Errors, “Errors,” and Sci Fi
@strawberry-crocodile
tvtropes calls stuff like the wolf example "science matches on" which I think is a pretty fair shake
This. This is what’s got me thinking so much about errors. There’s a certain danger, here. A certain way that this particular effect — delicious dramatic irony — tempts the mind when reading old stories, even true ones.
What do you know about R.M.S. Titanic? I ask my class every year, and the first hand rises. “It was unsinkable,” the student inevitably says, and everyone is nodding, “or so they thought.” I write the word UNSINKABLE on the board, underneath my crude drawing of a ship with four smokestacks. It will be crossed out before the end of the hour, but not for the reason they expect.
“I find no evidence,” Walter Lord, preeminent biographer of the ship’s survivors, wrote, “that Titanic was ever advertised as unsinkable. This detail seems to have entered the collective mind so as to create a more perfect irony.” Indeed, historians’ examinations of White Star Line documents show the shipbuilders themselves worried it would be so large as to risk collision; they stocked several more lifeboats than 1910s regulations required.
The War to End All Wars (deep breath, satisfied exhale), also known as World War ONE. Chuckle. Shake of the head. What if I told you that this phrase, used primarily in American newspapers after the fact, wasn’t meant to be literal? Nowadays we’d say The Mother of All Wars, or One Hell of a Fucking War, but we wouldn’t mean literal motherhood, literal intercourse. What if I said the armistice and the Lost Generation and the Roaring 20s were all braced for another outbreak of European conflict, and yet we still failed to prevent it?
Did you know they were so confident in the safety of the S.S. Challenger that they put a civilian schoolteacher onboard? I do, because I’ve heard that one repeated many times. Only, see, it’s got the cause and effect reversed. Challenger launched on a day the shuttle’s engineers knew to be dangerously cold, because the first civilian in space was on board. And NASA knew its shuttle project would be cancelled entirely, if they couldn’t get that civilian’s much-delayed entry into space in the next two weeks. So they launched on a cold day, and killed her instead.
These are all what cognitive science calls Hindsight Bias on the personal level, what sociology calls Presentism on the cultural level. Social psychology’s a little of both, is primarily interested in why you’re sitting on your couch in a Colonize Mars shirt watching PBS and chuckling at the fools who believed in El Dorado. It wants to know why the mind flees straight from “marijuana will kill you” to “marijuana will cure cancer” without so much as a pause on the middle ground of its real benefits and drawbacks, its real (mild) risks and rewards.
And they can paralyze the sci-fi writer, if you think too much about them. Jetsons is futurist one decade, retro the next. “There are no bathrooms on the Enterprise,” the creators of Serenity say smugly, as if Gene Roddenberry should’ve simply known that decades later it’d be acceptable to show a man peeing in full view of the camera, nothing but the curve of the actor’s hand to protect his modesty. “No sound in space,” the Fandom Menace says, “No explosions in space,” and “A space station can’t collapse in zero-G.” Only then NASA burns a paper napkin outside of atmosphere, transmits music using only the ghost of nearby planets’ gravities, and logs onto Reddit long enough to point out the Death Star would implode in its own gravity field. And now we’re the ones pointing, the ones laughing, at those earlier point-and-laughers. Self-satisfied, smug in superiority. As if we did the work to find out ourselves, instead of just happening to be born a little later than George Lucas.
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Part SEVEN of "Clone Danny"
Red Robin, Danny recognizes, steps away from him as he sits up. "My name is Phantom," he signs, blinking the exhaustion out of his eyes. (From Red Robin's perspective, it looks like he has no eyes. There lacks his signature green glow.) "I'm not a gang member, just an out-of-town vigilante."
Red Robin frowns at him, an uncertain grip on the bō in his other hand. "Phantom?" He repeats, no lacking amount of suspicion in his voice. "How can I believe that?"
Right. Yeah, okay, that's fair. Danny shrugs at him, and slumps against the wall. "Google search?" He gestures, he's been out in the daytime before and he's seen the news articles about him.
Red's eyes narrow at him and Danny simply draws his knees up and faceplants into them, half-listening to Red's murmurs into his comm while also trying to get some extra-shut eye.
("Oracle, can you pull up anything on a vigilante named Phantom? The guy here is claiming to be one." Tim says.
"On it."
"Is this Phantom wearing a white mask?" Bruce asks, his voice gruff like an aftershock. "There's a vigilante who shares the same name, but he resides in Illinois."
"Is this guy from that Amity city you visited ages ago?" Says Tim, before shaking his head. "Don't answer that. Yes, he's wearing some freaky mask. I said it reminded me of Hood's helmet for a reason."
"I've got something," Oracle interrupts, "Bats' right. as usual. The Phantom of Amity Park, not much stuff of this guy but he's only been out for over a year. Apparently, his rogues' gallery consists of ghosts."
"Oh great.")
"Look tell the Batman that I'm sorry for trespassing on his turf," He signs irritably when Red Robin eventually starts talking to (re: interrogating) him again. "It's not like I want to be here."
"How did you get in Gotham anyways?" Red Robin questions, batman was on his way to help deal with the situation but Tim doubted he wouldn't get caught up on the way with dealing with petty crime. "Your turf is nearly a thousand miles away from here."
"Two words." Danny deadpans, "Teleport ghost." (Red Robin winces sympathetically.) "I'm keeping this bastard in the thermos for a month for this alone."
(Danny was ignoring the slow-choking anxiety growing in his lungs over how he was gonna get home. He never takes his phone when he goes out, the risk of breaking it was too high. He had no way of contacting anyone to get him home.)
(He swallows the growing lump in his throat, and buries the feeling in the back of his mind.)
"Thermos?"
Danny unclips his Fenton Phantom Thermos off from his belt loop and shows it to Red Robin. "My ghost-catching device," He says with one hand, tilting it carefully for Red to inspect. "I wish I could say I made it, but its a FentonWorks invention."
(He wasn't sure if it was a smart idea to say who it belonged to, but saying it wasn't his probably loosened up any tracks on him, right?)
"Do you work with these Fentons, then?" Red asks, and something dark and shadowy flickers from the corner of Danny's eye. He glances over, and sees nothing, and his hackles raise.
(Either that was Batman, or a ghost, or Danny's mind playing tricks on him. He couldn't feel his ghost sense building in his throat, so he decided it was either the latter of the former.)
Danny snorts, quiet and gruff. "No." He clips his thermos to his belt again, stifling a smile on his face. "The Fentons hate me actually, I prevent them from catching ghosts themselves. Their son gives me their tech."
He had a cover story, so he might as well stick with it, right?
Batman shows up at that moment, appearing atop the little roof where the door is, and giving Danny a heart attack when he speaks in his low, rumbly voice like thunder rolling in, "Why would they hate you for that?"
Danny shoots up to his feet with a startled yell in his throat, clutching his chest as he whirls around and looks up. He nearly runs into Red Robin, and signs a few choice swears at the Bat.
"wow you're scarier in person, asshole."
"you didn't answer my question."
"Of course I didn't, you scared me." and Danny takes a trembling step back when the Batman jumps down and lands on the roof in front of him. He's faced ghosts before, but somehow the living is always scarier.
"But, um, the reason is a bit.. complicated, I guess." He says, fingers beginning to shake as his adrenaline wears off. God is he tired. He wants to go home. "The Fentons are the local ghost hunters and local crazies. I don't know if I can call them mad scientists because they're harmless to the living."
"But they're extremely anti-ghost. I've heard from their son multiple times the very unethical things they would do to ghosts if they got their hands on one."
Danny 'talks' a little more before calling it quits, even telling Batman that he can't tell him more without putting his identity at risk.
Plus, its getting harder and harder to hide his bone-deep exhaustion and his growing fear of being stranded in the most dangerous city in America with no way home.
"I would love to tell you more, believe me I'm dying to." Danny signs, shaky sarcasm dripping from his fingers. His hands are visibly trembling and he's withholding a slowly growing panic attack. "But I would like nothing more than to figure out a way to get home."
"Do you have no one to contact?"
"Sort of. But only one of them could probably come get me and get me back to Amity by sunrise. And I have no phone."
That one person being Ellie.
=====
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8
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WIP WEDNESDAY
The people have been reacting well to cunty dame so have some more :)
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All this to say – Nicky leaving was putting a major crimp in Dame’s lifestyle. She plucked a glass of champagne off a tray, taking a long sip and surveying the room from her perch near the window. Tia and Kam were deep in conversation next to the food table, while Nicky — as the guest of honor — was in the middle of the room, surrounded by a gaggle of their coworkers.
Kam walked over a moment later, a small plate of hors d’œuvres in hand. “So, are you planning to go talk to your girlfriend?” She asked conversationally.
Dame rolled her eyes, plucking a canapé off of her best friend’s plate and popping it into her mouth. “Nicky’s not my girlfriend.”
“Try telling her that,” Kam retorted, giving Nicky a polite wave and a smile. Nicky smiled back at her before turning her gaze to Dame, smile softening.
“She knows,” Dame said. “I’ve told her. I’m not the girlfriend type. It’s just a bit of fun, nothing more.”
“Yeah well, the trail of brokenhearted girls you leave behind shows that well enough,” Kam shoved her playfully.
Dame pursed her lips to hide her smile. “You’re just jealous,” she teased, finishing off her champagne flute and stepping forward to greet Nicky who had made her way over.
Dame leaned over, placing a ghost of a kiss on each of her cheeks. “Nicky,” she murmured. “Lovely party. Shame it's goodbye.”
“It doesn’t have to be. You could come back to Paris with me.” Nicky looked up at her hopefully.
Dame plucked another flute of champagne off the tray of a passing server, letting out a noncommittal hum as she looked away, meeting eyes with the Spanish woman who worked in reception, flashing her a wink and a smile. “Better not, I’m quite enjoying London,” she said flippantly.
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liminal spaces make me Fucking insnae. why wouldn't I? A place in time is captured with every essence of human life stripped away from it. These photos are barren and empty, they're trapped between events, with the ghosts of what could have been haunting these empty spaces. And yet they are so utterly organic and alive.
You feel a presence sometimes, lingering in the background, but it isn't a smiler or death moth or whatever backrooms entities those reddit threads create- the room itself is alive. It has become its own character, seething with loneliness. So many people stare at them with the same feelings one might have with a corpse, like tearing open the flesh of a corridor and gaping at its guts. The dark backyard of your childhood home is staring back at you, bleeding out on your phone screen.
It's uncanny to see such everyday places put on such display where we are forced to face manmade constructions that have become so much bigger then us. It is so easy to get lost inside them, to delve into the rabbit hole of images filled with waterparks and houses left to rot. It's no wonder we give them names such as dead malls, its like passing by the graveyard of architecture.
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