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sickens me to my stomach. how dare this guy get to live my dream.

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Real observations since I started wearing a wizard hat daily:

- Brim is so wide that I stay BONE DRY taking walks in the rain

- Brim can be positioned to block the sun from ever getting in my eyes AND keeping it off the back of my neck

- The pointed top part creates an air pocket, keeping my head from getting hot or squishing my hair as it might in a ball cap

- Hat can easily be pulled down over the tips of my ears without looking dumb, protecting them from wind chill

- Strangers say they like my hat, giving me the chance to tell them that I am a wizard

- When you’re wearing a wizard hat, ALL OTHER FASHION CHOICES become secondary, allowing you to branch out with style

Embrace ego death. Stay protected from all elements. Wear a wizard hat.

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"I want to be a dragon."

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pink moon.

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My adaptation of the God of Arepo short story, which was originally up at ShortBox Comics Fair for charity. You can get a copy of the DRM-free ebook here for free - and I'd encourage you to donate to Mighty Writers or The Ministry of Stories in exchange.

Again it's an honour to be drawing one of my favourite short stories ever. Thank you so much for the original authors for creating this story; and for everyone who bought a copy and donated to the above non-profits.

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You were sent to document the last member of a dying race. You're one of the only people with the expertise to do such a thing. It's rare that this happens but it's important to have someone who can do this when it does.

You were sent to a small lonely planet to meet with a giant creature. He is larger then any creature on earth, and the largest creature on his planet. His scales look almost like stones, and he has many long arms around a mouth filled with square teeth. His species is old, each of them live thousands of years, he only has a couple of hundred more left, then the entirety of his race will be extinct.

His species were nomads by nature, traveling their worlds shallow seas, bodies of water that would reach up to your neck at their deepest. They could cross the length of their planet in a few days on their own, so they never built vehicles or permanent settlements. They only ever built structures smaller then themselves.

He tells you about how his species changed over time. When he was young their groups were massive. Their total planetwide population was probably pretty numerically small compared to races like your own, but back in the day the largest tribes had hundreds of members. He tells you about how his tribe met with other tribes and exchanged goods. How they'd sing songs and play games. He'd talk about how he was never alone for the first part of his life.

You try to record everything you can. You become the first person to write down the myths of his people, as best as he can remember any of them. You get a small snapshot of what his world once was like but that's it. Every myth and legend he tells you is just one version, but now it's the only version left, everything he doesn't remember being purged by the void of time.

He was in his prime when his race started to dissappear. There were holy wars across his planet, and he remembers seeing tribes fight eachother to the death over it. Eventually the war spread a pandemic, and the pandemic left too few of them left to have a war. For species that don't live as long and who have higher numbers plagues and wars are common and survivable, but for a species that lives thousands of years it's apocalyptic to have one, and doom to have both at once.

He tells you about what it was like after the war, how groups became smaller and smaller, trying their best to make it out in tribes with less then a hundred, then less then fifty, then less then ten, members. He tells you about what it was like to see his wife die when his tribe failed to make it after the plague years. His race mates with one partner and then never again, they have no concept of finding a new love after one has passed. He doesn't talk about her much, he prefers better memories.

He tells you about the time they all were on their own, as lone wanderers of a dying world. He tells you that at one point they realized they all were going to die. He tells you there was one time when he saw a member of his own species in the distance, thought about talking to then but didn't, and then never saw one of his own kind ever again.

He talks to you. Not always about anything related to your archival, often just because he wants someone to talk to. He's been very lonely for a very long time. He says that the way he interacts with you reminds him of when he was young, having someone to be with him all the time. The size difference means he can't hug you or touch you like he wants to. Sometimes he let's you touch his scales, you're too small for him to really feel much of anything but he's happy to know you're there.

He tells you that he's come to terms with his species destruction. He says that the fact that there are other species out there are just as worthy as his own. That he's comforted by the fact that someone on a different world is happy the way he once was happy. You haven't come to terms with it, you wish you could know his world in ways you know you never can.

He asks you a bit about your species. You tell him about humanity, how you spread across the universe, and how in doing so you became masters of your own anatomy, combining your bodies with machines and becoming a race of undying cyborgs. You have a thousand appearances and body plans, and can change things like sex and age as easily as you could get your ears pierced. But because of it most of the universe sees you as a race of powerful and unnatural monsters like faeries or dejin from myth. He's the first time you've talked to an alien that didn't see you as a cold and unfeeling threat. He tells you he doesn't understand why the world sees you that way. You've come to terms with being a monster, but you don't think he has.

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umm i need reassurance that my presence is wanted but i can’t ask for reassurance because that’s really Embarrassing and it wouldn’t feel genuine if i asked for it

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reblog if you're gay, not gay, slightly gay, or if you just want to launch donald trump into a dying star

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explodes into a cloud of viscera and you turn away for a moment but when you look back I’m sadly sighing and walking away with my hands in my pockets leaving a trail of blood and goop behind me

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Listening to TMA.

MAG 29 - Obviously Winter, like, no thought needed really.

MAG 30 - Forge and maybe Grail.

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Sometimes the rats in my brain come together and start yelling “YEARNING” and in trying to appease them I ask “FOR WHAT” but they are too small so all they can say is “YEARNING” which is a very big word for such a tiny creature, even collectively

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Dream of a Thousand Cats

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PSA:

1. If you are not silly, it is vital you become silly

2. If you are silly, you must stay silly

2. If you used to be silly but have stopped, you must make all efforts to return to silliness

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How wild is it that every version of you probably exists still, somewhere, in someone’s memory? The messy you, crying on the floor exists still in your mind. The happy, sun-soaked you, exists in your best friend’s memory. No part of you has died, all parts of us exist always, simultaneously and hidden.