Learning to Fly

grace fully understood that turning around to save rocky from the taumoeba would be condemning himself to a long death in space.

they both knowingly and willingly sacrificed themselves. they both answered "who would you die for?" with a resounding "each other."

This sick bleach shirt I made. Something to showcase my undying love for prehistoric cave art.

but it's an entirely new level of tragic when somebody you've actually spoken to gets turned into a bot account. it's like peeking at a zombie apocalypse through the window and realizing one of the shambling corpses was your friend.

and then the zombie catches sight of you, lurches up to your window, and shouts through the glass that they accidentally reported your account to tumblr and you'll be deactivated unless you click this link.

if you get something like this ↑ they're gonna follow up by instructing you to contact tumblr support on discord and give you contact info; or they're gonna link a website that looks sort of like tumblr support and say you have to email them; or any variety of "you must now contact tumblr, here is how you contact tumblr."

whatever they send you, it Does Not lead to tumblr. it leads to the master zombie that bit them and inducted them into the ranks of the undead, and will bite you the second they have your email and password. i might be confusing zombies and vampires. anyway,

it's easier to fall for these messages because the blog doesn't LOOK like a bot blog, because it ISN'T a bot blog. it's a normal person's blog that got accessed by a bot, meaning the blog's content CLEARLY looks like a real active user when you click on it. and yes—it might even be a blog you already know. sometimes bots like this go down a blog's DMs or reblogs and message people they've previously interacted with.

One day a scientist hands you a poptart and says "eat this". You say "is it full of some kind of fucked up interdimensional poison". The scientist says "eat it or that security guard will tase you and tie you down and make you eat it". You eat the poptart. It is not full of fucked up interdimensional poison, but it is kind of stale. You describe the taste to the scientist and he shrugs and writes something down and you go back to your shitty cell.

Experiment Log 426-1. Date: [censored] Subject: D-class personnel D/426/1 Procedure: D/426/1 was asked to describe what he believed was contained in my chamber. He was not informed about my identity or properties. Details: D/426/1 stated, "I'm probably some huge monster holed up in there. That's what you guys have all over the place, right?" D/426/1 remained oblivious to his use of the first-person pronoun.