http://philcoulson.tumblr.com/post/92676187559/captainbisexual-it-doesnt-matter-how-many »

captainbisexual:

it doesn’t matter how many “pretend to be dating” fics i read, i’m always fucking in it headfirst every time and i fall for that shit every time. i know the pattern i know the plot twists i know what’s gonna happen but every single fucking time i’m fucking on the edge of my…

Source: terehsa Via: laurahaie

kickingshoes:

Society6 is having a sale! FREE Worldwide Shipping from now until July 27th!

jetgreguar:

allrightcallmefred:

fredscience:

The Doorway Effect: Why your brain won’t let you remember what you were doing before you came in here
I work in a lab, and the way our lab is set up, there are two adjacent rooms, connected by both an outer hallway and an inner doorway. I do most of my work on one side, but every time I walk over to the other side to grab a reagent or a box of tips, I completely forget what I was after. This leads to a lot of me standing with one hand on the freezer door and grumbling, “What the hell was I doing?” It got to where all I had to say was “Every damn time” and my labmate would laugh. Finally, when I explained to our new labmate why I was standing next to his bench with a glazed look in my eyes, he was able to shed some light. “Oh, yeah, that’s a well-documented phenomenon,” he said. “Doorways wipe your memory.”
Being the gung-ho new science blogger that I am, I decided to investigate. And it’s true! Well, doorways don’t literally wipe your memory. But they do encourage your brain to dump whatever it was working on before and get ready to do something new. In one study, participants played a video game in which they had to carry an object either across a room or into a new room. Then they were given a quiz. Participants who passed through a doorway had more trouble remembering what they were doing. It didn’t matter if the video game display was made smaller and less immersive, or if the participants performed the same task in an actual room—the results were similar. Returning to the room where they had begun the task didn’t help: even context didn’t serve to jog folks’ memories.
The researchers wrote that their results are consistent with what they call an “event model” of memory. They say the brain keeps some information ready to go at all times, but it can’t hold on to everything. So it takes advantage of what the researchers called an “event boundary,” like a doorway into a new room, to dump the old info and start over. Apparently my brain doesn’t care that my timer has seconds to go—if I have to go into the other room, I’m doing something new, and can’t remember that my previous task was antibody, idiot, you needed antibody.
Read more at Scientific American, or the original study.

I finally learned why I completely space when I cross to the other side of the lab, and that I’m apparently not alone.

this is actually kind of great and it’s nice to know there’s something behind that constant spacing out whenever i enter a different place

jetgreguar:

allrightcallmefred:

fredscience:

The Doorway Effect: Why your brain won’t let you remember what you were doing before you came in here

I work in a lab, and the way our lab is set up, there are two adjacent rooms, connected by both an outer hallway and an inner doorway. I do most of my work on one side, but every time I walk over to the other side to grab a reagent or a box of tips, I completely forget what I was after. This leads to a lot of me standing with one hand on the freezer door and grumbling, “What the hell was I doing?” It got to where all I had to say was “Every damn time” and my labmate would laugh. Finally, when I explained to our new labmate why I was standing next to his bench with a glazed look in my eyes, he was able to shed some light. “Oh, yeah, that’s a well-documented phenomenon,” he said. “Doorways wipe your memory.”

Being the gung-ho new science blogger that I am, I decided to investigate. And it’s true! Well, doorways don’t literally wipe your memory. But they do encourage your brain to dump whatever it was working on before and get ready to do something new. In one study, participants played a video game in which they had to carry an object either across a room or into a new room. Then they were given a quiz. Participants who passed through a doorway had more trouble remembering what they were doing. It didn’t matter if the video game display was made smaller and less immersive, or if the participants performed the same task in an actual room—the results were similar. Returning to the room where they had begun the task didn’t help: even context didn’t serve to jog folks’ memories.

The researchers wrote that their results are consistent with what they call an “event model” of memory. They say the brain keeps some information ready to go at all times, but it can’t hold on to everything. So it takes advantage of what the researchers called an “event boundary,” like a doorway into a new room, to dump the old info and start over. Apparently my brain doesn’t care that my timer has seconds to go—if I have to go into the other room, I’m doing something new, and can’t remember that my previous task was antibody, idiot, you needed antibody.

Read more at Scientific American, or the original study.

I finally learned why I completely space when I cross to the other side of the lab, and that I’m apparently not alone.

this is actually kind of great and it’s nice to know there’s something behind that constant spacing out whenever i enter a different place

Am I the only one who got, like, super excited when they referenced Joan of Arc in Frozen?

moriarteawithsugar:

leaving kudos on fics like

image

arineat:

badgergasm:

Here’s hoping.

HOW AWESOME WOULD THAT BE?!

arineat:

badgergasm:

Here’s hoping.

HOW AWESOME WOULD THAT BE?!

Source: badgergasm Via: dextrgrif

captain-snark:

"You made pasta?"

*dramatic zoom/pause*

"And meatballs"

"Did you take out the trash?"

*dramatic zoom*

"And the recycling"

"Derek this has to stop."

streeter:

I am a historian and this is how it happened.

streeter:

I am a historian and this is how it happened.

Source: streeter Via: lowlifetheory

sherlockocity:

Muggleborn students at Hogwarts (part 1/?)

adventuresofcesium:

mainstream tumblr feminism may have many glaring faults but it has bred an army of teenage girls who understand the common ways that misogyny is reinforced in society and who know that they’re better off loving their fellow woman than fighting with her and that’s actually pretty damn revolutionary

Joel Heyman + The Lads 

helenish:

deludedisthenewreality:

New BTS photo of Tyler Hoechlin and Jill Wagner.

It’s really important to me that there’s a universe where Kate and Derek made it work—like, she flirted with Derek, got close to him, the first time he kissed her she told herself that it was disgusting, that it was part of the lie, but it wasn’t, really, Derek leaning in shyly and saying, “is this okay?” touching her cheek, and his lips were soft and a little chapsticky.
Kate dated hunters, good-looking guys she was smarter than, the kind of guys she could bring home when Gerard was around. Derek is quiet, so it takes her a little while to realize how sharp and funny he can be. He’s—they’re in community college together, Derek for real and Kate pretending, and the fucking—homework, the fucking homework, she’s close to failing a bunch of her classes. Kate had trouble focusing in school, barely scraped out of high school and is defensive and prickly about it. Gerard told her a million times how she was too smart for school, and she pretended to believe it, but deep down, she knows she’s dumb, like she didn’t really learn to read until second grade, when they were finally in a town for a full school year. She knows that the only thing she’s good at is killing monsters, so—
The thing is, it’s a mindfuck, being back in classes, reminded of all the school stuff she didn’t understand the first time around but having to pretend she cares this time, the first time she gets frustrated and snaps at Derek, just leave her alone, she’s too fucking dumb to learn this shit, who cares anyway?
Derek says, no, she’s not, and he’s so—nice.  She thinks it’s weak and pathetic, calls him a baby, tells he doesn’t know anything about her, and Derek leans in and says he knows what it’s like to be a fuck up who has to go to loser college, watch the guys who weren’t as good as he was get basketball scholarships to good schools and his voice is so full of hatred and misery and self-loathing that—
like, up until now, Kate has been thinking of Derek as this naive, sheltered, rich kid, with a sweet ride and leather jacket and quick careless grin, and now she sees Derek is just as empty inside as she is, that he’s going through the motions.
He’s a monster, she tells herself, in the mirror. He’s vermin. She just needs to get the job done and get back to her real life, the life where Gerard’s still training her, where she spends Saturday night fighting her way out of whatever fucked up situation Gerard decides would be good for her, where he tells her to stop being so lazy, so afraid, and she used to sneak into Chris’ room at night, they used to play cards or just talk, but Chris is away at college—he also got good grades—and she doesn’t have anyone to talk to anymore.
Derek makes her flashcards, shares his notes. They go joyriding, they fuck in the backseat of his car, she wants to hate it, she wants to, she wants to hate Derek’s little sisters, the time he shows up for a date with them in tow, apologetic, and they all get ice cream and the girls run around on the grass by the ice cream place, pretending to be airplanes, she wants to hate Derek when he finally tells her about Paige, that she’d been hurt, that she’d died, that it was his fault.
Kate’s been waiting for this, of course, has practiced it over in her mind, the things she has to say to make Derek really trust her, and she says them all now, leans in against him and says fiercely that it wasn’t his fault, that shitty things happen sometimes, that—he was just a kid. He was—she loses track of the script; she’s so tired, there’s a bruise on her back where she fell badly, training, she’s hungry because Gerard told her she was getting too fat, she—I did things, she says. I hurt people, the horror of it flooding up and over her, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know, if you knew—
Derek says, well. They can be shitty, worthless people together, right?
"I guess," Kate says. She spent a lot of time getting dolled up to see Derek, curling her hair or putting on makeup in a way that it would make it seem like she wasn’t even wearing any, that her skin was just that good, her cheeks just stained pink, and she catches sight of herself in his rearview mirror and her face is mottled and raw looking, her eyes bloodshot. She’s supposed to be telling Derek she loves him, she’s supposed to be so beautiful, perfect.
"I love you," she says, and bursts into tears. She gets snot on his shirt.
**
"The thing is," she says, her voice high and thin, a week later, standing on the Hale front porch, shivering in a tank top and jeans, her hair braided tightly back, clutching a gas can in one shaking hand, "I’m supposed to—burn your house down. But I don’t think I can, and I—can’t go back until I do it, so—"
"I think you’d better come in," Derek’s dad says. Derek and Laura are out, but Mrs. Hale is there, the little girls, Derek’s uncle and his family, the baby.
"You should just kill me," she says. They’re in the enormous kitchen, Kate sitting opposite Derek’s mom at the scarred wooden table. Derek’s uncle, leaning against the counter, opens the can and sniffs, makes a face. Derek’s dad comes down the back stairs with a sweatshirt and gives it to her, stands there until Kate takes it and puts it on. "You can tell Derek," she says. "that I—left, or just—tell him the truth. But tell him it wasn’t his fault."
"Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary," Mrs. Hale says. There’s a odd little smile playing around the edges of her mouth. "Derek’s been so dedicated to his studies since he started seeing you."
Kate tries to tell them, how dangerous she is, how she isn’t to be trusted. Derek’s dad makes her a cup of tea. She doesn’t go home.
*
Of course she’s hurt eventually; Gerard doesn’t give her up so easily. And when Derek’s mom gives her the bite, she turns into—it’s not a wolf, exactly.
Derek spends six months of moons with her, curled up around her in the basement, until she’s safe to be outside.
"I’m a freak," she says at the time. "This is—you should find someone normal." She tries to break up with him a million times. Derek says she’s beautiful to him, that he doesn’t care, that she needs a better reason to break up with him and just turning into a weird animal once a month, that he’s proud of her, even if she isn’t.
They get a crappy apartment in town, Derek finishes school and Kate ends up teaching self-defense and martial arts classes, runs week long camping/canoe retreats for families. Chris comes around sometimes; things are hard between them for a little while, until Allison comes and cries and cries and cries, until Derek says, “Can I?” and Victoria is too tired to say no, to do anything but put Allison in Derek’s careful hands.
"How," Victoria says, her voice breaking, when Allison stops crying.
"He has a lot of nieces and nephews," Kate says comfortingly. 
*
They grow up together. Kate doesn’t—she knows she doesn’t deserve Derek, his huge terrible happy family, the way he smiles when he looks at her, but doesn’t want to disappoint him. They’re ridiculously happy. The insides of their wedding rings are inscribed with worthless & shitty and the date.

helenish:

deludedisthenewreality:

New BTS photo of Tyler Hoechlin and Jill Wagner.

It’s really important to me that there’s a universe where Kate and Derek made it work—like, she flirted with Derek, got close to him, the first time he kissed her she told herself that it was disgusting, that it was part of the lie, but it wasn’t, really, Derek leaning in shyly and saying, “is this okay?” touching her cheek, and his lips were soft and a little chapsticky.

Kate dated hunters, good-looking guys she was smarter than, the kind of guys she could bring home when Gerard was around. Derek is quiet, so it takes her a little while to realize how sharp and funny he can be. He’s—they’re in community college together, Derek for real and Kate pretending, and the fucking—homework, the fucking homework, she’s close to failing a bunch of her classes. Kate had trouble focusing in school, barely scraped out of high school and is defensive and prickly about it. Gerard told her a million times how she was too smart for school, and she pretended to believe it, but deep down, she knows she’s dumb, like she didn’t really learn to read until second grade, when they were finally in a town for a full school year. She knows that the only thing she’s good at is killing monsters, so—

The thing is, it’s a mindfuck, being back in classes, reminded of all the school stuff she didn’t understand the first time around but having to pretend she cares this time, the first time she gets frustrated and snaps at Derek, just leave her alone, she’s too fucking dumb to learn this shit, who cares anyway?

Derek says, no, she’s not, and he’s so—nice.  She thinks it’s weak and pathetic, calls him a baby, tells he doesn’t know anything about her, and Derek leans in and says he knows what it’s like to be a fuck up who has to go to loser college, watch the guys who weren’t as good as he was get basketball scholarships to good schools and his voice is so full of hatred and misery and self-loathing that—

like, up until now, Kate has been thinking of Derek as this naive, sheltered, rich kid, with a sweet ride and leather jacket and quick careless grin, and now she sees Derek is just as empty inside as she is, that he’s going through the motions.

He’s a monster, she tells herself, in the mirror. He’s vermin. She just needs to get the job done and get back to her real life, the life where Gerard’s still training her, where she spends Saturday night fighting her way out of whatever fucked up situation Gerard decides would be good for her, where he tells her to stop being so lazy, so afraid, and she used to sneak into Chris’ room at night, they used to play cards or just talk, but Chris is away at college—he also got good grades—and she doesn’t have anyone to talk to anymore.

Derek makes her flashcards, shares his notes. They go joyriding, they fuck in the backseat of his car, she wants to hate it, she wants to, she wants to hate Derek’s little sisters, the time he shows up for a date with them in tow, apologetic, and they all get ice cream and the girls run around on the grass by the ice cream place, pretending to be airplanes, she wants to hate Derek when he finally tells her about Paige, that she’d been hurt, that she’d died, that it was his fault.

Kate’s been waiting for this, of course, has practiced it over in her mind, the things she has to say to make Derek really trust her, and she says them all now, leans in against him and says fiercely that it wasn’t his fault, that shitty things happen sometimes, that—he was just a kid. He was—she loses track of the script; she’s so tired, there’s a bruise on her back where she fell badly, training, she’s hungry because Gerard told her she was getting too fat, she—I did things, she says. I hurt people, the horror of it flooding up and over her, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know, if you knew—

Derek says, well. They can be shitty, worthless people together, right?

"I guess," Kate says. She spent a lot of time getting dolled up to see Derek, curling her hair or putting on makeup in a way that it would make it seem like she wasn’t even wearing any, that her skin was just that good, her cheeks just stained pink, and she catches sight of herself in his rearview mirror and her face is mottled and raw looking, her eyes bloodshot. She’s supposed to be telling Derek she loves him, she’s supposed to be so beautiful, perfect.

"I love you," she says, and bursts into tears. She gets snot on his shirt.

**

"The thing is," she says, her voice high and thin, a week later, standing on the Hale front porch, shivering in a tank top and jeans, her hair braided tightly back, clutching a gas can in one shaking hand, "I’m supposed to—burn your house down. But I don’t think I can, and I—can’t go back until I do it, so—"

"I think you’d better come in," Derek’s dad says. Derek and Laura are out, but Mrs. Hale is there, the little girls, Derek’s uncle and his family, the baby.

"You should just kill me," she says. They’re in the enormous kitchen, Kate sitting opposite Derek’s mom at the scarred wooden table. Derek’s uncle, leaning against the counter, opens the can and sniffs, makes a face. Derek’s dad comes down the back stairs with a sweatshirt and gives it to her, stands there until Kate takes it and puts it on. "You can tell Derek," she says. "that I—left, or just—tell him the truth. But tell him it wasn’t his fault."

"Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary," Mrs. Hale says. There’s a odd little smile playing around the edges of her mouth. "Derek’s been so dedicated to his studies since he started seeing you."

Kate tries to tell them, how dangerous she is, how she isn’t to be trusted. Derek’s dad makes her a cup of tea. She doesn’t go home.

*

Of course she’s hurt eventually; Gerard doesn’t give her up so easily. And when Derek’s mom gives her the bite, she turns into—it’s not a wolf, exactly.

Derek spends six months of moons with her, curled up around her in the basement, until she’s safe to be outside.

"I’m a freak," she says at the time. "This is—you should find someone normal." She tries to break up with him a million times. Derek says she’s beautiful to him, that he doesn’t care, that she needs a better reason to break up with him and just turning into a weird animal once a month, that he’s proud of her, even if she isn’t.

They get a crappy apartment in town, Derek finishes school and Kate ends up teaching self-defense and martial arts classes, runs week long camping/canoe retreats for families. Chris comes around sometimes; things are hard between them for a little while, until Allison comes and cries and cries and cries, until Derek says, “Can I?” and Victoria is too tired to say no, to do anything but put Allison in Derek’s careful hands.

"How," Victoria says, her voice breaking, when Allison stops crying.

"He has a lot of nieces and nephews," Kate says comfortingly. 

*

They grow up together. Kate doesn’t—she knows she doesn’t deserve Derek, his huge terrible happy family, the way he smiles when he looks at her, but doesn’t want to disappoint him. They’re ridiculously happy. The insides of their wedding rings are inscribed with worthless & shitty and the date.

See, Rowling largely operates Harry’s generation in a clear system of parallels to the previous generation, Marauders and all. Harry is his father—Quidditch star, a little pig-headed sometimes, an excellent leader. Ron is Sirius Black—snarky and fun, loyal to a fault, mired in self-doubts. Hermione is Remus Lupin—book smart and meticulous, always level-headed, unfailingly perceptive. Ginny is Lily Evans—a firecracker, clever and kind, unwilling to take excuses. Draco Malfoy is Severus Snape—a natural foil to Harry, pretentious, possessed of the frailest ego and also deeper sense of right and wrong when it counts. And guess what? Neville Longbottom is Peter Pettigrew.

Neville is a perfect example of how one single ingredient in the recipe can either ruin your casserole (or stew, or treacle tart, whatever you like), or utterly perfect your whole dish. Neville is the tide-turner, the shiny hinge. And all because he happens to be in the same position as Wormtail… but makes all the hard choices that Pettigrew refused the first time around. Other characters are in similar positions, but none of them go so far as Neville. None of them prove that the shaping of destiny is all on the individual the way he does.

Emily Asher-Perren (via nathanielstuart)