To all the makers of gifs, manips & edits - Radiance needs your help!!
made a thing… But we know, you guys can do this so much better 🙈
calling all the Gif wizards, manip masters & edit heroes: PLEASE HELP US
& spread the word about Radiance with your wonderful work!!
creation with a link to our Kickstarter
and tag your creation with #FuelForRadiance so we can find it and reblog it. We’ll
randomly select three winners who will each receive a surprise set of posters
and prints from our campaign.
enter gifs, manips & edits up until Monday, July 10th 2017.
the three winners after our Kickstarter campaign closes (after July 15th).
Make sure your inbox is open so we can contact you.
ship the surpise sets worldwide. You don’t need to pay for shipping.
can participate with as much entries as they like and are willing to create.
Every entry counts.
If you have
already created something (like @slashyrogue) you can add
the tag and we’ll count it in.
And don’t forget to use #FuelForRadiance :)
PLEASE NOTE: Well, “everyone
can participate” means everyone can participate, but we’d like to give people a
chance here who aren’t in the book because they aren’t writers or artists. So,
if you are in the book but are into making gifs, manips and edits as well, you are
absolutely welcome to do so - we need and appreciate every kind of help and
signal boost!! – but we’d be happy if you gave your fellow fannibals who couldn’t
be part of the book the advantage here. Thank you so much for understanding
Summary/Request: Requested by @likemymenlikemyteahotandbritish:
Hi! Can you please make a one-shot steve rogers x reader? where she has been taken in the avengers’ team for some weeks or months and she has a crush for him and he for her but they don’t know and they find it out in same way. thank you in any case ^^
The month was April. The year was 2005. I—a scrawny,
ill-proportioned boy of 16, with skin the color of Lily’s peanut butter—had set
out in the mild morning heat for our quaint town mall.
I began my day knowing how it will be spent. It would start
with a 14-minute journey to Robinson’s. I remember vividly how I left home to
do just that, with the clanging of our iron gate as it closed behind me. I
didn’t even try to hide the spring in my step.
You see, I had marked April 11th on my calendar like it was my
birthday. And who could have blamed me? After months of revisiting various
websites and countless hours of staying tuned to the radio (a thing that began
and ended in this period in my life), it was finally here. For those who’ve had
to wait for something with great anticipation, you know what it feels like when
the wait is finally over.
The day of The
Emancipation of Mimi’s release ultimately became a hot one, scorching even. Smack dab in
the middle of summer, with the 9 AM sun hovering somewhere above me, I walked. I
couldn’t look at the sun, of course; I only felt it. The sky was cloudless, blue as
it could ever be. I felt a drop of sweat drawing a line behind my back and
still another one rolling just below my left ear. I kept on, feeling my bag
jostling next to my waist. In it was the money I had saved from skipping
recesses and denying myself after-class trips to McDonald’s.
When I reached
Robinson’s, I sat on its front steps, in front of its still-closed doors. The
security guard, fidgeting with his phone, was oblivious of me. I knew I was too
early. I wanted to be the first one in the music store. I wanted to hear the
whole 50 minutes and 10 seconds of it. I didn’t have to search for what the
word emancipation meant; it was defined in Mariah’s website: To set free from
care or restraints.
I had gained a bit of freedom myself at this juncture in my
life, having hurdled high school in a fashion not a lot could emulate, having
been able to secure a spot in the top university.
I was a generally a happy boy on the outside. A lot of things
were working out for me. Inside, however, there was a growing tumult, a barrage
of self-perpetuating questions regarding my identity.
High school graduation, entering college—these times told me
I was growing up. And growing up made answering these questions more urgent.
Who was I? What would I become? Where is my niche? Every day that came and
went, with these questions unanswered, I got a little bit more lost. I remember
looking at the mirror and not liking what I saw—the way my hands moved, how I
could easily roll my eyes, or just the way I stood. I even hated that I loved
Mariah so much, something I shared with one of my closest friends. Being
bullied about this was another thing we shared. In hindsight, maybe it was
because I didn’t want to be queer and yet everything I knew pointed to just
that. (Why is it that a lot of us like Mariah?)
At 16—in a devoutly Catholic family, in a provincial town,
inside a campus where everybody knows everyone, where your parents are both
professors—growing up gay was an unnecessary scourge. Life is unfair, isn’t it?
I had a support group, though, comprised of a few good friends, but most of
them were to study in other universities in far places. I guess that added,
too, to the dreading of the growing up part. In a lot of ways, college was the
beginning and the end. And in this paradoxical time, little did I know, The Emancipation of Mimi would serve as
My love affair with Mariah Carey began in our car, in a
parking lot. I was with my father and he had just installed a CD player. He had me listen to My All and pointed me to notice the texture of the singer’s voice,
how she easily glided from a breathy, sultry coo to a strong chest voice. I
listened. By the start of the new millennium, I was already purchasing copies
of her albums and had memorized all of her runs and melismatic ways.
I had also learned about her story: How she was discriminated
as a child, for being of mixed decent, for being somewhere in between. How
their family car was burned and their dog poisoned because her interracial
family lived in a white neighborhood. How this molded her and made her strive
to be more. How she already knew at a tender age that she was going to sing for
the rest of her life, how she wrote her feelings, made them into songs, which
would later become no. 1 hits. I started to be a true fan, I think, at that
point—the previous years, I was just mildly obsessed about her.
Her life became even more fascinating, particularly in the
light of all her achievements in the music industry, not to mention the
influence she’s had on so many artists. She vehemently denies it, but to a
teenager, her life easily looks like a fairytale. That is, up until her famous
breakdown in 2001, following her debut film Glitter tanked in the box office
and its accompanying soundtrack’s sales failed to compare with her previous
releases. (Interestingly, the album was released on 9/11. Yes, that 9/11.) She
received bad publicity after bad publicity and people forgot that she had at
least one no. 1 song for each year since her debut, nor that her collaboration
with Boyz II Men, One Sweet Day, was
and still is the longest-running no. 1 song in music history (16 weeks), and
never mind that she had just received the Artist of the Decade award by
Billboard. All these and more in less than a decade, but one failure was all it
took to relegate her to pariah status.
Mariah sort of bounced back late 2002 with Charmbracelet–easily forgettable save
for the lead single, Through the Rain,
which became an anthem here in the Philippines. She became quiet afterwards.
Rumors about Mimi went around in late 2004. Here, only a few people cautiously
predicted it to be her comeback album. Most didn’t want to bet on her. She was
easily a has-been in the early 2000s and understandably so. She had been
counted out. I wasn’t one of them. In fact, I was betting on her, to prove her
critics wrong. I saw myself in her, somehow. Growing up, I was bullied and
teased a lot, for acting soft, for reading books too much, for liking to hang
out with girls more often, for not being sporty, and for favoring Mariah Carey
Mariah has claimed music saved her life. Whenever she’d feel
low, she’d write lyrics or listen to the radio. I realized that I did the same,
only I listened to her music. Songs like Hero,
Through the Rain, My Saving Grace, and Can’t Take That Away (Mariah’s Theme) have helped me get through a lot of dejection. And my showing up there, half an
hour before the mall opened was my thank you, my statement that I was rooting
for her, like how she rooted for me.
That day, after
getting my copy of The Emancipation of
Mimi from the town mall, I immediately went home and locked myself in my
room. I placed the CD gently in the player and carefully unraveled the album
inlay, which to my surprise doubled as a poster. I looked at the large photo of
a woman in gold, beaming with triumph, like a phoenix from the ashes. I took a
deep breath and pressed Play.
I—a scrawny, ill-proportioned boy of 16, with skin the color
of Lily’s peanut butter—had set out to find saving. Being in this world was
harsh, I had learned early on. But within the confines of my room on that hot
summer day, in spite of everything, life seemed fair. The month was April. The
year was 2005.
Many people, particularly those of /r/scienceofdeduction, enjoy deductive exercises in which one is presented with a picture and from it, attempts to extract as much meaningful information as possible about the owner/taker/subject of the image. Much to the surprise of the original poster of the image, people can be quite good at this game. Personally, I love that people have taken the time out of their day to practice such things.
Unfortunately, community learning tends to suffer from a lack of rigor. One of the problems I have seen with games like this (problems which I attempt to avoid as much as humanly possible when engaging in this activity) is that people tend to conflate the ideas of “doing deductions” with something called “cold reading” in a(n) (sometimes subconscious) attempt to make their results sound more impressive.
Cold reading is a technique used both to gather information about a subject, and to artificially increase the validity or importance of the information already collected. It is used by magicians and performers who wish to appear more knowledgeable or perceptive than they actually are. While it can be quite entertaining, it strays from the art of detection in subtle ways that I will attempt to elaborate upon.
It’s Easy to Backpedal
First of all, those who perform cold reading will often wrap their assertions in uncertainty by using words such as “perhaps” or “maybe” or “possibly.”
It’s fine to be unsure, but be sure the parties involved are aware of your uncertainty in order to avoid stepping over the line into being overtly mysterious. A good rule of thumb I use is that if someone were to announce that they had proof that your deduction was incorrect, it would have to be iron-clad evidence to even introduce a shred of doubt into your mind.
Always lean towards saying too little, keeping the rest for further meditation than saying too much, forcing other people to cherry-pick the facts from the guesses.
Cold readers rely HEAVILY on what I’ll call “fortune-cookie statements.” You’ve seen them. They are those phrases you see so often in horoscopes that say things like, “You’ve recently suffered a loss of some kind,” or “you tend to get stressed when your plans fall apart.”
These phrases might have some truth to them, but be wary - it is only the truth that you yourself ascribe to them. That’s the point. A cold-reader doesn’t know the truth, so they say things that allow the audience/mark to fill in the blanks in their own mind. They can be dangerous as they tend to create the idea that the cold-reader has an incredibly complete picture of the subject and is thus qualified to make personally relevant statements, knowing that the subject will know what it means. It is not the case.
Fortunately, there is an easy 2-part vagueness test one can apply to statements such as these. It goes as follows:
Is this statement true for lots of people? Not what you think the statement refers to, but the literal statement itself. Most people experience “loss of some kind” many times a week.
Are the supporting reasons for the statement clear? While intuition is a powerful source of detecting power, a good detective should at least be able to articulate a reason for a particular assumption. (Ex: “The table seemed weird, perhaps because of the empty space in the middle here. It feels like there should be something there due to the arrangement of the other items.”)
If the statement is true for many people, discount it. If the statement is unfounded, discount it.
It’s Not Truth-Seeking
Cold-reading is certainly a skill that takes a lot of practice to cultivate. It can be a wonderful means of extracting information when necessary, and tends to create a dramatic flair which so many of us are quite fond of.
Sadly, because it lacks the rigor of detection, it cannot be relied upon as a means of advancing one’s knowledge, only a means of suggesting new places to look for it.
Any method of collecting information that depends for its effectiveness on the receptive nature of its subject cannot accurately be called detection. Perhaps it falls into the purview of interrogation. In any case, cold-reading is less about getting the truth and more about the appearance of doing so.
Beware fellow detectives of inadvertently saying more than you know. You may appear clever, but it’s much harder to improve as a result. Cold-reading allows for a sort of safety-net when making wilder assumptions. We don’t need it.
This is not meant to be a lecture - I am guilty of relying on a safety-net from time to time as well. It is meant to be a reminder that the truly great detectives don’t require one, and that practicing with one is good until it ceases to be helpful.
[!] Pre-orders for Wanna One’s first mini album starts today. Wanna One’s mini album comes in 2 versions pink and sky. Album includes cover card, photo card, sleeve, flip book, golden ticket. The golden ticket will be for a surprise event and the poster will be available upon pre-orders.
Genre: Chaptered. Actor!Dan AU, fluff, bit of angst, slow burn, getting together (eventually)
Summary: Fiction. Daniel Howell is 21 and Britain’s newest star. He’s just been cast in the much-anticipated film adaption of Last Man Standing, the popular teen fantasy novel with a huge fanbase hanging off his every tweet. In other words, Dan has made it big.
Phil Lester couldn’t care less. He’s a stressed out PHD student working part time at a bookshop while he struggles to get into post-production. He’s 26 and still lives in a tiny flat on the fifth floor of a building with a lift more broken than it is in use. He loves books, but he thinks big film adaptions screw with the plot too much.
Needless to say, Phil is less than impressed when Last Man Standing is getting filmed in his hometown. And he certainly doesn’t want anything to do with obnoxious, arrogant, so irritatingly perfect leading actor Daniel Howell.
I have a fun body positivity / cannibalism poster I wanna draw, but I can’t work out the best way to frame it. Like, someone at the dinner table? Someone going zombie style on a live person? A butcher? A person wiping their bloody mouth? its a hard choice