sometimes i recognize the fact that if my best friend and i were fictional characters people would ship us
g8 day ya’ll
an english major, an art major, and a film major walk into a bar
they all get ridiculed for pursuing what they love
The writing major is also there, sobbing into their whiskey.
"All anime is the same"
Let me explain you a thing
A short-haired brunette individual manages to achieve a prestigious position due primarily to hard work and determination. Once there, an unexpected other side to them is discovered that leads them to hardships and conflicts between their two “selves”, but they also manage to put both aspects to use. They are joined by a cast that includes, among others, a strong silent protective dark haired character and a short blonde who looks younger than his age and who seems innocent and naive but who holds secret reserves of ferocity. The main character frequently feels out of place and at odds with the cast, but the cast tends to consistently support them.
And then the titans kick a hole through the school wall and eat Tamaki.
“She’s not a dog. She’s a Creature.”
My Creature—she is chubby.
She is not small. Condensed, concentrated. She is
fat—round as a pig as she waddles
barely above the ground. Rolling skin
swollen by table scraps and sleepy afternoons,
but not jiggly. Stout and proud, almost
muscle. Almost, her short legs moan. Not quite.
My Creature—she is lazy.
Her head is too heavy to carry. It
rests on bags, boxes, baskets, stray feet—
anything within distance. Sitting in the sun,
she splays her chicken legs improperly. She
begs. Attention. Food. Let’s go to bed. Bed!
Even when awake, she in some stage of sleep.
My Creature—she is ugly.
Two bulging brown orbs set disproportionately
in a graying, velveteen face. It’s
squished, the nose forced back
into the snout, forcing up mountains of
ripply wrinkles. Forlorn, her jowls sit in
a perpetual pout above a nonexistent neck.
My Creature—she is funny.
Barks aren’t barks: muted, stuck-throat, squeakish.
They shake her entire body upright, bouncing her
spiral tail. Excited, she runs around the
house—twice—the floor unforgiving to her
nails. Yet, she snores all the while. Chewer
of tinsel, frog-chaser, head-tilting comedian.
My Creature—she is mine.
Put a blanket over the warm, vibrating lump:
she’ll fall asleep. Waking, she’ll snatch
hands and pull them to her fawn fur. Her
kisses are rare, punctual presents to the
sad, the confused, the lonely; she nestles beside
them in the dark, if only to steal the pillow.
Goodbye, my baby. You mean everything, you mean everything to me.
China, get out of my basket, you are not socks. You’re not even laundry!
I find it very hard to believe I took this picture two years ago. China had aged a lot in these two years, and even faster these past few months. We had her for thirteen years, give or take, and tonight… she’s gone. I’m going to miss her a lot.
If I seem moody tomorrow if I see you at NYCC, I apologize.
China was the best dog in the world and I will miss her forever. I wish I could have been there for her in those last few days.
my coworker just made a pun so terrible that i began to leak from my face
420 space blaze it
this is the legacy of Ithaca College and honestly I can’t be more proud