#scientific accuracy or whatever

[blankcest]

I have a question! Is Stalker Ford truly romantically / sexually interested in Stan or is it just part of the delusion?

Yes! He is genuinely interested in Stanley and loves him very very much :]

In my experience, Delusions (like a lot of psychological phenomenon) does have a basis on something concrete. Like, paranoid delusions are often time fueled by actual scary facts, or by pervious experiences. For example, a Paranoid Delusional moment I had was based on the fact that I'm visibly trans and that people who look like me tend to face violence. Even though the town I was living at the time was genuinely really kind and accepting, I still genuinely believed that everyone I encountered was going to murder me in one way or another. Even if I had piles of IRL experiences proving me wrong in that belief.

I have similar experiences when it comes to my obsessive traits. The attraction or genuine sense of love does exist outside of the obsessive state, just when inside the delusional/obsessive mindset it becomes twisted and unhealthy. You become more distressed easily when the object of your affection spends time with other people, you become codependent (making your entire identity based on the object of your affection), and even have panic attacks related to the relationship if you feel like it's falling apart. For Ford, the delusional part comes in when it comes to understanding the reality of the relationship between him and Stan. The emotions are real, the desire is real, the obsessiveness is real, but the actual relationship Ford created in his head is not. That's the disconnect of reality, that's the misstep he takes. So it's sort of like this Reality: Ford has a unrequited love for Stan. This love manifests as Romantic and Sexual attraction and a deep sense of wanting to care for and be there for Stan. Stan cares for and loves him very much as well, but not in the same way. They both care for each other and enjoy each other's company and closeness, but just in different ways. Ford's Delusion: Stan and Him have been actively together since childhood, planning on being Married (or already are married depending on the part in the timeline) at some point or another. They are planning their wedding together. Ford and Stan have had sex and Ford knows how to please him in every way that matters. Ford is the only thing Stan needs. No one loves Stan like Ford does. Ford is Stan's soulmate. Stan loves Ford the same way. They're going to be together forever. I also want to mention that Delusional thinking is much more like a gradient rather then a Black and White sort of feeling. There are times where you can be more aware of the delusion and can even name it while still engaging with it, and then there are times where you are COMPLETELY unaware that it is a delusion and straight up forget what the reality of a situation is. As well as you can be grounded and then be triggered into the delusion by an external source similar to Paranoia inducing things. So even though Ford's delusions are very specific and to the point, I would say more often then not he's sort of floating in a grey area where he is aware that this fundamental belief isn't really true but he isn't really fully grounded either. Like as an example, he knows factually he and Stan have never actually had sex, but in his heart they have. If that makes any sense.

[stormy-nights-are-best]

My LEAST favorite thing about being in the TMNT and DuckTales fandoms is that the TMNT fandom loves drawing the turtles wagging their tails when they're happy, but turtles irl only wag their tails either when they gotta go poop or when they're aroused.

Ducks, however, do wag their tails when they're happy, and I have yet to see fanart of that

[spider-xan]

At that point, do you even like the character if he's just your OC with nothing in common with the source material bc you decided everything about the comics is bad and wrong and not cottagecore enough, also, why are you even in a fandom based on superhero comic books if you're going to complain about the conventions of the genre and be pedantic about shit like scientific accuracy, this is not a BBC Earth documentary, these are comics where Loki does shit like turn a city into candyland, but a science magic potion turning a man into a humanoid lizard that does evil shit is too unbelievable?

[augiewrites]

“psychic” - ray stantz

summary: ray invites a psychic to help them on a job

pairing: ray stantz x psychic!reader

word count: 1.8k

a/n: this turned out so long and is kind of niche but dr. ray stantz if you read this im free on thursday night and would like to hang out. please respond to this and then hang out with me on Thursday night when i’m free.

Spooks and specters aside, Ray liked to think that he was a reasonable, level-headed man.

His friends, however, tended to disagree.

“C’mon, Ray, you can’t believe everything this crack says just ‘cause they’re a smokeshow,” Peter chastised him from the passenger seat.

“I consulted with multiple colleagues before I even thought about using their services. I will have you know that—”

“Ah, and I’m sure those colleagues had a plethora of scientific backing.”

“You weren’t even there,” Ray scoffed, “if you would just set your biases aside for one second, one second—”

“OH, please!”

“—you might actually learn something valuable!”

“You know, this is getting ridiculous, Ray.” Peter shook his head, looking out the window.

“Ridiculous, I’m being ridiculous, that’s rich.” Ray muttered to himself.

Egon’s monotone voice broke through from the backseat, “The accuracy of the reading was quite impressive.” He didn’t bother looking up from the gadget he was toying with.

“Thank you!” “Not you, too!” Ray and Peter exclaimed in unison.

“Look, Ray,” Peter turned in his seat to face his friend, “a few lucky guesses doesn’t mean someone’s qualified.”

“Last I checked, you didn’t have any better ideas.” Ray retorted.

“Just because I don’t have any better ideas doesn’t mean this is our only option.”

Ray cut the wheel sharply into a parking spot, narrowly avoiding the other parked cars as Ecto-1 jerked to a stop.. “Pete, our equipment isn’t giving us accurate readings, the spirit is non-communicative, and there are too many objects to know which one it’s attached to. This discussion. Is. Over.”

Three car doors were flung open—only two slammed shut.

”What happened to ‘I’m not stepping foot in that scammer’s lair’?” Ray threw over his shoulder.

“If you think I’m letting you go in there alone to get manipulated by a con artist, you’re even crazier than I thought,” Peter scoffed, “especially now that Spengler’s compromised.”

“I can assure you that I am not compromised.”

“Whatever, Pete,” Ray pushed open the door to the apartment complex, “just…don’t be yourself.”

————————————————

Peter lectured Ray the entire way up to the fifth floor, and was about to octuple down on his argument when the plain door opened, cutting him off.

The psychic smiled warmly at the trio.

”Dr. Stantz, Dr. Spengler, welcome back,” they moved aside, gesturing them into the apartment, “and you must be Dr. Venkman. Welcome, my name’s Y/N.”

Y/N extended a hand, and Peter gave it a brief shake.

“Yeah, pleasure’s all mine.”

If looks could kill, Ray would’ve killed Peter a long time ago.

”Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Y/N.” What Peter gave in sarcasm, Ray made up for in sincerity.

”It’s no problem at all—please, take a seat.”

Ray promptly sat in the plush chair closest to Y/N, and Egon took the other, leaving Peter sitting on a low cushion on the floor.

Y/N gave them another smile, “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

”Well—“ Peter began, but was promptly cut off by Ray.

”We have a job, you see. A client recently inherited his great-uncle’s estate, but there’s this poltergeist—real nasty one. We think it has an attachment to something in the house, but we can’t figure out what.”

Y/N nodded, “Hm, I see.”

Peter butted in, “These goofs were hoping you’d come to the house and be their ghost hound.”

”Peter.” Ray gave him a warning look.

”And I take it you don’t want my help?” Y/N raised an inquisitive brow.

”I mean, don’t get me wrong. I appreciate that you need to make a living. I’m just not buying it.”

“I am so sorry about him, Y/N,” Ray started.

Y/N just laughed, their focus still on Peter.

“Last week. You were on a date—she was a little too young for you, by the way.”

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N cut him off.

”You thought you were going to get lucky, but she got cold feet, kicked you out of the car and drove off with your pants. Left you there, hanging in the breeze.”

”How did you—“

”There’s a man with you, he saw the whole thing. Says his name’s Bill. He couldn’t wait to tell someone about it.”

Peter gaped at Y/N, speechless for possibly the first time in his life. Images of his late uncle Bill flashed in his mind. He had always found humor in other people’s misery.

Y/N turned their attention to Ray, who was already looking at them in awe. “I would be happy to help,” they briefly looked over his shoulder with a warm smile, “your mother says hello, by the way. Lovely woman.”

“Th-thank you.” Ray stammered a bit.

“You were actually my last appointment of the day, if you would like to go now.”

Peter shot up from the cushion, heading toward the door. “Great, let’s go.”

He just wanted to get Y/N out of his life before they could reveal anything else about him.

”Don’t mind him.” Ray smiled at Y/N apologetically.

“Oh, trust me, I won’t.” Y/N beamed back, grabbing their things and following Ray out the door.

————————————————

Ray guided Y/N into the passenger seat, much to Peter’s chagrin.

He was back to his usual self, leaning up from the backseat and gripping the back of Ray’s seat as he questioned their new addition.

”So these people—spirits—are just watching us at all times.”

”Well, yeah,” Y/N laughed softly, “unfortunately, they don’t have much else to do.”

Peter sat back in his seat, looking mortified.

”Really makes you reconsider how you act, right?”

Peter thought for a moment.

”Nah, nothing Casper can do about it, anyway. Bunch of creeps.”

Ray scoffed. “Very inspirational, Pete,” he snuck a glance at Y/N, “I know I’ll be thinking twice the next time I pick my nose—figuratively speaking, of course. I do not pick my nose.”

“Of course,” Y/N laughed, “but really, you can’t stop living just because you might have a few spectators.”

”See, they get me.” Peter lightly slapped Ray’s arm before he turned into the driveway and put the car in park.

Y/N exited the car, looking up at the house.

”Are the owners home?” They inquired, glancing at Ray.

”No,” he lightly jingled his keyring, “they gave us the spare key while we figure this out.”

Y/N looked back at the house.

”Oh…well, there’s a woman upstairs. She looks upset.”

”Yeah, they must be pretty angry. Keeps throwing things around and killing the power.”

”No,” Y/N frowned, starting toward the house, “she looks…sad.”

Ray followed Y/N, unlocking the door and guiding them to the staircase.

”I think you may have this ghost misunderstood. The energy here is…” Y/N paused, thinking, “low…but I don’t think there’s anyone here that means harm.”

The pair moved through the house, Peter and Egon left down in the foyer.

”Activity has been most concentrated in the master bedroom, the door to your left.” Ray nodded at the slightly ajar door. “We think that what we’re looking for is in there.”

Y/N wordlessly nodded and walked to the bedroom, pausing abruptly in the doorway.

”Oh, hello,” they greeted the air in a soft voice.

Ray craned his neck from the hallway, seeing nothing in the room. Y/N, however, had their eyes trained on the vanity.

”I see…” They shot a solemn look at Ray. “She’s been here for a long time.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Ray rubbed his chin, “our clients said this activity was new.”

”The activity may be new, but she isn’t.” Y/N now stood by the vanity, lightly trailing their fingertips across the assorted beauty products, jewelry, and papers strewn across the surface. “She stayed back to be with her husband, at first…but now that he’s gone…”

Ray nodded sympathetically, “she doesn’t know how to move on.”

Y/N opened a small drawer with a sigh, picked up an envelope, and gently pulled out a yellowed piece of paper.

”She wrote it for her husband.” Y/N’s eyes scanned the letter. Before long, a tear fell down their cheek and they folded the letter up before reaching back into the envelope and pulling out a small ring.

Y/N slipped both the letter and the ring back into the envelope, wiped the tear from their cheek, and turned to Ray, handing him the letter.

”Here,” their voice sounded small, like they were taking on the pain of the spirit, “you’ll have to burn it…hopefully she can find him.”

Ray silently followed them out of the room, out of the house, and back into the car. Peter was asking Y/N and Ray a new question every other second, but Ray simply brushed him off as Y/N rested their head on the window, looking drained.

The rest of the drive was quiet, and Ray offered to walk Y/N to their apartment upon arrival. He shot Peter a look, silently letting him know to not follow.

The silence continued the whole way to their door, where Y/N cleared their throat and looked at Ray. “Thank you for walking me.”

”It’s no problem,” Ray smiled and stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels, “it really affects you, doesn’t it?”

Y/N sighed, looking down at their hands, suddenly very interested in the rings adorning their fingers.

”Only sometimes,” Y/N sighed again, “when I’m too empathetic for my own good. I just couldn’t imagine…being left behind like that.”

Ray reached out to lightly grasp their upper arm. “Well, hey…at least there’s folks like you here to help those left behind, right?”

”Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Y/N met his gaze, “thanks, Ray, really.”

”Anytime.” Ray gave their arm a light squeeze and dropped his hand to his side.

Neither of them moved to retreat.

”Well…I’ll let you get back to your work.” A slight blush powdered Y/N’s cheeks, and they suddenly felt embarrassment blooming in their chest.

Before the door could close between them, however, Ray stepped forward.

”Wait!” He blurted, feeling an embarrassment of his own creeping in. “Can I…see you again?”

Y/N gave him that warm smile that made him feel like they were the only two people on Earth.

”You know where to find me.”

Ray lingered at their door for a moment after it closed, feeling light, before retreating back to the car.

”Oh, no!” Peter cried out as Ray slid into the driver’s seat. “I know that look! Don’t tell me you’re gonna start bringing them around on a regular basis—I do not need any more spirits airing out my business.”

Egon cut in from the backseat, “I, for one, would enjoy hearing more of what Bill has to say.”

”Well I never want to hear from Bill ever again,” Peter gave Ray a serious look, “Oh, don’t smile, Ray. It’s a serious breach of privacy. You can’t expect me to—“

Ray turned up the radio, drowning out Peter’s wailings.

He drove into the night, the smile never leaving his face.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yves reaction where it’s one of the rare times he initiates sex and reader declines?

Also how does he initiate sex?

Tw: sex mention

Yves doesn't necessarily "initiate" sex per se, it's more like he would present an opportunity for you to grab. Whether you decide to take it or not, it's up to you and he would respect whatever choice you made. Yves will merely present signs that your proposal to fuck is very likely to be accepted. In the end, you're mostly still doing the initiation by asking him if it's a "yes" to sex.

His reaction depends on your baseline, if you're not very interested in having sex in the first place, your passiveness is already predicted and it confirms the accuracy of his algorithms, and his logic. He wouldn't spend too much time investigating why you said no, because he already knew the reasons. Yves would then move on to either test his other, countless hypotheses out, or just enjoy your company in the moment.

It also could be that you're just dense and missed the silent signs. Then, he would outright ask you if you wanted to make love with him. Yves will never word it as a demand, it's always a suggestion and never a request.

However, if he knew that you're the type to be caught dead before declining the delicious offer for sex, it would both excite and worry him at the same time. He's curious and intrigued, elated that there is something new about you he discovered. An anomaly in his prediction models, which doesn't occur very often and it's a marvel to witness.

Worried, because whenever you defy his expectations, it usually means you're suffering some sort of disease or under distress.

Yves would comb through everything that happened to you on that day and a few days prior. Checking what you saw on the Internet, hearing what other people told you, so on and so forth. Even sneakily taking a biological sample out of you without your knowledge. Yves knows how to draw a vial of clean blood undetected.

Once he is sure that he found the reason(s), he would perform two experiments on you:

1. He would remove the stimuli that caused your rejection or passiveness towards fornication, and suggest the idea of doing it with you again. Of course, he would do this at a much later date.

2. Yves would replicate the exact environment and sequence of events that he thought was the grounds for this inconsistency, and present an opportunity for you to fuck him again. You will experience a sense of Deja Vu, but ultimately more or less put you in the same headspace as before.

It goes without saying, he will NOT be replicating the cause if it's due to an illness, injury or a period of severe emotional turmoil. It pains Yves to make assumptions during the scientific process, but he would rather have some inaccurate data than have you hurt.

If he is wrong with his hypothesis AND sickness being the reason is absolutely ruled out, Yves would be even more thrilled. It's a new set of data for him to hunt down!

He would be running experiments on you as if you're a lab rat, and you wouldn't even notice.

Yves is cocky enough to think he could "read your mind" and determine the reason why you refused, he wouldn't ask you at all because that may interfere with his findings, introducing bias into his work and into your mind.

[minecraft-inspo]

Are you interested in contributing to the largest Minecraft prehistoric life mod?

PN is looking for new devs! Anyone with experience modeling, texturing or animating in BlockBench is wanted, as well as anyone with experience in Java coding, sound design, or writing/editing.

If you are interested, please join the Prehistoric Nature discord and dm the head developer, aecht_rob.

We would also appreciate if you shared this with anyone you think might be interested!

I have included Rob's more extensive description of available positions below, if you wish to know more details.

Modellers: anyone who can model creatures. We model using BlockBench. You would need to be able to do your own research about animal skeletal structure, and be flexible and responsive to criticism and accuracy advice. You would need to be able to follow the in-house style and patterns used by PN. We would prefer hugely that you could also texture models in the PN style. We provide in-house concept art for assistance.

Model animators: people who can produce animations inside of the BlockBench programme. We use these for mob movement, nesting, laying, eating, attacks, etc, as well as for whatever interesting spontaneous behaviours anyone wants to come up with. You need to be able to work under guidance about what is plausible and possible in terms of scientific knowledge. We provide internal advice about these matters. You would be liasing with our sound designers and modellers and palaeo-advisors.

Sound designers: people who can produce sounds for our creatures. Typically a set of several sound-variants is given for each creature, involving ambient, hurt and death; plus any extra sounds as needed by custom AI. You will need to look at models in BlockBench to understand timings of their animations, and should be familiar with the use of Audacity. We assist internally with access to resources and ideas and advice. You will need to be quite imaginative and resourceful and have a basic grasp of sound-editing.

Palaeopedia editors: this could be a range of different people, doing different parts: to act as the go-to person for the mod's Palaeopedia in terms of content. You would collate the entries, gather information from your own research and from the internal mod team discussions of each creature, and write, in good English, the Palaeopedia articles concisely and accurately; test formatting on the page in-game, and report issues like missing images and advancements; and so on. We will teach you how the relevant bits of code work to get these into the mod itself, and you should be happy that it is sometimes slightly technical. This might well extend to designing and setting poses for Taxidermy models too!

A java coder who knows modern Minecraft modding and modern Minecraft game mechanics: Someone who has written even basic java mods in modern Minecraft would be welcome to help and speed port things up (not MCreator). We're looking for someone flexible and able to work in a team and under guidance about code architecture and approaches: it's not a standalone role and is hoped to be collaborative. They should have worked with Minecraft java game code and (broadly) understand it.

[skekthesilly]

i love receiving validation. cant believe i have to get permission to keep enjoying the things i like but whatever

WILL BE VERY RAMBLY!! do not expect any coherent thoughts whatsoever

so i really wanna make the fish particles. will have to get around to drawing the ref but i really wanna make the fish particles soon. theyre gonna be muons. ouuughhh i get to gush and obsess over fiiishh... <3

i want them to like. have the bioluminescent markings that seawings (wof) have. thag would make me very happy methinks

they live in the water but. yaknow. we want some rp potential so i def want them to be able to go out of the water. all the goobs are out of the water </3 /silly

ough. oughh. horror stories of particles out late at night being dragged into the depths by a muon... my beloved...

the sciency part of me is going THIS ISNT SCIENTIFICALLY ACCURATE!!!! THERES NOT ENOUGH PARALELLS TO ACTUAL ATOM SHIT!!!!!! and to that i say SHUT UPP!!!!!!!!!!

pretty sparkly muons that live closer to the surface...... spiky creepy anglerfish looking muons in the deep...... and they're fucking HUGE...... ouughhh. ouuughh. ouuurrrgghhh.

god i love fish. so much.

these are very rough concepts keep in mind. feel free to help me build off of them if youd like. were making this fandom together after all 😁

i feel like they'd be decently strong. they ARE fish. more animalistic than normal particles. in a fight they will bite and scrabble and scratch

ooooooh muon dehydration.... their skin gets all leathery and crackly and. on GOD. smiles evilly. giggles. i wish i could project images onto here with my mind </3 whatever

a school of muons..... sighs dreamily....

"this is my friend surface level muon!!!" friendly glittery pink and blue particle waves at you

"and this is my other friend abyss muon!!!!" eldritch horror

i feel like deeper muons wouldnt really be able to emerge from the surface. which sucks. it would be nice to see a spooky scary muon walking around... somehow..... maybe..... someonell figure that out later somehow

since muons are unstable particles i feel like theyd probably rebirth easily. maybe. i dunno. still wanna have some stringy vague scientific accuracy. somehow.

maybe theyd rebirth easily through strong feelings. like not from fights. maybe feelings. cause theyre more wild than civil

yeag 😁

[monsterblogging]

The thing you gotta understand about designing monsters, robots, mechs, whatever, is that using artistic language to convey Themes, Ideas, and Character will always, always, ALWAYS be more important than """scientific accuracy""" or """realism""".

[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter five: i am found on the ground | read chapter four

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.5k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

━ a/n: if you'd like to see my notes (and my thoughts behind a certain inclusion of a character in this chapter), you can find them here <3 (also i'm on fire is playing in the last scene the formatting of the lyrics just killed me so i had to get rid of it thank you all)

“You just can’t beat it.”

“It was okay.”

You turn sharply to look at Tim, who shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. 

In the kitchen, Steph snorts. “Here we go.”

You ignore her. “Okay? Inception was okay—”

“Uncalled for—”

“But true. This?” You gesture to his flatscreen TV, where the end credits for Interstellar are playing; you’re a little bit red-eyed from the end scenes with Cooper and Murph but no less passionate. “This is more than okay. It’s—”

“Not technically scientifically accurate.”

You grab a pillow and gently whack him with it. He tries to hide a growing smile. You don’t understand what exactly he’s smiling at but you don’t care in this moment.

“It’s not about scientific accuracy, duck boy, it’s about love.”

“Yeah!” Steph yells from the kitchen. “Go love! Woo!”

You gesture in her direction. “He literally said it in the movie, Tim. How can you miss it? And Brand, too!”

“It wasn’t enough to save who she loved, though,” he points out—ever the devil’s advoactate, honestly…

“But it was there and she knew that, too, and she was okay with it. And it was enough for Cooper and Murph, too. I mean, literally to the point that she was able to save humanity. Right? Brand said it—love is the one thing we are capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space.”

Tim looks… well, far from upset or annoyed. He seems amused, almost… almost fond, the way he looks at you, but it’s too much for you to handle, so you look away, pouting a little.

“And also, okay, I know entering the black hole wasn’t ‘scientifically accurate’ but that’s the point, that some higher being switched them out so he didn’t die. You do have to admit, however, that the depiction of the black hole, which I’ll give Nolan props for, was great.”

“Okay, true,” he concedes. “The score was pretty good, too.”

“It was excellent.”

Steph steps out from the kitchen, looking at her phone. “Give me a sec, you guys, my mom’s calling me.”

You both give her an affirmative and she steps out the front door. You and Tim quickly resume your discussion.

“Inception’s score was good, too,” he points out. 

“Bah. They both had Zimmer. Of course it’s going to be good. But Interstellar has the benefit of being enhanced by it because it’s already a good movie. I mean, it surprises even me that Nolan could manage to pull off something like this.”

“He has the range,” Tim protests. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you Nolan stan. I’m still a bit hung-up on you saying it’s just ‘okay.’ I mean, sure, it could just be me projecting my own grief about my dead parents onto the story about a dad crossing space and time to get back to his daughter but still!”

That’s the understatement of the century. The scenes between Cooper and an old Murph never fail to make you tear up. Any of the scenes between them, really. 

The prolonged silence from Tim tips you off and it’s only when you look at him do you realize your mistake.

His eyes are wide as he looks at you, surprised, with something else. 

“Oh, it’s fine—”

“Your parents are—”

You both stop. 

You clear your throat, waving a hand. “It’s fine. I… I mean, sorry if it made you uncomfortable, I joke about it sometimes.”

“No,” he says. “It’s okay. It just surprised me. I guess… I don’t want to—I mean—I’m, uh, sorry?”

You shift on the couch, turning more toward him. “It’s okay. It was… well, not that long ago, but—”

You stop, because your instinctive response is ‘I’m over it’ but that’s not totally true, is it? You don’t think you’ll ever be over it. One part of you still feels horribly robbed of them, and some days, their deaths feel so monumental you can barely get through the day, while others, you can function normally for the most part. 

“No, I understand,” he says softly. “My parents, too. My mom when I was younger but my dad died when I was sixteen. It’s… not really something you get over, I think. No matter how much time passes.”

A quiet moment between you. It’s not like he’s tried to make you feel ostracized—if anything he’s gone out of his way to make you feel welcomed here, to make sure he and Steph don’t get too caught up on their own and they include you—but… This is a common thread between you and you know he knows and you know he knows you know. 

“Yeah… Yeah, exactly.” You pause, glancing at the TV, where the credits are rolling now. “It happened when I was fifteen. The, um, earthquake.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again and you know he means it. 

“I’m sorry about yours, too.”

Tim nods, the look on his face still soft, still gentle, then he glances back at the TV. 

“I was kidding, you know,” he says next. “It, uh, really was good. Better than I thought it would be. Scientific inaccuracy aside…”

“It’s good,” you press, ignoring the last comment. “And I don’t think it was trying to fool anyone into scientific accuracy.”

“Also true. I just…”

“Wasn’t expecting it to hit that hard?” you guess, smiling. “Yeah, I get it. Cried like a baby when I first saw it. You’re stronger than me for getting through it dry-eyed.”

“Oh, I’m just waiting for later,” he says. “Saving my sorrows for my pillow. That kind of thing.”

You laugh loudly. He smiles. 

“It does unearth all the dead parent trauma, though,” he says. 

“Oh, tell me about it. Cooper wanting to try to go back home after they find out Dr. Brand never intended to help those on earth…”

“And then having to sacrifice himself to give Brand a chance,” he finishes, shaking his head. “Only for it to turn out well in the end. If only real life was like that.”

A shade too dark for right now but you can’t say you disagree. 

The front door opens. Steph slips back inside, raising an eyebrow at you two. Though she hardly means what you think she means, you find yourself inching away from Tim, turning back forward slightly. You’d hate to give her the wrong impression.

And of course, that is not at all what she is thinking about.

“Why do you two look like someone just died?”

“Well, we were just talking about our dead parents, so,” Tim responds without missing a beat.

You burst out laughing. Steph groans. 

“I was wrong. You two shouldn’t be friends.”

“It’s too late for that, I think,” Tim says, grinning. 

You can’t help but grin, too.

She groans again.

Catwoman is your next vigilante visitor.

All skin-tight latex and a coquettish attitude that makes your face hot.

Luckily, she doesn’t appear to mind. She even pays for her stuff. 

(“I was told,” she purrs. “And I don’t much like being told what to do but… you’re cute enough to convince me to go along with it.”

You don’t think the noise you made was human but it amused her enough.)

Alongside that, you have the others who regularly drop by. Your vigilantes, but then, as you pick up a few weekend afternoon shifts (much to Steph’s disapproval), some normal faces, too.

Barbara, a red-haired woman with sharp green eyes who has a stately and intimidating aura to her but is always pleasant when you two chat. Sometimes she has another woman with her, a pretty blond Barbara calls D. Then, that one man, the stocky blonde with the tortoise-shell glasses and a quiet but kind disposition, who eventually introduces himself as Jean-Paul. 

You spot him during one of your weekend shifts, waiting his turn as you finish ringing up a harried-looking lady. Another man joins him, a little bit younger, you think, with dark hair and an odd white streak at the front; they’re both dressed in scrubs. 

“It’s been a while, Jason.”

“You know how it is, JP. Work doesn’t stop. How’s Leslie?”

“Doing everything at once and somehow managing to pull it off. I’m sure she’d like to see you, if you could find the time.”

“Sure. I’ve got a couple days off from the hospital. I could drop in. Lend a hand.”

A soft chuckle. “If she doesn’t turn you around and tell you to go rest.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

He coughs. The other man snickers.

Just as the lady leaves, Jean-Paul says, “Let me pay.”

“I won’t say no.”

They both step up to the counter. Jean-Paul gives you a small smile in greeting and seems to decide to forgo your usual small talk—probably because of his new company, which you’re a bit grateful for. The other man—Jason?—nods, eyeing you curiously. Why, you have no idea. But that’s the only thing odd about it. You ring up the coffees without issue and soon, they’re stepping out, Jean-Paul giving you another small smile in goodbye. You return it. 

Having regulars like that reminds you of the ones you had in Keystone City. Kind Mr. Garrick, who stopped by about once a month for lottery tickets, his wife typically in tow; they were always kind to you, always a little bit concerned over your wellbeing, whether you were getting enough sleep or eating well. Painfully reminiscent of grandparents you never had. 

A little more frequently, there was Linda Park-West, a face you easily recognized from WKEY-TV for the Channel 4 News. She didn’t miss much, always so perceptive, but kind to you, sometimes testing your PR skills as a reporter. She usually stopped by for coffee before work but on occasion, she brought along her kids, Jai and Iris, to let them pick out something for themselves, too. Quite literal balls of energy, they were a handful but always good-intentioned. 

You miss them all a lot. More than you thought you would. The Flash, too. Especially these days. What you’d give to talk to him about all this stuff…

But you’ve managed on your own since your parents died. You can keep doing it. 

The following week, Tuesday night, you get another new vigilante visitor.

This one?

Robin. 

He is, admittedly, a figure you are considerably more scared of. It’s a bit… silly on your part, too, because he is a kid, you think, a teen at least, but, well, teens can be scary. This one certainly is. If only because of his close proximity to the one who scares the most. The one who you are happy not to have visited you thus far and Robin’s appearance… well, you don’t entirely know if it’s a good thing. 

But it might be foolish to assume that Batman doesn’t know this is happening. 

But then thinking of him knowing you exist makes you horribly anxious, so, you shelve the thought for now and try to focus on the situation.

Which is…

The three dogs in tow collapse in front of the door, panting, tongues lolled out, appearing to enjoy the air-conditioned bliss of the inside of the store. Robin stares at you, his face a blank mask. 

“Water?”

“At the back. Far left.”

He nods and turns.

You wait there, uncertain, glancing at the dogs. They look worse for wear, fur dirty and matted, old scars healed over; the sight tugs at your heart, so you step around from the counter, heading to the coffee machine. The store doesn’t carry bowls but the extra-large soda cups are wide enough to work for now. 

Robin appears near you, several big bottles of water held in hand. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you and the cups.

“Don’t have any bowls,” you admit. “So, I thought this might work.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Styrofoam. Wasteful. But it’ll do.”

“Yeah, Circle K isn’t breaking barriers in terms of eco-friendliness.”

He says nothing to that, just turns and heads for the dogs. You follow him, not that turned off. You’ve heard rumors about this particular Robin. He does a good job but can be… rough around the edges. Like Bat, like Robin, you guess.

Glancing at the cups, you get an idea, stopping to duck around the counter and grab a pair of scissors. You cup off the top half of each of them, Robin taking them as you go, until all three cups are cut, allowing for the dogs to have better reach. 

You join him with the last one, filling it with cold water. Most of the dogs are so heat tired, they only lift their heads to drink, seemingly unable to stand.

You and Robin stay kneeled in front of them, filling the cups when necessary. You gently stroke the head of one nearest to you, smiling as his tail thumps against the tiles. 

Robin says nothing else and neither do you. That’s how his time there goes, spent in silence, petting the dogs, letting them cool down and rest. 

Eventually, he starts to leave, and you can’t help but ask, “What’s going to happen to them?”

He regards you for a moment and you get the unnerving feeling of being picked apart and analyzed. Still, you hold steady. It’s good practice, you try to tell yourself. One day, you’ll be faced with bloodhounds for journalists and you have to keep it together. Let yourself practice with Robin because if you can pull it off with him, you can do it with anyone. 

“The shelters are closed for the night,” he eventually responds. “I will take them somewhere safe, off the streets. Then in the morning, they’ll go there.”

“That’s good. Thanks for doing that. It’s kind of you.”

He pauses, looking back at the dogs, who are rejuvenated by this point, stretching and standing up, tails wagging as they look at you two. 

“It’s the right thing to do,” he says at last. “And… thank you, for your help.”

You glance away, picking up the cups. “Sure. No problem.”

A nod and Robin is soon corralling the dogs out of the store, murmuring more gently to them than you would expect, but from this experience, you suspect he has some kind of soft spot for animals. It’s endearing, in a way. 

You hope you made a good impression on him, too. 

(And if your good impression keeps Batman out a little longer, well, that’s just a lucky coincidence.)

The start of July creeps on you. 

There is still achingly little contact between you and Tim. By this point, you haven’t seen him in person for more than a month.

You miss him, in the same way you miss a limb. Scrolling through your social media, whenever you find something funny or that he would like, your knee-jerk reaction is to send it to him. But your conversations on those respective platforms are made up of messages from you and none from him, so you have to stop yourself, because it wouldn’t be worth it. He wouldn’t see it. 

Steph tries to preoccupy your time, though her behavior regarding Tim grows increasingly skittish, to the point where you almost think she might know.

She might know that you’re in love with him, him, her ex-boyfriend and first love. The thought brings on the usual amount of soul-crushing guilt and disgust with yourself. How can you do that to her? She’s your best friend. You love her to the ends of the universe and back and… How can you do that to her?

But… something else about it all niggles at you, too. She switches between reassuring you he’ll come around, and dismissing him the other times, saying you ‘don’t need him to have a good time.’ It makes you think they may be having their own issues, too.

The thought is sobering. 

You’ve always thought of Steph and Tim as—as insane as it sounds—a pair of bonded kittens. Not exactly getting along all the time but…

You couldn’t separate them. You shouldn’t separate them. 

And it feels so wrong for it to be just you two, sometimes. Like you’re missing another piece of the puzzle and it’s noticeable. This empty space between you two that he usually filled. Your group chat, at his insistence, is called the three musketeers. Well, you’re missing your third. Desperately.

“We can rebrand,” Steph says to you one day, the two of you at the mall’s food court. Tim said he was busy. Again.

“No,” you sigh. “That’s not… no. Anyway, Big Belly?”

“I—oh, you have got to be kidding me.” She sounds annoyed, voice sharp.

“What?” you ask, your eyes still on the menu in front of you. 

She grabs your arm. “I think we should eat somewhere else.”

You frown at her. “But you said you wanted to get—”

“We can get Big Belly somewhere else. Maybe a little more quiet, you know, it’s kinda crazy in here,” she laughs, though it sounds strained as she tugs you over to the exit. 

“Crazy? It’s not that busy—Stephanie!” You yelp as she drags you forward before you can take a look around. “What is going on—”

“It’s just—I think I see Jordanna—”

“Where—”

“Let’s not look! Don’t want her to see you or me, you know how she is, so, let’s get out of here…”

“Well, I—okay—you don’t have to—”

She tugs you all the way through the exit, out into the burning mid-afternoon heat. Humidity swallows you whole, turning your skin tacky, sun bearing down on you full-force. Outside, it smells sharply of gasoline and hot blacktop.

“Honestly, Steph,” you say, shaking your head. “You didn’t need to drag me out like that.”

She gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I just… didn’t want to deal with Jordanna. She’s been really annoying me recently.”

“Has she?” You can’t imagine why Jordanna would even be talking to her since it’s the summer, but to be fair, there isn’t much Jordanna wouldn’t do in the name of annoying her. 

“Yup. Just… acting way out of line. So, let’s go somewhere else.”

“Alright, that’s fine. Let’s get out of the heat before you have to scrape me off the pavement.”

“Food’s on me,” she promises, looping her fingers through the belt loops of your jeans, tugging you gently; too hot to hold hands or twine your arms together like usual. 

Though the whole thing bothers you a little bit, you are too used to Steph and Tim’s sometimes strange ways. Leaving abruptly, missing scheduled hangouts, a penchant for tardiness. The occasional bruise or cut that they both wave away. The exhaustion that wears them down sometimes.

It’s odd.

But stranger things happen in Gotham, so, you heed their wishes for that stuff to be ignored. 

Just like you let this one go, too. 

Really. The things you do for them.

Oddities aside, as Tim remains virtually radio silent, you miss him more. Think about him more. 

Dream about him more.

“Steph’s going to be late,” is what Tim says as soon as he steps inside your dorm. 

You snort. “Of course she is. You’re both terrible at being punctual.”

“I… am less bad at it than she is.”

“Right,” you say, smirking, pointing to your clock. “You’re only twenty minutes late, compared to what her forty minutes to an hour will be.”

Tim grimaces as he shuffles off his shoes by the door, then steps in further. “She said she was showering.”

“So, we have even more time. That’s fine. I wanted to paint my nails.”

In the bathroom you share with your ‘roommate,’ the shower turns on. It’s really just the bathroom you two share. Your small dorm is entirely private. The perks of being a junior. 

You go over to your dresser, where your collection of makeup and nail polish is. Above it, your window looks out to the grassy quad, the sky clear of clouds, unusually blue today without the typical smog; the sun shines in, dust motes dancing in the rays.

Tim comes over, too, but he goes for your phone instead, which is connected to your Bluetooth speaker, music playing lowly; he got that for you this past Christmas. 

“Gonna play your old people music?”

“Bruce Springsteen is a treasure to this country and, to quote my dad, one of the few good things to ever come out of the state of New Jersey.”

You laugh. The song changes. The upbeat notes of Hungry Heart start. You’ve heard this one more than a couple times since meeting him. It’s not so bad. 

You fiddle with the bottles of nail polishes. Tim sets your phone down and leans over, dropping his chin to your shoulder as he watches you, humming quietly under his breath. 

The contact makes your heart skip a beat, tendrils of his cologne wrapping around you, the heat of his body palpable through your thin t-shirt. It’s a contradicting sensation, with the AC working hard to beat the May heat that’s settled in. Maybe too hard, as your fingers are a little bit cold. You warm up quickly with Tim so close to you, your heart thudding in your ears. You desperately hope he can’t feel the heat that expands in your face.

That’s a more recent development. One you hate looking too closely at, for fear of what it means.

(You do know what it means. You’re just still in denial. Because admitting it means you have feelings for your best friend’s ex-boyfriend. For your best friend.)

You keep fiddling, not sure which color to pick. Tim huffs softly, reaching past you, picking out a bottle of wine red nail polish.

“Fine. But you have to help,” you say, taking it from him, then grabbing another bottle for the top coat. 

“Don’t I always?”

You just nudge him back, stepping away from the dresser and taking a seat on the floor. The floor is hard, polished concrete; not pleasant to sit on or walk on, so you’ve invested in several cushioned rugs to cover as much as you can. 

Tim grabs a Zesti from your mini fridge, then joins you as you set to painting the nails of your left hand. This one is easier since you’re using your dominant hand and you manage to paint your nails without catching any of the skin around them. 

The shower in your bathroom hums underneath the sound of the song as you finish your left hand. The first coat, anyway. Tim passes his Zesti to you, wipes a hand on his jeans to get rid of the condensation, then takes the bottle of nail polish. 

You sip the soda, extending your right hand to him. He carefully balances the bottle on the rug and sets to painting your nails. 

Like with most things he does, Tim dedicates himself to his task wholeheartedly, cornflower blue eyes trained on your hand, tongue poking out in concentration. The sight makes your heart skip a beat. Warmth unspools in your chest like cotton candy.

Sunlight pours in from the window above the dresser, bathing him in warm, golden rays; it makes the shade of his dark hair warmer, the blue of his t-shirt, too, softening the pale of his skin. 

“So… how was that date?”

The question jars you. You avert your eyes. 

Ah. The date you agreed to go on with a guy in your communications class in an attempt to… you don’t know. Distract yourself from Tim? Try to find someone else to latch onto? All… not so great reasons, you know, but needs must. 

Not like it worked out, anyway…

“Terrible.”

He stiffens, pausing in his work to look at you, eyes narrowing, and you send him a small smile, privately pleased—though you shouldn’t be—at seeing him get all protective. You can take care of yourself and he knows that, too, but… one can appreciate having a cute guy be like that for you. Within reason, anyway. 

“He didn’t do anything, Timmy, relax. He was just… well, seemed nice initially. But when we got to the restaurant, he was horrible to the waitress. I already wasn’t feeling it, but after that, no way. So.”

He glances away, thumb rubbing idly at the back of your hand from where he cradles it in his. “Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t a good idea.”

“To go with him or—” he clears his throat, turning back to his work “—dating in general?”

“I don’t know. He just wasn’t what I was looking for.”

“What are you looking for?”

You, you want to say, but don’t. 

Frightening to realize, really, that the answer to that question is immediate, as sure as the day. 

It’s Tim. 

Always Tim. 

But you’ve never felt this way for someone. This strongly, like you want so much, you could never be satisfied. 

“I don’t know,” you say quietly, watching the brush of the handle glide over your nail in easy, practiced sweeps. “Does anyone?”

“I guess not,” he concedes softly. “But still. I hope you can find it.”

The song changes. Something calmer, with the strum of the guitar. Familiar croons of I'm On Fire.

I have found it, you want to say. It’s you. It’s this. Right here, right now.

But just because you found it doesn’t mean it’s yours.

“Do you?” you find yourself asking because apparently you’re feeling extra masochistic today. “Know what you’re looking for, I mean.”

Steph sometimes teases him. Tries to point out nice boys and girls he might like. You used to play along. You don’t so much these days. 

He would always wave it off, anyway. Just shake his head and change the subject. He has dated before. Obviously. Someone as gorgeous as him… all of Gotham wants a piece of him. You do, too. Well. You want all of him. Which is another thing you are just now realizing. But anyway, since you’ve known him, he hasn’t dated anyone. He used to date a boy—Bernard? Steph said he was a character—from one of his old high schools but that didn’t work out. And now he still has the occasional date, but it never pans out. He says they just aren’t compatible. 

Makes you curious.

You’d never match up to it, you know, but you want to know, anyway. 

Tim looks up, his eyes slowly scanning your face. This close, with the sunlight, you can see the shadows his lashes cast on his cheeks, the flecks of silver in his eyes, like mercury, the odd scars, too, that he excuses behind clumsiness as a child. Everything inside you squeezes.

“I guess you can say that,” he eventually says, voice soft. 

The words hurt, but distantly, like it’s all far away from you. You’re too caught up here, now, close enough to smell his cologne. 

Tension thickens the air between you. It’s unfamiliar, unknown, but not unwelcome with how your stomach swoops like you missed a step, heart pounding in your ears. 

Tim looks… contemplative. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the movement of him biting his lip, teeth sinking into plush pink, and the urge to soothe away the indents with your own lips is fearsome, monumental, like a hurricane. 

His fingers tighten on your hand. You want to get swept away in this moment, no matter the consequences. It’s a dangerous kind of feeling you aren’t used to. 

But the shower abruptly shuts off in the bathroom, plunging the room back into silence with the strum of the guitar and the croon of the song as it ends. The moment is broken. 

Tim clears his throat and returns to his work. 

Neither of you say anything. 

Too much for you to want. 

Too much you cannot have.

Too complicated.

reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @peachesona @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @kikis-writing-service @sweetistic @soundsfunbutno @ginevraxrogers @fridaenpina @skcj24 @bath1lda @omfg-its-tay @laughydaphne @fhrjrirj @iamthesimpmother @alittlelateforstars @thaliadoesthings @scarlett13 @zelabee @coffee-love-alltheabove @benstormy @sad-girl09 @lockofspades @thereallchristine

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[ghooostbaby]

i really need to have a talk with the tgcf fandom about the use of the term 'parallel'. because. my friends. sometimes there are things that have similarities and differences that are interesting to make comparisons on but they ARE NOT PARALLELS. and trying to force them into that relationship to each other actually robs the comparison of their nuance. or just plain sense and accuracy. the amount of times lately i see a meta announcing something is parallel when, sure, if you zoom out really far and look at in pure generalization from a distance you could say it is parallel. like if you were in an airplane looking down on two tiny cars travelling on parallel roads... but then if you get closer you would find that the roads are very different. they're going the same way at times and taking similar directions but other times doing very different things and then eventually turn off and go their own way. it can be interesting to look at how their differences and similarities add meaning and depth compared to just look at them on their own. but you have to do all kinds of revision on the source material to make these two things fit the interpretation that they are parallel. and that that conclusion of a parallel relationship was already decided on before looking closely! any kind of analysis, scientific, literary, whatever, you don't decide on your theory before you do the research, you observe what you are analyzing and let yourself be open to whatever relationships you can see and let an interpretation emerge from that!! in general there seems like a weird over emphasis on literary analysis terms and theories and labels and taking any stray element of tgcf that has anything to do with a literary analysis term and shoehorn it into this literary theory framework to extrapolate a whole interpretation of the book more based on fitting the story into the literary framework than letting the story show the relationships and frameworks it is building itself. the amount of "this is what mxtx is saying because this is what happened in shakespeare" ???!!!?! just read the book and let it show you what its saying you don't need to hamfist it into the structure of a shakespearean tragedy!! "parallel characters" are not the only valuable relationships to analyze, sometimes characters are kind of different and kind of similar and comparing them can be cool. and is much more interesting than distorting the full story to construct a parallel that isnt there. just leave all the fancy literary terminology aside till you know how to let your observations of a story dictate your interpretation, and stop trying to leave out whole parts of the story that don't fit with your literary analysis framework. see the story on its own terms PLEASE

[antihumanism]

getting really bored with all the people whining about how it's not real dire wolf because it doesn't come from the dire region of France and not even 51% of its genes are from corn, so what you have there is less of a dire wolf and really more of a sparkling whiskey, okay, whatever, and the "dinosaurs" in Jurassic Park were just really fucked up frogs, they were still perfectly able to kill and eat all those people, right? you just gotta trust the process, okay? so, what i want to know is, we introduce one of these dire things into their new "native" environment of, like, a preschool or a Chuck E. Cheese--wait, do they still have Chuck E. Cheese? is that still a thing, we may have to bring back Chuck E. Cheese, also--anyway, whatever, the important question is, we let one or two of these freaks loose into a building full of kids, what is the body count looking like? at least five or six each, i hope, so, come one, let's go, less whining about scientific accuracy, and more bringing in the beast that it may feast on childflesh

[mountainfrogs]

Keronians & Aging Headcanons

hiii i still exist ive mostly been orikero brained anywho my universes ideas on Keronians and Age

Keronians age a lot slower than most sentient species. You do have some who Do age slowly - Angols, Nayotakeans, whatever tf Kogoro is - but nobody has ever aged as slowly as Keronians do. Because of this Keronians often have a kind of insider-outsider view, in that every time they revisit someone they seem to be entirely different, and it's thus easier to associate with their own society and species. Think Elves from Lord of the Rings - age slowly, ageless, stick to themselves because the world turns too fast. They're constantly updating treaties and negotiations bc other species just Change too fuckin fast.

Keronians also face the peculiarity in that, technically, they have no life expectancy. There are ages, of course - Keroro is 10K, Kululu 6K, etc - but without disease, without war, it's been observed that Keronians can, effectively, age without end, without growing brittle or old. A Keronian may and has grown so old that they can no longer effectively track their age with real accuracy. This is known as aging into Redundancy and is noted as such on their vital records. The Supreme Commander's age is Redundant. Nobody knows how long he's been in power - he just has been.

It's theorized that there was artificial modification of their biological makeup to make all of this possible, and the headway their medical and scientific minds are making into crafting more and more disease immunities support this fact.

[nmahderb3000w25]

Interpretive Blog #5

Since we are free to write whatever we want this week, I base this blog on the most interesting thing I have learned thus far about nature interpretation.

One of the most intriguing things I’ve learned about nature interpretation is how storytelling can bridge the gap between scientific knowledge and emotional connection. Interpreting Cultural and Natural Heritage emphasizes that successful interpretation presents facts and connects those facts to visitors’ values, emotions, and personal experiences. This realization made me rethink how I approach sharing knowledge about nature, especially when interacting with people who may not have a scientific background. I have genuinely felt connected with this course and readings since my major stems from Environmental Management. I learned how environmental science affects our everyday lives and how it is integrated into business.

I used to believe that providing detailed information, such as the scientific names of species or their ecological roles, was the key to practical nature interpretation. While I found this fascinating as an environmental science student, I quickly realized through personal experience that others didn’t always feel the same way. One example that comes to mind is during a field trip in my previous class, Intro to the Biophysical Environment (GEOG 1300). During the journey, I vividly remember pointing out a native plant species and explaining its taxonomy. However, my group seemed disengaged; they were more interested in how the plant related to local wildlife or indigenous cultural practices.

Reflecting on this moment and guided by the textbook, I realized that interpretation needs to be more than just scientific accuracy. The book highlights the idea of "meaning-making," where interpreters help audiences create personal connections to what they are learning. This inspired me to shift my approach from providing pure information to crafting experiences that stimulate curiosity and emotion.

Another example that comes to mind is during my first-year Biodiversity course, where we were responsible for tracking the presence of squirrels around campus, including their colour and physical features. I remember discussing this assignment with my peer and feeling very passionate and engaged with doing it. I shared a story about the red oak tree's role in local history and how its acorns once provided a food source for Indigenous communities. I also talked about how squirrels gather and bury the acorns, which reminded my friend of the animated character Scrat from Ice Age. That small, relatable detail sparked a conversation, and my friend became more engaged. The author's emphasis on using stories to relate natural phenomena to human experiences came to life at that moment, and it was rewarding to see us connect with nature on a deeper level.

The textbook also emphasizes the need for inclusive interpretation, considering audience diversity and learning styles. I've learnt to consider accessibility, whether that means explaining complicated scientific words, utilizing analogies, or even combining podcasts and blog postings to reach those who prefer online platforms. Furthermore, what excites me most is that nature interpretation is constantly evolving. This course and insights from Beck’s textbook have shown me that interpretation is not about “dumbing down” science but about making it meaningful.

Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2018). Interpreting cultural and natural heritage : for a better world. Sagamore Venture. 

[sing-you-fools]

need a tumblr poll setting that's like. no "amount of time" please just close the poll and let me know as soon as one (1) person casts a vote. i don't care about sample size or majority opinion or scientific accuracy or whatever i just don't know what book to read next and want to flip a sentient coin about it. i can't decide if i want earl grey or irish breakfast tea right now and want to Offload That Decision Onto Someone Else Please (but also i want tea Now and not In Twenty-Four Hours or In One Week) (i mean possibly ALSO In Twenty-Four Hours and/or One Week but look you GET WHAT I'M SAYING)

[a-dragons-journal]

Hello! It’s me, the hello anon again with the link back to the tumblr account. Your criticism of the source is fair, it’s just what I had on hand. I realize that that individual uses the term in the same paragraph but I think it’s more of a “explaining it to people who are otherwise completely unaware” thing than a “they can’t even stick to the preference” thing, but that’s my reading.

I see now that you’ve found another term anyways, and that’s great! I hope I can still ask you, and broadly other therians/nonhumans who want to use the term, a question though.

Your first reblog, the one that started this, is correct in that the h-term means something very specific, that is: an animal species (or individual nonhuman animal) that produces both male and female gametes. There are no known mammal or avian species to whom this term applies, and is in fact rare in vertebrates outside of some fish species (all this straight from the Wikipedia). In your case I imagine you’re applying the term to your dragon kintype (my apologies if you specified otherwise elsewhere, I missed it) in which case, since dragons don’t exist in any categorizable way in scientific literature, is it/was it really a scientifically accurate term to describe what you mean? And for other nonhumans who are using the term and want to continue to use the term for their kintype, I would ask the same thing. Unless the term is actually applicable to your species in scientific literature, is it really an accurate categorization? Because the term doesn’t actually apply to every nonhuman animal with sex organ variations.

Hopefully that doesn’t sound combative, because I’m not trying to be. I can understand the desire to stick to accurate terms and not muddy the waters with language from botany or imprecise labels which is why I ask the question. Sorry to add to your anon deluge again! Hope you have a good day/evening/whatever in spite of it.

Yes. Every single nonhuman whose species is an extant one I've seen use the word hermaphrodite is using it specifically because that's the correct word for their species, as it is described by science. And yes, it is the correct word for my species (as far as I can tell, gaps in my knowledge about my species's biology notwithstanding).

I appreciate you trying to be polite about this, I really do, but as politely as possible, when as you acknowledge my entire hangup about almost every term presented as an alternative to hermaphrodite has been the accuracy of those terms because they don't mean precisely the same thing hermaphrodite does, why on earth would you assume that I either don't know what the word means or don't care about using it accurately? If it wasn't the accurate term, we wouldn't be having this discussion in the first place. If, alternatively, I didn't care enough to know that it's the accurate term, we also wouldn't be having this discussion in the first place, because I wouldn't have had any reason to dig my heels in.

Sorry if my tone's a little sharper than deserved, I know I'm not fully matching you in tone here and I hope you'll forgive me on that this once, I'm trying to phrase this as nicely as I can manage and failing to soften it any further. I'm just - frankly a little floored at the assumption that I either don't know or don't care about the accuracy of the term when that's been the point of my entire argument, and when you clearly know that, because you acknowledge it in your last paragraph. I'm genuinely not sure where this assumption is coming from or what else to say to it.

(Thank you for the well-wishes, and for being polite about this; I really do appreciate it. Likewise to you about having a good day/evening/etc. as applicable.)