have some science!

I really do believe that at least part of the problem of people distrusting science has to do with how we as scientists portray ourselves.

We have actively created a system where we derive authority from being seen as better/smarter/more competent than everyone else and then when people ask why they should trust us we respond with a very condescending version of ‘because SCIENCE IS FACT’ or something along those lines.

Like, consider how that would feel from the outside? Here are a small group of people who you have never met/interacted with who sequester themselves in impenetrable ~elite institutions that you can’t access and don’t feel party to who then tell you that what they say is fact because they’re smarter and better educated than you. And if you ever try to question them (no matter how reasonable your objections may be/seem to you) they condescendingly pat you on the head and say something like ‘don’t worry we know better. you can’t possibly understand what we do.’

Why the hell would you trust them? 

No one likes being told that they’re not smart enough to understand something, and no one likes feeling excluded from something they’ve essentially been asked to accept sight unseen. 

I don’t really have a solution to this, except some vague notion about working harder to portray scientists as people working a job, rather than geniuses who are above it all. 

And like trying harder to understand where people are coming from when they question science. And remembering that being better educated than most doesn’t make us smarter than most. It just makes us better trained in certain types of thinking.

I just think we need to keep in mind what we are asking of people. Which is to put a whole hell of a lot of faith in us.

the thing about being a young woman is that they will take everything from you. and i mean everything. and they will make it about them. your makeup, your clothes, how much you eat. your attitude, your hairstyle, your gym routine. they will take your driving and your train stations and your video games. your sexuality as sexy, your gender identity as a fetish, your cooking. your tv shows and your high heels and every harmless thing. 

if they cannot eat it, if it does not satisfy them, it will be an immediate shame. they cannot control how much you put food into your body, so it is seen as disgusting. your love of starbucks is your vapid need, your comfortable boots are symbols of your inherent stupidity. your fake nails, your body’s natural cycles, the hair on you. bath bombs, pink, the low singing of women talking about depression. your crazy, your hyper, your laughter, your loud, your excited, your passions. the things which are yours, that do not belong to them, that cannot be taken and devoured like flower petals, cannot be sucked dry until the wilt forms in you. 

do not satisfy them. let them starve. let them shy from the sin of you, the unfettered sinfulness of loving taking up space.

3

That man is gay AND european!

Setting that intimate night in Karachi aside, and leaving any sentiment unaddressed, Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler (as they were formerly known) began their collaboration during The Fall.

Their encounter with the first strand of Moriarty’s network, however, did not go quite as smoothly as planned. Shortly after they arrived in Montenegro as Mr and Mrs Wolfe, a gunfire-loaded incident had them both injured.

It also cost the late consulting detective his memory – he awoke in confusion, without the faintest knowledge of who he was.

Fortunately for him, his location was incredibly easy to deduce, as was his relationship with the only other occupant of the house.

No need to inform her of the slightly inconvenient detail just yet. He was confident everything could continue on as usual, without his wife suspecting a thing about his (hopefully temporary) condition. It was their honeymoon after all.


One of the first things he learnt about himself was that he hated being bored, hated being immobilised in bed by a leg wound.

He almost wished it was more of a challenge, who this woman was to him. But no, it was so painfully obvious even without their shiny wedding rings (only 3-4 weeks old, he estimated) immediately giving everything away, further corroborated by the state of this place (clearly not in their home country; they moved into the house a mere couple of weeks ago and were not planning to stay for much longer) indicating that they were on a holiday trip abroad.

He could’ve arrived at the same conclusion with significantly less information. From how she’d looked at him the moment he opened his eyes, for example. (It was as if he were the first rays of sunshine, heralding arrival of the precious British summer, after 11 long months of grey skies and rain.) She had since withdrawn any initial concern from her expression, maintaining a cool and collected demeanour instead. A smirk or witty remark here and there, not a single word of caring, though what was unspoken in the way she tended to his wounds was more unequivocal than any words would’ve had power to convey.

It was just as well that they weren’t a very outwardly affectionate couple. Eased his reacclimatisation to the relationship. He didn’t particularly feel an affinity for the saccharine, and if he was honest, he was even rather surprised that they were apparently the marrying type.

Whomever it was that he used to be, however, he did approve of this man’s choice of spouse. He..liked her, from what little he observed about her since he’d regained awareness of his surroundings (approx. an hour ago). The nature of their relationship might have been the simplest of deductions, but the woman herself was most decidedly not. She was highly complex and incredibly fascinating. Intelligent, competent, self-assured, gorgeous.. (Wait, where did that last one come from? That wasn’t a deduction! Beauty was just a social construct.) Although he was certain that the intense (and very distracting) attraction he was experiencing had a more profound basis.

He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was about her that conferred this singular sense of connection, familiarity layered with mystery. Merely that it was there as a result of something, something he frustratingly had no tangible recollection of – his current data was far from sufficient in providing him with any glimpse into their history.

She was standing to leave his bedside, and he instinctively reached out and caught her wrist. To gesture to her that she, too, needed to rest – it was likely already late in the evening when he awoke. He had to have been unconscious for days, judging from her lack of sleep (obvious, despite her efforts to conceal her mental and physical exhaustion).

Her reaction was one he hadn’t expected. Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched, as he was pulling her onto the bed. Shocked? But they were husband and wife, presumably sharing the same bed, it was only logical that she–

Oh. Oh. It hadn’t occurred to him that the specific physical contact he initiated could be interpreted as prelude to intimacy and..intercourse. A sudden adrenaline spike sent his own heart pounding frantically as he felt the mattress dip beside him when she did begin to lie down, her proximity increasingly alarming, and he turned on his side to face away from her, to escape her deep blue gaze (it wasn’t to hide his blush, and it wasn’t panic, he shouldn’t panic, that would be absurd).

“Sherlock, what–” And he stumbled over his interrupting response, “Not that. Not today. I don’t think I’m feeling up to it.”

The silence that stretched between them, taut as a violin string, told him that she was studying his demeanour, undoubtedly finding it unusual (right, so sex wasn’t something he’d normally deny her of; still, he was in recovery from what must’ve been a traumatic event, a reasonable excuse). Whatever comment she was most likely biting back (he couldn’t risk turning around to confirm this hypothesis), she didn’t say it.

Instead, he sensed her movement as she finally reached for the light switch after a long moment, and within an instant darkness was upon them. For which he was extremely thankful, because he then felt soft lips pressed to his cheek, immediately causing it to heat up.

“Good night, Mr Holmes.” Her warm body was inches away, her breathing a pleasant sound in the quiet of the night.

He tried to ignore the involuntary neuronal activity protesting for a change of mind regarding his earlier decision, his statement to her that he wasn’t keen to perform (you liarrrr), and forced his thoughts to focus on the newly acquired knowledge of his full name.

Sherlock Holmes awoke in the late-morning light, with an arm comfortably wrapped around his wife. Time to piece together the remainder of this puzzle that was his life. He hoped it wasn’t a dull one.

hey guys do you like time travel, Cold War America and lady scientists because if so, @arsparadoxica has the good good content for you

4
Biology subfields

Genetics: punnett squares are overrated nerd

Molecular biology: CRISPR

Biophysics: the best

Structural biology: is xray crystallography even relevant anymore, dork?

Cell biology: have fun with your MAP kinase kinase kinase kinase, nerd

Zoology: you’re still a thing?

Marine biology: are you a dolphin nerd or an orca dorka?

Microbiology: sterile conditions bitches

10

“I’m going in.”

Trust Me 1x02, in which Conner Clark Kents his way into a focus group.

[ ☣ past ☣  with @candymusings

“Hey! Don’t shush me!” Caesar growled but also tried to listen closer, he was hearing quite a few things right now… seeing too for that matter. He had just taken a hit from his newest drug-invention and it was sweet~, but he wasn’t really thinking straight right now because of this.

He cocked his head as the other said he heard it too. “Well of course you do… I told you”, he muttered, but whined as Perospero talked about needing to go. Caesar’s rational-side agreed though, they really should get out of here, he had no desire to be found by anyone. He was an outsider, the university-kid, somewhat accepted into gangs at times or at least tolerated by some of them because the genius drugs he made.

Caesar fought a bit against the tug of the other, collecting and quickly stuffing the rest of the drugs and his smokes into his bag, snatching his violin-case as well and then let the other drag him along, his steps slightly stumbling as he did his best to keep up with the pink haired one. As they stopped in the end of the alley, he hugged the other’s arm as they peered out. He was both nervous and also lulled into false security be the stuff in his system, making him not freak out as he normally would.

“I’m coming, I’m coming”, the black haired man said in his drugged voice and didn’t fight Perospero as he was dragged along. “Shouldn’t we go that way?” He asked, pointing towards a new alley coming up, knowing it should be a shorted way, this wasn’t the first time he needed to run from a gang.

archiveofourown.org
Continuations - SilverAmoebasquid - Haikyuu!! [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

All good things must come to an end. The third-years are getting ready to leave but they have some words of wisdom to pass on to the next generation first.