heihua smut pioneer, jin guangyao apologist, monster theorist. manager of the international support helpline for those victimised by baron chen's cleavage. call today - you may be entitled to compensation.
is there a smell comparable to space ? i assume we dont know because we would die if we tried to smell it but thats so cool
yeah if humans tried to smell space just like that, we’d die, no doubt about it
but the smell of space lingers on spacewalk suits, and docking hatches when astronauts open them!
apparently, space itself smells like burning hot metal, or a hot barbeque grill with a slight hint of spent gasoline. The moon, apparently, smells like a gun after its been shot!
The coolest thing about it all is that the smell is actually what are left of dying stars- it’s literally the smell of stardust, and the particles smell like that because they’re so rich in hydrocarbons- something so very essential to life, and speculated by a lot of astronomers and astrobiologists and such to be the very thing life on earth started from!
another neat fact is that no two solar systems smell the same- ours smells like that because our solar system in particular is extremely rich in carbon, and other solar systems and places in the universe will have extremely different smells depending on what elements are most abundant in their system!
We are makings of a great forging and in the space between the celestial bodies, the scent of bright embers persists even in the dark.
dear diary . i no longer want to go to space because today i was informed that it smells like the interstate
Re-reblogging because I tracked down this artist’s website! Looks like she’s sold out of these mugs right now, but she has an email contact for commissions &etc, and a newsletter you can subscribe to.
FUNDAMENTALLY! Word of Honor is about the epic romances had at the Villains Retirement Home. Okay we’re talking the ex-spymaster with erectile dysfunction 4 the world’s most shameless old mob boss looking to marry his cherished daughter off before he dies. And the plot is the two of them getting divorced and getting back together like 10 times because they keep meeting up with exes, or getting into fights about the spymaster’s terminal cancer, or they disagree on parenting the random orphan they’ve picked up, or like, if we’re retired shouldn’t we stop murdering people isn’t that kind of a young man’s game anyways? Meanwhile there’s a plot happening with a macguffin that is NOT the point
Yeah sure we’ve all binged a long fic, but have you ever read a WIP and followed someone’s life?
Tidbits of information - (“I graduated today!”) - and small joys (“It’s my birthday!”) and you get to be there to say “This chapter made me cry, happy birthday, thank you for gifting us this”.
I remember reading this fic of someone at the end of high school, older than me then. They seemed infinitely wise, spoke of their future career and getting into the college they wanted. I remember them posting on days they felt like nothing could bring them down - and on days the whole world did and it’s the aftermath of a hospital visit. Cancer, I think it was, their father. I got to the end of the story, I know their father was fine, but also they got to finish their WIP. I graduated three years later than them, still dutifully wrote thank you notes in every comment. I wonder if they remember me, or just the collective of people reading the story as it updates.
Four years ago I was into my first year of university, my first year of figuring out being out in public spaces. I made excuses as to why my name didn’t match my paperwork and read a fic on the train, the same five chapters over and over again for the next years as I thought the story abandoned. It updated this week after such a long hiatus, I left another thank you comment.
There’s an author I love, they update their stories like a clockwork. When they don’t, I check their blog, just to see if their doing alright, not because I feel like they owe me, just to ensure whether I better get out my laptop to write that really detailed university level essay chapter analysis to get them smiling when their day sucked.
And then, once, when I was 17, I read a fic that hadn’t updated in over a decade. I wasn’t even in primary school when it started posting. On the last chapter, I left a comment that, in retrospect, was horribly rambly and most likely full of grammar mistakes. The author replied and though I couldn’t see their face, I thought of them crying. They were married now, had children, and hadn’t thought about this fic in years. They went through their files again, found another half written chapter and an outline. I got two new chapters to read that year.
And then, recently, someone told me they got back into writing original fiction because of my comments. I get to read nearly weekly chapters.
I love binge reading a finished fic, but nothing is ever going to top the feeling of anticipation of waiting for a chapter, the pure joy when someone tells you I was done with this, but you made me think of it again, so this is for you.
Anyway, I think we should romanticize reading WIPs more, growing up alongside the authors writing the stories we love.
Among my acquaintances, I am one of the better bakers. Therefore I am “the one who bakes”. Gathering of the Dutch-Indo elders? I will produce a spekkoek with no less than twenty layers. Nephew’s special day? I will make his favorite; macarons filled with chocolate ganache. Teen wistfully wishes for a Minecraft cake? I gotchu fam.
No one ever said “she’s already baked a dessert once and we loved it, so obviously we won’t ask her to bake again; tell her to make spaghetti this time”.
Write that trope again.
“Wow! I loved this story! I hope the author never writes anything remotely like it ever again!!” - Words that have never come out of any reader’s mouth, ever
The ladybug that landed on your nose once in fourth grade and sat there for a minute, right at the tip, is okay. The tic you do with your nostrils sometimes (when you flare them when you’re nervous) is okay. The fact that you skipped the party, lied to your friends, and drank cup after cup of tea alone in your bed is okay. It’s okay that you never responded to Gregory’s email. Gregory is taking a shower right now. You are nowhere near the mind of Gregory. The evidence against you is not damning. Even the little white pills can be forgiven — they knew not what they were doing. But you, you know. You get to watch your hands choose. The ladybug thanks you for not crushing it; the way this world gives thanks is to fly away, into a tree with thick foliage, out of sight, where it dies and is born and dies and is born on a continual loop — what was the name of that song? What was the name of that month where you stopped loving yourself? Temporarily? What time is it? Has the boat left? Yes, the boat’s left. The boat’s going on a long, slow trip up the river. Then it’s coming back.
The soaring crane design comes in jigsaw puzzle like pieces, and mats are in fact monocolor. Dark/light areas appear thanks to how each tatami straw mat is woven, beautifully catching the light.
