traveling imaginary

Hey guys, I know a lot of my followers know who this is but with all the hype surrounding The Orbiting Human Circus (of the air) I thought I would make a bit of an appreciation post

This is Julian Koster, though many of you might recognize him as Julian The Janitor, he is the genius behind The Music Tapes and The Orbiting Human Circus. Many indie-rock fans may recognize him as a multi-instrumentalist for various Elephant 6 related bands such as Neutral Milk Hotel, Chocolate USA, and as I mentioned earlier The Music Tapes. He is not only an incredible musician but a genius storyteller. He wrote an amazing story album with The Music Tapes called “2nd Imaginary Symphony for Cloudmaking” (which didn’t get the attention it deserved) and he has toured across the country in a giant circus tent called The Traveling Imaginary and now with the help of the people at Night Vale Presents his genius is being spread to a wider audience. I know many of you are in love with the amazing things that the Night Vale crew has put out (I am in that same boat) but I wanted to take a moment to appreciate how awesome this man is.

At the end of The Music Tapes’ final show on the first Traveling Imaginary Tour, after all of the set had been torn down, brought outside and packed into vehicles, while the other band members and helpers were talking, Julian came up to me and asked if I had gotten to play the “Sister of Lights” game that they had available for concert goers. I told him I hadn’t since I was too busy making sure everyone who wanted to got to play the “Feed The Elephants” game. So out of his pocket, he pulled this little metal ball and showed it to me and told me how the game was played. I had already read how it was played before the show, I just hadn’t participated, but I didn’t stop Julian from telling it to me again because it made all the difference hearing it from him. he told me that “you hold this ball up at eye level, preferably in a well lit room, and imagine three things that make you really happy. you think of them one after another and imagine you are filling this ball with the happiness you get as you think of each thing. Then once you’ve thought of the final one, you can hold the ball there and feel that happiness for as long as you want. And anytime you want to feel that happiness again, just pull it back out again.” He told me since I didn’t get to do it at the show that it was okay to do it at my home. Looking back, I think it’s very, very amazing that he somehow knew that I didn’t get to play the Sister of Lights game. I’ve had that ball in my pocket everywhere I’ve gone ever since, with the hopes that when I’m down, I can use it to cheer myself up, and maybe I can brighten the day of someone else who is feeling sad, and let them play Sister of Lights too.

becomings and never weres

Kakasaku Week 2016, Day 2: Fairy Tales/Legends

A/N: Guys. Guys! Why is this +6,000 words? I don’t know. I wrote this instead of sleeping. I think I’m starting to twitch. I don’t even know if most of this makes sense, it hasn’t been edited. I don’t even care. It’s trashy timetravel!fic. I’m so proud. It might be terrible. Please take it from me.

Kisses to the ks fam. You are all splendid and full of love. Feel free to come into my inbox and/or message me with feels and so on and so forth.

prologue. you knew since you were young that Fate was not your fan

Hatake Kakashi is run ragged from a brutal ANBU mission, all he wants to be is curled up in his own bed with his dogs and to not move for a century or two; so, of course, a man falls out of the sky and almost lands on him, not quite six kilometres out from Konoha.

“What,” he blankly demands of the Universe at large.

The man doesn’t move from where he’s crashed through several stories of branches to lay broken on the ground a few metres below the limb upon which Kakashi has slammed to a halt. The rest of his team is quick to scatter into a defensive formation, senses on high alert, ready for an attack.

“Taichou?” Itachi ventures from the rear point of their diamond.

“I don’t have a fucking clue.” He’s debating jumping down to poke at the insensate man since no attack appears to be forthcoming.

And then a second form crashes down from the heavens, except Kakashi unthinkingly snatches this one before they can hit the ground.

Tenzou snickers.

Kakashi looks down at the slight figure cradled in his arms, takes in her outrageous pink hair and her mask. Her unfamiliar pink hair and mask.

“What?” Hatake Kakashi demands again of the Universe, this time more forcefully.

The Universe doesn’t answer, and Tenzou’s snickers transform into giggles.

He really, really has no interest in dealing with this shit right now. Or ever.

But, because the universe hates him, apparently he’s not going to get to pour himself into bed at any point tonight.

Fuck. This.

Keep reading

Youtubers I adore pt. 1

Stef Sanjati: Visits us from Final Fantasy, makeup artist, plays WoW and Skyrim, transgender, is secretly a purple corgi, smile and good spirit is incredibly infectious. 

Jon Watson: Does everything we wish we could do. Documents his travels around the world, volunteering at cheetah and big cat rescue parks in South Africa, a lot of swimming and diving, paragliding, basically lives like his life is one big bucket list and shows us that wonderful things are happening that we can be a part of if we want.

CaptainImaginary: A wonderful lad from Sweden. Documents his travels, cosplays, talks about books and his obsession with world flags, very mature despite his young appearance and goofy antics. Also loves sharing his adventures with unique bus drivers.

I crave adventure. Grab the tent, we’re leaving. Where? Well, we’ll see. The wind will carry us.

I want to see mountains, wander through untouched forests, bathe in icy streams, watch the sun set in a sky that fills the horizon. Expanses of empty land, cliffs that give way to the ocean - landscapes so beautiful they make our hearts ache. I’ll tell you stories and you’ll feed me your poetry. Delicious berry wine and crusty bread await, hot earnest food cooked over our campfire. In twilight we’ll dance around the crackling flames in sight of gods and stars and laugh and sing and scream. So wild, so free, just you and me.

The Tale of Ser Aveline

Once upon a time there was a poor, bitter farmer.

He lived with his wife and children, near the lands of the elves.

He was selfish, and cold, with eyes that were dark, and bones that were old.

Our story starts when his wife became pregnant, with another of their many children.

When his wife bore the child, he looked at the babe and felt disappointment.

She was too thick, and too round, her nose too crooked, and her mouth too proud.

He looked at the red-orange curls on her little head, and he thought that redheads meant bad luck.

Because he was selfish, the farmer didn’t want to care for his daughter.

Because he was cold, he did not love her.

He did not see her beauty, because his eyes were too dark.

He did not feel her promise, because his bones were too old.

And so he took her to the woods and left her there, hoping she would be no more.

When he left, she did not cry.

When the wind blew, she did not cry.

When the wolves howled at the silver moon, still she did not cry.

The farmer had hoped she would die, but he had left her near the woods of the elves.

A hunter, strong and true, was scouting the forest for food to bring back to his clan.

He happened upon our young hero, slumbering peacefully in an old fallen oak tree.

He picked her up and held her, and still she did not cry.

The hunter saw this, and was impressed.

She was thick, and round, with a crooked nose, and a mouth that was proud.

He saw her red-orange curls, and he thought they must be lucky.

He took her back to the clan, and they agreed to raise her as their own..

To them, it did not matter that she was too thick, or too round.

They liked that her nose was crooked, and they thought it was good that her mouth was proud..

Her red-orange hair was a beautiful gift, a fire to warm them on the coldest nights.

They named her Aveline, the prettiest of the human names.

As she grew she got thicker, and her muscles rounder.

Her nose stayed crooked, and her mouth curved prouder.

Her red-orange curls grew long and wavy.

She was trained n the ways of their warriors, in dueling and archery.

She learned to wield a dagger and a blade, and to hit a target from all the way across the rivers.

She learned to hunt, and fish, and gather food.

The Keeper of the clan saw how much Aveline liked her training, and she thought that she might enjoy the tournaments that the humans held.

She encouraged Aveline to participate.

Aveline had never trusted humans after she had learned that her family had left her.

She thought they must all be selfish, and cold, with eyes that stayed dark, and bones that grew old.

She did not need or want them, for she had all the family she could ever desire in her clan.

Still, she heard stories of the battles held at the tournaments, and she dreamed of the crowds and the banners, of the clash of steel and the noble knights.

She wanted, more than anything, to participate in the tournaments, but she thought she never would.

In Orlais it was forbidden for women to be knights, and only knights could enter the tournament.

Aveline was laughed at when she had tried, and she had run home to her clan, hurt because they had told her that she could not fight…

and that she was too thick, and too round, and her nose too crooked and her mouth too proud.

Even though she was hurt, still she did not cry.

Her clan  told her she was beautiful, and bade her hunt for them, so that she could feel strong and skilled, as they knew she was.

As Aveline went to hunt, the clan met together, and they decided that they would show the humans how wonderful Aveline was.

They worked together, and they worked late into the night, and after many hours they had made two gifts that would let her pursue her dreams.

When Aveline returned, they presented her with a beautiful suit of gleaming armor, with a beautiful, gleaming helm.

Aveline was moved, and knew that she could never repay them, but they insisted that they needed no thanks, only to see her smile.

She tried it on, and it fit perfectly.

She no longer felt too thick, or too round, and her helm covered her crooked nose, and her mouth that smiled so proud.

As she wore the armor, her clan presented her with the second gift: a beautiful blade, carved of ironbark.

Aveline now had everything she needed.

She thanked her clan a thousand times, and told them how much she loved them.

Then she left, to enter the tournament, and make them proud.

This time no one laughed at her, and she was able to face the other knights.

She fought many battles, and she did very well.

The crowd cheered for this mysterious knight, who wore a beautiful, gleaming suit of armor, and a beautiful, gleaming helm.

She was the happiest she had ever been, and she was nearing the finals of the tournament.

Her next opponent was Prince Freyan.

He was very tall, and very proud. His eyes shone bright green, and he was loved by the crowd.

His black-blue hair was like velvet in the sun.

He shook her hand before battle, and he was the first man that had smiled at her.

They fought, him with a steel and her with ironbark.

They were well matched, and equal blow to blow.

For a time, the crowd grew hushed as they watched, and Aveline and Freyan thought that they might end in a tie, as neither could seem to best the other.

Just when she thought she could go on no more, Aveline was given her chance.

She leaped in the air, and with a great, sweeping spin, she knocked the prince to the ground!

She leaned over him, the tip of her blade pointed at his throat.

Her red-orange hair curled out of the bottom of her beautiful, gleaming helm.

She met Freyan’s eyes, and they both smiled.

She dropped her blade, and offered him a hand up.

He took it and stood, and peered into her beautiful, gleaming helm as he rose.

“You are different than the other knights.” He told her.

Beneath her beautiful, gleaming helm, Aveline blushed.

She tucked her red-orange curls away, and shook her head, unable to speak.

The Prince, still smiling, shook her hand again.

“I hope you win.” He told her.

Prince Freyan returned to his seat, and as he went Aveline thought that he was tall, and proud.

She noticed his eyes that were bright green, and how he was loved by the crowd.”

It was time for Aveline to win her final fight.

The Knight that stepped into the ring was the Emperor’s own, and had won many fights with violence and anger.

He was rough, and loud, with angry eyes, and a wicked crown.  

Aveline was not afraid, however.

She fought the knight, and as they fought he grew angrier.

He could not push her, because she was too thick.

He could not dodge around her, because she was too round.

He didn’t like her crooked blade, and thought her armor was too proud.

As he grew tired battling Aveline, he also grew impatient.

He waited for the right moment, and when Aveline was not prepared he thrust his foot out, tripping her.

She toppled to the ground, her beautiful, gleaming armor being knocked askew…

and off flew her beautiful, gleaming helm.

The Knight, and the Prince, and all the crowd grew silent.

Her red-orange curls had spilled on the ground.

They could see that she was a woman, and that was not allowed.

The Knight was ashamed that she had almost bested him, and so he turned to the Prince.

“I demand she be disqualified. Her fight should be forfeit.” He said.

The crowd, however, had seen her fight. They had seen her skills.

They did not care that she was so thick, or so round, or that she had a crooked nose, or that her mouth was proud.

With her red-orange hair beneath her beautiful, gleaming helm, she had won over their favor, no matter where she came from.

The crowd booed the angry knight, and asked the Prince to let the match continue.

The knight’s frown was rough, his fury loud, with angry eyes turned, beneath his wicked crown.

Prince Freyan stood, holding up his hands for silence, and the crowd and the angry knight grew still.

He smiled at Aveline, and said: “The match will continue, our mystery knight may still fight!”

They looked at each other, and she thought that she liked that he was tall, and proud, and that his eyes were bright green, and that he had listened to the crowd.

The Angry knight was not so pleased, however.

His curse was rough, his footsteps loud, his eyes dark and angry, beneath his wicked crown.

He took up his blade, and lifted it high, and he struck down Aveline before she could rise.

“NO!” The Prince cried, and he leaped from the stands.

He ran to her side, and held her in his arms.

Her wound was too deep, and too long. With her blood on the floor, where it didn’t belong.

“Thank you,” she told him. “I’m sorry that I was a woman.”

The Prince smiled down at her, with tears in his eyes.

“You’re perfect,” he told her. “For what you are, never apologize.”

She smiled, and he thought he had never seen anything stronger.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Aveline.” She told him, and then her eyes fluttered closed.

To her last, she had not cried.

Aveline died in his arms, and he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

He thought that she was beautiful.

She was thick, and round, with a cute crooked nose, and a mouth very proud.

Her red-orange hair shined in the sun, and he thought that it must have been lucky for those that had known her longer.

The prince was sad, and angry, and he stood and turned to the knight.

He drew his blade and slew him where he stood.

He turned to the crowd, and said: “I hereby declare Aveline the winner of the tournament, and the greatest Knight today.”

They cheered, as they wept, for they had loved her too.

The prince returned home, and he mourned for her loss.

He declared the next day that any woman who wanted to should be allowed to become a knight, and enter any tournament that they wished.

He hung her beautiful, gleaming armor with its beautiful, gleaming helm in his palace, with her ironbark blade beside it.

And that is the tale of Ser Aveline, the redheaded knight who was too thick, and too round, and had a crooked nose, and a mouth that was too proud.

autistic worlds is in need of submissions

Autistic worlds is a blog for autistic people that explores creativity. We accept all kinds of works (check our FAQ for more information), from creative writing and art to programming and sculpture. We also share stories about imaginary travels and our personal universes. Anyone on the autism spectrum (including self-diagnosed autistics) can submit, and everyone can follow. Write about it in your submission, and we will post it anonymously.


Do you enjoy working as part of a fast paced, constantly changing environment? Enjoy travel to exotic mostly imaginary locales? Have a fondness for far fetched ideas and a devil may care relationship with truth ? If you possess these traits and have an overly active imagination and a tenuous at best grasp on reality.  We have just the position for you! We are currently looking for an addition to our Source Department.This person will ideally be located in Tanzania , close to Mount Kilimanjaro. We are a small company with a limited travel budget. Hence the mostly imaginary locales , so a local person with a passable knowledge of the area or at least a Wifi connection to allow access to Wikipedia and Google is preferred. The successful applicant will be responsible for  reporting back to the immediate supervisor of any imagined sightings of Scottish actor Sam Heughan as well as but not limited to any possible love connections made by Mr.Heughan with any female person within a 500 mile radius. If you have your own camera to take photographs with this is beneficial. Professional photographic skills not required. ALL photos will be published even if subjects not identifiable. Please note ALL PHOTOS become the sole property of the organization. Please note WE MAINTAIN A STRICT ABC POLICY.( anybody but Caitriona) Please forward your resume with 3 written references ( Restraining orders will be accepted) along with a note from your attending Psychiatrist stating your inability to distinguish fantasy from reality, your current treatment plan as well as a detailed psychotropic medication profile to the following fax number: 1-976-THE-PURV no later than 5:00pm April 20,2016.We thank all interested applicants , only those selected for interviews, will be contacted.