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does anyone understand my curse

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bro has NO gumption ❗❗

#mood

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re-reading the earthsea books and some quick sketches to accompany;;;

//young ged, and arren with sparrowhawk at the marketplace

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A bread is one of the most vulnerable animals on earth of all time. It can die in a number of different ways, which include being smashed, being old, being rottened, being crumpled up, getting too hot, having water put on it, and having water not on it but being in the air a lot (the water (mist)). The bread’s favorite way to die is being eaten, but the world is a complicated place, and it does not care for what the bread wants, and so it dies in a variety of ways which are not the preference of the bread.

Humans are considered the bread’s natural predator, and also, are the bread’s mommy (make/give birth to the bread). Humans are a large species of ant or plant or ele phant with two grasping appendages which they use to give birth to the bread. They also have one hole which eats the bread, and some other holes, which the bread is not allowed near, generally.

Some bread can go in the fridge. Some bread has fruit in it. Scientists don’t know why, as putting fruit in the bread is considered yucky, and scientists have difficulty imagining an organism that likes yucky things.

There is the anteater, which is an organism that likes yucky things, but scientists do not need to imagine it, because it is real.

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the king has returned

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Can someone please link me the post of nog being really confused about dogs I made this drawing and then immediately lost the original

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What the frinx is a dog???

Headcanon: dogs are super confusing to non-humans

Nog has no idea what a dog is, really. Sure, he’s seen dogs before, but what are they?

Every time he and his squadmates venture off campus, they seem to encounter one, and they never look the same. Two days ago there was the poofy brown one that was less than half a meter tall, but last week there was the one with flat hair that was taller than him when it stood up and put its front feet on his shoulders.

He’s not sure if other offworlders feel the same way he does, but all the human cadets are extremely nonchalant about dogs. They can recognize a dog no matter how strange it looks, whether it’s small enough to fit in a shoulder bag or nearly large enough to be ridden; whether its ears are pricked, upright triangles or long, drooping flaps; whether it has a spiral-liked, curled-over tail or none at all.

They can even identify what type of dog it is, and he’s heard them use dozens of names to refer to them when he’s just struggling to realize it’s a dog at all. He tried asking why there were so many kinds, only to be inundated by explanations of what dogs could do even if they don’t actually do those things most of the time any more.

Every time Nog comes up with a new rule in his head for How To Tell If It’s A Dog, some new kind of dog comes along and breaks it. At first it had seemed easy; dogs love people and will greet any stranger, he’d concluded. But then there had been that sort of cream colored one with the pointed-up ears who had refused to dignify he and his friends with any attention despite the cajoling voice Daniels used that dogs usually responded to eagerly.

He had amended his ideas about dogs accordingly to allow for aloofness of certain individuals (or types??), and thought he was beginning to understand until he met the woman at Golden Gate Park with the tiny cha-wa-wa and the massive sane burnart, who she revealed was mistakenly pregnant by the miniature fellow at her side. Nog had been rendered speechless at the impossibility of such a vastly dissimilar pairing resulting in viable offspring, though he was somewhat heartened at seeing the little guy get the girl (until the woman mentioned that he’d shortly after been “fixed” [and what fixed meant]).

Dogs have different colors and markings and faces and bodies and ears and tails and behaviors and Nog can’t make any sense of what a dog is, but he thinks he’s gotten better at guessing. Now when he sees people with animals that appear to be dogs (the presence of a leash is often helpful), he has learned to say the same kinds of things his human friends say.

“What kind of dog is that?” is always a good bet because if there’s anything humans apparently love, it’s explaining what kind of dog theirs is, as if Nog understands the nuances of mixes and breeds. He doesn’t mind, though; he’s gotten the comm info for a number of women who were very happy to talk to a “fellow dog lover,” and it’s not like the creatures are unpleasant (except the smell sometimes). They’re a little invasive and have the tendency to stick their noses in very unwelcome places, but overall he’d rank them as being very genial creatures, and it’s not like any of the (still extant) animals on Ferenginar are particularly personable.

He’s fresh out of class when he sees a woman lounging on the quad with a blanket spread out beneath her and her dog on a leash nearby nibbling at the grass. It’s a new behavior he hasn’t seen before; but then, he’s observed them eat trash and bugs and unidentifiable things, so why not grass? The dog’s owner is not in uniform, so it must be her day off class or duty, but she appears to be about his age so he approaches her.

“I like your dog,” he says to the woman, who looks up from her padd to give him an odd look. He presses on despite that. “What kind is it?”

Now she is obviously suppressing a laugh and he wonders if his opening line is too transparent. She picks up the fuzzy little beast – one of the long-eared varieties – and he sees that it only has a tuft for a tail.

“You need to read up on native Earth species, cadet,” she says, holding her pet aloft, bright red leash dangling. “This is what we call a rabbit.”

Nog flushes at his mistake. Really, what the frinx is a dog?

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I've been scream laughing at this for several days

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worlds funniest polycule

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the fact that op turned off rbs is very very funny to me. anyway i want this post on my blog too.

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Helloooo I am back— like, fully!

Please enjoy a little self indulgent doodle as I get back in the saddle (mechanic butch forgot her lunch, and her femme sweetheart brought it to her at the shop. Thinking about following this one up with some, ah…lunch break fun :3)

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cass deserves a cat, i think. his name is gordon, he hates men. she found him in a trash can.

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sits on the floor and thinks about how the twins' extreme force sensitivity probably connected them before they even knew each other

(support me on kofi!)