#kind of crazy how that works

[faytelumos]

A Good Girl's Eulogy

cw: real death; animal and human death mentions

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On August 28th last year, some time around 5pm, my family's 18 year old chow/shepherd mix took her last breath.

When we first got her, she fit comfortably in my mom's hands. She was the runt, and mom had picked her out for that fact. The runt of the litter doesn't always get adopted, she said. While us kids and Dad were at home, fawning over our new baby, Mom went to get bowls, food, and toys. Us kids went to bed and Dad watched the puppy, the gears in his mechanic's brain working, and when Mom got back, he looked up to her, our new family member in his lap.

"We have two choices for her name. Diesel, or International."

Diesel was smart, and maybe all dog owners think theirs is unusually intelligent, but our girl was clever.

By the time Diesel was a "teenager" she knew we didn't like her out of the yard alone. She belonged in the back yard when there wasn't anyone around to watch over her, since the front yard was completely unfenced and open to the neighborhood. Every day, when Mom got up, she would let Diesel into the back yard to do her business, and ten or so minutes later, would call Diesel back into the house for breakfast. Every single day, this was the pattern. And one day, Mom strayed from that pattern to look out into the front yard.

And there was Diesel, casually patrolling the front yard, unattended.

Shocked, Mom had headed to the back yard, but by the time she got around the side of the house, Diesel, too, was in the back yard.

We learned that day that she had found a hole in the fence, and more than likely was taking daily constitutionals into the front yard, perhaps to check up on things or watch birds, before returning to the back yard to be collected for breakfast. If she ever had any more sneaky escapades or excursions, we never caught her.

We adopted other dogs, who became Diesel's companions and fellow family members in her adulthood. A stocky little thing that had been surrendered to us from another family (we gave him a Nicholas name after a US president) a tiny pup we had gotten from a local breeder (who we also gave an automotive name) and another tiny breed who we adopted from a home that couldn't care for him anymore (named after a color).

Diesel was always the biggest by far, tall and strong. She was dominant in personality and in charge, and she often led the others around the yard here and there to anything that was interesting or required attention.

She didn't need a leash if a human was with her. She started one-sided fights with President, chased rabbits and birds, always came when she was called, knew how to shake hands, and you could pat your chest to get her to jump up, put her paws on you, and gives kisses.

She deserved more love than we gave her.

Dad played fetch with her, took her for rides in the truck, and called her his good dog. He was outside working often, and they spent time together when she wasn't exploring or checking things out with the others. She'd sit with him inside in the evening, and he'd give her scritches.

Five years ago, he died suddenly. I lived out of state. The police officer on my mom's doorstep told her she didn't want to see the body.

A lot happened in that week. I asked myself more than once if Diesel knew he was gone. I came and visited, and then went back to the life I had left paused.

Three years ago, Diesel got very sick.

Mom wasn't sure she'd make it through the weekend, and I dropped everything again to return. She was sixteen at the time. She had been a part of my family for sixteen years, and I stopped just short of telling my boss and coworkers that my sister was dying.

She was his dog, Mom wept over the phone.

When I got into the house, she was in a sorry state; skin and bone, her strength sapped as she lay on the living room floor. She hadn't eaten in two days, and she'd stopped drinking that morning. I couldn't have imagine it, not from the girl who had been a powerhouse and boss over her huge back yard not so long ago.

I gave her bland food to coax her to eat, and overnight she seemed to gain ten pounds. I took her to the vet, told them where she hurt and to be careful of her temper, and then took her home. The appointment that, three days ago, had been for her final breath, turned into a prescription for antibiotics. But at her age and in her state, chemotherapy and surgery wasn't an option. So we let that battle go.

I came, visited, and then went back to the life I had left paused.

Last year, another call.

She's really bad. I think this is it.

Tell her I'm coming. Tell her I'll be there tomorrow.

I silently hoped I could perform that miracle twice.

She was so thin. She wobbled on her back feet, toes getting caught as she walked. She coughed, raspy and rough. I picked her up, my once 60 pound firecracker, and she let me carry her upstairs so mom could give her a bath in the tub.

I laid with her for hours, two towels wrapped over her and curled up against her back so she didn't shiver as she dried.

The vet came to us. A new, affordable program for geriatric or terminally ill dogs. I made sure Mom would get her ashes back. Because we'd had her for eighteen years, and she was going to stay with us now forever.

The other dogs and all of us kids and mom held her and stroked her. The vet was so kind, and we all watched as our beloved girl let go of her pain.

I carried her, wrapped in my dad's favorite blanket, to the back of the vet's car. There were two other bundles in the back. Small, and tenderly covered.

I watched her go, and I stayed in the street after she'd turned the corner.

[love4hobi]

The things you do are impressive. Who would work so hard to capture street dance like this? Who does that?

HOPE ON THE STREET EP.2

[abnomi]

i locked in too hard and fought tooth and nail with ibis paint to make this but by god i did it 🛌 THE FILE GOT CORRUPTED LIKE 5 TIMES. i think turbo is real and he is out to get me.

these are a collection of experiments i did to figure out how i want to draw The Freak! i certainly learned a lot. i love drawing characters in 50 different ways with no consistency its so fun moohahaha. expect more turbo art in the future (but probably less artistically chaotic as this turned out 👶 oopsays)

There's alternate versions under the cut + have a bonus doodle :-]<

good grief

[ihavesomejays]

you win this time

it's essentially just a sequel to this. inked traditionally with a gpen and scanned it to color digitally

closeups/og inks below keep reading

[chateautae]

hi <3

my lovelies are you still here? i'm thinking of dropping something 🥺

[mitskikissme]

My very rushed love letter to @rowdyknives fanfic what it means to love her. hes such a talented writer no jokeee

[sergle]

what I was talking abt earlier. we have fully looped back around and away from feminism, societally, whereas before it was very Feminism 101 to acknowledge that many parts of existing as a woman in a misogynistic society are painful and upsetting. not that being a woman is Inherently Negative in a bubble. but that living on this earth, in the conditions we're living in, is hostile to women. and that gender is a performance. that many of the Staples Of Femininity as accepted by society are things that you have to create and perform and mold artificially and aren't inherent, that COMPLAINING about day to day difficulties of existing as a woman is something that you're allowed to do. acknowledging these basic, again, feminism 101 things, that something tied to womanhood is more time consuming or more expensive or more dangerous Because Of The Problems. does not CREATE the problems. that when women complain about having to perform femininity, they are not, in fact, oppressing themselves. the call does not come from inside the fucking house. saying that you HAVE suffered does not fucking equate that you believe you SHOULD have suffered.

like I could talk about this for hours. how braindead and one-dimensional the Takes are getting. "being a woman is looking in the mirror and going fuck yeah i'm a woman" damn. I guess any negative experiences you have by living in a misogynistic world... are your fault if you are anything but positive? "you don't actually want liberation" we've fully gone back to telling feminists "you WANT to be oppressed" when anything negative about our society is pointed out. it's not real until I say it out loud, I guess, and then I'm actually the one who caused it. if anybody expresses any unhappiness with how they're treated or the status quo or the language and culture surrounding womanhood and femininity. they've created it, right that second. they invented it just now. it wasn't a problem before somebody complained, right? also trans women aren't braindead zombies who just follow the flow of whatever cis women around them say. I am pretty fucking sure they are very much aware of pain, and are MORE than aware of the swirling torrent of misogyny and standards of femininity than anybody else. actually. and I am pretty sure someone complaining on tumblr that being a woman means always putting on a performance is going to make someone change their mind about transitioning. also "performing femininity" as a necessity to being treated well as a woman is not fucking NEWS to your Local Trans Woman. I AM PRETTY SURE SHE GETS THE CONCEPT. using trans women as a scapegoat for this braindead perspective on gender politics is spineless, meritless, and pathetic.

[carebeardean]

payneland spiderman au where masked Charles rescues Edwin, who immediately starts yelling at him for putting himself in danger & Charles is like mate did you recognize me by the sound of my voice🥹?

Edwin using Every Inch of his willpower not to look at Charles ass in spandex is like of course I would recognize you anywhere. you absolute fool.

2 years after they start dating Charles puts it together & laughs so hard he busts a rib

[moralcandy]

fifteen things that don't come back, by charlie slimecicle:

number one. the paper airplane you and your daughter throw at your husband while his back is turned in the kitchen, the two of you hiding behind the counter as you snicker quietly when he stops humming and yelps a curse as he turns around with a faux angry expression and a poorly-hidden smile.

number two. the glass your daughter broke trying to grab it from the cabinet on her tippy-toes. you didn't look over until you heard the glass shatter against the kitchen floor, too preoccupied with grabbing the jug of cold orange juice from the fridge to notice until it was too late. golden, afternoon sunlight shone warmly on the both of you from the open window as you swept it up while she stood to the side with a sheepish expression.

number three. your husband's soft shirt he let you borrow when you said you couldn't find your own but really you just quickly shoved yours under the bed when he wasn't looking. you absently noted that it smelled like him. your lips curved into a slight smile without input. your foot shoved your shirt under the bed a little bit farther.

number four. the pictures you took of your daughter and niece, hugging eachother as they posed for the camera, the photo incinerated into ash when you blew up your house. you frantically dug through your daughter's chest afterwards, soot covering your hands as you searched for the photograph. you did not find it.

number five. your niece.

number six. the feeling of a cold glass of wine held tipsily in your hand, the waterdrop of condensation slipping down the glass at the same pace your tears did down your cheeks. you downed the alcohol until there was nothing left except a burning feeling and a lump in your throat. the bartender did not give you another drink.

number seven. your friend, the one who used to laugh hysterically with you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders before he began to scream at you while he wrapped his hands around your neck. he pushed you into the dirt, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth and the feeling of wet dirt on your skin as you absently question whether the water dripping on your face was the rain or the tears slipping down your friend's face. you know that was the funeral of your children, but you think both of the real 'you's died that day, too.

number eight. the warm, rumbling feeling of laughter in your chest as a smile hurts your cheeks, the sensation long gone. your mouth, for a moment, twitches into a small smile at the memory of the feeling.

number nine. the feeling of hands on your own, your husband's warm hands intertwined with yours as your cold, golden rings clink against eachother. your daughter's tiny hand clasped around yours as she leads you to a butterfly she found, grass brushing your ankles as you walk.

ten. the sound of your daughter's amused laughter, snorts interrupting occasionally. her head leans back as she giggles, her eyes scrunched up in happiness.

eleven. the sound of your husband's soothing voice, lilting with fondness as he looks at you. a smile absently crosses his face as he speaks, audible in his voice. you always remember smiling back.

twelve. your golden wedding band your husband lovingly slipped onto your ring finger so long ago, the one you furiously tossed into a dusty corner with particularily bad aim. you blame the poor aim on the tears blurring your vision, but it could've been the alcohol, really.

thirteen. your husband. you try to go to sleep in the center of your bed now, knowing that he won't be there. when you wake up, you always find yourself on the left side of the bed, as if you've moved in your sleep to accommodate someone. you scowl and think that your asleep self should stop being so stupid. ..you make the bed just in case he really does decide to come back.

fourteen. your daughter. whenever you make yourself breakfast now, you keep accidentally making two bowls, the muscle memory automatic, familiar, and no longer needed. you sit down at the table and set the bowls and begin to eat, but you always end up just stirring the cereal with your spoon as you stare at the untouched bowl across from you. you always end up throwing them both away. without your input, a frown tugs slightly at your lips as your pour out the second bowl but you know that nobody else was even here to eat it anyway. your eyes burn.

fifteen. your daughter, the one you know isn't the real one. sometimes you walk down those train tracks where you found her, hoping she'll be here this time. she never is. ..you still keep checking, just in case.

[blueskittlesart]

how do you come up with ideas for your comics? :?

yeah ok so the trick is to be crazy

[sciderman]

Which do you prefer, Spideypool or Poolverine?

glances at my decade-long running spider-man and deadpool blog

...hm. good question. i'll have to think about th

[stuckinapril]

I admire girls who can pull off long nails bc it literally can never be me. I just don’t get how it works functionally

[naffeclipse]

The power has been out for about 15 minutes now so uh, I'm in the dark

[azzydoesstuff]

people on steam discussion forums when making the game takes time and the developer has a life instead of slaving away 23 hours a day for to make them free updates twice a week:

[keirientez]

band au rahhhhhhhhhhh

[spywhitney]

How I sleep knowing I'll never trust anyone that hates Sydney but worships Richie: