#dog death mention in the tags

[ddaengju]

.

[traumasurvivors]

While it doesn’t really bother me, and I just delete the messages, I want to bring attention to this because not everyone is okay with having trauma details dumped into their inbox.

It feels like a common theme on the internet nowadays honestly. And I’m mostly making this post to ask people to be mindful. There are still real people behind these screens. And dumping such details to someone without their consent can be triggering for them, exhausting or any number of things.

Being lonely sucks. Feeling alone is awful. And I’m sorry for that. But please don’t assume that internet strangers are okay with you sending them messages or comments about some trauma details.

[poorlydrawnstraydogs]

question for Dazai: Would you rather have crab. unlimited crab but no more suicide or suicide (unlimited suicide) but no more suicide?

[rat-rosemary]

Tommy looks at the forest, the others shuffling anxiously behind him

It has been expanding (well, it was expanding from the first day) but it finally got big enough for someone else to notice he guesses. It only took them three months

He's not quite sure how they made the connection with Dream tho. They're right, but he has no clue how someone who didn't see it would know that Dream is at the center of this

(They probably just assumed. It's almost tradition at this point to blame everything on Dream)

The group of manhunters, about 10-ish people with Sapnap and Quackity in the front, look as prepared for a fight as they could be, their netherite armor shining like beetle wings in the sun

(Except Wilbur, who has nothing but his clothes and his cigarettes)

...if Tommy decides to lead them into the forest he's leading them to their deaths.

The armor is heavy and noisy. It shines obnoxiously in a way that would make it easy to spot on the pale oak even if they did manage to climb into a branch without letting every single creaking in the forest know exactly where they are, and it's too heavy to climb the dark oak trees

No one seems to have any invisibility potions either. He spots healing and regeneration and weakness and instant damage but no invisibility or night vision

He can help them with their search for Dream and by doing so he'll seal their fates.

"Tommy? Ready to go?"

Quackity catches his attention and Tommy turns to him

...he remembers afternoon after afternoon spent trailing after Wilbur as he and Quackity did. Whatever the fuck they were doing. Their weird sex rituals or whatever.

(He remembers watching The One That Bleeds, his wounds never healing as he sobs, crawling out of the blood oak, red roses tangled into his white hair. The burned brand on his back always seems fresh and it makes Tommy want to gag. He hopes that one is Dream's ghost. It seems too cruel for it to be him)

Tommy nods, walking into the forest, the fog welcoming him as an old friend as lillies of the valley grow angrily in-between his curls

He'll warn Tubbo and Fundy about the monsters and the false trees with guts and the flowers and the things that scream. Maybe Sapnap even. The rest of them? It was time for them to get a scare.

[flowerakatsuka]

either i've gotta watch the ososan movie or play fields of mistria tonight, i need a freaking distraction rn.

[howlsnteeth]

how is your puppy? any good news?

hi! sorry i haven't posted publicly about it much, i have bad anxiety about "not posting if it's not art/people don't like that/will dislike you" etc, but! very good news. he did have surgery and a tiny metal plate fixed in, and has been recovering really well! he's pretty much back to 100% now in energy, and has a final xray in a couple of weeks! the cost was fucking insane so my family has started pet insurance for him lmao

world's bravest little man!! it was his front left leg which is still mostly shaved in this pic

[anikiain]

If Ejojo has a million fans, then I am one of them. If Ejojo has ten fans, then I am one of them. If Ejojo has only one fan then that is me. If Ejojo has no fans, then that means I am no longer on earth. If the world is against Ejojo, then I am against the world.

[billowingangel]

America doesn't like Fireworks

Here's a headcanon/projection I have for America. I also thought I already posted this but I actually dreamt that…totally not a sign of #mentalillness

content warning: mentions of multiple real life deaths, great war and world war two are mentioned, mentions of ptsd/shell shock.

i'm not fully sure those need a warning but just in case I wanted to provide them.

At first America loved fireworks to celebrate the fourth of july. He had loved the display of colors and patronism his citizens showed! He was a freshly indepent nation when the fireworks began in 1777. He thought they were beautiful, amazing, spectacular, and a wonderful sign of what the future would hold.

He also greatly prefered fireworks to the guns and canons set off during the 4th and was happy that after 1812 that phased out.

When Independence Day became an offical holiday in 1870 he cried with joy. That year he watched the firework display with an intense feeling of pride in his heart.

But then it began to change for him. In the years between 1903 and 1909 there were 44 deaths due to fireworks and even more injuries. He began to feel a bit of unease over the citizen's love for fireworks.

Then the Great War happened...So many young men came back from the war shell shocked. Hell, America even had some shell shock for a while. That first year after the war and the fireworks going off, he felt all those men's fears and his own fear.

That was a major turning point for him.

It didn't help that between 1928 and 1942 there were another 56 deaths in factories and stores due to fireworks. And then after World War Two, the sound of fireworks began to make America's heart race.

After a few years America decided he would leave his big house in Washington DC and go to another one of his houses. This house was further away from any firework show the city was doing. He wouldn't feel anxious and would be able to celebrate his independence/birthday in peace and quiet. But by that time it was the 1980s and more people were doing fireworks in the comfort of their backyards. The noise and smoke that filled the street of America's suburban house terrified him. Were they under attack? He had rushed to investigate only to find people with fireworks and firecrackers.

America gave up, it was probably just him upset by this whole mess. Those who had shell shock probably got used to it by now, correct?

But then in the 2000s he began to hear more talk, more talk of veterans struggling with the fireworks. Dogs struggling with the fireworks. Pets, kids, many more people then he assumed were scared of the loud fireworks. And in a way it explained to him why at the turn on the 1900s he began to have a change of heart about fireworks, a feeling of unease and uncomfort. Because despite how much he partied or celebrated on July 4th he still just didn't feel right, that something was wrong.

Then more and more states began to ban the setting off of fireworks for personal use but that wouldn't stop the citizens despite the growing number of people who found discomfort with them. America wouldn't go anywhere in the South around the 4th of July mostly staying in States that had the strictest bans on fireworks. By this time his fear of fireworks had greatly decreased especially since he realized the cause, it wasn't all his feelings but Americans feelings as well.

He even began to host some birthday parties where you could see the city sanctioned firework show. Firework shows were different to him then just the random ones in someone's back yard, those were expected, well controlled, a professional was doing it.

America hopes that one day he'll be able to like fireworks again but that probably wouldn't be until people stopped doing it on their own or when people and animals stopped being upset by it. Both those cases seem unlikely, so America will just grit his teeth and accept the firework tradition.

I even used some sources for this *insert surprise pikachu* History of Fireworks Firework Accidents and Deaths I couldn't find out when it became the norm to do your own fireworks but I assumed at least by the 80s. I also believe states began putting in place bans/laws about personal fireworks in the early 2000s but don't quote me.

[antitheticallyargumentative]

a poem i wrote on the bus to work this morning

[possesseddog]

I just met shin yoosung and she also knows diverse communication, so I was like “oh, I’ll compare her character profile to gilyoung’s”

does he not have a character profile in the entire goddamn million words???? kim dokja what are you DOING do your goddamn JOB ????

[octahedral-chaos]

😒 - Who did you dislike most / not get along with from your canon?

:]

😒 - Who did you dislike most / not get along with from your canon?

[Plain text: Tired/ annoyed emoji- Who did you dislike most / not get along with from your canon? /End ID]

Hmmmmm, not too sure since I never really had any kinmems... but maybe...

Spoilers warning!

Maybe it's They/ "God", since I believe it took my life... Stars, I miss Edda, and I don't really want to talk about it besides this.

[wheelercore]

Being the resident master of clocking all things Mary/ Maria I'm sure you know this but I just clocked yesterday that the little girl in Frankenstein El is watching in s2 is named Maria and you're the only person in my sphere I can tell who won't side eye me. So, yeah, the little girl El watches who befriends the creature and is then accidentally killed by him is named Maria.

No actually i didnt know that! ❤️

(I need to watch 1931 Frankenstein now djskshsish)

Its really interesting because thats definitely giving Alice Creel to me in terms of little girls who die horribly at the hands of a "misunderstood monster", esp since we still havent seen alices death (afaik they didnt even show alice dying in tfs either). And just... all the little girls shown in funeral scenes

I'm not sure how to connect this Maria Rose beyond my usual insanity but I Will Find A Way.

[faithfulcat111]

No Stonathan Sunday today. I got some really sad news and I can't write anymore today.

[endawn]

in specific terms of asoiaf, the fact pax can survive decapitation comes into play. well, survive is an ambiguous term for someone already dead. anyways. he accompanied them to kings landing. little finger & varys were both able to sniff out pax’s paranoia and awareness of pax being aware of the use of urchins and servants as spies. they used his desire to protect against him. i don’t think they quite figured out what was going on with him ( i mean, who’d expect a vampire knight ) but pax refusing to leave ned for long because of whispered threats. which, meant he was neglecting to eat. while a vampire cant die from starvation, higher mental function begins to decline rapidly. it’s not a good thing. i think he is able to hold on by sheer force of will but as soon as ned gets arrested, he loses it. starts attacking everyone like a rabid dog with sandor being the one to put him down by decapitating him. he gets better, eventually. they tried to send his body back to cyrodiil out of fear of provoking something with them but the ship never made it.

[hurricanek8art]

So a lot of people have seen my Star Wars posts the last couple of weeks. I only have a handful of followers and I'm still pretty new to all of this, and it's been fun and kinda mind blowing. I would love to talk about Star Wars or other nerdy stuff more than anything right now, but... I have something I have to get off my chest.

My dog Lucy died this afternoon.

It was sudden, like this developed at some point in the three months since she was at the vet last, and there was nothing we could do. I can't bring myself to really talk about it. I don't think I ever will be able to. It's too much. Because Lucy was my everything.

I'm not posting this because I'm looking for sympathy or prayer. I mean I'll take it if you're comfortable giving it, but that's all really complicated stuff, y'know? Not everybody has a great relationship with grief or religion—heck I don't always have an easy relationship with either of them sometimes, but I'm working on it. I'm not digging for commiseration or "poor sweet baby"s or anything. I just... don't have many people to talk to in my life. And this is gonna be really hard for me going forward. Not that anyone needs me to tell them that, everyone who's been where I am knows this. I'm not ready to grieve. I've grieved half my life, really, for different reasons, different people. It's... complicated. I'm complicated. So I'm going to do what I learned how to do to cope with my grief as a child. I'm going to tell you a story.

It's a story about love and unexpected journeys. Of finding who you are through someone else. Of a girl and her dog, who found each other and were who the other needed in just the right moment. I want to tell you a story because if even one person reads this, just reads it, doesn't even reblog or like or anything, the story is carried on. And the story lives forever. And in a way, Lucy lives forever. Because she already does in my heart, and she always will. So I'm going to tell the world our story not because I'm looking for followers or likes or sympathy or whatever. I'm telling it because I want at least one person to know even a fraction of how much I love her. If you don't or can't read this because it's too much, too close, too anything, I understand more than anyone that it can be overwhelming or painful. But if you do read this rambly ode that I wrote last night in sort of a haze... I thank you, for carrying the story on.

I met Lucy when I was thirteen. My family had been looking into training a service dog for me for a few months. We thought that it would help with my autism, alongside the PTSD I was dealing with in the aftermath of my father's death a little less than a year before. Because we already had one wonderful lab mix, the local training organizations had turned our applications down, citing that it would be too complicated to integrate the dogs. A friend of our family who did occupational therapy through animals suggested we find a dog and train it ourselves, with her help and help from people she knew, so off to the local shelters we went. This trip was our third try, and it was the same shelter we found our lab in—third try's the charm, right? And it was.

My mom wanted me to look at the puppies down a different row of kennels. Easier to train when they're younger, and she has a fondness for labs. But I walked down the righthand row, waving and smiling and wincing at the noise as excited dogs barked, wanting to see why new people were there, and I saw her. She was in the middle of the row of kennels. She never barked, but her big brown eyes were bright. I knelt down to say hello because she was the only one not barking in my face, and she leaned against the chain link to get closer for me to scratch, still looking at me with those beautiful eyes. I didn't realize it in that moment, but that was the moment she moved straight into my heart. I wanted to at least visit with her in the introduction room. Yes, the puppies were cute, but I had a feeling this time, y'know?

When they brought her into the room, I was sitting on the floor. She about dragged the shelter volunteers across the room, making a beeline for me. Sniffing all over. No licking—she's never been a licker. That's alright. We played a little, my mom and brother watching kinda surprised because this dog didn't want to look anywhere but me. She sniffed curiously around the room a few times, sure, but otherwise, she was right there. Stayed right there. And then she did this.

I was a goner. Because I found my dog.

___

They told us they thought she was a dalmatian mix, estimated to be about one and a half, which was amazing because we did the math later and realized she was likely born around my birthday in December. Asked me what I wanted to name her. I was on a Narnia hyperfixation at that point. Lucy, because she was so sweet and curious. Later the name evolved into an homage to Lucille Ball, because she was wacky and goofy and fun. I don't care where the name came from. She was Lucy and she was my dog. We had to introduce her to our other dog the next day, at the dog park. It went fantastic. All she wanted to do was romp and play, and our other dog went from acting her age of 8 and sorta arthritic to a happy two year old again. Surprisingly, the shelter worker handed us the leash and said "she's yours for the weekend, we'll talk on Monday". Trial run I guess. I was fine. I was ready.

It was Friday, April 13th, 2012. My brother likes to make jokes that the date should've been a clue that she'd be a handful, but I don't care. A Friday the 13th was one of the best days of my life. Even if it didn't feel like it at the time.

(I swear she and our lab got along, that one is just one of the few pictures I have of them together at the moment 🤣 I have so many pictures, but I can't go through them yet. These are just the ones I feel comfortable sharing right now.)

___

She was not a dalmatian mix. We figured that out that night when we put her up in my room to sleep. I was too buzzed with excitement, so I was in the living room when I heard it. This bay from my room. Not a bark, a full on hound bay. I remember looking at my mother in shock, and she just shook her head, eyes wide. "That is not a dalmatian."

It turned out there was an foxhound breeding/hunting place a few miles out in the boonies from us. They don't actually fox hunt, it's more of a horse-riding club where you go out riding with a whole flipping herd of foxhounds, English and American, to exercise the dogs. The shelter had found her about a month before running around in the woods, no collar, no chip, nothing. We don't know if that really is where she was lost from, or how long she was a stray. No one from there came looking for her if she was theirs. She had some scars on her face, thin scratches you could only really see when you squished the loose skin on her face. I loved squishing her face so much. Lucy had pretty clearly never been raised around non-working dogs. Or humans. Or anything, really. The world of the suburbs was new and confusing to her, but she knew how to chase, and run, and scent-track. Never had a problem with wild animals trying to get into our yard again at that house. Lucy was here to protect her new people.

(I should be clear that there was nothing in this tree. No squirrels or anything. I think this photo really captures some of her essence, though 🤣)

Service dog training went out of the window pretty quickly. My mother, who'd had dogs for decades, had never adopted a dog as old as her before, and Lucy was a lot. Hyperactive, intense prey drive, stubborn and hardheaded and loud, oh my gosh she was so loud. And settling into a new routine after losing her husband while trying to raise two autistic kids, while we all dealt with PTSD, was a lot. She got overwhelmed and kinda shut down after a while. My brother didn't know how to train dogs either, so he shut down, too. I don't blame them at all, we were all grieving and they came back around eventually, but I was thirteen years old with a dog I had no idea how to train, and I felt alone. I was grieving and scared, and for a while I was terrified that it wasn't going to work out. Every time our family adopts an animal, we swear right then—that animal is a part of our family, no matter what. But it was so much, and we were dealing with so much.

But then Lucy would look at me with those big brown eyes. And I'd feel okay. Because she was my dog. And I was her person. And I wasn't going to give up. So I squared my shoulders, I went over everything I knew from what my mother had taught me over the years, and I trained my dog.

(this was from 2016, and it's the day I knew she and my brother actually did get along, despite all the headaches and banged-up knees from her not dodging around him quite in time that she caused)

Things have never been easy. But we got through it. We moved out of my childhood home, a little over a year after returning from everything that happened with my father. (It was a saga I really don't know how to share) My PTSD and trauma stuff got worse, and my now-regular panic attacks really got started, and I dropped out of therapy like an idiot, but through it all she was there, always, always. When it felt like no one else was. When it felt like I was drowning. I never got suicidal thoughts until the pandemic hit, and have never been anywhere near wanting to even think about following through on them, but even when I was in really dark places, no matter what, Lucy was there, listening to me with her big floppy peanut butter colored ears and her big brown eyes and her freckly-looking spots. Lucy saved me from fully spiraling into a grief-filled, depressed fog I wouldn't be able to find a way out of more times than I can count. As far as I'm concerned, she saved my life. She was never cuddly—I think she tolerated my attempts at affection more than anything sometimes, but that was okay. I'm pretty touch-averse when it comes to humans and hugs and stuff. Dogs, no, humans, yes. I understood, and I knew when she'd had enough and when to step away, and I did my best to respect that. She was fine with being independant, with just being near me. And I realized I was fine with it too. Because she was there. And I was there for her.

(She heard me open a snack container in the first pic; behind that bush was one of her favorite spots in the summer even though it drove me crazy when I couldn't find her 🤣)

Over the past few years, it felt like we'd really settled into where we were supposed to be. She never slowed down with age. She just... matured, I think? Especially after our lab mixed died in 2016 and it was just her and us humans. Realized she didn't have to constantly chase the next smell, be on the lookout for the next squirrel or bird or rabbit. When I took her out for our hours of hanging out on the back porch in the sunshine, as soon as the weather would turn warm, she went from constantly running around the yard to taking breaks to hang around my chair. Laying near me, sometimes even next to me. A few times she laid her head on my feet, or next to them, or against my legs when I was sitting on the ground. I almost cried every time because it made me happy she was so comfortable with that. (Scratch that, I did cry) My favorite was when we were out there in the evenings, and she'd fall asleep as it got dark, deep enough to snore. She felt safe enough to do that, comfortable enough, content enough to let herself fall that deep asleep, because she knew we were there to protect her, be there for her. Because I was there. And if you've never heard a hound howl in their sleep because they were dreaming about chasing things, you've missed out, it's possibly one of the funniest sounds you'll ever hear, and I got to hear it on a nightly basis. I heard it last night. Even when it kept me awake sometimes as her snores rattled the windows, I have treasured that weird yodel-y sound as it fluttered through her flappy lips.

Those summer days will be in my heart forever. And when the weather would turn cold, and my seasonal depression would get bad, I felt better because she'd let herself become a couch potato with time, and realized "Hey, I can sleep on Kate's bed when she's not on it! Score!" She was content, at last, after years of us working so hard to find a balance. That's what I've held onto all this time, what I'll hold onto in the coming months, years, decades. That she's content, and happy, and she knows that she is loved more than anything in this world.

I've grown and changed with her. It's been eleven and a half years, we had to have. I've lost family and gained family. Drifted apart from friends like an idiot when I should've held on. Sometimes I don't know if the person I've become is who I want to be, or need to be, but when I'm with her, it's fine. Because I was who she needed. I became an adult. I found new interests and hobbies; I found writing, I re-found art, I found music and making friendship bracelets and a little bit of sewing recently, though I'm bad at it. I found historical subjects, mythologies and folklore, stories I never knew existed, that fascinate me. I found Lord of the Rings and Captain Marvel and Paramore and Taylor Swift with her. I still don't always know who I am, but I found myself. And every bit of that, Lucy was next to me, watching me as I discovered it, listening to me sing to her and ramble on about whatever I was doing on the days we sat out on the porch or in my room, just us, and I needed someone to talk to. She was always a good listener.

I'm still struggling with my mental health, everyone in my family is. And I know the next few months are going to be hard. But every bit of my life with her, I've been happy, even when it got hard. Because Lucy was my dog, and I was her human, and we were Kate and Lucy. My only regret is how long it took us to find our balance, find out how to coexist when we were so different but the same at the start. I will always regret how long it took, even if I was a confused child for half of it, but I never gave up. I couldn't. Because she never gave up on me, even when I had no idea what I was doing. Anything else—the grief, the frustration, the fear—I regret none of it. I never will.

Because through it all, I had Lucy. And Lucy had me. And now, if you've read all this, as I rambled my way through our story, trying not to cry and laughing at some of the memories, maybe you know her a little bit too. Everything on the internet is forever, right? Well, now our story is forever. Lucy is forever.

And she will be in my heart forever, too. I love you, Lucy. My Goose, my Goober, my Goofus, my Lucy-Goosey Mongoose, my "no, no, stop that, please stop eating stuff you find in the yard!". I love your squishy face and your droopy lips and your floppy ears. I love your loud barks and your window-rattling snores and your incredibly weird sleeping positions. I love your big brown eyes and your goofy grin and your misunderstanding of the word 'gimme five' regularly leading to you enthusiastically smacking me in the face with your big ol' paws. I love how I had to show you how to chew apple slices with your back teeth because you'd never had one before, and how you'd mooch for a carrot that was supposed to go to the horses only to spit it out three seconds later and then immediately try mooching for another. I loved teaching you to boop me with your nose when it was clear you weren't comfortable with kisses as a way to show affection, despite the numerous times you almost broke my nose. I love you. I love you. I love you. You have been part of me since April 12, 2012. You always will be part of me. One of the best parts.

And now you're forever.

[cyclonestudios-alt]

Hey guys can you all please pray for my dog. Earlier today my dad took him (the dog) to a vet cause he hasn't been acting like himself for over a year, but especially more so now. Anyways, after the vets took some tests, they said that apparently our dog has Lyme's disease (which I had once, and my dad had it as well at one point. It's not fun) and something called “Anaplasmosis".

I'm not entirely sure what that is, but according to how my dad explained it, one of the symptoms are reduced energy, which checks out for our dog. The thing with the Lyme's, however, is that the vets are unsure if it's in his joints or kidneys. If it's in his joints, they can prescribe a medication for it, but if it's his kidneys, than he only will have a few more months to live. So..... Yeah. There's that. Tomorrow we'll be getting the results as to were exactly it is

We did pray for my dog, but I think I would feel much better if other people where praying for him too. I'm (technically all of us) have been hoping it's in his joints, and we did pray that God would heal him completely. Uh, anyways yeah. I don't really know what else to say, but thank you guys ahead of time for the prayers