Enchantè

Now entirely obsessed with F1.

[bloodbuzzsf]

deja entendu

Galex | explicit | 7k

Alex (blonde edition) is a singer in an indie rock/emo band, George is George (standard F1 edition) and wants to suck his dick about it.

********

I wrote a fic! For the first time in my life! And I'm kind of terrified to post it but here goes nothing!

[stitchthisfiona]

Today in niche genres of joke that I can never get enough of and will probably still be secretly thinking about four years later

[cleolinda]

[cleolinda]

[lotus0kid]

[lotus0kid]

[pomme-poire-peche]

[lotus0kid]

[sashaforthewin]

[bigdicciardo]

inspo: @powerful-owl's post

blindfolded virtual hotlap gifset

do they hear themselves?

[igneousbody]

"In the 1960s, after his seminal work on barn owls, Roger Payne switched his attention to whales. In 1971, he published two historic papers. (...) The second showed that fin whales—the second-largest animals after blue whales—make extremely low-pitched calls that can be heard across entire oceans. It nearly destroyed Payne’s career.

That controversial paper was born of the Cold War. To listen for Soviet submarines, the U.S. Navy installed chains of underwater listening posts in the Pacific and Atlantic. This network, known as the Sound Surveillance System, or SOSUS, picked up a deluge of oceanic noises. Some were clearly biological. Others were more mysterious. One especially enigmatic sound was monotonous, repetitive, and low, with a frequency of 20 Hz—an octave below the lowest key on a standard piano. This hum was so loud that people doubted it could be coming from an animal. Did it have a military origin? Was it produced by underwater tectonic activity? Did it come from waves crashing on some distant shoreline? The actual source only became clear when Navy scientists started following the sounds to their sources, and often found a fin whale at the end.

Human hearing typically bottoms out at around 20 Hz. Below those frequencies, sounds are known as infrasound, and they’re mostly inaudible to us unless they’re very loud. Infrasounds can travel over incredibly long distances, especially in water. Knowing that fin whales also produce infrasound, Payne calculated, to his shock, that their calls could conceivably travel for 13,000 miles. No ocean is that wide. Together with oceanographer Douglas Webb, Payne published his calculations, speculating that the largest whales “may be in tenuous acoustic contact throughout a relatively enormous volume of ocean.” The response was brutal. Leading whale researchers told him that his paper was pure fantasy. Colleagues hinted that critics had been questioning his mental health behind his back. “When you get to distances like that, people just refuse to believe that it’s true,” Payne tells me.

Payne’s work made a more positive impression on Chris Clark. A young acoustician and former choirboy, Clark was recruited by Roger and Katy Payne to be a sound technician on a 1972 trip to Argentina to study right whales. It was a thrilling and formative time. Camped on a beach beneath the Southern Cross, with penguins bumbling past and albatrosses wheeling overhead, Clark began listening to whales. He placed hydrophones in the water to eavesdrop on their songs and found ways of assigning specific recordings to individual whales. He went on to compile libraries of whale calls, recorded all over the world, from Argentina to the Arctic. And all the while, Payne’s idea of giant whales talking over oceans stuck with him.

In the 1990s, with the Cold War over and the threat of Soviet subs diminished, the Navy offered Clark and others a chance to observe real-time recordings from their SOSUS hydrophones. Amid the spectrograms—visual representations of the sounds that SOSUS picked up—Clark saw the unmistakable signal of a singing blue whale. On his first day, Clark saw that more blue whale vocalizations had been recorded from a single SOSUS sensor than had been described before in the entire scientific literature. The ocean was awash with their calls, and those calls were coming in from enormous distances. Clark calculated that one individual was 1,500 miles from the sensor that recorded it. He could listen to whales singing in Ireland with a microphone situated off Bermuda. “I just thought: Roger was right,” he says. “It is physically possible to detect a blue whale singing across an ocean basin.” (...)

Although blue and fin whale songs can traverse oceans, no one knows if the whales actually communicate at such ranges. It’s possible that they’re signaling to nearby individuals with very loud calls, which just happen to extend further afield. But Clark points out that they repeat the same notes, over and over again, and at very precise intervals. A singing whale will stop calling when it surfaces for air, and come back on the beat when it submerges. “That’s not arbitrary,” he says. It reminds him of the redundant and repetitive signals that Martian rovers use to beam data back to Earth. If you wanted to design a signal that could be used to communicate across oceans, you’d come up with something similar to a blue whale’s song.

Those songs might have other uses, too. Their notes can last for several seconds, with wavelengths as long as a football field. Clark once asked a Navy friend what he could do with such a call. “I could illuminate the ocean,” the friend replied. That is, he could map distant underwater landscapes, from submerged mountains to the seafloor itself, by processing the echoes returning from the far-reaching infrasounds. Geophysicists can certainly use fin whale songs to map the density of the ocean crust. But can the whales do so?

Clark sees evidence in their movements. Through SOSUS, he has seen blue whales emerging in polar waters between Iceland and Greenland and making a beeline—a whaleline?—for tropical Bermuda, singing all the way. He has seen whales slaloming between underwater mountain ranges, zigging and zagging between landmarks hundreds of miles apart. “When you watch these animals move, it’s as if they have an acoustic map of the oceans,” he says. He also suspects that the animals can build up such maps over their long lives, accruing sound-based memories that lurk in their mind’s ear. After all, Clark recalls veteran sonar specialists telling him that different parts of the sea had their own distinctive sounds. “They said: If you put a pair of headphones on me, I can tell you if I’m near Labrador or off the Bay of Biscay,” says Clark. “I thought that if a human being could do this in 30 years, what could an animal do with 10 million years?”

The scale of a whale’s hearing is hard to grapple with. There’s the spatial vastness, of course, but also an expanse of time. Underwater, sound waves take just under a minute to cover 50 miles. If a whale hears the song of another whale from a distance of 1,500 miles, it’s really listening back in time by about half an hour, like an astronomer gazing upon the ancient light of a distant star. If a whale is trying to sense a mountain 500 miles away, it has to somehow connect its own call with an echo that arrives 10 minutes later. That might seem preposterous, but consider that a blue whale’s heart beats around 30 times a minute at the surface, and can slow to just 2 beats a minute on a dive. They surely operate on very different timescales than we do. If a zebra finch hears beauty in the milliseconds within a single note, perhaps a blue whale does the same over seconds and minutes. To imagine their lives, “you have to stretch your thinking to completely different levels of dimension,” Clark tells me. He compares the experience to looking at the night sky through a toy telescope and then witnessing its full majesty through NASA’s spaceborne Hubble telescope. When he thinks about whales, the world feels bigger, stretching out in space and time.

Whales weren’t always big. They evolved from small, hoofed, deer-like animals that took to the water around 50 million years ago. Those ancestral creatures probably had vanilla mammalian hearing. But as they adapted for an aquatic life, one group of them—the filter-feeding mysticetes, which include blues, fins, and humpbacks—shifted their hearing to low infrasonic frequencies. At the same time, their bodies ballooned into some of the largest Earth has ever seen. These changes are probably connected. The mysticetes achieved their huge size by evolving a unique style of feeding, which allows them to subsist upon tiny crustaceans called krill. Accelerating into a krill swarm, a blue whale expands its mouth to engulf a volume of water as large as its own body, swallowing half a million calories in one gulp. But this strategy comes at a cost. Krill aren’t evenly distributed across the oceans, so to sustain their large bodies, blue whales must migrate over long distances. The same giant proportions that force them to undergo these long journeys also equip them with the means to do so—the ability to make and hear sounds that are lower, louder, and more far-reaching than those of other animals.

Back in 1971, Roger Payne speculated that foraging whales could use these sounds to stay in touch over long distances. If they simply called when fed and stayed silent when hungry, they could collectively comb an ocean basin for food and home in on bountiful areas that lucky individuals have found. A whale pod, Payne suggested, might be a massively dispersed network of acoustically connected individuals, which seem to be swimming alone but are actually together."

- Ed Yong, An Immense World : How Animal Senses Reveal the Hidden Realms Around Us

[templatelord]

this is beautiful

[ofcourstappen]

Maxiel livestream after making mocktails

Daniel: We just finished making some mocktails Max: I thought they were cocktails Daniel: Apparently without the alcohol there’s no cock Max: 😆😅 Daniel: I knew that would make him laugh. That’s the good thing about having a really young teammate is silly jokes still work

[yorgen-sh]

[mercblues]

“how was monaco?”

[onadarklingplain]

galex + are you okay?

(au where alex and george went to the monaco masters on the same day) “Are you okay?” 

Alex didn’t ask until he and George were back in George’s flat after the tennis. He was stretched out on George’s carpet even though there was plenty of room on the sofa, his back resting against the front of the cushions. His arm was only a few inches from George’s leg, the residual heat from the day meeting in the air between their skin.

George had asked Alex back to watch the replay of Doriane’s ELMS race with him, but even though the race was still up on the TV, both of them had more or less succumbed to scrolling, Alex flicking through endless TikToks and George carefully considering the best option for a takeaway seeing as they still had weeks before they had to be in the car. He had finally found one of Alex’s favourites on the app, but his finger paused over the screen when Alex broke the silence.

“What do you mean?” George said carefully, trying to convey in his voice how much he didn’t want to talk about it — it was bad enough that George’s floundering title fight was going to be the filler topic of every F1 media outlet for the next month. He didn’t want to sit here with Alex in front of him crying about how Kimi got a back-to-back win before George had, crying about how unfair their sport could be. Like Alex didn’t know that already, god. 

Alex tilted his head back against the cushions until he was looking up at George, and George did his best not to look at Alex’s bared throat, at the way the fabric of his t-shirt was stretching over his pecs. It was supposed to be a perk of the cancellations — a few unscheduled weeks to spend with Alex while Lily was busy on the LPGA tour. It was the first time George had been thankful for the residency laws that meant Alex needed to accrue in-country days and couldn’t just follow her to wherever she was like usual. 

He hadn’t told Alex yet, but he had planned the whole month for them before the announcement had even been made. Tickets to the tennis, some time on George’s yacht, a few long cycle rides. He had already decided that he was going to give himself a carefully calibrated amount of rope, and then he would be done. He hadn’t counted on losing the championship lead in the interim of course, but George didn’t see why his fuck ups should ruin everything. 

But then Alex said, “I meant — with the wedding. Are you going to be okay?” and George felt his heart stutter.  

George didn’t know why Alex is asking now, why he hadn’t asked before he proposed in the first place. Why he hadn’t asked in the months since. Why he had waited until George’s defences were down. Still, George should be grateful that the answer isn’t obvious, grateful that Alex had to ask at all.

Alex was still talking, still twisted into a ridiculous shape so he could speak to George from the floor. “We were thinking — well, neither of us see much sense in drawing it out. So maybe during the summer break. But I don’t want to — if I’d be a distraction, you know.”

George swallowed once, licked his lips, and then forced a smile, knocking his knee against Alex’s bicep so that Alex would know he was fine. “Summer wedding, then? Just so long as I’m getting an invite.”   

Alex smiled back, and George didn’t look at the shape of his mouth, didn’t look at the places where his teeth used to be crooked and weren’t anymore.   

“Course you’re invited you twat, you’re my best man. I thought that was obvious. I’ve said it enough in Grill the Grid videos, haven’t I?”

“That doesn’t count as asking,” George said, playing up primness to make Alex laugh. George had, of course, seen the interviews, had rewatched them often enough times to memorise the way Alex held his body each time he said George’s name. For years, the repeated question had made it impossible not to imagine Alex in a suit, standing at an altar, so George really should’ve been more prepared for the reality to come.  

“I’m asking now,” Alex said, back to serious. “And I mean it.”

George couldn’t read Alex’s expression, couldn’t see past the careful stillness. He couldn’t see what Alex was holding back. It was like the way he got in the media pen sometimes, when he decided that he had given too much of himself away over the radio, when he was keeping all his cards close to his chest, waiting for the verdict to be read out.  

George wanted to get on the floor with him, wanted to put his hand on the twitching jaw muscle in Alex’s cheek. He wanted to tangle their hands together.  He wanted to know how the summer would end, how the year would. He wanted to be able to see the next five years, the next ten. He wanted to know what steps he should take to make sure nothing changed.   

“Okay,” he said, and he dropped his phone so that his hand was resting on the cushion behind Alex's head, fingers inches from Alex's hair. He didn't know what he meant, but it felt like the right thing to say and it must've been because Alex only held George's gaze for another second before turning back to the TV. It was easier to breathe that way, easier to remember that George had already measured out exactly what he was allowed and no more.

[evilwizard]

Despite the occasional silly decision by upper management, I am still extremely grateful to share this community with you all, staff included.

More and more it feels like no place on the internet is safe—everything is Observed, Controlled, and Micromanaged by tech companies and billionaires with overt fascist goals. The Almighty Algorithm chooses what we see, and if the public’s reactions to its incessant advertising isn’t stellar enough, then our responses will simply be suppressed or replaced by AI. Social media more and more is designed to prevent us from talking to each other, and to keep us emotional. Outraged. Alone. All the better to manipulate us.

I’m sure this is all very profitable. But it’s also outright demeaning, and immensely unhealthy both for us as individuals and for our society.

And no, Tumblr isn’t perfect on these counts. But it’s the best option I’ve found, and I want them to succeed. I want Xitter and Instagram and Facebook to die, and I want to see humanity engaging with one another, and with long pieces of text—facts—logic—and empathy, again. If we are to have social media, let it be like Tumblr; or the very best of what Tumblr could be.

So thank you, @staff , for continuing to build this space for us. I hope going forward you run more of these updates by us—the user base that loves this site and wants it to be the very best it can be. Together, I know we can be the next pdf.

[sandmandaddy69]

[get-thee-to-a-shrubbery]

[ferret-on-pancakes]

[its-your-mind]

[miteistic]

[nick-nonya]

[cleanedupcorporationprogress]

[boothyghost]

[all-save-challenge]

I love this post especially the rat part

going on me feed

[trolleybusaberrations]

what do you mean there are exactly zero rats i. this post

[bingle-official]

[primordialsoupvendor]

[shower-thoughts-last-responder]

[cthoseris]

[cheaphalloweencostume]

not to be insensitive but some of the salem witch trials were so funny bitches like “i saw her at the devils sacrament!!!” girl… what were YOU doing at the devils sacrament 👀

[lost-in-fandoms]

[yekoc]

Why did Max say “your smile” in answer to Daniel’s question “what drives you crazy about me?”

[testarossa]

make your secrets mine • a carcar spy au

50k • rated e • rivals to lovers • non-linear narrative • slow burn

Carlos looks the same as ever: big eyes, big mouth, big pain in the ass. Oscar turns away, grinding his teeth so he won’t give Carlos a piece of his mind. Whatever they want him to do, he’s not doing it. There’s no way. Not for this country, certainly not for Carlos’s, not even for the greater good. He’s the last man on earth Oscar would ever agree to work with.

When a simple mission doesn't go to plan, Oscar gets called back to headquarters and sent out on a recon mission with a partner from another agency: Carlos Sainz, the agent who's spent the last few years trying to ruin Oscar's life at every opportunity.

» this fic is complete and will be updated every few days. there's a playlist if you're into that. many thanks to @brushedbymelancholy and @newbromantics for their unending support with this one.

[testarossa]

chapter three

It should make him a bad agent, but Oscar never would have made it this far without Carlos. They’re better together, a thought that makes Oscar feel warm, almost pleased. It’s surely the stress of field work that’s making everything feel so intense. Oscar has never worked with another agent before, not like this, the two of them thrown together far from home with nothing to guide them but their instincts. Of course Oscar feels – anything. Everything.

[whewchilly]

they’re saying no one has ever girl-dadded harder ever before in history

[brushedbymelancholy]

mv33 | cs55 | cl16 x judas goat | scapegoat | sacrificial lamb

[callmebliss]

And they look out so hard for the well being of the spiders AND the dolphins

[callmebliss]

@moss-wizard of course this isn’t how we serve it!!

It has to be in a dish with much higher sides, so when we go to cut it and it tries to sliiiiiide away it doesn’t escape and blorp blorp blorp across mom’s nice tablecloth

[breelandwalker]

SLICE YOUR CANNED BOGBERRY GOO INTO DISCS BEFORE SERVING, YOU FILTHY HERETICS.

[traegorn]

NO. IT WILL BE SERVED IN PROPER CAN SHAPE, AND WILL HAVE ITSELF SCOOPED INTO WEIRD SHAPES THE WAY THE GODS INTENDED

[breelandwalker]

YOU STAY OUTTA THIS, GOD-QUEEN-EMPEROR. AND TAKE YOUR CERVID STALKERS WITH YOU.

[dandelion-witch]

It's supposed to be served in can shape with two discs already sliced and laying tastefully in front

[breelandwalker]

I have consulted the scriptures and this is variation is still within the bounds of orthodoxy.

[tribblesandtribulations]

Mash the can shape up. We giving the table what they want, chaos in a dish, with a serving spoon.

[breelandwalker]

[moiracolleenodell]

Not to derail the escalating heresy, but what do dolphins have to do with cranberry bogs?

[amastodonofconflict]

[phizgigz]

cranberry is served in its can shape in the can direction, not on its side but on its cylinder

[olliums]

Right but you guys know that ocean spray also sells like. Cranberries. Which you can use to make an actually edible cranberry sauce on the stovetop in 10 minutes of unattended cook time

[aniseandspearmint]

actual cranberries? ew no thank you. The unprocessed chunky stuff is GROSS.

[oft-goes-awry]

Look, in my house, we mix it with whipped cream and freeze it in a graham cracker crust for dessert!

[somethinginterestingithink]

@oft-goes-awry

what the actual fuck?

[oft-goes-awry]

@somethinginterestingithink

Behold, my grandmother's recipe for Cranberry Surprise:

For the crust, combine 2/3 cup crushed ginger snap crumbs (put them in a large plastic bag and crumble with a rolling pin, or a mug if you don't have one) with 2 T. of sugar. Press into a 9" pie plate.

For the filling, pour a half-pint of regular whipping cream into a bowl, and beat until stiff. Mix in 2 T. of sugar and 1/2 tsp. of almond extract.

In another bowl, take a 14 oz. CHILLED can of jellied cranberry sauce and mash it with a potato masher if you've got one, or a fork if you don't. (My mom bought me a potato masher specifically so I could make this dessert at holidays without having to borrow hers.)

Once the log is goo, fold the cranberry sauce into the whipped cream mix. Yes, it's supposed to be THAT pink.

Pour the pink cream-and-cranberry mix into the crust and freeze for at least 24 hours. Cut and serve immediately upon removal from freezer.

[justgot1]

American Horror Food is one of my favorite tumblr post types.

(I make it from real cranberries but if I decide to go with Goo Log, I mash it like the unorthodox godkiller that I am.)

[strid3rofthen0rth]

I can only add that I worked in a deep freeze warehouse for a little bit when I was younger. The cranberries would come in loose around Halloween. This big machine would clean, sort, and dump them into 1000 lb wooden bins that would be forklifted and stacked to freeze in the warehouse.

One time, somebody lost control of a bin and broke it open. I would like you to picture a dozen warehouse workers slip sliding around on frozen cranberry ball bearings for hours, trying to clean them up, while you play Yakety Sax in your head. It was a nightmare.

[arianrhodsgarden]

Doesn’t everyone have a special cranberry-from-the-can serving plate and slice-cutting tool! What, are you all just living live Neanderthals?!?!

[callmebliss]

Oh my ZOD I love that

[astrid4189]

my brother is a culinary artist. one year he made some amazing cranberry sauce that nobody touched. the next year he made the same sauce, added a thickener, and set it in a ribbed can (he reused a pumpkin can iirc), and it was a hit.

we like the vague can-shaped fruit gelatin. i personally like it even more when it’s home-made.

[annleckie]

Ah, in my house we serve this standing up on a plate, and we call it Invisible Can. It is not a holiday dinner without Invisible Can.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Hello international friends, I am delighted to report all of the above is real :)

Not to come in with a steel chair here, but the ideal pairing for cranberry sauce in all forms, and the meat we *should* be serving at Thanksgiving, rather than easy-to-improperly cook turkey that tastes like napkins, is Lamb.

[gingersnapwolves]

okay but I still want to know what dolphins have to do with this???

[gingersnapwolves]

I have consulted The Ancient Texts (aka my mother in law) and have found confirmation that slicing is correct because why else would this exist?

[dyedvioletreblogs]

Ten minutes for homemade cranberry sauce??????? What are you on. No. That's 40 minutes minimum and you better be adding pepper flakes and orange juice.

[mysteryteacup]

Cetacean Harvestation

No, cranberry farmers aren't netting and canning dolphins during the harvest season.

How Cranberry Bogs Work

How can something as delicate and delicious as a cranberry thrive in something as filthy as a bog? Blame it on the durability of this most u

[daughterofscotland]

...

In Germany we just put the cranberries on pears.

[thestrangestthlng]

As a bitch with texture ✨preferences✨ the only way I will eat it is jellied and the you have to still see the can lines for optimal flavor.