breathed into it. He placed one hand on the small of your back and pressed your entire body to him, and you moaned like he tore it out of you.

And this time, it was real. The two of you scrambled for each other, heaving and loud.

He took you to the floor, only took another few impatient, hotheaded licks of his tongue and then he was inside of your shirt, his mouth sucking round, wet brands up between your breasts.

You bucked up to get closer, and he sank down, licking and sucking and all ten of his fingers dug into your hips and waist.

“Shit,” he said.

“Uggnnn,” you replied eloquently before your better judgement pivoted and decided to swipe at reason. “What’s—“

“You make me fucking crazy.” Steve rushed out.

“Fair,” you gasped when he began rolling his hips against yours. “Feeling’s mutual—oh, what are you doing--”

He only answered with more of it, and harder, up and down, his forehead pressed to yours—his entire body, really, pressed like he wanted to swallow you whole.

It went on for eternity, it felt like, the two of you messy and starved, every second of contact a half-fight, half-resignation. Between the rushing blood in your head and the high-pitched ringing of excitement, there was a relief, like your skin was singing finally, oh god, finally.

Steve, above you, was smiling—was happy—almost as if he felt the same.

-

“Next time just say something,” you said, when you could finally breathe again.

“Like what?” He wiped his forehead. You did that to him.

You sputtered, the taste of his tongue still in your mouth, “Like—just don’t hit me so hard. And don’t say you have to.”

He opted to say nothing instead, only rolling his eyes, and you found the perfect opportunity to continue pestering. “Do you ever pull your punches? Could you maybe try?”

He only grinned with that wet, red mouth, and his eyes flicked down to you like a challenge. “I hold myself back more often than you think.”

“Name one time you held back from anything.”

His lips pressed together, a smile squirting out of the corners as he looked at his bare feet, toes flexed against the mat. His lashes were fluttering as he pondered, looking so shy and mischievous all at once.

“Just now.”

“Now?”

Beneath your collarbone, the bruise Steve sucked into your skin stung with embarrassment. The sound you made when he did it should be burned out from all memory. You had to beg him to stop, you could have cried.

“I had it all wrong. I thought you might have liked getting bossed around in bed, but you’re a sadist, Rogers.”

“No, no. You can boss me around.” He paused, “Maybe. You can try, go ahead.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, try.” And if you were to look up the definition of shit-eating, annoying, and contrary-bastard-even-more-so-than-yourself, you’d find his smug as sin picture.

“I need to go to sleep— team captain, my ass. Don’t you care about my well-being, Rogers? What even is your refractory period?”

“Don’t have one.”

Your brain was a watery 7-11 slushie, and instead of saying anything comprehensible back, you only babbled.

Just then, the gym doors slid open and both of you were on your feet like someone had been shooting them.

Natasha looked you up and down. From the crumpled bedclothes to the unruly hair and then to your mouth, which was slightly open and catching your breath. She narrowed her eyes, glanced over to where Steve stood leaned on the wall, shuffling his feet in an attempt to sort out his sweatpants.

She made to remark something else but then Bucky sidled up wearing nothing but basketball shorts and grey socks.

“It’s ass o’clock,” he complained loudly. “Why are any of you awake. Never mind, Steve you’re a degenerate. You wake up at 4. I was having a great dream, then Nat drags me up, then you’re already here? You fucking animals.”

“Hm, a dream?” Nat drawled, “Anyone I know?”

She flicked his chin already knowing entirely too fucking much.

“Can’t remember the details,” Bucky turned to you offhandedly before recognition lit in his eyes. “Oh,” he chirped, leering. “I remember now.” He wolf whistled, muttered, “Hello nurse,” and rubbed his palms together like he was warming them up.

You backed up, covering as much of your body as possible with two hands, and bumped your ass into Steve, dick-first, who cleared his throat loudly.

Nat only cackled.

[til-all-are-loved]

{This Charming Man Part 6}

MTMTE Megatron x Reader | SFW Word Count 2,464

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

The walk back to your chambers was quiet, the familiar thrum of  the quantum engines was absent– they had been powered down while the ship idled in orbit. 

You moved on instinct, your mind still on the conversation that had unfolded in the shuttle. The datapad rested in your hands, its weight a reminder of the confession Megatron had placed in your care.

Trust.

It wasn’t something he expected or deserved.

But he wanted it.

That was what unsettled you the most—not that he had given you something so deeply personal, but that you had accepted it without hesitation.

 Furthermore, it seemed he had only recently begun to see you as a person rather than an observer lurking in the background. The shift had been subtle at first—a glance held a moment longer, a conversation that stretched past necessity. But now, with the weight of his trust resting in your hands, the change felt undeniable.

You palmed open the door to your quarters. The overhead lights flickered on automatically, casting long shadows across the desk where your reports were written. 

You had admitted it before to yourself, in passing, but now the truth settled in—you were attracted to him. His voice, the deliberate way he carried himself, the way his optics lingered when you challenged him. You wanted to feel needed by him. It didn’t change anything. It couldn’t. But at least you could acknowledge it now.

Thoughts of your old colleagues crept in, unbidden. What would they say if they knew? To them, Megatron was a name synonymous with tyranny, his crimes etched into history like an immovable scar. They wouldn’t see what you saw—the quiet deliberation behind his words, the moments where his guard slipped just enough to reveal what he carried. They would call you compromised. Maybe you were. But what did it matter when the person they feared had already changed into something else—something still still dangerous, but captivating?

But beneath your defensiveness, something else stirred. Excitement. A strange, private thrill lit up your spirit, impossible to ignore. This wasn’t just a mission anymore. It was personal. You were seeing a side of Megatron few, if any, ever had. And for now, it was yours. Yours to process, yours to hold onto, yours to unravel at your own pace.

And the idea of that—of knowing something no one else did—felt intoxicating.

Your hands hovered over the keyboard, but you didn’t start typing.

Instead, you stared at the blank screen, the cursor blinking expectantly.

What was left to say?

You exhaled slowly, then let your fingers press against the keys.

Report to Earth Command – Month 18Ambassador’s Log

The situation aboard the Lost Light remains operationally stable. There have been no major incidents requiring intervention, and Megatron continues to adhere to the terms of his Autobot command. However, I must formally address a growing concern regarding my ability to provide an objective assessment.

You paused, your breath catching slightly at the admission forming on the screen. But you forced yourself to keep going.

Megatron continues to fulfill his role as co-captain of the Lost Light in accordance with the conditions outlined in his Autobot commission. There have been no recorded incidents of insubordination, nor any deviations from Autobot regulations. His command style remains structured, and his cooperation with the crew has been largely without issue.

However, this report seeks to address a developing concern regarding the integrity of this assessment and my ability to maintain impartiality.

Your fingers hesitated again.

He has displayed no outward signs of attempting to exert undue influence or revert to past authoritarian tendencies. Instead, he has exhibited a deliberate effort to engage in dialogue, accept criticism, and demonstrate accountability for his past actions.

This is not to suggest that the weight of his history has been erased, nor that his transition should be accepted without scrutiny. Rather, it is to acknowledge that his actions aboard the Lost Light contrast with the widely held perception of him as an immutable war criminal.

However, I must formally state that my capacity to provide an entirely unbiased report has become compromised. Prolonged exposure to his leadership, as well as direct engagement in discussions regarding his past and ideological evolution, has influenced my perception beyond strict observation. While I do not believe this has resulted in misrepresentation within prior reports, I can no longer guarantee that my assessments are entirely free from personal perspective.

You swallowed, staring at the words. They were damning, but they were honest.

Megatron remains compliant with Autobot leadership structures, and his conduct does not indicate any immediate threat or risk of recidivism. Continued monitoring is advised, but based on the data gathered, there is no evidence to suggest he is leveraging his position for subversive purposes.

However, due to the concerns outlined above regarding the potential for bias in my ongoing assessment, I defer to Earth Command’s judgment on whether my continued presence aboard the Lost Light remains the most effective course of action.

You hovered over the SEND command.

This was what Earth Command needed to know. That you were compromised. That someone else—someone without these entanglements—should take your place.

You set the data pad aside, pushing it further across your desk until it hit the edge of a stack of reports, half-buried beneath the paperwork you’d long neglected. Out of sight, out of mind. That business is done now. You had filed your report, voiced your concerns, and for tonight, at least, you weren’t going to dwell on it any longer.

You exhaled, stretching your arms over your head as you stood, joints popping after so long spent hunched over. The artificial lighting of your quarters buzzed softly overhead, casting the metallic walls in a dull, sterile glow. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it wasn’t warm, either. Like much of the Lost Light, your assigned living space was built for function over comfort. The ship’s engineers had done their best to replicate human accommodations, but in the end, it still felt like a small, self-contained habitat wedged inside a much larger space designed for Cybertronian scale.

Your “apartment” was nestled within what was originally meant to be a shared mech’s quarters—two massive recharge slabs on opposite sides of the room, with ceilings so high you could barely make out the edges where they met the walls. A metal scaffold had been constructed along one side, with a staircase leading up to your human-sized living space, walled off to create a separate environment comprising a bit more than half the room. It was practical, but being so small in the middle of all that empty space gave the unsettling impression that you were some kind of pet kept in an enclosure.

You stepped into your wash racks, shedding your uniform. The space was sufficient, a small metal chamber with an adjustable shower nozzle fitted into the wall. It was too clinical to be called a real bathroom, but it served its purpose. You had the foresight to bring along your own soft towels, stock of your favorite personal care items, and even little decorative tchotchkes, the reminders of home providing a sense of comfort. The moment the warm water hit your skin, some of the tension in your shoulders eased.

You scrubbed away the day, letting the steam cloud the edges of your thoughts. The report was done. Whatever happened next was beyond your control.

Afterward, wrapped in a towel, you wandered back into your living space, eyeing the rumpled sheets of your bed before deciding you weren’t quite ready to sleep. Instead, you flopped onto the couch, reaching for the small controller nestled between the cushions.

A familiar game booted up, the television bathing your face in a cool glow. It was something simple, a time-killer—one of the few forms of entertainment you had out here. The crew had been generous with sharing their media, but there were limits to what was compatible with human tech, and even then, the majority of Cybertronian entertainment was... well, a bit incomprehensible.

You thought about messaging Swerve to see if he was still up—he was always up—but hesitated. You weren’t in the mood for conversation. Not tonight.

---

The report was transmitted, you had no way of knowing the truth.

Not a single word of it would ever reach Earth.

Instead, it would land quietly, unnoticed, in Megatron’s personal files.

And he would read every word.

---

Megatron sat alone in his quarters, the glow of his terminal casting sharp lines of light across his features. He read in silence, optics scanning each line with an impassive expression, absorbing every detail. But within the careful neutrality in her, he could see it. The warmth. The distinctly human instinct to understand.

It unsettled him.

A slow ex-vent. He sat back in his chair, the metal creaking beneath his weight. He should have expected this.

It was only natural that prolonged exposure to him, to the reality of his existence beyond the war, would begin to erode the preconceptions she had carried with her onto this ship. He had allowed it. Encouraged it, even. A few carefully placed conversations, an acknowledgment here, a fleeting moment of understanding there—small, deliberate gestures, each one nudging her further along the path he had laid. A path to what?

Compassion was the outcome, and he was the cause of it. That should be a victory.

Megatron’s optics narrowed as he skimmed further, fingers resting lightly against his chin. She had read the poem, of course. He had known that the moment he gave it to her. 

Handing her that datapad was a mistake surely- his poetry constituted sensitive material. Material which he allowed himself to place in the hands of a human. Bitterness flushed through his systems. He could almost taste putrid fools energon on his glossa at the thought of meeting her wet eyes again wide and searching. He hated it. 

The hatred and rage could only flare so much. The darkness that had penetrated his spark ran deeply, at one time the well of contempt he could draw from was endless. Now as he reached for more venom he could grasp at nothing more. And when the anger was gone only guilt and regret remained to take its place.

He would have to walk it—no matter how much it unsettled him. No matter how much it forced him to confront the parts of himself he had buried.

Megatron’s hand hovered over the terminal, just for a klik before typing.

We regret to inform you that your resignation request is currently pending due to an unforeseen bureaucratic delay. Our department is working diligently to process all outstanding submissions, and we will notify you as soon as your request has been reviewed.

He read it over once, then sent it.

The lie sat uneasily in his systems, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. She needed to stay. That much was clear. The reasons, however, were harder to pin down. It wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t even about keeping a watchful eye on a potential weakness in the crew. No—there was something else, something he couldn’t quite force himself to name.

For now, it was enough to justify keeping her close. To ensure that every report she sent passed through his hands first, to study every thought she committed to writing. It wasn’t control. Not exactly.

With a low sigh, he lifted a hand and turned it over in the faint glow of the room. Scuffs and fine scratches marred the dark plating of his palm, remnants of skirmishes, maintenance work, and erosion of time. His servos had been made and unmade countless times, not much of his original body remained with him at present.

He flexed his fingers, watching the servos respond with perfect precision despite their imperfections. This body—his current form—had been reforged for another purpose. It had once been built for conquest, for crushing those who opposed him without hesitation. Now, its function has been rewritten. The weight of a fusion cannon had long since been stripped from his arm, and yet, even now, his hand curled as if expecting to feel its familiar presence.

Old habits.

He retrieved a polishing block from a nearby compartment, dragging it over the ridges of his knuckles with slow, methodical movements. It was an absent-minded ritual, one that had little effect beyond occupying his hands while his mind continued to churn.

His optics flickered toward the closed terminal once more. The report would never make it intended recipients. That, at least, was something still within his control.

Megatron set the block aside, flexed his fingers one last time, then stood. There was work to be done. And he would not allow himself to linger on this folly any longer than necessary. With a final glance around the quiet, empty room, he stepped out into the corridor.

He moved with purpose, letting the gentle hum of the Lost Light’s engines settle into the background. His mind should be elsewhere—on command duties, on logistical matters, on the countless routine obligations that kept the ship running.

Kt-oom vvrrt Kt-oom vvvrt Kt-oom

Step by thunderous step.

A voice interrupted his march.

"You’re up late."

Megatron's optics flickered toward the source—Rung, standing a short distance away, hands clasped in front of him. He wasn’t blocking Megatron’s path, nor did he make any indication that he intended to linger. And yet, there was something in the way he regarded him that suggested he had been waiting.

Megatron sighed, his expression unreadable. "A captain's responsibilities do not adhere to a schedule."

"Mm," Rung hummed, the sound deliberately neutral. "Of course. But I’d imagine you’d be accustomed to delegating by now."

Megatron narrowed his optics slightly. “Is there something you need, Rung?”

The smaller mech tilted his head slightly, studying him with that infuriatingly patient expression. “No,” he said simply. “But I suspect there’s something you need.”

Megatron tensed, just slightly, before letting his frame settle back into its usual commanding stillness. “If this is an invitation for another one of your attempts at psychoanalysis, I must decline. I have no interest in unnecessary introspection tonight.”

Rung made no attempt to stop him as Megatron took a step forward. But just before he could pass, the psychiatrist spoke again softly.

"It’s a funny thing about people, Megatron. The more you try to obscure yourself, the clearer you tend to become."

Megatron halted for a fraction of a second. Not long enough to be called hesitation, but long enough that Rung would have noticed.

Megatron didn’t turn back.

"Goodnight, Rung."

And then he was gone, his footfalls heavy against the corridor floor, the shadows swallowing his form.

Rung watched him go, optics flickering with contemplation before he finally turned in the opposite direction.

---

Authors Note // This song was on my mind while working on this chapter :)

[auspicioustidings]

I love your work! May I please request ghost finding a captured civilian in an enemy base and taking her for himself?

Ah little posessive freak Ghost my beloved <3 I didn't know if you were looking for fluff or twisted Simon so I've leant towards the latter!

CW: Attempted rape (non-graphic), kidnapping

They had been warned there were going to be civillians in the building, but it wasn't the first time Ghost had to work around hostages to get the job done. It was an understanding on the team that whereever possible it wasn't going to be the huge fucker in the skull mask who dealt with that side of things. If they knew where hostages were being kept, that's where they sent Gaz or Johnny or even Price to settle them and get them out. Not the Ghost.

And that was working smoothly once again. Gaz had radioed in saying he found where they were being kept, had taken out their guards and would wait for the all clear for an exit route for the handful of doubtless terrified little civilians looking at him like he was the second coming for saving them.

They were all accounted for and that always made Ghost feel some tension bleed away. The last thing he needed to be worrying about was hostage situations.

The rest of the mission was easy enough, taking out any enemies and finding the saferoom to snoop around in for intel. It was laughably easy to get into. Saferooms only really worked if the person who knew the code didn't spill it at the first little twist of an arm, the press of a knife against their throat. They only worked if they were used. But obviously playing at warlord the man was arrogant, thought he could easily take on whoever came at him. Idiot. The moment he had the code, Ghost had no more use for him until he could get him somewhere for a proper interrogation, so he was smacked in the skull with a pistol and out cold. His fingerprints and eye scanner worked just fine even with him unconcious and the code he had given beeped with a green light and the click of a lock.

It was a damn good thing that you assumed it was your captor coming in and so were aiming the cast iron at where his face would be. Instead it smacked into the tactical vest of a much taller man. You hissed and spat and fought like a feral cat when the man immediately reacted by grabbing your wrist and twisting so you cried out and dropped the pan. There went your weapon, there wasn't much else to use in this little safe room but for the small implements in the kitchen and you hadn't felt confident with a knife. A blunt object with a larger surface area had felt like a better bet.

"Don't fucking touch me! I'll claw your fucking eyes out!" you spat out at what you were sure was a bloody monster.

You had been a victim of wrong place wrong time about 12 hours prior. You had broken down on a stretch of road that barely got any use and had fuck all phone signal to get help, so were at the mercy of someone passing by. Just your luck the someone passing by was some slimy asshole with a compound nearby he thought to drag you to. He had found out quickly he wasn't getting his hands on you without a fight. You were a bit of a mess, shirt torn and what you suspected was a cracked orbital bone from where he had punched you after you bit his tongue. You wished you had bit fucking harder.

The only thing that had saved you in the end was the alarm going off. The man had thrown you into the safe room, telling you that once he had dealt with whoever dared break into his base he was going to fuck you bloody. You'd kill him before he got the chance. You'd fucking kill him before all this adrenaline fuelled fight turned into fear and had you accepting your fate.

The monster in the skull mask didn't have the laugh of a monster. It was gruff but there was something very genuine about it. He had his hands on both of your wrists, locking them so you couldn't scratch at him with yout body pulled right into him so you couldn't kick either. Your wrists were pinned at your chin so you couldn't even bite at him. Didn't much stop you from fighting, trying to just drop all of your weight to get him off balance. The added weight did not phase him in the slightest.

"Settle sweetheart, I'm the good guy."

"Do good guys often wear skull masks?!" you hissed back, still struggling to no avail.

He manouvered so that you could see out of the doorway and to the passed out man on the floor.

"They do when they're going after bad guys."

It was like all the adrenaline had finally burned off at right that moment and you felt yourself go boneless in his hold, fight gone. You had a sick moment of being disappointed that you could see that the man was still breathing.

"We sure all the civilians are accounted for?"

You felt a little dazed as you squinted back at him before realising he must have been speaking on the radio. Whatever he heard back must have been interesting because he looked at you, considering, before twisted the little dial to another channel.

"Got a stray, let's keep it out of the reports."

Simon knew that the 141 would back him up. After all, him and the Seargants had always admired the relationship between Price and his wife even if when they first met she kept trying to murder him. She had grown out of it after a few years.

And Simon had never felt like this before. He thought you truly would have killed him if you had been able when he opened the door. It was love at first murder attempt for him.

He cooed at you and comforted you the whole way through exfil. It wasn't until you realised that you couldn't leave that it really started getting fun.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Webb's autopsy of planet swallowed by star yields surprise

Observations from NASA's James Webb Space Telescope have provided a surprising twist in the narrative surrounding what is believed to be the first star observed in the act of swallowing a planet. The new findings, published in The Astrophysical Journal, suggest that the star actually did not swell to envelop a planet as previously hypothesized. Instead, Webb's observations show the planet's orbit shrank over time, slowly bringing the planet closer to its demise until it was engulfed in full.

"Because this is such a novel event, we didn't quite know what to expect when we decided to point this telescope in its direction," said Ryan Lau, lead author of the new paper and astronomer at NSF NOIRLab (National Science Foundation National Optical-Infrared Astronomy Research Laboratory) in Tucson, Arizona. "With its high-resolution look in the infrared, we are learning valuable insights about the final fates of planetary systems, possibly including our own."

Two instruments aboard Webb conducted the post-mortem of the scene—Webb's MIRI (Mid-Infrared Instrument) and NIRSpec (Near-Infrared Spectrograph). The researchers were able to come to their conclusion using a two-pronged investigative approach.

Constraining the how

The star at the center of this scene is located in the Milky Way galaxy about 12,000 light-years away from Earth.

The brightening event, formally called ZTF SLRN-2020, was originally spotted as a flash of optical light using the Zwicky Transient Facility at the Palomar Observatory in San Diego, California. Data from NASA's NEOWISE (Near-Earth Object Wide-field Infrared Survey Explorer) showed the star actually brightened in the infrared a year before the optical light flash, hinting at the presence of dust.

This initial 2023 investigation led researchers to believe that the star was more sun-like, and had been in the process of aging into a red giant over hundreds of thousands of years, slowly expanding as it exhausted its hydrogen fuel.

However, Webb's MIRI told a different story. With powerful sensitivity and spatial resolution, Webb was able to precisely measure the hidden emission from the star and its immediate surroundings, which lie in a very crowded region of space. The researchers found the star was not as bright as it should have been if it had evolved into a red giant, indicating there was no swelling to engulf the planet as once thought.

Reconstructing the scene

Researchers suggest that, at one point, the planet was about Jupiter-sized, but orbited quite close to the star, even closer than Mercury's orbit around our sun. Over millions of years, the planet orbited closer and closer to the star, leading to the catastrophic consequence.

"The planet eventually started to graze the star's atmosphere. Then it was a runaway process of falling in faster from that moment," said team member Morgan MacLeod of the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge, Massachusetts. "The planet, as it's falling in, started to sort of smear around the star."

In its final splashdown, the planet would have blasted gas away from the outer layers of the star. As it expanded and cooled off, the heavy elements in this gas condensed into cold dust over the next year.

Inspecting the leftovers

While the researchers did expect an expanding cloud of cooler dust around the star, a look with the powerful NIRSpec revealed a hot circumstellar disk of molecular gas closer in. Furthermore, Webb's high spectral resolution was able to detect certain molecules in this accretion disk, including carbon monoxide.

"With such a transformative telescope like Webb, it was hard for me to have any expectations of what we'd find in the immediate surroundings of the star," said Colette Salyk of Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York, an exoplanet researcher and co-author on the new paper.

"I will say, I could not have expected seeing what has the characteristics of a planet-forming region, even though planets are not forming here, in the aftermath of an engulfment."

The ability to characterize this gas opens more questions for researchers about what actually happened once the planet was fully swallowed by the star.

"This is truly the precipice of studying these events. This is the only one we've observed in action, and this is the best detection of the aftermath after things have settled back down," Lau said. "We hope this is just the start of our sample."

These observations, taken under Guaranteed Time Observation program 1240, which was specifically designed to investigate a family of mysterious, sudden, infrared brightening events, were among the first Target of Opportunity programs performed by Webb.

These types of study are reserved for events, like supernova explosions, that are expected to occur, but researchers don't exactly know when or where. NASA's space telescopes are part of a growing, international network that stands ready to witness these fleeting changes, to help us understand how the universe works.

Researchers expect to add to their sample and identify future events like this using the upcoming Vera C. Rubin Observatory and NASA's Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope, which will survey large areas of the sky repeatedly to look for changes over time.

TOP IMAGE: NASA’s James Webb Space Telescope’s observations of what is thought to be the first-ever recorded planetary engulfment event revealed a hot accretion disk surrounding the star, with an expanding cloud of cooler dust enveloping the scene. Webb also revealed that the star did not swell to swallow the planet, but the planet’s orbit actually slowly depreciated over time, as seen in this artist’s concept. Credit: NASA, ESA, CSA, R. Crawford (STScI)

LOWER IMAGE: Schematic illustration of the preengulfment and postengulfment interpretation of ZTF SLRN-2020. Credit: The Astrophysical Journal (2025). DOI 10.3847/1538-4357/adb429

[lonestatus]

I hear, milady, that you have run into trouble managing your kingdom lately. Might I humbly suggest you enlist the aid of the ES3 Group? Our management consulting services are available at reasonable rates, as are, of course, military solutions. Our forces are experienced in co-operating with international militaries to achieve both offensive and defensive objectives; if a more hands-off approach is preferred, coverage by the Group orbital strike constellation promises response times of 2 minutes or less, anywhere on the globe. And what's more, we definitely won't coup you for natural resources! It's a foxboy promise :3

But don't just take it from us! Take a look at our previous satisfied customers:

if it were any other time you'd be the jewel of the hunt for your fur alone but i like your guff fox. pays you 10 sacks of grain and 5 gold bars

[many-flags]

TERMiNOLOGY

List of personalized system terminology with a space theme.

Inspired by [ this post ] by @clusterofeyes

SYSTEM PARTS

☁️ — Nebulae: fragments

🔆 — Protostar: partially formed alter

☀️ — Star: an alter

☀️💙 — O Star: Persecutor

☀️🩵 — B Star: (Trauma) Emotion Holder

☀️💚 — A Star: (Memory) Trauma Holder

☀️🤍 — F Star: Apparently Normal Part

☀️💛 — G Star: Protector

☀️🧡 — K Star: Caregiver

☀️🩷 — M Star: Gatekeeper

⭐️🩶 Neutron Star — Internal Helper

☀️🔉 Pulsar — Syndrolian

☀️🧲 Magnetar — Socializer

☀️🖤 Black Hole — Core Member

☀️🖤 Primordial — Little

☀️🖤 Stellar — Middle

☀️🖤 Intermediate — Young Adult

☀️🖤 Supermassive — Adult

☀️🖤 Quasar — Active

☀️🪦 Dead Star/Compact Star/Stellar Remnants — Alter Fragments

☀️🚨 Wolf-Rayet Star — Posteavicarius

Class 0 — ageless alter

Class 1 — elderly/old alter (66+)

Class 2 — middle aged alter (45-65)

Class 3 — adult alter (26-44)

Class 4 — young adult alter (20-25)

Class 5 — teenaged alter (13-19)

Class 6 — child alter (2-12)

Class 7 — infant (0-1)

🪐 — Rogue Planet: isolated alters

☄️ — Celestial Object: extranth

🌙 — Satellite: system pets, they “orbit” their host celestial body/owner

🛸 — UFO: uncertain parts

SYSTEM STRUCTURE

💫 — Asteroid/Meteor/Comet: walk-ins

🌎 — Solar system: subsystem

✨ — Star system: side system & district

🌌 — Galaxy: polymers & hemisystems

🌐 — Universe: entire collective

🌟 — Constellation: layer

SYSTEM EVENTS

💥 — Supernova: system bloom

🕳️ — Stellar collapse: system collapse

FRONT STRUCTURE

🛰️ — Space station: headspace

🚀 — Spaceship: body

👽 — Pilot: host

👽 — Copilot: co-host

🕹️ — Cockpit: frontspace (fronting = piloting)

💠 — Commander: fronters/hosts in headspace “back of front” or “present but not co-fronting”

🔷 — Officer: an “inside part” or “internal helper” present in headspace but rarely or never fronts

🪪 — Staff: NPCs

🧑‍🚀 — Astronaut: a system traveler/hopper

BARRIERS

📡 — Comms System: communication

☢️ — Solar storm: blurry/dissociation

MiSCELLANEOUS

🔭 — Observer/Astrotnomist/Cosmologist: a system archivist and/or technician

could call desk/office/phone/computer/journal/etc the Observatory

📁 — Journals/Papers/Studies/etc. — observations, notes, theories, assumptions, etc that the Observer takes/thinks/believes/etc

Xenoid — a member of the HR6819 Collective

Xeno — male/masc aligned xenoid

Xena — female/fem aligned xenoid

Xene — abinary aligned xenoid

May interfere with Comms. Terms.

May prefer each sisasystem having its own Space Station, Pilots and Comms within the Space Station, and between Galaxies.

🪐 — Planet: member of a sisasystem

⭐️ — Host Star: sisasystem host

[godiscommitingtaxfraud]

A bunch of Touhous&co.

List below because HRM v

Touhou Games

Meira - Story of Eastern Wonderland

Kotohime - Phantasmagoria of Dim. Dream

Kurumi - Lotus Land Story

Louise - Magic Mirror

Daiyousei - Embodiment of Scarlet Devil

Cirno - Embodiment of Scarlet Devil

Chen - Perfect Cherry Blossom

Mystia Lorelei - Imperishable Night

Hina Kagiyama - Mountain of Faith

Parsee Mizuhachi - Subterranean Animism

Kogasa Tatara - Undefined Fantastic Object

Kyouko Kasodani - Ten Desires

Sekibanki - Double Dealing Character

Ringo - Legacy of Lunatic Kingdom

Nemuno Sakata - Hidden Star in Four Seasons

Urumi Ushizaki - Wily Beast and Weakest Creature

Takane Yamashiro - Unconnected Marketeers

Enoko Mitsugashira - Unfinished Dream of All Living Ghosts

Len’en Games

Aoji Shitodo - Evanescence Existence

Shou Amanomori - Earthen Miraculous Sword

Tsugumi Umatachi - Reactive Magestical Imperial

Kujiru Kesa - Brilliant Pagoda or Haze Castle

Medias Moritake - Brilliant Pagoda or Haze Castle

Taikan Games

Raven - Incarnation Erased from History

Loki - Forget Not Primordial Chaos

Fan Made Games

Corin Charite - The Last Comer

Momo Tobikura - Mystical Power Plant

Hatsuna Magatsuji - Riverbed Soul Saver

Ren Hitotachi - Infinite Blade Pavilion

Ten Hitotachi - Infinite Blade Pavilion

Tobiko Takatou - Book of Star Mythology

Chii Shirobakama - Hollow Song of Birds

Kagemo - Servants of Harvest Wish

Jiriri Kim - Sapphire Panlogism

Sakkagumi Yamomo - Sapphire Panlogism

Shounen Hiraga - Fan-made Virtual Autography

Naruko Uzushima - Marine Benefit

Mezuchi Takebashi - Over the Developed Eden

Tetsuko Yorubana - Dream Logical World

Serene Heikegami - Wonderful Waking World

San Alkaloid - Treasure Castle Labyrinth

Watatsuki no Itsuhime - Glory of Deep Skies

Theone Phillips - Glory of Deep Skies

Aiguillon Gifttaenzer - Glory of Deep Skies

Miyaka Yamika - Abyss Soul Lotus

Euphotrice Rappaccini - Little Doll Queen

Yayoi Shouyousan - Immortal Immanuel

Sayuri Katsuki - The Shattered Sky

Demo Games

Annika Aureola Theophrastia Bombastia von Honenheim - Consciousness’ Unity of Opposites

Noah Amenohara - Terminus of Unreal Darkside

Nansei Albums

Taeko Yuhara - Performance of Rain

Youna - Toxic Difficulty

Sakka Kira - Dark World

Lenna Kyouhaku - Abandoned Mansion

Panti no Kodomo - Celestial Event in Fairy Land

Ikimono - Underground Former City

Kudan - Dark Autumn of Slayers

Amami - Dark Autumn of Slayers

Fan Made Albums

Mushibo Binawaka - Heart of Sacred Singularity

Unane Gakudzuka - Champaign of Unfinished Dreams

Matilda Klabautermann - Sibmarine Dragon

Margarita Kodama - Zenith of Antimonic Monarch

Chima Oozorax - Awakening Deep Mythos

Iwabami Nobuzame - Empyreal Garden of Amusements

Riyoko - Artificial Star in Forgotten Orbit

Moritake - Origin of Dragon Dharma

Midori Homurani - Anthology of Forgotten Fables

Arkadia Albums

Marchosias - Eternal Night of Divine Entities

Oro - Resting Grounds of Ancient Wars

[cerulienne]

do we know about zoozve? has zoozve reached tumblr yet.

zoozve! <3 my new friend zoozve

image descriptions below the cut

[Image 1: A screenshot of a Wikipedia page. Text reads "524522 Zoozve (provisional designation 2002 VE68) is a sub-kilometer sized asteroid and temporary quasi-satellite of Venus. Discovered in 2002, it was the first such object to be discovered around a major planet in the Solar System. In a frame of reference rotating with Venus, it appears to travel around it during one Venerean year, but it orbits the Sun, not Venus."

Image 2: Screenshot of the same Wikipedia page. Text reads "Numbering and Naming:

This minor planet was numbered by the Minor Planet Center on 18 May 2019 (M.P.C. 114620).

On 26 January 2024, the Radiolab podcast aired an episode about the asteroid, which co-host Latif Nasser first noticed on his child's solar system poster, where it was referred to as "Zoozve", derived from the artist misreading the asteroid's provisional designation "2002VE". This led Nasser to propose the name "Zoozve", on behalf of Brian Skiff, to the International Astronomical Union's Working Group Small Bodies Nomenclature (WGSBN). The name was approved and announced by the WGSBN on 5 February 2024."

Image 3: A small portion of a solar system poster made for children. Venus, Mercury, and several stars are visible against a black background. A labeled point next to Venus is named "Zoozve".

End ID.]

[lonestarflight]

Artwork of the Gemini-Vostok Rescue of the stranded Mercury Capsule in orbit. This scene is from the book version of "Marooned", specifically the first edition of the book.

Synopsis of the book:

"The first edition of the novel Marooned opens with the central character, Major Richard 'Dick' Pruett, attempting to come to terms with his impending doom. Pruett, an astronaut in the Mercury-Atlas IV program, is in orbit alone. His engines have failed to fire for re-entry and he is stranded in orbit, where he faces death due to asphyxiation as he depletes the on-board supply of oxygen. The story goes into an extended flashback that reviews Pruett's development as a US Air Force fighter test pilot and training as an astronaut.

As Pruett reviews his life, a friend of his in the astronaut corps, Jim Dougherty, refuses to accept that all is lost. He pushes NASA officials to mount a rescue mission using the prototype of a new spacecraft in development, the two-man Gemini.

The challenges are formidable. The rescue mission must be prepared and launched in a matter of mere days. Dougherty must fly the untested Gemini spacecraft solo, achieve a rendezvous with the Mercury vessel stranded in orbit, get Pruett on board the new spacecraft in the empty co-pilot's seat, and return to Earth. (At the time the novel was written, none of these tasks – Gemini launch, rendezvous or EVA – had been attempted.)

As NASA scrambles to prepare and launch the rescue mission, the Soviets secretly make their own plans to rescue Pruett first, rushing to send a cosmonaut aloft in a Vostok spacecraft. (In this version, the Soviets have already achieved the orbital objectives of rendezvous, docking and extravehicular activity [EVA]; in real life the Soviets did not achieve all these milestones until 1969.) Ultimately Dougherty succeeds in his mission and rescues Pruett; cosmonaut Andrei Yakovlev in the Vostok does rendezvous with the Mercury and provides assistance in the rescue (by using high-intensity spotlights to improve visibility) but does not take an active physical role in it. The novel ends with all three spacemen returning safely to Earth."

-Information from Wikipedia: link, link

Posted on Flickr by Drew Granston: link

[sleepymccoy]

What would happen if we had an atmosphere that encompassed multiple orbital objects?

I'm thinking of Saturn's rings, which have some major moons and what not in and near them what if they all shared an atmosphere

Hang on I'm on my phone

So this is Saturn with atmosphere around the planet only

This is Saturn with atmosphere that encompassed the ring too!

And this is Saturn with a few distinct atmospheres but they share between multiple moons

Obvs this is all made up, but which one vibes?

I like the last cos you could get two moons fairly close to each other, one nestled in the ring and one out and they just share wisps of atmosphere and some gravity and stuff

Would that be livable or would the gravity of it fuck it up?

[amnhnyc]

Research alert! Rebecca Oppenheimer, a curator in the Museum’s Department of Astrophysics, co-discovered the first brown dwarf, Gliese 229B, in 1995. Since then, there’s been a long-standing mystery: Why does this brown dwarf shine so faintly despite having a significant mass—70 times that of Jupiter?

The answer, which is detailed in her latest study with Caltech—out today in the journal Nature—is that this brown dwarf is actually two objects, orbiting very closely around each other.

“These two worlds whipping around each other are actually smaller in radius than Jupiter. They’d look quite strange in our night sky if we had something like them in our own solar system,” Oppenheimer said. The discovery leads to new questions about how tight-knit brown dwarf duos like this one form and suggests that similar systems are likely out there. Read more.

Image: K. Miller, R. Hurt (Caltech/IPAC)

[elbiotipo]

I've been researching habitable moons and thought you'd might enjoy a sidefact I found (assuming you haven't read it already which you def might've)

Horseshoe/co-orbital orbits, where two moons rotate around a planet, and ever so often they essentially swap orbits. The closer/faster one pulls the slower one to its orbit, which sends the faster one to the further orbit. The closer moon then becomes faster as it is now closer.

From the perspective of say someone on the moon, it looks like a planetary object every so often comes close to crashing only to back away.

Anyway I just thought it was neat. Trying to change the space of your world from earth like conditions to something else is very tough but it can be rewarding.

THIS IS AWESOME. It's a bit hard to wrap your head around so here's a graph, imagine a "moon" or a planet following the blue orbit while Earth follows its usual one:

These orbits are inherently unestable though, especially when big worlds are involved. If I'm not mistaken, this was one of the speculated orbits of Theia, the body that crashed into Earth to form the Moon not soon after.

However, even if it's implausible, it's not impossible that such an situation would remain stable for millions of years (in the universe, even in our galaxy, there must be countless examples) and it's not even impossible that both worlds could evolve life (and given the closeness, even share life, because of say, asteroid impacts sharing rocks between them).

To see this "moon" approach and go away would have very noticeable effects on the bigger planet. I think there would be a pretty noticeable tidal effect, and I'm sure there would be life that would evolve to use the regular tides, and much like many insects and other animals guide themselves by the Moon, the appearance and dissapearance of this world could be the trigger to migrations and mating seasons. And this is not even getting into the cultural effects. Calendars would be MARKED by this. You would have a regular year marked by the appearance and dissapearance of this "moon", I can already imagine all sorts of rituals made when it is at its closest and farthest. Of course, it wouldn't get THAT close because otherwise the system would destabilize and crash, but if you're building a fantasy world, you can play a bit and make it loom large on the sky, heralding... something, until it goes away.

In a sci-fi setting, these horseshoe orbits are useful too. Any sci-fi fan worth their name knows that the Lagrange Points of L-4 and L-5 are prime places for orbitals and space stations (they are stable points so you can set something in orbit and it will remain there), and L-3, the opposite point from Earth, is also useful in many ways, for example for space observation. And so, you could set up a series of orbitals and ships that go in a horseshoe orbit at regular intervals, supplying and serving L4, L3, L5 and close Earth orbit. A SPACE RAILROAD!

[astronomyforastrologers]

Máni: Man in the Moon Dwarf Planet ~ 15 June 2025

Máni: Man in the Moon Dwarf Planet ~ 15 June 2025, Philip Sedgwick

Since the naming of Máni is breaking news (as if we’ve not had any of that lately), I decided to move up this week’s SkyScraping post. The week of 23 June, we should be back to a regularly scheduled post.

Funny how it goes out there at the currently perceived edge of the solar system. While Chad Trujillo and Michael Brown conducted a search for Pluto-sized Kuiper belt objects at Palomar Observatory, on 18 June 2002, they encountered 2002 MS4. Once the orbit’s orbital elements could be confirmed, the object became minor solar system body 307261. And this past week, this object became known as Máni. Currently, this likely dwarf planet stands at 19 Capricorn 23 on your friendly ecliptical dial.

Likely dwarf planet, is it? Máni's mean diameter figures to be 796 km (495 mi), which places it between the diameters of the dwarf planet Ceres and proto planet Vesta. Máni is the 10th largest known TNO, to date. If Charon gets thrown into the mix, then it drops to number eleven on the largest KBO chart.

Máni‘s name derives from the Old Norse and means "Moon.” According to Germanic mythology, Máni, is the brother of the personified sun, Sól (I am not sure what personified sun suggests). Scholars speculate that he refers to the Northern European notion of the Man in the Moon.

Máni’s eccentricity of 0.1453 stands in the moderate range; its inclination is 17.7° - not particularly spectacular. With a rotation period of 14.251 hours, Máni’s revolution about the Sun runs 269.48 years, and creates the assumption that this object is a classical cubewano. However, Máni possesses a diverse and wide-ranging topography. On its surface, Máni sports a mountain that is 25 km high contrasted with a crater estimated to be 45 km deep, current assessments are entirely speculative.

What does Máni mean interpretively? Máni's north node slices the ecliptic at 6 Scorpio 13. His perihelion is 11 Gemini 04. An amalgamation of these factors notes a perceived urgency that pushes communication out there, ready or not. Such discourse renderings do well to ensure the messaging that resonates at the core interval level. The orbital elements combined establish a superficiality-free zone. Evocative is where it happens. Blow a person’s mind so they feel through and through. Exploit emotional attachments to create logical perspectives intending to simplify muddied feelings.

Given the communication conjuring innate within Máni, expect that matters involving AI are strongly impacted. An innate skill for conjuring lore, storytelling especially emotionally evocative or scary tales dominates ones skill set with Máni prominent. As well, this body seems to enjoy pranking, and is simultaneously susceptible to catfishing (online impersonation). Máni shows up in a time of rampant online fraud and fakes, to demand each person trust their absolute instincts about conditions and challenges they face. It may be more than you think. It might also be a wisp of what is feared.

More to come from the Kuiper Belt soon... when, who knows? We do know that those searching the skies are relentless with their efforts in a good way. Incidentally, on 15 May, the SkyScraping dealt with a Planet 9 update. Mike Brown, co-discoverer of Máni and astronomer largely responsible for Pluto’s planetary status demotion, does not believe that the crew that discovered Telisto found Planet 9. At least it’s not the object he’s hound dogging out there in space. This reminds me of the amazing stories surrounding modern planet discovery. Modern being anything from Uranus onward. In each discovery instance since Uranus, there has been political intrigue, something less than ideal human behavior, funding issues, squabbles over naming the object and insane competitiveness.

If you want to be the first kid on the block to have the latest Kuiper Belt news, hop onboard with the KBGASP program. Those in the program have already received an ephemeris for the new dwarf planet, updated orbital data sheet, and a set of keywords including those for interpreting Máni.

A reminder that the KBGASP program if engaged before 4 July, also includes the option of adding a one-hour consultation for a discounted rate of $399.99. And this permits you to order a Galactic Report for nearly half off (additional $7). Please e-mail for payment options.

Standard consultations and more are available by using the links following:

One Stop Shopping Kuiper Belt / Galactic Study Course Order Form Astrological Texts

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