#grass queues things

[ambiguousgrass]

born to celebrate neil banging out the tunes, forced to be bystander to homestuck day

[bythebrandon]

[ambiguousgrass]

we're all so lucky that a cat can be orange. that's such an incredible color for a cat to be

[sayeed-966]

https://www.pexels.com/photo/brown-white-black-colour-9589413/

[fudgecake-charlie]

Was commissioned by the lovely @gammagoop to draw s1 empires lizzie and joel <3 This is my first time drawing them and I loved doing it!!

[ambiguousgrass]

[id: a small dog sitting on a carpet, it's head bowed with despair, looking at the viewer with the purest example of puppy dog eyes you could ever imagine. end id]

no fucking awoo. no awoo right now. its late. its not awoo time. its sleeping time. go the fuck to bed.

[proofinggentlewoman]

Peasant Woman Gathering Grass (1881) - Camille Pissarro

[ambiguousgrass]

[women name][numbers] has started following you

*shaking violently covered in blood holding a sword and shield titled block and report* "not for long she's not..."

[14dayswithyou]

PSA ! I'm turning anon back on so all y’all attention-seeking assholes can direct your hate towards me instead of harassing indie yan devs who just wanna have fun and interact on this platform.

Also!! Here's an article you should read once you're done bothering game devs! It's really interesting and definitely applies to all of you

[front-facing-pokemon]

[flickeringflame216]

🌱

[satanssquidgy]

If you say that reblogging things gives you anxiety or that doing anything other than liking a post gives you anxiety then you are chronically online, there is no excuse to not reblog a post there really is not

[ambiguousgrass]

[Id: an minecraft in-chat message sent by joe hills. "all rendogs go to heaven" end id.]

today on: messages that made me crack up more than they reasonably should

[quick-drawn]

trying to convince myself that i still enjoy playing this game —

Reiikon#11921

[samanthamulder]

hi

[tame-the-lion-writes]

reader x dog shifter 141 [pt.2]

(If you haven't seen it yet, here's part one.)

It’s been a couple weeks, and you’re starting to catch on to just how smart your dogs are.

Not that you know what they actually are—but they’ve got this weirdly human intelligence behind their eyes, and weirdly human personalities. The Great Dane likes to sit on the recliner in your living room, regal and commanding, often watching your front yard whenever the gardener would come over. The gardener’s son replaced him once for a job, leaving grass cuttings in the driveway, and he was all huffy about it. It amused you at first, but then you realized his judgement wasn’t reserved for strangers. He was even more huffy the time you accidentally burned a steak. (Jeez, since when was he a dad?) Not to mention the empty whiskey glasses he likes to keep around, but that's not right—dogs can't have alcohol, can they?

The German Shepherd, on the other hand, is surprisingly clingy—but not in a bump-into-your-leg or overtly cuddly kind of way. Instead, he follows you while never begging for attention, attentive and patient as though a soldier awaiting orders. You’ve been jump-scared one too many times by his presence, when you think you’re alone and he appears out of thing air. A massive giant of a dog, with paws as silent as a shadow. And he’s stubborn—doesn’t initiate contact, but you swear you’ve caught a subtle bashful glance. Especially when you scratch behind his ears and along the scar of his cheek and chin.

But what the Shepherd lacks in open affection, the Labrador makes up tenfold. He doesn't pester about it, though, simply hopping up to your side on the couch to curl up or placing his muzzle on top of your knees. Still, while probably the most obedient out of the four, you’ve seen him get roped into food heists with the Foxhound, or stalking as closely and silently as the Shepherd. Very much the little brother who tags along with whatever. But you can't stay mad at him for long, either—not when he knows how to apologize—bringing you a freshly chomped-off flower from the backyard whenever you get mad. Then he'll sit at your heels with a faint tail wag, whining 'til you're settled and appeased.

The Foxhound is perhaps the most talkative, in both a noisy and conversational way. His joy is unrelenting around you, and he greats you like you’d expect any other dog. Still, he’s awfully communicative. It’s how you’ve learned their names—with you wandering aloud what to call them, and him making faces at every suggestion. He eventually settled for playing retriever: playing charades by bringing you back bottles and bars of soap. For the Great Dane, he grabbed an old receipt from the trash. For the Shepherd, he threw on a sheet. He seemed awfully confused on what to do for the Labrador, though, and just kept whining as if in apology.

“So Soap, Price, Ghost, and…,” you trail off, glancing at the Labrador with a slight pout. “Oh, I’m sorry, boy. I really don’t know what to call you. And Soap here seems like he’s run out of braincells.”

Ghost snorts in amusement, which is returned by Soap’s unfettered glare.

The next morning, though, there really is no explanation as to how Soap learned the alphabet, how to write, or to arrange your bedsheets in the following name: GAZ.

_

Bonus Thoughts:

"Aha... what the fuck."

Price has face-palmed (face-pawed?) and Ghost just walks over and calmly almost slapstick-esque baps Soap on the head. Meanwhile, Gaz looks dejected, pressing his forehead to the front door, like he's expecting you to kick them out in the next five seconds.

Not that you would, of course—but we can queue the mild horror and existential questioning of what the hell these dogs actually are. You call your friend to rant about your theory—that they could be escapees from a top secret government laboratory, or spies from another country. She just says to enter them into a dog show, or make ‘em celebrities on social media.