#rosalind franklin my beloved!!!

[criminalgays]

if watson and crick have no haters im dead

[alwritey-aphrodite]

Men I would love to beat the absolute shit out of

1. Watson and Crick

2. Thomas Edison

That’s all, thank you

[mysterioh]

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Chapter 2

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

Synopsis: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge in art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

Death of a College Student

“Excuse me?” you questioned incredulously and a bit freaked out.

Steve gave you a charming yet crooked smile, taking note of your features with great detail. Your brows were knitted in confusion and mouth ajar in disgust. Your form leaning towards him in a primal state of attack with your hand tightly wrapped around your bag. Ready to swing if he decided to call you sweetheart one more time.

He found it rather endearing. Attractive would be the best word. Very attractive. Steve knew he was a bit unhinged, probably had something to do with his line of work , and that he did just meet you like two minutes ago but damn did he like you.

The way you held yourself. Firm and bold in front of a man you had to look up at to get a good look in the eyes. Your curt responses and brash attitude. He liked it all very much. Bonus points for having a cute face. Extra credit for possibly being a fellow Brooklynite.

"Sorry," he chuckled, "I didn't mean it in that way. I say stupid stuff sometimes."

“Then maybe you shouldn’t talk at all,” you snapped, quickly turning on your heel to walk away.

“Come on, now. If I didn’t talk, you would’ve been stuck in front of the painting for hours,” he pointed out, following behind you like a lost puppy. You grunted at his reply. He was right, but that didn’t give him the right to call you sweetheart. “I helped you and don’t you think I deserve some compensation for my contribution?”

You stop and turn to him. “Right of course,” you said, starting to rummage through your bag. Steve smiles, already thinking of what kind of coffee he’d like to get. You take his hand a put something in it. He looks down to find a dirty penny in his hand. “A penny for your thoughts,” you smiled then turned to leave.

Steve laughs heartily. Extra extra credit for a horrible yet good sense of humor. He wasn’t ready to quit just yet and quickly approached you, walking by your side. You huffed then turned to him.

“What am I gonna have to do for you to leave me alone?” you spat.

“Ahh, so you are from Brooklyn,” he pointed at you.

You groaned and he almost awwed. “Listen, asshat, I will not hesitate to break that pretty nose of yours,” you threatened.

“You think my nose is pretty? That’s kinda weird, but I’ll take the compliment,” Steve smiled teasingly. “I think you’re pretty cute overall,” he stated.

You jump back a little when he drops that on you. Receiving compliments was scarce, especially ones about your looks from gorgeous men. A light blush slowly creeps onto your cheeks and for the first time that morning, you didn’t know how to respond.

“Alright how about I help ya?” Steve offered.

“Help me?”

“Yeah, you’re doing some project, right?” You nodded. “And you probably have no idea what to write.” Another nod. “Then I’ll help ya. I’ll be the Rosalind Franklin to your Weston and Crack.”

“It’s Watson and Crick,” you corrected.

“Uh-uh, no science talk,” he wagged his finger. “We don’t do that around here. This is holy ground and we only speak in the language of the arts.”

You roll your eyes at him, but don’t say anything to deny his offer. He was right. You were probably going to fail this project if he didn’t help you. So why not just take it? If he made a move, you could just kick him in the balls and make a run for it.

You sighed. “Fine, I’ll let you help me.”

Steve beams when you accept and you couldn’t help but smile just a little. “Great let’s go.” He motions you to follow.

“Woah, woah, woah,” you stopped him. “You don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Right,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Mind explaining?”

“So I have to look at three works of art in this place and write how I feel about it,” you informed. “My professor gave us a list of things that are the most famous. I already have two. So I guess we can just go to the next one on the list?”

“Sure,” he shrugs.

“Right, so next on the list is-uh…,” you glance over the paper in your hand. “The Death of Socrates.”

“Ah, a classic,” Steve says, walking down the hall.

“You know your way around here?” you asked, with your map in hand.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Do you work here or something?”

Steve shakes his head with a chuckle. “No, just a humble lover of the arts.”

Left at the end of the corridor and right at the next then walking straight down the hall brought you to the painting of the great philosopher Socrates.

“Oh, I’ve seen this before,” you pointed at it. “We talked about this in class.”

“Yeah? What did you talk about?”

“Dunno wasn’t listening,” you shrugged.

Steve turns slightly towards you with an incredulous look.

“Please don’t yell at me again,” you told him.

“I won’t, but you’re making it so hard not to,” he replied, turning his body back to the painting. “Now tell me, what period is this from?” You had to have at least caught that.

“Renaissance,” you took a jab. When all else fails it had to be the Renaissance.

“Wrong.” he deadpanned. “It’s Neoclassical.” As if you knew what that meant. “You’re hopeless,” he said. “You sure you’re not failing this class?”

“For your information, I have a high B,” you retorted, hands on your hips.

“Okay,” he said doubtfully. “Neoclassical refers to a period after the Baroque. It’s simpler in terms of its style while the one prior to this was extravagant in its technique. The best thing about this painting is that it’s the perfect statement of Neoclassical technique. The stark simplicity of their statues and the focus on Ancient Greek and Roman anatomy... ”

The guy goes on for what felt like hours and it all just goes through one ear and out the other. You quickly write down some important notes about the technique. Something to do with a focal point and the direction the natural eye would move. Blah blah blah.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, I’m listening,” you replied, scribbling down words onto a notebook. He takes the book from your hands. “Hey!”

“You’ll learn better if you listen with all your attention. Bet you when you get home, you’re not gonna understand any of this.” He said, shaking the notebook in his hand. You yanked the notebook from his hand but listened.

“So as I was saying,” he continued, making you huff and cross your arms. “Notice how muted the colors are towards the outside of the painting and how it becomes more vibrant in the center. And why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “Cause he’s in the middle?”

“Exactly,” he grins. “And why is that so important?”

The look in your eyes is blank and said: you’re asking too much of me . Steve sighs then pointed at the painting with emphasis. “Don’t you see it?”

“I wouldn’t be asking you for help if I did,” you snapped.

“Socrates is the subject-matter. This entire painting is about his death.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

He ignores your sassy remark and continues. “Look at everyone else. They’re distraught. Broken-hearted that their beloved teacher is being forced to poison himself just because his beliefs differ from the rest of Athens,” he explained. “But look at Socrates. He stands tall. He’s not afraid of dying. Cause he knows he’s dying for what he thinks is right. He takes it as an honor. When everyone else around him is falling, he’s still strong in the face of death.”

“Man, you’re really good at this.”

Steve hunches over with a sigh. “You haven’t listened to a word I just said, did you?”

“I did!” you assured, turning back to the painting. “I think it brings about the question. How far are you willing to go for what you believe in? Even if it brought you to death, would you still stick to it?”

Steve laughs with a shake of the head. Your brows furrow in confusion.

“Was I wrong?” you inquired.

“No,” he chuckled. “It’s just I wasn’t expecting so much from you. You caught me off guard there.”

“Jerk,” you murmured, writing a few words into your notebook for memory. You clicked the top of your pen with a satisfied smile. It was finally time to go home.

“So about that coffee?” Steve recalled with a wickedly handsome grin.

You groan internally, forgetting he was right there. Now it was time for an escape.

“Oh my god! Look!” you exclaimed, pointing behind him. He turns to look and finds nothing.

“I don’t see anything,” he shakes his head. He turns towards you or where you were supposed to be. All he found was a figure of dust and you halfway across the room. He could’ve caught up to you, but this time he decided to let you go. He chuckles to himself. She’s cute. She’s really cute.

TAGLIST

@scuzmunkie​ @achishisha​ @rootcrop​

A/N: Hi! If you want to be tagged pls ask or msg me. This is a sideblog so I can’t reply :( but if you do it’s fine! I just won’t reply!

[sherry-smith]

My molecular engineering professor, showing a picture of a woman: I bet none of you know who this is

Me, vibrating: Rosalind Franklin my beloved

[aloysiavirgata]

Happy asks! favourite: flower, smell, sound, dream, memory, destination, hero, band, city, fruit, vegetable, hobby, feeling.

Peonies, fresh laundry, rain, I have a recurring dream where I find a beloved piece of jewelry that was stolen from my room in Jerusalem, the day my daughter and I got Very Fancy and had a Very Fancy Day with high tea, Chiang Mai, Rosalind Franklin, Wailin’ Jennys, San Francisco, raw red peppers, fostering baby animals/writing/home decor, the coziness of an autumn evening with a book and a fire on the porch

Thank you for these beautiful thoughts in a terrible time in my country. ❤️

[palominocorn]

Many moons ago, when our hair was more bright and our crania less wrinkly, the one who would later become my spouse gifted me, on the glorious occasion of the sun making yet another full cycle since my birth, a simple toolbox with a set of tools suitable for a novice.

I was but a young foolish lass, then, and when mine eyes did see the small yet lovingly gathered treasure mine eyes did go wide as the fine china my mother's mother never possessed.

"To what purpose, o beloved," I asked, my voice rising perhaps an octave in my befuddlement, "would I require three pliers of varying nose shape? Wherefore would two saws be necessary in my life? For which circumstance would three files and two grits of sandpaper come in useful? And what, in Rosalind Franklin's name, is a 'ratchet'?"

Forgive my ignorance, o esteemed listeners, for I was merely a sheltered lad of few years, and I had not yet learned of such wonderous experiences such as Proper Home Maintenance and Crafts.

(O glorious Unicorn of Gold and Rainbow, the words may be reaching for your lips at this precise moment, were you not an Artist even then? To which I will clarify that yes, I had done much Art even in my ignorant youth, but hardly any Crafts. But where lies the difference, oh Wise and Ancient Unicorn? You see, young ones, Art is when you can find all necessary ingredients for your project at Michaels and Jo Anns, but Craft is when you must also patronize an Ace or Lowes or Depot of the House.)

I am many moons older than I was then. I have seen many things, some of them so eldritch that no mortal eyes should ever have gazed upon them. I have Crafted with the best of them, I have performed so many Proper Home Maintenances that I can no longer recall most of them. And now I Understand, young ones.

I understand how two grits of sandpaper is not enough, no, and that one cannot function with merely three pliers, and that filing is an activity that requires a variety of tools, and I have a deep understanding now for the task known as ratcheting. Truly, I have learned.

Still don't fucking got solid screwdrivers, though. Fuck that shit, I'd rather get a multibit one with a box of 200 tips.

(Editor's note from aforementioned spouse: then what's with the second, baby precision screwdriver?)

Folks who live normal, well-adjusted lives may be surprised at how many tools you own. Not the number of different tools, because our society is good at teaching the difference between hammers and screwdrivers, through the introductory exposition scenes of hardcore pornography. No, what they are likely wondering about is why you would have more than one kind of, say, pliers. I know, it seems ridiculous to me too, but hear me out.

When you’re a regular individual, you don’t fix old or exotic things. Your Venn intersection of “shit that breaks” and “shit I can fix” is a pretty small overlap. And when you fix those things, you usually don’t need, say, double-jointed pliers. No doubt they would be handy for some of those repairs, but you probably don’t even know they exist, and are fine spending a few extra minutes swearing at a nearly-inaccessible dishwasher hose clamp while your shitty hardware-store needlenose pliers keep bottoming out on everything in the vicinity.

Here’s what I think happens: one day, a job just sucks too much. Or a well-meaning uncle gives you a specialty tool of some kind. It can be innocuous: maybe you already own a claw hammer, but one day you need to fix a furnace duct. Oh shit, is that what a ball-peen hammer is for? Come to think of it, I bet there’s a tool to do the folding on this flange as well… and then you’re lost to humanity. You will never again be a productive member of society, and that’s alright. All that socializing and rules-following takes up valuable time that could be spent trying to find room in your toolbox for whatever you just bought. Remote hose-clamp pliers? Goddamn. I’m jealous of that.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, don’t worry too much when regular, ordinary folks visit and question why you would have four sizes of Knipex Cobras. Just tell them you bought them as a set, and you didn’t want to break up the family. The little ones would cry, and all those slippery tears make it a lot harder to pry a rusted-stuck nut off. They can have feelings on their own time. Where was I?

[carcinized]

🌼?

🌼 - what’s your favourite book series?

that’s a hard one actually

i don’t think i have one atm, but one of my all-time favourites has got to be the lunar chronicles. political sci fi fantasy my beloved

i spent my 10-13 years thoroughly obsessed with a book series at all times (percy jackson, the entire riordanverse, the unwanteds, the lunar chronicles, aru shah, alana whats the title, keeper of the lost cities, etc) so i have slight readers burn out even now—i did recently read seraphina by rachel hartman which i really enjoyed, and am currently reading the girl who drank the moon!

some of my favourite non-series books are probably communion by whitley streiber (alien obsession go brrr) and the dark lady of dna by brenda maddox (a biography of rosalind franklin. love of biology/science go brr lmao)

[killinghimwithkindness]

A Letter of Deep Admiration

I’m not much of one for writing letters, whether to people I know or to members of congress, but when I see the women around me attacked for no reason other than being, I write letters in my mind expressing the love I have for them. This is not so much of a love letter, but instead is a letter of deep admiration.

To Marguerite Annie Johnson: You had a love for our world, for our women, that you could only express the way you knew best. Those five years you went silent, you were simply storing all the words you could have wasted and instead were holding them close to your heart to be released at the times they most needed to be heard. I read your book all those years ago. I read how you were hurt, how you were treated, how you transformed from Marguerite to Maya. If I could speak to you now, I would tell you that your bird is no longer caged. No, your bird is instead flying across the nation, and although she doesn’t sing as loudly as before, she is still whispering in the ears of young women like you. “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” So Maya, here is to telling your story and speaking for the thousands of women who are still silent.

To Rosalind Franklin: I wonder if you ever knew that those men stole your pictures, stole your credit for the discovery that would change modern medicine. I wonder if you were simply too sick to care, or if you knew the very same subject of your study would be the link to your demise. Your ovaries impregnated you with disease, the very things meant to bring life into the world instead brought your death. Did you know that as you photographed the DNA of others, your own DNA was changing inside of you, forming a cancer that no one knew the cure to? 58 years have passed, and still no one knows the cure. Would you do it again? If you knew that your life would be cut short, that you would die a ripe thirty-seven years of age, that the men you denied would take to stealing your work, stealing your credit, stealing your Nobel Prize? Would you have chosen life?

To Henrietta Lacks: Some might argue that your importance came not from your life, but in fact from your death. Don’t listen to them. You were a woman who was known for loving others. At fourteen years old, you bore your first child of your first cousin, then four more. You got married. You moved to Maryland. You got cancer. The doctors at Johns Hopkins treated your insides like a criminal, burned your cervix until you could barely walk. When you finally died, they used your cells, YOUR cells, to change the course of history. What had gone through your mind in those final moments? Could you have ever imagined the loss of your family? The pain they went through as they tried to protect your memory which for years had been reduced to nothing but a science experiment? It's time to stop grieving over the woman you’ve become and instead rejoice over the woman that is emerging once again.

To Meggie C. Royer: I could write novels about your brilliance, about your resilience, your stubbornness. On the nights I am the loneliest, I hear echoes of salt. Orange segments. Rome being rebuilt after burning for six days and seven nights. I believe you, too, can rise from your ashes. You once told me (and anyone else who read that particular poem), “…spread your wings so fast and hard that the men who’ve pinned you to a corkboard will never understand how you learned to fly.” I pray you find your wings, Meggie. I know you have far too many people who have dedicated their time to tearing you down and tearing you apart and tearing you up, But never forget the ashes, Meggie. An empire arose from those ashes, I truly believe the wait has been long overdue for them to find their queen.

To Me: You have spent far too many nights crying over boys who will never even remember your name. My dearest child, I know you wish you could stop inhaling your tears and instead breathe flames, but it’s time to learn how to bring life from the words you speak. Whenever your heart aches remember the blooming calla lilies you planted with your mother, the very same flowers she walked down the aisle with. No matter how hard you try your watering eyes can no longer sustain the budding meadow emerging from the depths of your ribcage, so calm the thunder, calm the rain. You have breathed infinite lives within your eighteen years, have fought God, mankind, and the devil all within your own head, it is time to put down the knife and pick up the pen instead. Your hands are calloused from gripping that guardrail so tightly, your legs dangling over the ledge swaying so rigidly, your eyes watering at the edges and you blaming the breeze all along but back away, my love, your tender heart cannot take the fall. No one deserves your desperate love more than you. Stop scavenging for yesterday’s scraps, stop howling at the eclipse, stop barring your teeth at anyone who extends their hand, and for once in your life just be still and let Him love you. Let him love the way you curl your toes when you stretch in the mornings, the way you fold into yourself when you yawn, your fragile heart, your wandering mind, let him find wanderlust amidst the curve of your spine, wake in His arms and smile instead of sigh. One last thing, my most beloved. You are ethereal, a being of light and gentle compassion. Take to heart your countless worth. And remember, you contain the universe.

[fitnesswomenshealth-blog]

Nobel winner overcame personal loss, cancer, and being a woman

New Post has been published on https://cialiscom.org/nobel-winner-overcame-personal-loss-cancer-and-being-a-woman.html

Nobel winner overcame personal loss, cancer, and being a woman

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Life has not generally been straightforward for Frances Arnold, the California College of Technological know-how chemical engineering professor who shared in the Nobel Prize for Chemistry Wednesday. And it’s not all about getting a girl in a man’s environment.

Arnold’s earn came as no shock to anybody who is aware of her and her do the job. She is a weighty-hitter by any measure, perfectly identified for inventing a way to tweak evolution to manipulate enzymes.

But Arnold has also been pressured to navigate a individual landscape of severe adversity though forging her stellar occupation. Her initial spouse, biochemical engineer James Bailey, died of cancer in 2001.

Her previous partner, Andrew Lange, was a outstanding cosmologist who died by suicide in 2010.

Arnold was identified with breast cancer in 2005. And in 2016 her son William Lange-Arnold died in an accident.

“So many things in my lifestyle have gone awry,” Arnold mentioned in a speech she gave in 2017 at Caltech.

“Nine months back my beloved son, William, died unintentionally. He would have finished his junior calendar year in higher education this 7 days. His brothers and I encounter a profound, ongoing reduction, and every day I consider of the amazing person he was, and would have been.”

U.S. biochemical engineer Frances Arnold poses immediately after receiving the Millennium Technological know-how Prize 2016 in Helsinki, Finland.Heilli Saukkomaa / AFP – Getty Pictures file

But Arnold managed and thrived as a solitary mother and a lady in a planet greatly dominated by adult males. On Wednesday, she grew to become only the fifth female to gain a Nobel Prize for Chemistry, and a single of only 17 ladies to gain a person of the science-based Nobel Prizes, which include things like Physiology or Medicine, Chemistry and Physics. Since their commence in 1901, Nobel Prizes have been awarded to 844 gentlemen and 49 females.

A person of the other winners, Donna Strickland, shared the Nobel Prize in Physics on Tuesday. Her lifetime tale could not be a lot more unique from Arnold’s.

Strickland, a physicist who specializes in laser technologies at Canada’s College of Waterloo, retains a lower profile, is still an associate professor late in her profession and didn’t even have a Wikipedia webpage until eventually the prize was introduced Tuesday.

Both equally girls, nevertheless, are uncommon illustrations of recognition in two fields utterly dominated by males.

We are living in a environment in which a female virtually won a Nobel prize just before becoming promoted to whole professor and you all question why gals leave academia

— Julie Blommaert (@Julie_B92) October 2, 2018

Strickland was shocked to learn that she was only the 3rd girl to ever have gained the Nobel Prize in Physics. The other two are Marie Curie, who received it in 1903, and Maria Goeppert-Mayer, who gained in 1963 —55 years in the past.

“Is that all, definitely? I assumed there may have been much more,” Strickland stated at a information convention Tuesday.

Strickland’s operate has led to the enhancement of the pulsed lasers that are utilized, among other points, for the laser operation that has restored clear vision to tens of millions of people today.

Arnold’s perform has spawned many patents and businesses. She has gained various prizes, helped found biofuel firm Gevo and sits on the corporate board of gene sequencing corporation Illumina Inc.

“If they experienced a distinctive Nobel laureate for Nobel laureates, she’d be that human being,” said Carolyn Bertozzi, a chemistry professor at Stanford College who phone calls Arnold the two a close friend and a colleague.

“Frances is an very robust, extraordinary singularity of a human being.”

Arnold pioneered a new method that utilised random genetic mutations to build custom enzymes, which are the biological compounds that ability chemical reactions in living organisms.

“What Frances figured out how to do was to consider enzymes that exist in mother nature and then evolve them to catalyze new reactions that never ever have happened on their own. For the reason that of them, we can now make new molecules,” Bertozzi said.

“She figured out how to generate evolution in a exam tube. She’s like her possess Mom Mother nature.”

While undertaking this get the job done, Arnold has acted as a mentor to more youthful guys and girls.

“She figured out how to push evolution in a examination tube. She’s like her have Mom Mother nature.”

She was the initially female engineering professor that Hadley Sikes, now an associate professor in chemical engineering at MIT, experienced ever viewed.

“I hadn’t experienced any examples of what a woman professor seemed like. In my graduate Ph.D office there weren’t any ladies school customers,” stated Sikes, who earned her diploma at Stanford College.

This deficiency of feminine supervisors helps describe the dearth of women in science, engineering, engineering and arithmetic in normal, Sikes and others stated.

There are much less and fewer excuses for this, said Bertozzi. “The difficulty isn’t that women are not interested in science. They are,” she mentioned.

For decades, it was argued that gals only had not produced the very same achievements that guys experienced. But what about Rosalind Franklin, the expert in x-ray crystallography who aided explore the double helix structure of DNA? The Nobel prize for that discovery went to her 3 male collaborators: James Watson, Francis Crick and Maurice Wilkins, in 1962. Franklin experienced died in 1958 and Nobels are not awarded to folks who have died.

And before this year, Jocelyn Bell Burnell of Britain’s Oxford College won public recognition with the $3 million Unique Breakthrough Prize in Fundamental Physics. Burnell identified a style of star called a pulsar in 1967 as a graduate college student but her male supervisor gained the Nobel for the discovery in 1974.

“I feel the trouble is that the more mature you get, the additional, for ladies at least, you start off to see the planet as it is,” Bertozzi explained. “That’s the turnoff. It’s when they are older that the headwinds start off raising.”

Thank you every person! I enjoy this supportive neighborhood. I’m surprised, and now I just have to get home from Dallas…

— Frances Arnold (@francesarnold) October 3, 2018

Arnold did not permit this occur to her.

“I consider about all the troubles that Frances has faced and overcome, and in the deal with of individuals issues she didn’t question her possess worthy of or the value of the initiatives she was working on,” said Sikes.

“She’s usually adopted her personal path.”

Arnold, the daughter of a prominent nuclear physicist dwelling in the Pittsburgh suburbs, hitchhiked to Washington, D.C. to protest versus the Vietnam War in the 1970s and moved into her very own apartment whilst even now in higher college, according to various media studies. She labored as a cocktail waitress and a taxi driver, in accordance to a profile in the Los Angeles Moments.

“I’ve been referred to as pushy and aggressive and all the detrimental phrases that are not often utilized to adult men with the identical characteristics. But it would not trouble me,” she said.

Arnold utilizes evolution in her do the job and says it is her inspiration, as perfectly.

“To endure and even prosper in a altering world, nature delivers yet another fantastic lesson: the survivors are these who at the the very least adapt to transform, or even improved study to reward from alter and develop intellectually and individually. That usually means mindful listening and continuous understanding,” she stated in her 2017 speech at Caltech.

Even for all those who don’t know Arnold personally, her occupation has been an inspiration.

“She does appear like the definition of resilience,” mentioned Beth Linas, an epidemiology researcher at the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg College of Community Well being.

“This is the first female to acquire a chemistry Nobel in my lifetime,” Linas added. “It’s about time.”

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