33. Nerd, Artist, and 5' 5" fluff ball. Multi fandom, focus on feminism, gender discussion, and just squeaking in adoration at all the awesome. (Neurodivergent and Transmasc. pronouns zie/zem or he/him) https://the-meandering-ty.carrd.co/
Rex is believed to have been the dog of John E. Stow, one of the city’s longest-practicing fruit merchants until his death in 1884.
For years, people have gathered sticks and fallen branches to place at the loyal dog’s resting place.
Situated under a tree with plenty of sticks around, visitors often leave a stick across Rex’s paws as a tribute. Someone even left a picture of their own dog there, perhaps a beloved pet who had passed away, as if to say, “Rex, look after my little one.”
ok so, I approached my local library with a proposal to donate a mural as a way to A: build portfolio/gain practical experience and B: give back to a beloved public institution. The director was very enthusiastic about it and i've been working on it since the beginning of March. Come with me as I endeavor to paint what is in all honesty an excessive amount of birds
I wanted the birds to look like they were actually in the space so first thing after doing the draft was to do a lighting study
after that I covered the walls in letters in lieu of a projector/vr headset bc i have neither of those :) Then i take a picture of the section of wall and superimpose the lineart over top of it so I can pencil in the lines
et voila
and that was a whole week on it's own so next comes the paintin' >:)
"Jesus fucking Christ, Harrington. What are you doing?"
"Obviously, I am sitting in my living room. You're the one with a jacket on at midnight in a town on lockdown."
"Yeah. Well. I'm going out."
Steve sighed. Pointed out the window. "Military. Lockdown."
Eddie surveyed Steve's lounging form and realized he hadn't moved. The statement wasn't a challenge. Genuine curiosity was sitting in his gaze.
"And do you always do what you're told?" Eddie teased, dark and low. "Night, Harrington."
"Wait."
Eddie paused, hand on the doorknob.
"Can I come?"
"Lockdown," he mocked. "Remember? Not to mention this isn't exactly the type of thing I want company for—no, God. Wait. Don't. Twist that."
Eddie turned and found Steve's head curiously tilted. His cheeks were also bright red in the dim lamp light but Eddie didn't think he'd realized that yet.
"I'm going to get a tattoo," he continued. "So. Hurry up. You're gonna need shoes and shit and I don't want to be late."
Eddie knew the whiplash he'd caused in this interaction was his fault, but, Harrington's scramble was still hilarious. He accidentally giggled as Steve tried to lock the door while also shoving his foot in a shoe.
The drive was short and uneventful, and Steve was uncharacteristically silent. Even his facial expressions were neutral, no late night bitchiness in sight. It was a little bit unnerving, but Eddie could ignore quite lot. Had decided to ignore Steve, if he could. Midnight always brought out weird interactions between them. Letting him come was a terrible idea, but he was stuck now.
He marched into Tom's garage side door like he owned the place, with Steve in his preppy fucking jacket trailing behind him like a whipped puppy. He felt the back of his neck heat uncomfortably. He really should not have caved.
"Thought you'd bailed on me, Munson. Who's the narc?"
"Chill, dude. He's...just here to observe."
"You never used to need hand holding for this," Tom sneered.
Steve snorted and Eddie glared at him. He held his hands up in surrender.
"Sorry. Just. Is this guy for real? Does he have any idea where he's living? And he's trying to insult you for what...? Needing people? Insane."
Steve stared at Tom; they locked eyes for a moment, and Eddie was reminded unpleasantly of two buck deer sizing each other up before locking horns and attempting to kill each other. Just as he had decided that he'd made a grave mistake and that they would leave, Tom let out a rauccus laugh and held out a hand for a shake.
"Alright, dude. You pass. You can stay. You getting inked too? Eddie can vouch for me. Pretty decent with a needle."
Eddie sighed and collapsed into Tom's chair, already prepped and covered in clean plastic. "For fucks sake, man, why are you like this."
Tom chuckled again. "Jerry asks the same thing every damn day, but I don't see him moving out, do you? So. What we doing."
"Well," Eddie said with a wince, reaching down to pull his shirt up. "I broke your shit."
The scars on his chest had not started to look better. They were a little less painful these days, mostly from constantly massaging them with Vickie's magic concoction. But still. The tattoo beneath them was gone. Tom sucked in a breath.
"No kidding. What happened?"
Eddie gulped. Froze.
"Fire," Steve said softly, settling on a rolling stool beside him and inching closer to his side.
Tom nodded solemnly. "Okay. We putting the same thing back? Where?"
He nodded. "Shoulder."
Without anymore questions or concerns, Tom got to work. Settled him with his belly on the table, arms above his head. The stencil was quick. Tom knew what he was doing.
Eddie had ten tattoos, not including the one that had been destroyed by the bats. He didn't actually find them painful. But as the needle hit his skin this time, as the outline of his beloved demon returned to his body, he felt his eyes prick with tears. It was annoying. Especially when Harrington rolled even closer, so that his knees were in Eddie's periphery. Eddie swallowed, cleared his throat.
"I was just kidding before," Tom muttered, concentrating. "You can hold his hand. It's safe here."
Eddie choked on a chuckle. "That's not—Steve's not really...we aren't..."
He gave up, letting a second chuckle be the real response. To his horror, the stool moved in again. Steve's cool, dry hand lifted Eddie's. Hooked their fingers together. Placed them on his knee.
"Been a pretty shitty few months," Steve said to Tom. "Think it's just a lot of feeling. This freak here can definitely handle pain."
The needle paused and Eddie could practically hear Tom smile. "Everyone needs a little hand holding sometimes, right? No shame in that."
"Yeah," Steve replied. "Yeah. Everyone."
Tom worked silently for another forty minutes, as Steve rubbed circles into the back of Eddie's hand. He entered a strange, liminal space, one that only existed in the tattoo chair. The twitchy burn of the needle was counterbalanced with Steve's soft touch, and Eddie, exhausted from the weight of living, promptly fell asleep. He only woke up because Steve was releasing his hand, gently pulling away.
"Think you have time to give me just a small one? It'd be...well, it's my first, so I dot know what I'm gonna be like," Steve said.
Tom enthusiastically agreed, pulling a clean kit out of his cart. Eddie sat up and put his shirt back on gingerly, avoiding the plastic wrap as best as he could. That done, he turned all his attention to staring at Steve.
"You don't have anything to prove, you know."
Steve smiled at him, sweet and gentle. It was the most sincere facial expression Eddie had ever seen on him. "Don't worry, dude. That's not what this is. I've had this planned for months, just didn't know I had an opportunity."
He pulled Eddie's arm closer to him, turned it to show Tom.
"These. Along my pec. Don't gotta be identical, obviously. But. The bats."
Tom smiled. "Didn't take you for a bat kind of guy."
Steve grinned up at Eddie, his face wide and open. Hopeful. Scared.
"Yeah. Me either."
Eddie sat beside him as the stencil was placed. He offered his hand before the needle even hit skin.
"Hell of an opening gambit, there, Harrington," he murmured softly, echoing Steve's earlier gesture, writing lyrics into the skin of Steve's hand with his thumb.
"I don't know what you mean, Munson. This is like, our third or fourth date, by my count. I just forgot to tell you. Still. Definitely time for l permanent reminders of you etched into my skin."
Tom snorted. "Yeah, alright," he said, glancing at Eddie. "I get it now."
And since Eddie had almost completely forgotten that Tom was there, the blush this time melted down to his toes. Luckily, Steve Harrington, never one to back down from a fight interlaced their fingers and closed his eyes, just as the needle hit his skin for the first time.
BLM has published a plan to maximize logging in Oregon forests, including old growth forests, without due regard to wildlife (including endangered species) and waterways. They're claiming it will help prevent forest fires, though that seems to be contrary to current science, including that published by the forest service (you can find a list of sources here). This is in response to Trump's executive orders 14223, Addressing the Threat to National Security From Imports of Timber, Lumber, and Their Derivative Products and 14225, Immediate Expansion of American Timber Production.
We have 30 days to submit comments if we want to prevent this. This article has suggestions for what you can say, and how:
One billion board feet per year... 30 days to make your voice heard.
You can read more about it here:
Conservationists say proposal to “maximize” logging across nearly 2 million acres of Western Oregon BLM lands would devastate fish, wildlife
If you live in Oregon and you love our forests, please submit a comment before March 23rd.
If you don't live here, it would be super helpful if you could reblog to spread the word.
Genuinely this is one of the most beautifully animated things I've seen since the golden age of animation. I could actually cry for how much love they put into this jfc what a beautiful homage
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