sort of fiction sort of real

I think some people take the Hogwarts houses too seriously. It tires me out to see people having life crises over being put in the “wrong” house… It’s just fiction, being a Gryffindor or a Slytherin means nothing in the real world, it doesn’t define anyone’s life or personality because it’s something from a story! And the Sorting in Pottermore is just a game, it doesn’t reflect anyone’s personality. It’s a computer!!

Unfortunately, scientists have traditionally endured a bad reputation, rooted in ancient fears about meddling in the territory of the gods. This classic uneasiness has been reinforced in modern times by conspicuous PR disasters such as the Manhattan Project, and by the nagging suspicion that clever technology attempting to enhance nature to improve our lives might have a sting in the tail. Society’s ambivalence about science is reflected over the past century in fiction, in which the trope of well-meaning boffin losing control of his experiment is played out again and again in Hollywood and in countless speculative novels.


While science communicators and friendly jobbing scientists engaging with the public probably helps improve the overall reputation of scientists to some extent, there is always the worry that they are preaching to the converted – the sort who already like science, know roughly how it works and are not too susceptible to irrational beliefs and conspicuous lying. The real conundrum is how to reach the sort of person who wouldn’t be caught dead in a science museum or darken the door of a pub featuring researchers earnestly describing their PhD instead of widescreen sport.



Science is the invisible profession. Most people have no idea what scientists do, and may harbour a vague feeling of suspicion or uneasiness about the whole endeavour. Never seeing scientists participate in normal life only enhances the sense that they are the ‘other’, doing things that are ‘secret’ and by extrapolation, potentially dangerous.

desperate afternoon
— 

classic pain w/ sharp digression, there’s little need for our brand of introspection;

sharks fly, pigs bleat, sheep wail & komodo dragons sail the orange sky;

they’re not afraid of change, they are the change that rears its head and plunges its talons into the space between our shoulders;

it’s a desperate afternoon, where one more buck won’t quench any sort of thirst b/c of the panic & it’s a real, mean, ugly sort of thing;

no one knows anymore what anything’s about, not really, but as one wise man said, hey, it’s time to pretend, & pretend we do –

pretend we do

the whole ‘fear/hatred of robots is analogous to robot racism’ thing really does not work when the robots canonically did invade and murder a bunch of humans?

because modern western racism exists to prop up colonialism and the exploitation that went with it. so as an analogy for an exploited work force, you’ve got something there, and ow has some backstory about robot segregation. but then, robots actually… literally did invade and kill humans, and are still a vague threat. so it’s absolutely not the same.

fear/hatred of robots works better as a metaphor when it’s vague and sort of alluding to several things at once. it sort of works as xenophobia, sort of works as ableism (robots are “creepy” and seen as not having ‘real’ feelings), but again, if your fictional robots really did… play out peoples worst fears about them, the metaphor for discrimination kind of falls apart

You know you’re in Bagginshield hell when...

- You start reading ordinary words as ‘Thilbo’ or ‘Bagginshield’

-Your browsing history is just ‘Bagginshield, Bagginshield, Bagginshield’

- every time you watch one of the Hobbit movies, you have to point out to everyone who will listen every bagginshield moment and dissect it for them

-99% of your tumblr likes and re-blogs are Bagginshield related

-You can’t look at Thorin or Bilbo without thinking of the other

-You now read more Bagginshield fanfic than any other reading material

-You have resigned yourself to the fact that you will never get over BOTFA feels

-You become emotionally wrecked after every Hobbit marathon

-Every time you look at an Oak tree or an Acorn, you can’t help but hear the words ‘every time I look at it, I’ll remember…’ and ‘plant your trees…’

-Your friends become worried when you start crying and hugging Oak Trees

-Your family starts getting concerned about about your mood swings between reading fluff and then realising that Thorin is dead and Bilbo is alone

-You begin to fear for your sanity and then just embrace your insanity because it’s better to be insane and love Bagginshield, than to live a life in ignorance of their love

3 BIGGEST RELATIONSHIP WRITING MISTAKES

Most fiction has a romance of some sort. Historical, literary, suspense–most plots, even if they’re not a romance novel, have a romantic subplot at the minimum. And actually, most of this advice can be used for all sort of relationships between characters (mother/daughter, best friends, lovers).

The interaction between your characters is what brings a book to life. No novel is written without dialogue, secrets, plot and emotions that cross between the characters in your novels. So how does this all come to life and become real for the reader?

3 BIGGEST RELATIONSHIP WRITING MISTAKES:

1. Coincidence. It’s not that easy.

There is nothing more transparent than characters who come together serendipitously. It’s easy for a writer to have characters bump into each other on the street. What’s hard is to plot interaction naturally for each character’s own motivations and goals separate from their relationship to each other. Comb your writing for things that seem too easy; chances are, the reader can see right through it.

2. Can they just get in a room together?

The opposite of this is a similar problem. If your relationship issue could be solved by two people simply being in the same room and talking it out–it’s not plotted deeply enough. The characters have to be up against something external and bigger than themselves. If they themselves are the limitation to their happiness or coupling then the reader will get frustrated very easily.

3. Technology. The curse of modern relationship writing.

I know writers, this one isn’t easy. But, setting your novel in the 90s isn’t the answer either! (The reason for writing a historical novel has to be more than just avoiding the cell phone or internet.) Even having a characters’ cell phone drained of battery is hard because of the modern conveniences of car charges and backup chargers. No reader will believe this unless it’s a character quirk and even then we’re all frustrated by our own friends who don’t travel with a fully charged phone! Plus, there is wifi everywhere we go, so of course in a modern novel there will be the same amenities for your character. Therefore, you can’t make your plot too simple or else we’re back at Problem 2 (i.e. why can’t they just talk?). If you have to keep them away with a forgotten cell phone or dead battery then the see above (i.e. external conflict!).

Call me crazy, but Deus in Absentia is weirdly romantic. In a sort of serial-killer kind of way. You know, that sort of romance that you like in fiction but not real life because you’d die.

Oh, you are looking good, bareback in disgrace. You are doing fine worshiping your Lord, standing on his grace.

anonymous asked:

How'd you feel about RPF? I've heard it's a pretty taboo topic in fandoms since there's some controversy surrounding it- What's your take? Do you feel people can do what they like or is there a line to be drawn?

Hmmm, I had to google RPF TBH and one of the main things that popped up was Real Person Fiction and well- I’ve gotta say….

If that is what we’re talking about here then I’m kind of not really down with that sort of thing myself. Like, it’s one thing to write fanfiction and ship fictional characters but when it comes to actual people that exist IRL, well- that just seems really invasive and kind of disrespectful as well.

I mean, we’re talking about a real person with real thoughts and real feelings and writing fiction about someone else’s life without their explicit permission/knowledge…..again, it just seems so invasive and it also seems to completely disregard any sort of acknowledgement of this persons privacy or well being. 

And well, I’m not gonna tell people what they can and cannot do b/c I don’t want that sort of power or responsibility but personally speaking I just can’t get on board with that sort of thing. It just doesn’t sit right with me. 

That’s my take on the matter anyway *shrugs*

4

Rune Wand (Ilvermorny - Pukwudgie)
$20 + Shipping
For Sale in the Shop Here


This is one of the only wands I have that is made with real bone. The end part of this wand is decorated with Coyote Knuckle bones and rune symbols have been burned into the bone pieces. I am liking the style of this one and may try my hand at a few other designs I have in mind.

flashfic: and that pale green light (1/?)

look. i was fucked up on pain meds and sick and tired, and that was apparently the best time to start a fic jam on for the discord group. obviously.

((optimisticDuelist:
yfip: lucy
-how dare you
-literally how
unchainedArpeggio (arcturus):
rest assured i have no idea))

In which Dirk is wandering the world in search of anything else but himself, and finds a strange boy during his stayover in Dublin. In which Dirk is human but Jake probably isn’t. (Explicit, blanket warning for the sort of shenanigans that go down when you fuck with fae boys. Also, probable-sex addict Dirk.)

Dirk Strider has what the authorities would call a modus operandus. Or, the sort of people that Dirk reads about in detective fiction would call it that. Brilliant, shining people with minds like surgical knives, not like the real thing.

But Dirk was born tired of reality.

Keep reading

I’m ridiculously sorry for the bout of inactivity that my writing has taken. Here, have an AU

Dean feels a shudder of anticipation as a familiar woman walks onto the small stage. Despite its small size it’s the center of the bar and what gives The Fallen Angel any real sort of distinction from any of the other places in Sioux Falls. Dean feels sort of bad whenever he comes here, because he knows that the Roadhouse doesn’t get nearly as much attention as this place does, but all outside concerns fade as soon as this woman walks up on the small stage.

He thinks her name is Hannah—he can’t really be sure, as he’s never met her. She’s pretty, definitely Dean’s type with shoulder-length dark brown hair and kind blue eyes that sweep through the crowd. He’s got a thing for brunettes, that’s always been evident, but he barely gives Hannah a shallow look as she leans her red lips toward the microphone stand and gives the crowd a grin.

“I hope everyone’s having a good evening,” she begins brightly, and basically obligatory applause come from his side of the room. Dean hardly joins in.

Hannah talks for a while, but Dean doesn’t pay attention. He instead looks behind her, at where the curtains draw to form a makeshift backstage. There’s a crack in the black drapes and Dean thinks that he can see him peeking out.

“Without further ado,” Hannah exclaims after what feels like forever. “Give a warm welcome to Castiel Novak!”

Now the bar breaks out into an enthusiastic applause as the afore-named steps out from the curtains, bearing an easy smile and a brown acoustic guitar. Dean has also never spoken a single word to him, yet a sense of familiarity floods his entire body. Twinkling blue eyes in stark contrast to mussed dark hair (he looks an awful lot like Hannah, yet the girl has never captivated Dean as much as Cas somehow managed to) and a voice that makes Dean forget everything that’s going wrong in his life: the lack of customers at the Salvage Yard, his ongoing and messy divorce with Lisa. It may be stupid, but Dean’s found a respite at The Fallen Angel with Cas Novak performing an entire lineup of songs that Dean had never cared to know about before.

This evening, the set starts with a classic: 4 Non Blondes’ What’s Up. Cas’ voice flows smoothly over the lyrics, going over the lilts and pitches with ease that only comes with practice. His fingers seems to be moving on their own accord, hardly thinking about the chords as they’re fingered and strummed. Dean doesn’t tear his gaze away as he takes a swig of his beer and lets himself enjoy the beautiful recreation of the ‘90s rock song. It’s over too soon, and after a brief and mundane (yet Dean has trouble attaching that word to anything Cas does) commentary, the next song starts.

Dean never really knows how long he spends there, in the back booth of that bar watching Cas sing his heart out, and just knows that he always leaves there feeling sated and content. And though it’s a fairly short feeling, it’s nice to have a radiating warmth run down his spine every time he thinks of Cas belting out, And I scream from the top of my lungs, “What’s going on?”.

Once Cas’ set is done and he makes his way off of the stage, Dean realizes that there’s no reason why he’s still here. His beer is still a quarter full though, and he takes short sips from the mouth of it to pass the time. There’s no reason why he’s here, but that doesn’t mean he wants to go just yet.

Dean watches Cas across the room, his guitar is slung over his shoulder by its straps and he’s greeting a couple of people, friends or admirers probably. Some generic radio shit is playing throughout the bar now, hardly an upgrade from Cas’ performance.

Dean doesn’t realize how intensely or how long he’s been staring until his eye is finally caught. A wave of embarrassment inevitably washes over him as Cas glances at over with an inexpressive, yet curious look. Dean immediately averts his eyes and feels his neck burning, because apparently he’s back in middle school where he can’t look a crush in the eye. And he’d be lying if that’s not exactly what Cas is to him.

“Hey there stranger.”

The voice jolts Dean and he doesn’t have to look back up to see that yeah, Cas has decided to walk over and give him the time of day for whatever reason. He’s staring at Dean with a sincere smile and Dean doesn’t know how to react to that.

“Hey,” he says and mentally hits himself. Because really? Hey?

But Cas doesn’t seem to care, as he puts his guitar on the table and slides into the rounded booth beside Dean. All of his attention is then given to Dean; Cas faces him completely with one leg propped under his other for better access. “You’re always here,” he points out, and it’s an observation that Dean’s not expecting.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, always in the same seat at the same time for the same amount of time.” Cas pauses, eyes flicking across Dean’s face in a way that makes him feel a little self-conscious. “Thank God I caught you before you left this time.”

This time, as if Cas has been waiting forever or something.

“Castiel Novak.” He sticks out his hand and Dean wants to tell him that he already knows that. But he keeps his mouth shut for comfort’s sake and takes the outstretched palm.

“Dean Winchester.”

They give it a firm grip and shake before letting their hands fall back to their respective bodies.

“Would it be too much to wish that you’re here because of me?” Cas asks and Dean freezes, because he’s been too obvious, too telling. Cas seems to sense his discomfort and quickly adds on. “I notice you, you know. Was just sort of hoping that you notice me too.”

Dean swallows a lump in his throat that just doesn’t seem to want to go away and plays with the label on his beer. “Notice me how?” He tries, because it’s the safest thing he can ask right now.

Cas supplies a warm smile. “The guy in the back booth with the green eyes and a tendency to buy a single beer for two hours worth of songs?” He chuckles. “My boss sort of hates you.”

“Do you hate me?” Dean regrets the question immediately because that is not a safe question at all. But Cas just cocks his head quietly and long, thick eyelashes layer over his eyes as he glances down.

“So very far from it.”

anonymous asked:

A friend and I are having a discussion. He says that, when sorting characters from other books or series, a character can only have one valid Hogwarts house. However, I personally think that, since that character is not in Hogwarts, we'll never actually how their real house, and a lot of sorting analysis can be valid at the same time. For example, I can sort a character in Hufflepuff, but read ad analysis by another fan and think that they'd be a good Gryffindor. What do you think?

I generally agree with you; since the character is not at Hogwarts, we do not know the exact House they belong in.  Also unless Jo herself has sorted said character.

Fictional characters, if they’re well written, tend to be multi-faceted.  When we get sorting requests, you’ll notice we sometimes we say two Houses for a character because they seem to fit in both, or two admins had a disagreement about how a character is read.

There are a lot of characters that I, personally, sort one way but have seen them put in other Houses with good explanations why, and I can see why the other person sorted them that way (I’m looking at you, Steve Rogers). This doesn’t mean the other person is wrong, just that they read the character differently.  The only time the person is wrong is when they read a character as a stereotype (hero = Gryffindor, villain = Slytherin, sidekick = Hufflepuff, smart character - Ravenclaw, etc.).

-Amy (Hufflepuff)

i have a great need for a sci-fi archaeology-on-a-derilict-world sort of thing where they have to put up with the sort of shit real-world achaeologists find.

“Look at this, little thumb-sized drives, and an intact reader! My god, there’s hundreds of them. And this is clearly an important building. What do you think it will say?”

-decades of language deconstruction later-

“… I think I have fully decoded one of the messages. But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“Of course I’ll like it! Tell me, quick!”

“… Alright. Uh. ‘I went to the park five days ago and there weren’t any benches to sit on. I need places to sit! It is disgraceful that - “

“oh god put it away. Are you telling me that building was the parks commission?”

“Should I put that in the write-up?”

“No, god no. Say it was used for ritual purposes.”