mad-prophet-for-profit

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

I hope that someone sees this and feels. A week ago, I started to find my joy again. I went outside. The sun, the trees, the laughter of people on park-benches. I took my cards with me, and I told fortunes for the ones whose smiles cracked, whose laughter was bitter, whose eyes were distant with what-comes-next. I told them the truth- all they ever wanted to hear was the truth. I took my cloak with me, and swished it dramatically and winked and let it spill behind me like a crimson grin as I bent to find treasures in the dirt. I whisked myself off to a happier place. I took a polished orb of fool's gold with me, and I wound it in sparkling patterns around my hands like a toy sun. It spun and bobbed and I could hear the murmured laughter of delighted onlookers. I smiled. I danced. I sang. And They noticed. The Other Folk, the ones Between and Behind and At The Corners. They love that sort of thing. They left me gifts. Small things, at first. Little treasures in the grass. Coins and pebbles and rubber bands and buttons. Nothing anyone wanted but me. Then bigger. Mushrooms sprouting in bunches by my favorite benches. The laughter of swooping crows. And finally, a branch of copper beech, mossy and wonderful and perfect for use as a walking stick. I didn't thank Them. You aren't supposed to, you know. They expect payment if you thank Them. But I was happy, for a time. And I thought it might stay like that. But joy can intoxicate, lead to glee and then to giddiness and then to carelessness and then to mockery and then to madness. It always goes that way. And so it did. I trapped myself in winding hall, a dungeon of concrete and steel, and the stairs played hide-and-seek until it wasn't funny anymore. The joy shattered. The cloak drooped, the staff splintered, and the orb lost its shine. But to the Folk who made my life all that much brighter- it was beautiful. And if you can see this, somewhere in your halls of records, if Tumblr is one place you can reach from where you are... I would welcome you back.

#wizard #spilled ink #depression #joy #faeries #mental health #wistful

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

Nobody talks about that one enough. If you like Chris Riddell's illustrations and similarly dark and whimsical work, read the Edge Chronicles by Paul Stewart, please and thank you! My childhood still lies pressed between those pages like the wings of a forgotten insect.

how do you feel abt the kiss? (you know *exactly* what I mean)

The one in The Sleeper and the Spindle? I think it was necessary to wake the sleeper. Chris Riddell's drawing of that scene is very powerful.

#edge chronicles #paul stewart #whimsical fiction

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

See also the Gorgonocephalus, a subspecies of basket star that by default has a fractal pattern built into its biology! Its limbs bifurcate, meaning that they divide into two branches, but then the branches do the same, and so on until it is biologically impossible to continue. Say what you will about Old Man Howard and his Mofte Shallow Euphemifms for Perfons of Colour, as Deep Ones, Gaunts, and Other-Such, but the ocean does in fact have some mind-boggling stuff in it.

Many hands make light work. Or in the case of the basket star — many branches catch more snacks! 

This sinuous sea star stretches its many branches into the current to skillfully snatch small crustaceans and other prey as they drift by. 

#eldritch #fractal patterns #sea aliens

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

A GREAT MANY INDEEDS. Not wanting to dance, regardless of reason, is still an opinion on/stance toward dancing. Aro/ace people are marginalized for their lack of interest in an activity that the majority has decided is the norm. Sound familiar? We need to normalize aro/ace humans being given a safe space in queer spaces; the other option is to fragment the community and foster enmity, or leave them with nowhere to go. Be better.

Trying to prove a point

REBLOG IF YOU THINK AROACE / aro/ ace PEOPLE ARE A VALID PART OF THE LGBTQ+ COMMUNITY , LIKE IF YOU DON’T

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

PEOPLE IS PEOPLE. YOU CAN"T UNPEOPLE A PEOPLE FOR NOT BEING THE SAME TYPE OF PRETTY YOU WANT THEM TO BE.

Trying to prove a point to my transphobic parents

Reblog if trans men are REAL, VALID AND HANDSOME MEN, NO MATTER HOW THEY CHOOSE TO PASS

Reblog if trans women are REAL, VALID, AND BEAUTIFUL WOMEN, NO MATTER HOW THEY CHOOSE TO PASS

And finally, because it's a part of my argument for this point, and also because they are,

Reblog if nonbinary and genderqueer people in general, are REAL, VALID, AND GORGEOUS PEOPLE, NO MATTER HOW THEY PASS

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

Ummm lucy8675309, I think that's the premise of American Graffiti. American Gods is about a New York City aristocrat with a violent and cold-blooded alter ego.

My dad is making me read American Gods… So like, what’s it about? The copy of the book we have has no dust jacket, therefore, no summary.

It's about three American Dogs who have to travel home from California to Maine. It's a long journey, but they face down a bear and several other dangers, including dogcatchers.

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

Heheheh space orcs.

Thraxia read through the checklist as the humans babbled between themselves.

"Whoah!" Rowan guffawed and blinked wide-eyed.

The other human chuckled with his deep voice. "How many brain cells did you just lose smelling that?"

Rowan offered the open bottle of liquid to Walker. "Take a whiff."

Finally, Thraxia completed the review and turned to see what the odd creatures were conversing about. Dread filled their chitinous body as they saw Human Rowan holding an *OPEN* bottle of Solution 63. "What are you doing?!" Thraxia covered their orifices and backed away. "The fumes from that are highly toxic!"

Human Walker stepped back cautiously, but the rather dense Human Rowan breathed another waft of the bottle's toxic gases. How was he not dead? Thraxia was thoroughly confused yet intrigued.

A wide-smile creeped across Rowan's face as he held the bottle out to Walker. "Smell it."

Thraxia winced as Walker took the Solution he hesitated for a second before bringing it to his nose. He recoiled from the smell, but smiled as well. "Is that...?"

"I think so!" Rowan laughed as he took the bottle back. Thraxia relaxed their scales, perhaps Humans are resistant to the gases. But then, Human Rowan put the bottle's opening to his lips and INGESTED THE SOLUTION. Thraxia began to panic. Surely the human would now die if they didn't receive medical attention, but the comms unit was next to the door which they stood in front of. There was no way to get to it without being exposed to the gas.

Rowan's face distorted as he pulled away from the bottle. Surprisingly, he wasn't collapsing or convulsing. "Well?" Walker asked.

Rowan smiled, "It's pretty good."

"Are you two okay?" Thraxia called.

"Yeah, were fine. What are you-"

"Hey boys." They were interrupted by the third resident human coming in the door.

"Careful!" Thraxia called. They didn't know if Female Humans were as resilient as the Males. "There is toxic gas!"

"Gas?" The Human Lily asked.

"They're referring to this, try some." Rowan handed the bottle to her.

"What? I'm not drinking that, I don't even know what it is." Lily rejected the bottle.

Rowan gently shook the bottle, surely agitating the dangerous Solution 63. "Its good~" He smiled.

"Did you drink it?" Lily's eyes went wide. "Oh god, Rowan..." she groaned, rubbing her eyebrows. "Alright, let's take a sample to the lab and make sure you didn't just poison yourself."

And so, they capped the bottle of Solution 63. The humans retrieved a respirator for Thraxia at their request and they all convened in the lab. Lily took a pipette sample from the bottle and dropped it in the analysis machine. Less than 30 seconds later a molecular breakdown was displayed on the monitor.

"Let's see..." Lily looked over the results. "Oh, okay. You'll be fine, Rowan. It's relatively harmless." Walker chuckled as he read the results.

"Harmless?!" Thraxia exclaimed, muffled by the respirator they refused to remove. "It's poison!" They pointed to the screen which read: 'Alcohol, 40% by Volume.'

Rowan laughed. "Poison? Baby, this is Goofy Juice!"

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

We interrupt my regularly scheduled nonsense to bring you the cutest thing ever. In the first issue of the Pokemon manga, Ash gives his Pikachu a nickname for defeating Brock. It's. It's Jean-Luc Pikachu. He named his lightning rabbit after a Star Trek character. Star Trek is canon to the Pokemon universe. I must jump with giddy joy while pondering a world in which Commander Riker wants to be the very best and Deanna Troi has a bunch of psychic-types and Team Rocket work for the Romulans.

#pokemon #star trek #adorable

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

Oh wow I just remembered this is my actual motivation for writing anything ever and now I am crying gently because Neil Gaiman has a stained glass window where his soul should be.

Some of your books make it seems like you believe in actual literal magic, do you? ()

I can write down a few words and make people thousands of miles away, whom I have never met and will never meet, laugh tears of joy and cry tears of true sorrow for people who do not exist and have never existed and never will exist. If that isn't actual literal magic I don't know what is.

#neil gaiman #writing #haha you got me neil #good show #can I have my emotions back now

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

If a wizard tells you they have nothing to hide, it is because they have committed atrocities so far removed from expectation that you cannot fathom them, much less discover where or what they are. A wizard with nothing to hide is confident that their secrets have buried themselves deep enough that you will never learn how to look for them. They have forgotten how to be ashamed. And damn it, that is no way to live. Let me tell you, friends- I can admit to quarreling with the Mother Hag, convinced that she will smile upon me, only to find myself in a mental ward a day later, with little recollection of how I got there. I can say that I played at a strange summoning card game with the prince of the Eleventh Hell, may he rot in peace. I can even smile through gritted teeth as I describe pushing myself to the brink of the far realm to learn the correct incantation for a plague of Oinosian proportion. I have babbled and cackled and foamed as I let my mind be touched by things I cannot name, lovers from worlds that man is forbidden to see, enemies from places where war does not exist. But my greatest atrocities are tender things. Hidden behind these bold claims of friendship with shadows and blood-bonds with bloodless eternals, they are shameful. "Look!" I say. "Hate me, O Mankind! Loathe me for my crimes against nature, against the gods!" But my crimes against those who know me are greater. Sacrificing a sister for a night of peace, not once nor twice, but three times. Stealing to fill my starving belly, and allowing food to rot, choking down filth fit only for flies, rather than share it. Howling at housemates for despising my theories, and crushing bottle glass into a mixture of milk and tears to curse them. And giving hope to the man who loves me all the same, when I know that hope is beyond me. The next time a wizard tells you they have nothing to hide, know that it is because hide is a tame word for what we do to our secrets. We silence them, eat their bitter flesh, and carve their bones into elaborate depictions of our self-hatred. We do not have anything to hide. We have everything to hide from.

#my writing #adventure #spilled ink #wizard #self loathing #definitely not an allegory for my life #shame #guilt #poetry? #insanity

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

Please stay, friend. I have something to share with you. They exist. In our world, the physical world, today, not the deep past. Nymphs and Fauns. Harpies and hawk-feathered wizards. Cailleach. Great Wyrms. Piskies. Bogles and knocks and brownies. Nokken and ifrit. Gryphons and cynocephali. Hobs and goblins. No, I don't mean to post shock content. I don't mean to draw attention that is not warranted. But consider. An old friend of mine is a satyr. The man has a shock of tangled black hair and a mouth that would make Dionysius blush. He is enamored of loud, thrashing music and dances to anything. His son is named for a constellation and he fiercely guards his precious daughter. Consumption of clean food is paramount to his beliefs, but that doesn't stop him from having drinks with friends and giggling at the very mention of coffee. My mother-in-law is a dwarf- and I say so with all the respect and affection she deserves. She is built like a barrel and has a broad grin that gets her through most days, but her eye is always out for a deal and can measure value (of a person or item) by simply looking long enough. She knew no love before her son, and can know no love beyond him, as her greatest and best-defended treasure. Life with a dwarf in it is made richer, in one way or another. My first employer was a Hob. A mischievous man, but by no means an unkind one. Never would he tell you that you were a burden- a fool, perhaps, but then he did warn you that he was an a**. A gift given was a great achievement for him, but a gift received was next to insult. He ran the shop, then faded into obscurity as others moved around him, and with that he was satisfied. My point is that magical beings are everywhere. It is the human part of us that denies their existence. It is the fantastical part of us that craves for them to be heard.

#my writing #adventure #fantasy #fellow travelers #the good in all things #mythical creatures #inspiration

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

I would just like to make everyone aware: The wonderful arguments concerning a certain Scottish actor's lack of gender norms please me greatly. We shall forever and always be a supporter of this particular mindlore. Behold: Theyvid/Themmant. Thank you for attending my Ted talk.

#david tennant #queer community #i shall feast on the complete lack of binary #nonbinary #comedy

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

Smurfs in a Blender

Now that I have your attention, consider. Smurf blood is canonically red, according to the studio that "animated" the Smurfs movie (cough cough recorded Smurfs in the wild and pretended they were fantasy critters to get money cough cough) That said, Smurf skin and flesh is blue, as, I would assume, most of their internal organs are. So tell me, fellow wizards- if one were to put a Smurf in a blender or food processor, would you get a purple or at least marginally purple product? In addition, would the increased surface area of the Smurf viscera allow you to tap more of their magical potential? Or would the destruction of their component parts render them useless? Asking for a friend. I shall have to conduct further research.

#wizard #madness #weird stuff #adventure #my writing

[mad-prophet-for-profit]

I found this to be a beautiful depiction of the relationship between wisdom, foolishness, and those caught between. To the artist: Beautiful work. Continue.

THE GOBLIN

A short comic about a mysterious creature living with the monks of a secluded abbey.

I made this comic five years ago, and it's still probably one of the most personal things I've written.

If you'd like to support more of my comics, consider preordering my new graphic novel, THE PALE QUEEN, wherever you get books.