THE SHITTY HOROSCOPES ANTHOLOGY IS NOW FUNDING ON KICKSTARTER!

The horrible horoscope series is now conveniently compiled into a single book!

Reblog and spread the word for your chance to be one of five people who win a Kickstarter launch celebration package containing:

A signed copy of the Shitty Horoscopes anthology

The original printed zines of the Shitty Horoscopes series, book i-x (1-10)

A 5.5″x8.5″ print of your favourite design of any one (1) sign in the series on a sheet of metallic, Stardream coverstock paper

An adorable/horrible button pack!

She has demonized the mentally ill, exotifies the “savant” stereotype of non-neurotypicals, was complacent in her white family employing children as house servants in south Asia, and has been known to go on Anon and harass people.

You did not waste your year.

If you made it this far, that’s already not wasting your year.

You made it through the year, you laughed, you cried, you smiled, you saw the sun and felt the rain, and most importantly, you’re still here.

You did not waste your year.

Not-sure-what-im-feeling-but-it-isnt-bad

Not-sure-what-im-feeling-but-it-isnt-good

Empty

Pure Unbridled Rage

Manic Energy

the nsa: 

me:

maybe you gave up a few years of your life. you have callouses and muscles and a few scars and maybe a missing eye or something. you definitely have some blood on your hands. you might have PTSD you can’t talk to anyone about. and suddenly you’re fifteen again, in a body that’s too soft and too short and too complete. you’re always cold because there’s no magic burning in your veins anymore, and even as you grow up the feeling of not fitting doesn’t go away because when you look in the mirror at eighteen you look all wrong: this is not what you’re supposed to look like at eighteen. the sky clouds and you rub at the phantom ache of injuries this body never received. you wake up screaming sometimes remembering the sorcerer who burnt your hand to ashes, or the final battle you almost didn’t make it through, or the moment you felt the magic in you go out.

but here’s the thing: they took you and made you into a weapon that was determined enough and powerful enough to save a whole world. they can put you back where they found you but they can’t undo everything. and there’s this, too: the place between worlds clings to you. you can’t tease fire out of the air but you can feel the pull of the doorways all the time, although none of them so far go to your world.

but you try to make it work for a decade, anyway. you’re dutiful. but one night you leave work late and for the thousandth time you catch yourself searching the sky for firebirds. and you break. of the three portals within five hundred miles, one is a howling, frozen wasteland and one is a deep violet void, but one opens into a misty forest that you step into and don’t look back. it’s not your world, but if you keep going long enough, you’ll get there.