you know what i need??? more myth and superstition in scifi.
give me starship captains like the sailors of old, weathered and wary of the vast beast that is deep space, who religiously keep their own personal traditions and rituals to appease her and guide their ships safely through her vast depths.
give me wide-eyed ensigns eagerly drinking in tales of great creatures of the void, space whales and other more malevolent leviathans, dismissed as tall tales by more cynical cadets who only trust the sense of their own eyes.
give me whispered accounts of ghost vessels, lost long ago in great battles across the universe, populated by a literal skeleton crew.
give me a space bermuda triangle.
give me a universe as cold and unfathomable as the ocean, and no less mysterious and forboding.
Ok so I was looking for historical slang terms for penis (gotta be era-accurate when writing vintage dick jokes) and I came across….something
some linguist compiled a literal timeline of genitalia slang–a cock compendium, if you will–that dates back all the way to the fucking 13th CENTURY. This motherfucker tracked the evolution of erection etymology through 800+ years, because if he doesn’t do it, who else will? Thank you for your service, Johnathon Green.
Some of my favorites include:
Shaft of Delight (1700s)
Womb Sweeper (1980s)
Master John Goodfellow (1890s)
Nimble-Wimble (1650s)
Corporal Love (1930s)
Staff of Life (1880s)
Spindle (1530s)
As good as ever twanged (1670s)
Gaying Instrument (1810s)
Beef Torpedo (1980s)
and last but not least, the first recorded use of the word Schlong, which was in 1865 CE. Tag yourself, I’m Nimble Wimble
And are the lovely ladies feeling left out? not to worry! Johnathon’s got you covered, gals, because he also made one for vaginas. Highlights:
Mrs. Fubb’s Parlor (1820s)
Poontang (1950s)
Spunk Box (1720s)
Ringerangroo (1930s)
Ineffable (1890s)
Itching Jenny (1890s)
Carnal Mantrap (1890s – a busy decade apparently)
Bookbinder’s Wife (1760s)
Rough Malkin (1530s)
Socket (1460s)
and a personal favorite, crinkum-crankum, circa approximately 1670.
Yet another of those posts which prompts such a cackle that @dduane comes in to see if (1) I’ve seen something funny; (2) am having a seizure; (3) have just laid an egg…
vaginas used to be called watergate this is the best day of my life
The Avengers series ends with a fade to black and then the sound of paper rustling. We see a marbled notebook covered in hello kitty stickers. On the front, it reads DP’S SICK AVENGERS FIC VOL 5.
Deadpool is reading dramatically from it, reciting the events of the last few minutes, including bad sound effects. He closes the notebook and raises his mask eyebrows expectantly.
Across from him sits Tony Stark. Behind him we can see the wreckage from the battle of New York from the first Avengers. He looks blankly stunned until he starts blinking a lot.
“Yeah,” Tony says slowly, “no, you definitely can’t be an Avenger.”
Deadpool deflates, disappointed, but not for long. He perks up. “While I have you here, let me run this coffee shop au by you real fast-“
I’m already disappointed by however Marvel will crossover with Deadpool, because I know it won’t be as good as this
This is how my GBBO Superhero Charity Bake-off fic ended up being rated M.
Congratulations, genius. You convinced your best friend, the Protagonist, not to marry the story’s Love Interest, and instead go off and have awesome adventures with you forever. But in doing so, you pissed off the Author.
After the third bandit ambush, the Unnecessary Character waits until the Protagonist falls asleep to turn an accusing look at the sky.
“Hey,” the Unnecessary Character says, jabbing a finger stupidly at the non-sentient array of stars, “you quit it. You quit it right now.”
The Unnecessary Character, henceforth known as TUC so as not to waste too many letters on them, looks rather rough. Their hair is a tangled mess from the swallows who’d mistaken the horrendous strands as nesting material.
“I know that was you,” TUC hisses. “Swallows use mud and spit to make their nests, not twigs.”
TUC is unaware that they actually look like dirt, just terrible, smelly dirt.
“This is a lot of unnecessary anger,” TUC says to the sky. “You’re the one who thought Ally needed a friend and now you’re mad that I’m being a friend to her? Josiah was a creep, you know. Maybe you think he was charming, but he’s borderline abusive. No, scratch that. He was straight up abusive.”
TUC’s main weakness has always been the inability to see the big picture. They don’t know that the Love Interest would do anything for the Protagonist, up to and including battling the dragon that would inevitable be coming to the castle.
TUC pales until they begin to resemble watery porridge. “The what?!”
Their voice is shrill and stupid. The pitch of it nearly wakes the poor, exhausted Protagonist who’s had it rough these past few nights with TUC waylaying her with their idiocy.
“Let’s…let’s swing back to the dragon later,” TUC says. They pinch the bridge of their nose, trying to ease the headache thinking so hard has given them. “Look, Josiah wanted to keep Ally in the castle, okay? Like, all the time. She’s an adventurer, dude, not a stay-at-home wife. And have you already forgotten how Josiah locked her in the dungeons when those rebel forces tried to break in? And then just forgot about her in the aftermath until she broke out?”
It’s not surprising that TUC has misinterpreted that lovely and gallant action. Ally is a lady, forced to work hard all her life to support her mean family. She needs someone to take care of her so she can finally be happy.
“Her mean–they were poor!” TUC says, missing the point completely. They direct a hideous look at the sky. “No, I’m not missing the point! Everyone in her family was worked to the bone, not just her! They all had to work insane hours just to pay taxes! Taxes, may I remind you, that Josiah and his father set!”
TUC woke the next morning to a strange clicking sound. Or, it felt like the next morning; they had no idea how many mornings it hat been, since they locked themselves in dire combat with the cruel, twisted being who was the director and creator of their world. Time there had become strange. Had it merely been last night since they railed at the sky, at the ruthless, irrational being?
Ally was still fast asleep, her face untroubled for once. TUC felt both happiness and relief; she, at least, would always be safe.
Now it was quiet for a moment, before the clicking started again.
A silver deer materialized in the forest in front of them. They jumped, startled, knowing that deer had not lived in those woods for years, since Josiah and his father and uncles and other nobles has hunted them to extinction there. He was fairly certain this one was in dire danger, just being there.
But–the deer was wearing a blue ribbon around its neck, and carrying a rolled up piece of paper in its mouth. It came close enough to drop the paper, then moved off a little ways, still watching them.
TUC picked up the scroll, bewildered, and unrolled it.
In glowing, mercury-bright writing, it said: I believe you. I have always believed in you.
I am an Fanfic Author, and I am here to save you from your Canon.
(This is amazing, what a great addition!)
TUC frowns at the scroll, perhaps wishing they knew how to read. Unfortunately, such things were often below the capabilities of–
“You know I can read,” TUC says, their voice like fingernails on a chalkboard after their fitful night of sleep. “I would have slept great if it weren’t for you.” They roll up the scroll. “You didn’t write this, did you?”
TUC is hallucinating, a common affliction for those as embroiled in conspiracy as they. Their lips turn down into a frown, skin wrinkling unpleasantly as they look down.
“If you didn’t write this,” TUC says, the effort of thinking showing clearly on their face, “then that means you don’t have unilateral say in these events. Perhaps every moment you’ve designed exists concurrently with those moments provided by an outside source in your sphere. If that’s the case then–”
They break off as a whole flock of birds, seeing the terrible mess below, swoop down. Even when it is clear that TUC’s hair is not carrion, as they hoped, they continue to pelt towards their head with murderous purpose. They would have their revenge.
TUC, with far too much cruelty, drops the scroll and reaches for their bow in one motion. The first three arrows are lucky hits, scraping against the innocent creatures’ wings and sending them tragically plummeting to the ground. The rest of the flock, in fear, turn on an updraft and frantically fly away from the monstrous human.
“Nice,” TUC says, desperately attempting to appear they are not out of breath. They must be though–it must have taken great effort to ward off their fate. A hardly sustainable effort, one might say. TUC rolls their stupid eyes. “Birds aren’t going to do much, you know that. Don’t act like I just kicked a bunch of babies.”
TUC would kick a bunch of babies. They just hadn’t had the chance yet. Instead, they’re bending down to pick up the scroll which definitely doesn’t exist.
“But it does,” TUC says, muttering like a fool. “And since it does, it would seem that I–” they smile “I have an ally.”
TUC’s mom has an ally.
This is amazing. Definitely look behind the Read More.
what i do is not up to you 