#gene sagan

[anonymitie]

[thelastofthebookworms]

You'll find the other polls in my 'sf polls' tag / my pinned post.

[theambitiouswoman]

Book Recommendations 📚📒

Business and Leadership:

"Good to Great" by Jim Collins

"The Lean Startup" by Eric Ries

"Zero to One" by Peter Thiel

"Leaders Eat Last" by Simon Sinek

"Outliers: The Story of Success" by Malcolm Gladwell

Success and Personal Development:

"The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People" by Stephen R. Covey

"Mindset: The New Psychology of Success" by Carol S. Dweck

"Atomic Habits" by James Clear

"Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance" by Angela Duckworth

"The Power of Habit" by Charles Duhigg

Mental Health and Well-being:

"The Power of Now" by Eckhart Tolle

"Feeling Good: The New Mood Therapy" by David D. Burns

"The Gifts of Imperfection" by Brené Brown

"The Anxiety and Phobia Workbook" by Edmund J. Bourne

"The Dialectical Behavior Therapy Skills Workbook" by Matthew McKay, Jeffrey C. Wood, and Jeffrey Brantley

Goal Setting and Achievement:

"Goals!: How to Get Everything You Want—Faster Than You Ever Thought Possible" by Brian Tracy

"The 12 Week Year" by Brian P. Moran and Michael Lennington

"Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us" by Daniel H. Pink

"The One Thing" by Gary Keller and Jay Papasan

"Smarter Faster Better" by Charles Duhigg

Relationships and Communication:

"How to Win Friends and Influence People" by Dale Carnegie

"The 5 Love Languages" by Gary Chapman

"Crucial Conversations: Tools for Talking When Stakes Are High" by Al Switzler, Joseph Grenny, and Ron McMillan

"Nonviolent Communication: A Language of Life" by Marshall B. Rosenberg

"Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus" by John Gray

Self-Help and Personal Growth:

"The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck" by Mark Manson

"Daring Greatly" by Brené Brown

"Awaken the Giant Within" by Tony Robbins

"The Miracle Morning" by Hal Elrod

"You Are a Badass" by Jen Sincero

Science and Popular Science:

"Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind" by Yuval Noah Harari

"The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" by Rebecca Skloot

"Cosmos" by Carl Sagan

"A Short History of Nearly Everything" by Bill Bryson

"The Selfish Gene" by Richard Dawkins

Health and Nutrition:

"The China Study" by T. Colin Campbell and Thomas M. Campbell II

"In Defense of Food" by Michael Pollan

"Why We Sleep" by Matthew Walker

"Born to Run" by Christopher McDougall

"The Omnivore's Dilemma" by Michael Pollan

Fiction and Literature:

"To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee

"1984" by George Orwell

"The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald

"The Catcher in the Rye" by J.D. Salinger

"Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Claimed by the Devil

Small Creatures, Chapter 1

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: When the well-known vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen saves you from disaster, you realize he might mean more to you than you thought.

warnings: swearing, Matt Murdock’s self-destructive tendencies, mentions of a cult and subsequent trauma, allusions to drowning

a/n: This is it, y’all! A Matt Murdock soulmate AU as requested by that poll a few weeks ago. A HUGE shoutout to @zomtart for helping me plan this AU!! I am so excited to share this new verse with you, I really hope you like it! As always, please let me know what you think by replying and reblogging! This chapter takes place about a month before the beginning of Daredevil S2.

w/c: 4.1k

“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is only bearable through love.” Carl Sagan

Since the creation of man, each soul was created with another. Two, sometimes more, mirrored fractions of a whole, destined to forge a bond. Particles of a spiritual atom, drawn to each other by invisible forces, finally satisfied through connection. Soulmates. Each body marked with a symbol, to help them find their other half. Sometimes a word or a shape, a small clue to start their journey.

For a while, that journey was short. It would still take time, of course, to meet your soulmate, to fall in love—but it took less than one lifetime, while the world was still small, the human race still growing.

After a few generations, and centuries of invention, the population began to travel. Groups of people living on all 6 continents, developing new cultures, traditions, languages. As they moved, the average distance between bound pairs grew. It became less common to ever meet your match. Humanity found love in other places, built families on opposite sides of the globe, living their entire existence without their intended.

With each non-bound couple, came children without bonds. Scientists have puzzled over the phenomenon for years, some drawing the conclusion that our biology began to reject the bond, to continue without it as if it was a recessive gene. Through countless wars and plagues, and the continued spread of humanity, finding your soulmate was almost an impossibility.

And then the pendulum swung back. Wars became fewer, food more prevalent, medicine more exact. Lifespans were stretched and, with the help of machines, it was easier than ever to find your soulmate. The damage of an era without them began to repair itself.

Within 5 generations, chances of forming a true bond soared from one in one-thousand to one in thirty.

A sharp vibration from your laptop interrupted the voice in your head. Glancing at the bubble that flashed across your screen, you rolled your eyes at the message. It was the seventh—yes, SEVENTH—in a string of emails from the same haughty woman demanding the pictures of her great aunt's 90th birthday party.

The party was beautiful, and the photos reflected that, but it had been less than 48 hours since the event. Every contract you signed gave you a window of 5-7 business days to edit the photos, more time depending on the length of the shot list you were given and the number of pictures they wanted. If this woman wanted professional, edited photos, she needed to give you a damn break.

Clicking on the small white cross in the corner of the pop-up, you huffed out a small laugh, imagining the fuming woman growing redder in the face when you didn't answer her at 4:02 on a Sunday afternoon. Setting your own hours, as well as being able to ignore frustrating clients during your down time, were just two of the perks of running your own photography business. The flexible schedule and lack of strict routine were a welcomed change after your upbringing in a highly controlled community.

While you did understand why experts used that terminology, you were much more content calling your “community” what it was: a cult. “High control group”—or whatever other politically-correct, secular terminology people wanted to use to describe a bunch of adults deciding to use their limited power to exploit others in the name of some bogus goal—was too polite for the assholes from your hometown. The bumfuck rural town where “religious” leaders congregated to torture dozens of children over a tiny, immovable mark on their skin.

A brand of the devil. That’s what they claimed soulmarks were. The sign of a being destined for evil. And, in order to save humanity from said evil, it was up to this specific community to cleanse you of your threatening aura, to rid the demonic energy from your body and spare your soul.

They’d used written and verbal propaganda, forbid outside contact, relied heavily on fear-mongering—the whole nine yards of brainwashing, all to supposedly grant the town salvation. Given that your particular mark was on the inside of your right wrist? Well, it definitely didn’t help the “damned” accusations coming your way.

Something flashed across your mind. A memory. Tepid water, turning frigid as you were forced deeper and deeper. All traces of oxygen slowly draining from your lungs, your body struggling desperately against the hands gripping you forcefully by the arms, holding you under.

Shuddering with discontent, your mark itched fiercely, as if it was trying to snap you out of the flashback. Absentmindedly dragging a nail over it to quell the unpleasant sensation, you inhaled deeply, studying the image as you did.

It was a simple thing, a series of a few lines just over the pulse point on your forearm. Two triangles, placed horizontally and pointing away from each other, with three small straight lines fanning out beneath. From your limited knowledge, it was a rune of some sort, though you hadn’t been able to narrow down the origin or meaning quite yet. Not scary enough to warrant the actions taken by your wonderful hometown though.

After surviving, and escaping, your upbringing, a lack of a rigid schedule was a necessity—which meant freelance event photography was a perfect career path. Unfortunately, an anxious mind and spontaneity didn't always mix.

It didn't matter that you didn't hear the messaging daily anymore. You were still struggling to unravel the mind games and indoctrination you'd been subjected to, hence the re-reading of this particular article. It wasn't the most informative, and the author clearly had a fully-realized bond herself, but it was the first piece of literature you'd ever read that wasn't propaganda.

There was a historical explanation for the disappearance of your condition, as well as a documented existence of others like you. Your mark didn't make you evil—it meant you were loved.

You re-read the blurb on days like today. Days where your conscience buzzed with apprehension, adrenaline flowing freely despite the lack of danger. There was something in the air around you. A warning, illustrated by the tiniest changes in your environment. On days like these, you felt like a bug beneath a descending shoe, scrambling to understand what was coming so you could make it out alive.

Expecting a disaster was illogical, you knew that. But reason wasn't the driving force in your brain on the anxious days. It was your desperate need to survive, to be prepared. On your bad days, your eyes flew open like you'd heard the door come crashing in or felt the cold steel barrel of a pistol against your temple—your body readying for a fight before you were even fully conscious.

Those days, your heart hammered in your chest, battering your ribs until they ached. Your lungs constricted when your blood pressure rose, each breath coming as a pant as you struggled to inhale enough oxygen. One wrong move and you'd send yourself spiraling into a full anxiety attack. Hopefully, you'd at least be able to stave that off over the last hour of daylight today.

Chewing at the edge of your thumbnail, you aimlessly scrolled through the page again, blowing out a terse sigh. The biggest annoyance when it came to your anxiety was that each experience was unique. There wasn't a universal solution. Sometimes, staying at home where it was familiar and safe was all you needed to settle your nerves. Other times, the constancy only made you more jittery.

As much as you'd wished that a sedentary day would slow your pulse and ease your breathing, that clearly was not in the cards.

Time for Plan B.

Growling almost inaudibly, you resisted the urge to start pulling your hair out strand by strand. Working up the energy to get through the door was always the hard part. As exhibited by your professional side, freedom to roam and choose your own path was vital. Despite your nervous brain trying to deny it, leaving your place to wander on a small adventure would be good for you in the long run.

When you'd escaped the clutches of the nutjobs running your old neighborhood, you'd made a promise to yourself–try at least one new thing every week. It seemed childish, but you'd missed out on so many things when under the control of the Order, you wanted to make up for that. Pretty quickly, it became clear that you thrived on flexibility and exploration.

So you kept up with it. Made a list of things in case you ever ran out of inspiration or couldn't decide what to choose next. That line of scribbles in a worn notebook came in handy on days where you disappeared into yourself, where you lacked the excitement that normally accompanied your little outings. Allowing the intense reluctance in your gut to churn, you reached for the leatherbound pages, sliding the book from where it lay on the coffee table and into your lap. Heaving out a breath, despite your protesting lungs, you thumbed through the paper, letting the smell of ink and coffee-stained parchment wash over you.

You weren't looking for something big. And the idea had to be plausible, there would be no mountain climbing or language learning in a single evening. Trailing a finger to the side of the dried ink, you skimmed each bullet point, eyes lingering on a particularly messy string of words.

“Golden Skyline Ink 48”

Thankfully, the gibberish you'd immortalized was recent enough that you could decipher it. Sunset photos of the skyline from the Ink 48 Hotel. You'd swung by the prestigious building for a meeting with a potential client, but you'd been too busy to snap a decent shot from the roof before your next errand of the day.

Pondering for a minute, you decided to go with your hesitant gut instinct. You craned your neck, hunting down your camera bag as you rolled your shoulder to unravel the tension balled up in them. Shoving up from your horizontal position on the couch, you closed your laptop and shuffled towards the door. Hefting the bag into your arms, you strode down the entryway.

Your hand reached for the doorknob at a snail's pace, halting mere inches from it as if the brass had a forcefield around it. ”You can do this.“ You muttered to yourself, forcing your fingers past the barrier and around the knob.

Stepping through the door, you flinched at the bright fluorescence of the hallway lights, hissing slightly like a vampire seeing the sun in a cheesy TV show. Swallowing the flash of pain in your head as the lights continued to beam down, you took another step. Here goes nothing.

Matt was grateful for the new body armor. He was, really.

He just wished Melvin’s talents included making the damn thing breathable. He’d never admit that, of course. On the spectrum of pain he lived with, being a bit overheated was closer to the bearable end. It wasn’t a stab wound or a broken bone, it wouldn’t impede his patrolling. If he could work through a punctured lung, he could handle a little sweating.

But when the nights got quiet and slow, it was more difficult to keep his mind from latching on to the discomfort–blown out of proportion by his fickle senses.

Sitting atop an apartment building on 55th Street, Matt could feel pure thermal energy bubbling up from the concrete beneath his feet. The waves of heat collided with his shoes, seeping into the rubber soles and blanketing his skin. Around him, the short ledge wrapping around the roof refracted more warmth, sending the sweltering air to smack directly into him.

He wasn't a fan of the heat, never had been, but the thick, skin-tight suit he was wearing only exacerbated the issue. Sweat beaded in the paper-thin gap between his skin and the fabric surrounding it, suctioning it impossibly closer to his body. Grinding his teeth in aggravation, Matt prowled to the edge of the roof, leaping off and rolling to deflect the impact from shattering any of his limbs. With a quick jump, he was back on his feet, taking off towards the next building in the line.

If he patrolled towards the Hudson and back around, he could escape the worst of the heat without neglecting his duty to the city.

Not that there was much action these days. The past handful of weeks, his outings in the suit had been unusually unproductive. It wasn’t that he was missing out on fights–it’s that they didn’t exist. Gangs were staying holed up, petty crime had taken a dive, even the steady drug or arms traders like Turk had gone radio silent. As much as Matt wanted to believe that his time as Daredevil had made a lasting impact on the city he loved so dearly, a current of doubt continued to whirl beneath his skin.

Crime was more likely in the summer, that was an inevitability. Increased temperatures shortened people’s fuses. Spats with loved ones were more likely to turn violent, miscellaneous expenses are more likely to add up and cause financial distress, it was statistically probable that he’d have busier nights leading up to the fall. And yet, here he was, twiddling his glove-clad thumbs while metaphorical tumbleweeds were swept down the streets.

He was confident something had changed, but he hadn’t quite determined what. So, despite the lack of problems he felt the need to solve, he continued to remain out until all hours, ears straining to pick up a scream or the explosive pop of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun.

Body on high alert, he ambled towards the piers, vaulting from roof to roof in a familiar trajectory while his brain fought off an incoming onslaught of guilt at the notion of staying out. Foggy would be furious tomorrow, when he saw Matt gulping down the cheap coffee from their machine–which was held together by masking tape and sheer luck these days. Matt had foolishly admitted his conundrum to his business partner, remarking that the city had been eerily still lately, that there was less of a need for him. That he’d been searching so urgently for justification that he’d been going out before dusk.

The idea that Matt’s nighttime activity was no longer an absolute necessity had upset the tenuous understanding the pair had reached over said activity. A simple slip of his tongue and Matt was on the receiving end of Foggy’s chastising, being told he should take advantage of the lull and “get some goddamned rest for once”. (Foggy’s words, not his own.) The renewed argument had become such a frequent topic of discussion that Karen had almost been clued in a few times when Matt’s frustration had narrowed his senses. Just that morning, he and Foggy had been going at it when she’d arrived at the office, surprising both of them with her bright greeting and intrigued glance.

Hurling himself to the next rooftop, Matt huffed out an aggravated breath, clenching his fists as his muscles tightened with irritation, his friend’s desperate pleas echoing in his head.

“You can’t keep going like this.”

“You’re hurting yourself for nothing.”

“The city will be fine without you.”

That last one stung the most, ripping open an invisible wound he’d crudely stitched after taking down Fisk. His work had helped people. His infamous alter ego was the final straw in the case against the organized criminal, imperative to his arrest. To the people of this city, Daredevil mattered–which meant Matt Murdock mattered.

If he boxed up the suit…

No. That wasn’t an option. He couldn’t–

The shuffle of a shoe on concrete caught his attention, snapping him out of his downward spiral. His chest trembled as he panted in and out, his shallow breaths deepening as he focused in the direction of the noise. He wasn’t alone.

Mouth parting as his atypical radar closed in, his nose scrunched with slight confusion, brow furrowing with concern. There was a person perched on the brick ledge–a woman, balancing on her tiptoes and facing the city. She hadn’t noticed him, her pulse far too slow. Her hands held something blocky, the plastic object dragging along her skin as she positioned it, arms outstretched over the nearly 20 story drop to the pavement below.

He bit back an incredulous scoff as she bent further towards her death, practically rolling his eyes to the heavens as he approached. Not only was this position begging for disaster to strike, she had one headphone in, her lips moving as if mouthing along to the lyrics. She heaved in a dramatic exhale.

“Let’s try this again,” She murmured, finger slotting into a divot on an edge of the thing in her grasp, prompting a series of mechanical clicks to burst from it. Shutter sounds. A camera. A camera? You were risking your life for a photo?

Before he could judge you too harshly, your mouth twitched and your heart rate jumped. You’d realized he was there, then.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” He quipped, his lips twitching with a hint of a smirk as you squeaked indignantly.

It was only amusing for a moment.

As you whirled to face him, apparently surprised that he was there, you lost your footing, tumbling backward off the ledge.

For what it was worth, your little adventure had been going pretty well before the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen almost killed you.

There weren’t too many people out tonight, probably because it was disgustingly hot, so you’d made good time–jogging the few blocks to the hotel and sneaking into the elevator with a young couple who were too busy being at each other’s throats to care that you slipped in. The roof was vacant and more perfect than you could’ve dreamed. Swathed in the lights of nearby skyscrapers, you were presented with a gorgeous panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline at sunset, the stark red-orange hue of the sky peeking between towering steel.

Once you’d attached the proper lenses, you began snapping photos, but you couldn’t get the exposure to set correctly. To capture a good picture at this time of evening, you needed the settings to be just so. It was a tedious, attention-consuming process, that, when combined with the soft music blasting from your lone earbud, had prohibited you from hearing someone approach…until he spoke.

“You know, if you fall off that ledge, the effort you went through for that picture will be wasted.” His growl was low, but contained traces of a humor you weren’t expecting.

Damn your anxious self for startling so easily. With a tiny squeal, you slipped from the ledge, your careful posture crumbling as you fell. Your heart lodged in your throat, air rushing into your ears as you began to descend, but before you could even scream, a pair of warm hands grasped you firmly by the arm.

Face jerking up, your eyes locked onto the masked vigilante’s snarl of exertion as he hauled you over the cement shelf and onto stable ground.

Breathing shakily, still in his grip, your face went slack with a nauseating combination of shock and relief. “Th-thank you.”

He let out a puff of a laugh. “You’re welcome. That was a close call. Do I need to call a hotline?”

His lips twitched with a smirk, his face clearly displaying humor despite his eyes being covered by a mask. Head tilted cockily, he seemed to be studying you, maybe evaluating whether you should be in a psych ward.

Shaking your head furiously, you scrambled to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you backed away from your savior. “No, I’m good, that wasn’t the plan. I just–”

As you began to retract himself from his hold, his thumb brushed over your forearm, tracing the faintest line over your exposed soulmark. When his fingertip made contact with the lines over your wrist, the world exploded.

When you were a small child, you’d electrocuted yourself when unplugging a lamp. It was an act of rebellion against your parents when they had demanded you clean up after compulsory bible study. The inflicted shock had careened through your entire body, feeling as though you’d been dipped in boiling water and then flash-frozen as your body tried to adapt to the new current. An abrupt change of temperature, the suddenness uncomfortable but the aftermath numbingly calm.

Touching the Devil felt like that.

Your mark glowed with warmth like embers in a dying fire. The hair along your arm stood on end, your heart nearly bursting with energy as you were clobbered with a realization.

“You..you’re my–” You whispered, taking a step closer to the vigilante.

His hand had clasped around your wrist, holding it delicately, chin dipping towards his chest. His breaths were labored, his complexion seeming to grow more pale as he ran a calloused finger over the mark again.

“I don’t–” Dropping your arm as if it had burned him, Daredevil’s face settled into an angry mask as he hurriedly stepped away from you. “I have to go.”

“W-what?” You stammered, running your hands over your arms as your body recovered from his touch, goosebumps undulating beneath your palms. “But we–”

“It’s late. You should get home before it’s too dark.” He responded tersely, turning away from you. Striding across the roof, his hand landed on top of the short stack of bricks, head turning over his shoulder with a sorrowful pout. “I’m sorry.”

Gracefully jumping over the side, he was gone.

Feeling dumbfounded and slightly defeated, you stared after him for a minute before shouldering your bag and beelining for the fire escape.

Karen stretched her arms over her head, groaning softly as the knot of tension between her shoulders unfurled. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she jiggled the mouse on the desk before her, turning her laptop back on to try and appear busy. After the law firm of Nelson and Murdock put Wilson Fisk behind bars, the clientele began to pour in–though whether that was for their proven representation skills or their shitty but functional AC, she wasn’t sure. Regardless, there had been a steady stream of walk-ins this week. And now that it had finally slowed down, she felt almost disappointed.

Being a secretary at the tiny little office was one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. Each case presented completely new realities, new opportunities and challenges. It was like she was given the chance to start fresh every day, and she was grateful for it. But in moments like these where the people filed out of the crooked doors, it made her a bit antsy.

Foggy and Matt were buried in new evidence for a guardianship revocation, holed up in Matt’s office, leaving her to schedule their appointments. She sighed, contemplating whether or not to interrupt them, to ask for something to do. Depending on when the guys would be heading out, they might want dinner or more coffee…

As she was running through a list of takeout that all of them could stomach, that hadn’t been ordered too recently, her phone’s display lit up, a new message appearing on the lock screen. An anonymous message in a chat board she frequented–one dedicated to opinions about Hell’s Kitchen’s hero, Daredevil. 

When she joined the board, she was solely intending to be a spectator. Unfortunately, the internet made it easier for trolls to share their bullshit opinions. Call the vigilante a threat to justice. Say that he should be put down. There was only so much she could handle before her blood boiled over and she sent her responses. 

These days, she was a pretty active poster. She rarely received private messages though, so the notification set her on edge. 

Hesitantly tapping the glowing bubble, she held her breath as it opened. No context, no identifying information, just two bizarre sentences that she was not prepared for.

“I know this is strange but..I think Daredevil might be my soulmate? And I was hoping you might know where I could find him.”

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase

[trechos-delivros]

“Quando nossos genes não conseguiam armazenar todas as informações necessárias para a sobrevivência, nós os inventamos lentamente. Mas então chegou o momento, talvez há dez mil anos, em que precisávamos saber mais do que poderia ser convenientemente contido no cérebro. Então aprendemos a armazenar enormes quantidades de informações fora de nossos corpos. Somos a única espécie no planeta, até onde sabemos, que inventou uma forma de memória comunitária que armazena além dos nossos genes. O armazém dessa memória é chamado de biblioteca. Um livro é feito de uma árvore. Basta olhar para ele e você ouvirá a voz de outra pessoa, talvez alguém morto há milhares de anos. Ao longo dos milênios, o autor está falando, clara e silenciosamente, dentro da sua cabeça, diretamente para você. A escrita é talvez a maior das invenções humanas, unindo pessoas, cidadãos de épocas distantes que nunca se conheceram. Os livros quebram as algemas do tempo, prova de que os humanos podem fazer magia.”

Carl Sagan

[sephirthoughts]

Could you do 5 and 10 for Valenwind in the new ask game?

5. I personally HC Sephiroth as Vincent’s bio son (i don’t care about canon support i just like this as a story element), accomplished by some highly unethical in-vitro fertilization Lucrecia did with his genetic material (not because they had sex poor vinnie absolutely died a virgin) so he wasn’t aware sephiroth was technically his till much later.

Based on both their characters, I think Vincent and Cid would want to have a child together, and Shera would be a fuckin BRO and surrogate for them.

So, thus far they’ve got two kids; one baby girl named Olivia (ollie) with Vincent’s features, and one semi-psychotic thirty-something superhuman who keeps showing up at their house because he found out he has a baby sister and they literally can’t keep him away.

I think maybe one more, eventually, using Cid’s genetic material because poor Cid. he deserves to pass on those sexy rocket scientist pilot genes! though i do think it’s a hilarious idea that Cid has actually slept with women and doesn’t have a single bio kid, whereas Vincent, who has never touched a woman in his life, has TWO bio children. 💀💀💀

i guess that means three kids in total. if you don't count yuffie. which i do not.

10. The thing about them both being old men is that they have aged past the point where they have any shame whatsoever, so they don't really hide anything they watch from the other. that said, there are things they share and things they don't.

Vincent: the vast quantity of available television is fascinating to Vincent, who grew up watching Dark Shadows, Get Smart, Hogan's Heroes and whatnot, in syndication. He'll watch almost anything once, from sheer eager curiosity, but he mostly dislikes everything. The exceptions are:

-C-dramas. He loves them. the more batshit and ridiculous and full of crying in the rain and giant battles and long-haired sword gays the better. Also it's a good way to expose Ollie to his other native language as much as possible. Cid will fall directly asleep when one of these is on, so it's good for putting the husband down for nappies when he's fussy. -any kind of cooking or baking competition. he has very strong opinions on mary berry and paul hollywood. also he loves mel and sue but thinks that tryhard noel can fuck off.

Cid: television is hit and miss with Cid, because of his ADHD so he either hyper-focuses on a show and binges the whole thing, or falls asleep/wanders off. the exception is anything that falls into the category of what he considers essential shows for ollie's enrichment, which he watches with her. these include but are not limited to: -spongebob squarepants -carl sagan's the cosmos -M*A*S*H -the simpsons (seasons 4 through 11) -airwolf -star trek (original series) -phineas and ferb -macgyver -the twilight zone

also a bunch of old western and war movies

[a-typical]

Diseases that once tragically carried off countless infants and children have been progressively mitigated and cured by science - through the discovery of the microbial world, via the insight that physicians and midwives should wash their hands and sterilize their instruments, through nutrition, public health and sanitation measures, antibiotics, drugs, vaccines, the uncovering of the molecular structure of DNA, molecular biology, and now gene therapy.

In the developed world at least, parents today have an enormously better chance of seeing their children live to adult- hood than did the heir to the throne of one of the most powerful nations on Earth in the late seventeenth century. Smallpox has been wiped out worldwide. The area of our planet infested with malaria- carrying mosquitoes has dramatically shrunk. The number of years a child diagnosed with leukemia can expect to live has been increasing progressively, year by year. Science permits the Earth to feed about a hundred times more humans, and under conditions much less grim, than it could a few thousand years ago.

We can pray over the cholera victim, or we can give her 500 milligrams of tetracycline every twelve hours.

— The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark - Carl Sagan (1996)

[jartita-me-teneis]

“Cuando nuestros genes no pudieron almacenar toda la información necesaria para sobrevivir, los inventamos lentamente. Pero luego llegó el momento, tal vez hace diez mil años, en que necesitábamos saber más de lo que podía caber convenientemente en el cerebro. Entonces aprendimos a almacenar enormes cantidades de información fuera de nuestros cuerpos. Somos la única especie en el planeta, hasta donde sabemos, que ha inventado una forma de memoria comunitaria que se almacena más allá de nuestros genes. El almacén de esta memoria se llama biblioteca. Un libro está hecho de un árbol. Míralo y escucharás la voz de otra persona, tal vez alguien que ha estado muerto durante miles de años. A lo largo de milenios, el autor ha estado hablando, clara y silenciosamente, dentro de tu cabeza, directamente a ti. La escritura es quizás el mayor de los inventos humanos, que une a personas, ciudadanos de tiempos lejanos que nunca se han conocido. Los libros rompen las cadenas del tiempo, prueba de que los humanos pueden hacer magia”.

Carl Sagan

[sarah-dreemurr-magne]

Trapped With You; 1

“There are moments when you feel trapped, ill at ease. A year later that same feeling can turn out to be the theme of a book” -Francoise Sagan

“(YN)?” You turn your head, momentarily forgetting what you were doing before. It’s been an hour since Maranda informed you that in seven days you’re caring for your younger siblings and you’ve been slightly distracted since. “Stars above! (YN), are you alright?!” Your oldest younger sibling rushes over to you, worry evident.

Sarah, your other sister, winces simply at the sight of the mark. You simply look over her features, seeing as she’s adopted, she has no genes shared biologically with your bloodline. Sarah’s black curly hair isn’t fully black, having a hint of ginger (red) tint to it. Strangely enough, she was born with one red eye and one black eye, one of the reasons Maranda and Mike chose her. Sadly, from both lack of going outside enough -and birth- she’s extremely pale, and gets sick easily from lack of the right vitamins. Sarah’s also extremely skinny, but keeps herself busy with trying to build muscle.

“(YN)?” Sarah touches your cheek, only to be met by a hiss from you, your teeth clenching from pain. “I'm sorry!” Profusely apologizing, she doesn’t pull away as she traces the red handprint. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” You simply shake your head at the 14 year olds’ questions, dismissing them. “Lets… Let's get you patched up sissy…” Sarah’s hand makes its way into yours, slightly pulling as she begins to walk.

You follow her quietly, listening to her footsteps. They’re graceful, slightly stopping or slowing down to ensure she won’t stumble. Hesitant with fear, yet she doesn’t come to a full stop. Her footsteps are quiet as well, stealthy to not be heard. You look over her, not over her physical appearance, but her body language and actions instead.

She’s quiet, always observing, like you. Sarah's hand tightens slightly around yours every so often, trying to quietly say it’s okay. You don’t think she realizes this though, but decide not to point it out. She’s slightly jumpy as well, fear evident if you know where to look, but you’re proud to see determination showing on her. Her posture is straight, not relaxed at all, uneasy and alert.

You feel bad for the girl, this probably isn't what she wanted when getting adopted. Hell- Maranda and Mike didn't even adopt for the goodness of their hearts! They thought she was just interesting from her genetics and wanted to do tests! Additionally wanting to see how an adopted child would react to a new household… You had to convince them to keep the poor girl after they finished their tests! Now they do all sorts of tests and alterations with her genetics and blood… Even going as far as adding canine-like blood gradually into the girls bloodline! You're surprised the poor kid hasn't dropped dead yet!

You’re startled out of your thoughts as you’re suddenly sat down. Sarah rushes off as you look around, coming back to the present. She brought you to the bathroom, probably so she can get to you easier… You look around the moderate space, not bothered enough to move. The room walls are a simple light yellow, white tiles lining the floor. Your eyes are drawn to a small window, mind whispering promises of escape.

Your body numbs, mind taking control of the moment. You find yourself standing, hands on the windowsill, eyes peering out. Numbly, your fingers find their way under the glass, adding slight pressure to open it. Escape, freedom, a free life. Your mind seems to scream out at you, but you still. You can’t leave. No matter how close freedom may be. You can’t leave them. Slowly, your fingers slip away, hands stalking away from the window to hang limply at your sides. You can’t be free, you made that choice long ago.

“I’m- back…” You don’t turn around, truthful of Sarah, “Sissy? Are… are you okay?” Are you okay… These are the three words you can never answer with the truth. Most break down at the single utterance of those words, as if they are both cursed and blessed to lift the burden of life off them… Those three simple words that make reality crash down, that the strongest of people crumble down to. Nobody can answer them truthfully, and it appears… You are no exception to that.

“I’m fine,” Lair, “Just thinking.” You’re not fine, it feels as if you’re suffocating. You’re trapped under an ocean of burden, chains to the bottom to never escape nor breathe. Turning to Sarah, you put on a faux smile, not bothering to show your pain. You’re the oldest, you’re supposed to be the hero, the one who they look up to. You’re supposed to be a safe haven… Sadness swarms in your eyes, but you cover it up, not letting Sarah see it. You might not be able to keep them safe from everything, but you’ll be the safest haven you can be.

“How are the others little wolf?” She smiles slightly at your term of endearment for her, taking your hand and leading you back to the toilet. You sit on the lid as she grabs the first aid kit from where she placed it on the sink.

“Frisk is in their room playing quietly, Chara is still asleep.” You smile softly at the mention of the two young ones, nodding. “Did… Did Mi-Father… do this?” You wince as she presses a cold towelet to your bruising cheek, sucking a sharp breath in between your teeth. You hate what they do, forcing Sarah to call them ‘mother’ and ‘father’ for an experiment, as if they even deserved the title.

“It’ll be okay little wolf, I’m gonna find a way to help us out of here.” Avoiding the question as usual… You once again hiss out a breath between your teeth once Sarah begins putting a patch on your cheek. “We’re-” A sharp intake of air, “We’re gonna be okay…” Lies, as usual, but what else can you do? The town won’t believe you, your ‘caretakers’ made sure of that. Besides, even if they did, where could you and your siblings go? You can’t risk being split up, Frisk and Chara would shut down mentally. Additionally, the foster care system in your town isn’t secure, too dangerous and rough for the children. It’s unsafe.

“I know.” You can’t leave them, you’ve given them hope. You have to keep them safe. No matter what.

You’re trying to make the best of being trapped. It’s hard though, all you know in life is the enclosure, face it. You’re trapped in this vicious world.

(A/N): Sarah is my oc, but this isn’t her true backstory. I thought it would be useful to have someone else on your side that’s old enough to understand how life can be!

Words: 1163

[radical-revolution]

Carl sagan’s thought about books:

“When our genes could not store all the information necessary for survival, we slowly invented them. But then the time came, perhaps ten thousand years ago, when we needed to know more than could conveniently be contained in brains. So we learned to

stockpile enormous quantities of information outside our bodies. We are the only species on the planet, so far as we know, to have

invented a communal memory stored neither in our genes nor in our brains. The warehouse of that memory is called the library. A book is made from a tree. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time, proof that humans can work magic.”

-Carl Sagan, Cosmos

[caffeinatedhobbit]

“We are the only species on the planet, so far as we know, to have invented a communal memory stored neither in our genes nor in our brains. The warehouse of that memory is called the library.”

-Carl Sagan

[icualso]

Carl Sagan

Thoughts about books:

“When our genes could not store all the information necessary for survival, we slowly invented them. But then the time came, perhaps ten thousand years ago, when we needed to know more than could conveniently be contained in brains. So we learned to

stockpile enormous quantities of information outside our bodies. We are the only species on the planet, so far as we know, to have

invented a communal memory stored neither in our genes nor in our brains. The warehouse of that memory is called the library. A book is made from a tree. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time, proof that humans can work magic.”

-Carl Sagan, Cosmos

[vanesa]

1, 3, 4 and 11 for the book asks

1. How many books did you read this year?

I didn't start keeping track until partway through the year, so 7 is my best guess (not including short stories, manga, or the children's books I've been reading through to find as gifts for my nieces and nephews).

3. What were your top five books of the year?

Cosmos by Carl Sagan

Those Who Walk Away From Omelas by Ursula K. Le Guin (short story, not technically a book, but I'm counting it here)

War of the Worlds by H. G. Wells

How to Invent Everything by Ryan North

The Selfish Gene by Richard Dawkins

4. Did you discover any new authors that you love this year?

No, I've read authors I already knew of that I figured I would enjoy.

11. What was your favorite book that has been out for a while, but you just now read?

That was definitely the theme this year, and out of all of them, I really enjoyed Cosmos.

Thanks for sending in numbers!

[veilxstars]

what, if anything, do you like to read? (atlas)

"The Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula K. Le Guin

“The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next.”

"Cosmos" by Carl Sagan (1980)

“The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself.”

"A Wrinkle in Time" by Madeleine L'Engle (1962)

“We can't take any credit for our talents. It's how we use them that counts.”

"The Book of the New Sun" series by Gene Wolfe (1980-1983)

“There are no final answers, because there are no final questions.”

"The Crystal Cave" by Mary Stewart (1970)

“The stars are so bright, they seem to be alive. They twinkle like they’re laughing at me.”

"The Secret Teachings of All Ages" by Manly P. Hall (1928)

“The greatest and most important problem in life is to find one’s purpose in life, and to use the tools of the universe to achieve that purpose.”

[tiem-sach-uoc-mo]

Dưới đây là một số cuốn sách khoa học nổi bật mà bạn có thể tham khảo:

"Sapiens: Lược Sử Loài Người" của Yuval Noah Harari

Cuốn sách này kể về lịch sử loài người từ thời kỳ đồ đá cho đến hiện đại, mang lại góc nhìn sâu sắc về sự phát triển của con người.

"A Brief History of Time" của Stephen Hawking

Đây là một trong những cuốn sách khoa học phổ biến nhất, giải thích những khái niệm phức tạp trong vũ trụ học một cách dễ hiểu.

"The Gene: An Intimate History" của Siddhartha Mukherjee

Cuốn sách này mô tả sự phát triển của khoa học di truyền và cách nó ảnh hưởng đến con người.

"Cosmos" của Carl Sagan

Cuốn sách này khám phá vũ trụ và vai trò của con người trong đó, với cách viết lôi cuốn và dễ hiểu.

"The Selfish Gene" của Richard Dawkins

Cuốn sách này trình bày quan điểm mới mẻ về sự tiến hóa từ góc nhìn của gen.

"The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" của Rebecca Skloot

Đây là một cuốn sách kể về câu chuyện thật của một người phụ nữ có tế bào được sử dụng trong nghiên cứu y học mà không được biết trước, khám phá những vấn đề về đạo đức trong khoa học.

"Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies" của Jared Diamond

Cuốn sách này nghiên cứu về nguyên nhân của sự phát triển và sụp đổ của các nền văn minh khác nhau trên thế giới.

"Astrophysics for People in a Hurry" của Neil deGrasse Tyson

Cuốn sách này cung cấp một cái nhìn tổng quan về thiên văn học và các khái niệm cơ bản của nó trong một cách dễ hiểu và ngắn gọn.

"The Elegant Universe" của Brian Greene

Cuốn sách này giới thiệu về thuyết dây và những khái niệm mới trong vật lý lý thuyết.

"Why We Sleep: Unlocking the Power of Sleep and Dreams" của Matthew Walker

Cuốn sách này giải thích tầm quan trọng của giấc ngủ và cách nó ảnh hưởng đến sức khỏe và tâm lý của chúng ta.

Bạn có thể bắt đầu với bất kỳ cuốn sách nào trong danh sách này để khám phá thêm về khoa học và các khía cạnh của nó.

[a-typical]

Only 9% of Americans accept the central finding of modern biology that human beings (and all the other species) have slowly evolved by natural processes from a succession of more ancient beings with no divine intervention needed along the way. (When asked merely if they accept evolution, 45% of Americans say yes. The figure is 70% in China.)

When the movie Jurassic Park was shown in Israel, it was condemned by some Orthodox rabbis because it accepted evolution and because it taught that dinosaurs lived a hundred million years ago, when, as is plainly stated at every Rosh Hashanah and every Jewish wedding ceremony, the Universe is less than 6,000 years old.

The clearest evidence of our evolution can be found in our genes. But evolution is still being fought, ironically by those whose own DNA proclaims it - in the schools, in the courts, in textbook publishing houses, and on the question of just how much pain we can inflict on other animals without crossing some ethical threshold.

— The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark - Carl Sagan (1996)