sea-bells - Tumblr blog

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Can you even imagine being the poor alien sod responsible for auditing an earthling spaceship’s spending allowance? Like: 

“I see, and why do you require many tubes of white plant flavoured paste?” 

“Oh well, if we don’t rub that on our teeth twice daily the bacteria living in my mouth will begin to devour me teeth.” 

“…Noted.” 

“I have also noticed several large shipments of specific medications, and a variety of individually packaged absorbent material - however injury records do not show sufficient numbers to justify these recurrent deliveries.” 

“Ah, yeah, it’s not really an injury per say. As part of our natural reproductive cycle approximately half the population will shed the lining of one of their internal organs and expel it.”

“…that is the most horrifying thing that I have ever heard.”

“Yeah.”

“Does such a process not hurt?”

“That’l be what the medication’s for. Pain killers for the cramps, birth control to stop the process.” 

“…and your reasoning behind the fully functional, high-tech entertainment system?” 

“Okay, that we could probably do without. But in our defence that was actually insisted on as a standard feature of all fleet-ships expected to encounter Terrans. Admiral Plo’Kaght insisted on it. Something about bored humans and a an illegal betting ring featuring a cleaning robot with a knife strapped to it going up against a human with a mop?” 

“…I believe I should speak with my superiors.” 

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Photographer Sends a Drone Over NYC to Prove the City is More Stunning From Above

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Instagram: animals_lover_ig

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caught you by littleulvar please do not remove the source

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god outta nowhere i just remembered the time i was in a game where the dm didn’t read one of the character’s backstories carefully enough and allowed someone to make it all the way to the final session with the hidden ability to turn into a motorcycle

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All right, I can't bear this any longer: Could you PLEASE give us some context to those book covers you keep posting? Like what exactly are they, where do they come from, how did the author get those ideas, AND JUST HOW MANY OF THESE THINGS ARE THERE?! They are really weird and disturbing. I love them.

When I put them in the queue I thought everyone was going to get annoyed because they’ve seen them a million times, I feel terrible that so many of you guys haven’t!

There is this controversy in book industries about e-books; specifically Amazon who has made it easy for someone to self publish whereas before it would cost someone thousands of dollars and so if you did you were a loser because you obviously couldn’t get an agent or even get an indie publisher to back you. All of a sudden a million books are being self published by losers who are ruining literature because anyone can just print anything and nothing matters anymore. It’s the same thing they said when they invented the printing press and then again when trade paperbacks became a thing. 

A whole bunch of people, mostly fanfic writers just repurpose in their work, start publishing these short erotic novels that they haven’t even edited and it was all getting weirder and weirder. 

BDSM became mainstream because of EL James publishing her Twilight fanfiction ‘50 shades of gray’ and then suddenly there were a bunch of books that made people uncomfortable about time traveling to fuck dinosaurs. One erotic novel written by Christie Sims and Alara Branwen kind of became the poster child for the demise intellectualism.

A few years later someone calling themselves Chuck Tingle started to publish tiny erotica novels about people having sex with unicorns and Bigfoot that were intentionally weird with long and had highly specific titles. The covers went viral, most people thinking they were memes but then discovered they were real books that were actual short stories written by somebody who knew how to write and was obviously mocking the controversy.

Everyone was complaining and trying to find out who he was and journalists were trying to contact “him” but he refused to be interviewed. The popular rumor started going around that it was actually a father and son that wrote the books together and someone who everyone is probably sure was actually Chuck Tingle was anonymously interviewed and was like, “lol yeah and we usually write them start to finish in one night” which made people madder and was true because he really blew up when a meme about this dress went viral in a day and by the end of the day Chuck Tingle had a new erotic novel about fucking the dress.

Adding to the controversy is the fact that if you publish through Amazon people can read your books for free through their “digital library” but when people check out books it’s technically counted as a sale. Out of nowhere some dude named Chuck Tingle was at the top of the bestsellers list with these offensive books and sort of accidentally got nominated for a really prestigious award and everyone lost their shit.

The powers that be were changing the rules so he couldn’t win, which is what also happened to Neil Gaiman when his comic book Sandman got nominated and everyone was outraged that a comic book could be considered literature. Neil Gaiman actually won the award and then they put in a rule that no more comic books could be nominated, but they got lucky with Chuck Tingle and he didn’t win. Except then he was nominated for a second time.

Obviously Chuck Tingle didn’t win again, 

but then he kind of doubled down and published books about getting fucked by his nomination and then fucked by the concept of getting fucked over by the industry. Then his book started getting really mostly sociopolitical and shoved his award nomination down everyone’s throats..

They were still just short weird erotica, but instead of being tongue-in-cheek funny they became condescendingly critical.

He has a website with an about me page but he’s become a folklore hero and everyone is 99% sure it’s fake.

As he stands now, the industries are still really upset but the indie scenes are considering them high art.

I am among the latter.

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The sun is probably the closest thing we’ll ever have to a true Eldritch Abomination. Hear me out here-

Older than recorded history; was here longer than any of us and will be here long after we leave. Has a finite beginning and end but is still incomprehensibly ancient

Burns itself into your vision instantly and can blind you if you look for too long

Further prolonged exposure can cause cancerous growths

Non-humanoid shape floating through space; colossal flaming tentacles angrily lash out on occasion

Sort of just appeared one day and is now surrounded by the corpses of its stillborn children

People used to sacrifice other people to appease it

Pretty sure it screams at us sometimes

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A Stitch in Time: Arnolfini

Ninya Mikhail, Historical Costumier [x]

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Bruce gets parenting tips from his children.

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jason todd for @meninaiscrazy, cuz she registered to vote. :)

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i was wondering if you would write more about fleur? fleur who realises her beauty is as much a curse as it is a gift, fleur who lives in a world that sees only her face, her body, her hair, but never her intelligence, her kindness, her heart, fleur who loves with all of her being no matter what anyone else thinks of her or her ways.

Mrs. Weasley didn’t hold with fancy, snooty French food so Fleur made bread in Molly’s sunlit kitchen– big coarse brown loaves, long crusty baguettes, soft rolls studded with dates and almonds. She let seeded rye cool on the precise spot on the kitchen counter where the draft would waft the smell up the Burrow’s rickety flights of stairs.

Fleur wanted to make crepes the way her grandmother had taught her, with a twist of lemon and a touch of sugar, but she thought Molly would sniff at those delicate folds of pastry. Instead, Fleur whipped up a batch of scones and weighed them down with handfuls of raisins and a sneaky pinch of nutmeg.

She tied back her long hair with a scarf, like her grandmother had taught her. She cleaned up after, like she taught her. She didn’t slice into the loaves until they’d cooled all the way through, just knocked gently on their hard crusts and listened to the sound.

(Fleur had made crepes for Bill the first morning they had woken up together, not because it was romantic, or because he was beautiful with his long hair strewn over her pillow, but because she had woken up comfortable and content in a patch of sunlight.

She had spent long childhood summers in her grandmother’s little cottage. When butter and sugar melted slowly on her tongue, Fleur thought of fields of yellow mustard flowers, of cast iron pans passed down through generations, of her grandmother braiding her hair with careful old hands and calling her clever, kind, good, and never beautiful.)

Fleur left the bread on the table like a peace offering. She left flour on her forearm, some flecks of caraway seed on her cheek, like a signature. Molly came bustling into the kitchen after a long day arguing on some community affairs board or other in town and found Fleur scrubbing down the last of the counters, her wand flicking, her sleeves rolled up.

(Bill had told her, “You don’t have to win her over, you know.”

“But I can,” Fleur had told him, and smiled.)

She wasn’t sure, though, until Molly took a slice of the seeded rye, smeared it with butter, and took a bite like she was actually tasting it.

“How did the meeting go?” Fleur asked. Arthur came in partway through Molly’s answer (which grew in passion, irritation, and volume as she went on) and made his way through most of a baguette and a can of corned beef (Fleur winced and didn’t comment).

Fleur watched like a hawk (not a songbird) as Molly made her way through each baked good, as Arthur got full and wandered off the bed, as the kids who were home that week strolled in and out, filling their hands and bellies.

When Molly bit into a scone, smiled, and said, “I like the nutmeg,” Fleur’s hands hesitated on the teapot she was filling with conjured hot water. “Ever try it with a bit of allspice?” Molly asked, and it sounded a little like an uphill climb, but she was trying. “I don’t get to play around as much as I’d like here.”

Fleur put down her wand. Molly had taken a bite of everything Fleur had offered up on that kitchen table, watched how the grain of it pulled apart in her hands, inhaled deep. “Have you ever made crepes?” Fleur asked.

“Before Arthur and I were Arthur and I,” said Molly slowly, round cheeks flushing as she looked down at her half-eaten scone. “There was a Beauxbatons boy studying abroad a semester at Hogwarts…”

They broke out the Christmas cards that boy– now a restaurateur in wizarding Marseilles– still wrote her every year. If they got a little butter, sugar, and lemon on them, they didn’t think he’d mind.

“Who taught you to bake?” Molly asked as they washed up after, starlight flitting through the windows into the barely lit kitchen.

“My grandmother,” said Fleur. “She was beautiful.”

Molly snorted. “Well, of course,” she said, but Fleur shook her head.

“You know people tend to have more than one grandmother, yes? My grandmama was all human, a mother of four, a baker, and she didn’t like veela any more than you do.”

Molly dropped her gaze to the sudsy tip of her wand.

Fleur shrugged, and she knew the gesture looked graceful, elegant, beautiful in the pale white midnight, that it would always look that way no matter what she did. “But her daughter fell in love with a half-veela wizard, and then there I was in her pantry trying to sneak another berry tart after bedtime. She taught me everything I know about making things– food, cabinets, flower beds. She loved me– loved me well– and by the end it stopped being despite anything.”

They both went to their beds full, bellies heavy of midnight crepes, fingers still sweet with the remnants of them.

The ghoul banging pipes above Ron’s old room woke Fleur in the morning. Warm sunlight curled through the warped glass of the window.

Her bed was empty, but Bill pushed through the creaking door with his hands full– two plates of fried eggs and her own brown bread buttered up and toasted crispy and golden. “From mom,” he said, and kissed her on the temple.

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the new kids!

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who’s cutting onions??

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Bad: aliens that insist upon referring to human women as “feeeeemales”.

Good: aliens that insist upon dividing humans into binary categories, but the binary in question is based on something we’d regard as trivial and bizarre.

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if you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to live in the midwest, this is it. 

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okay friends, as ready player one comes into the crosshairs of cultural mockery (as it deserves), I would like to take a moment to speak about a very important thing:

ready player one is not bad fanfiction

I know this seems like a relatively minor point! like, really, who cares? but not being fanfiction is actually critical to ready player one. not only is it not fanfiction, but it’s actually the polar opposite of fanfiction. it is the anti-fanfiction. not being fanfiction is integral to its existence

so, some background! in case you don’t know, ready player one is the story of A Dude who lives in a crapsack world. I actually think the first third or so of the book is pretty decent? yes, there’s an overload of “look at how large my nerd penis is,” but the worldbuilding is kind of interesting and author ernest cline does a decent job of setting up the ways in which the world is shitty and how an online virtual world has become both an haven for and crutch to society

because that is the big thing here: there is an immersive online world called the oasis, and it is big and people spend a lot of time there because the world is garbage

the creator of this online world is another dude, who died and left a treasure hunt within the game, and whoever finds the treasure will get his vast fortune and all his assets. it’s a fine setup, and it allows the author to make his hobby as important to his fictional world as it is to him, because there is only one way to find this treasure: you must know The Most about eighties nerd shit

what this means is that ready player one is the epitome of curatorial fandom: fandom that is expressed by having encyclopedic knowledge of canon, of how things were made and what promotion was done for them and, well, facts. ready player one is concerned with putting pop culture on a pedestal and appreciating at how flawless it is

and there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, if you’re into it! but I cannot stress enough how much ready player one cares about the canon and defining what the canon is and what belongs to it. there is an actual argument between our protagonist and his friend about whether or not the movie ladyhawke is “canon,” by which they mean, “did the dude who created this treasure hunt like ladyhawke?” our protagonist likes it, therefore he wants it to be canon. it’s not enough for him to just like the movie, his enjoyment must be validated and elevated by this dude he idolizes. and (spoilers) in the end it is, so, like, good for you, bro

ready player one is proudly, aggressively, and oppressively non-transformative. that’s not a bug, it’s a feature. one of the single most baffling things things the protagonist enjoys, at least to me, is when, as part of the treasure hunt, he must reenact a movie. that’s it. that’s the whole thing. he is put into matthew broderick’s place in the movie war games, and he must do everything matthew broderick did in the movie at the same time and in the same way matthew broderick did it. he gets bonus points for nailing the same intonation and doing the same movements as broderick, and if he messes up lines or misses cues, he loses lives and, eventually, the game

now, I don’t know about you, but I am genuinely struggling to think of anything as boring as doing every single thing that the protagonist did in my favorite movie or tv show, exactly as it they did it, aside from maybe the parts where I get to kiss a hot person. and I say this as someone who really enjoys rewatching my favorite shows and replaying my favorite games! but, like, if you’re going to put me in a fully immersive recreation of my favorite world where I am playing my favorite character, I am absolutely going to be making some fanfic shit come to life there. I’ve already seen the movie, I don’t need to live it when I could go off book and make the decisions I always wanted to make, or try to see if I can make everyone bisexual and get them into a big orgy or something. like, the possibilities are endless here, right? they should be!

from what I can tell, it has never occurred to ernest cline that people might actually want to change their favorite media, or even that they could be interested in anything that isn’t on the page or screen. which, again, not everyone does fandom like that! but after the protagonist finishes his war games reenactment, he says that as soon as people find out about this marvelous “put yourself in your favorite movie and do it exactly the same way it happens on screen or else you lose” technology, it becomes wildly popular and I’m still just kind of like, is that really what people want? is that the dream?

so, yeah. when I say it’s important to emphasize that ready player one is not fanfic, this is what I’m talking about. ready player one is horrified by the idea of transforming works. ready player one cares about canon and only canon. ready player one does, admittedly, have scenes that look like a big cool crossover, because everyone shows up to a fight in their own favorite mecha, so you have, like, mecha-godzilla fighting the giant robot from the Japanese spider-man show, but it’s just window dressing. there’s no depth to it. these are literally skins, outfits that the characters put on

compare this to, say, kingdom hearts, which is actually licensed crossover fanfiction. in kingdom hearts, sora (nomura tetsuya’s original character, do not steal) meets up with donald duck and goofy and travels through various disney worlds on a ship crewed by chip and dale, the rescue rangers, having wacky adventures and trying to save both his best friend and mickey mouse from the darkness

(god, how did that game get made)

on his quest, sora interacts with various characters from disney and square enix properties, all of whom are retain their personalities and appear as (essentially) themselves. it matters that simba is simba and cloud is cloud; they’re supposed to be those characters, or alternate but recognizable versions of those characters. this is what professionally licensed crossover fanfiction looks like, and I’m not saying it’s what ready player one should have been, but it’s a simple way to highlight how uninterested ready player one is in thinking about characterization. the only reason it matters that a dude is in mecha-godzilla is that he has the powers of mecha-godzilla in combat. it’s the ultimate “who would win” fantasy because it’s focused entirely on power levels. would superman beat goku, but without any consideration as to why they were fighting in the first place or what they as characters bring to the mix

and the reason I think this is important to talk about is that many male nerds HATE ready player one, and they don’t get to fucking put that on us. fanfiction is a female-dominated and largely stigmatized part of fandom, and I am not fucking letting the internet decide that the problem with ready player one is that it’s bad fanfic. ready player one would be an infinitely deeper, richer, and more interesting text if cline put any thought into transforming the works he reveres, instead of just describing what happens in them in loving detail

so you don’t get to blame fanfic for this one, nerds. this is peak curatorial culture. he’s one of you