imagine data caring for you when you’re unable to care for yourself
imagine data being the constant in your life for seventy, eighty years
imagine data staying by your side because he is accustomed
to your sensory input and he would miss you if you were goneimagine data knowing that one day he will miss you
and choosing to become accustomed to you anywayimagine data.
cRIES
a gif has never been more accurate i just burst into tears over my breakfast i’m literally crying
omg imagine how proud that dachshund must be
“wow my son grew up so big and tall!”
POSITIVITY FOR TODAY

duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck duck
goose
i
can’t
“this leaves men confused and unable to pigeonhole you. What they are forced to do instead is… take you seriously.”
Reblog every time
Half-Mourning Dress
1910-1912
The Victoria & Albert Museum
What’s a “half-mourning” dress? Mourning in the front, party in the back?
Half-Mourning was the third stage of mourning for a widow. She would be expected to mourn her husband for at least two years, the stages being Full Mourning, Second Mourning and Half-Mourning. The different stages regulated what they would be wearing, with Full Mourning being all black and with no ornamentation, including the wodow’s veil, and the stages after that introducing some jewellery and modest ornamentation. When in Half-Mourning you would gradually include fabrics in other colors and sort of ease your way out of mourning.
Wow, I am happy you made that joke so I could interpert it as a serious question and have an excuse to ramble on about clothing customs of the past, I am a historical fashion nerd.
That’s very informative, but I’m going to stick with my original head canon:
Mum broke the news a couple of months ago. We’ve been overseas for so long and - with Australian real estate laws being what they are - my parents can’t rent the place out anymore. They have to sell it.
We went to look at the place, me, Mum and Dad, to do an inspection of the renters about two years Ago. I hadn’t been ‘home’ in ten years, and I was… floored. My old neighbourhood, my old street… my old house.
I could barely move. The nostalgia was so jarring and I could only look around and go ‘is this really it? I remember it being bigger. I remember it being greener. I remember it being this and that and it was bigger, wasn’t it?’
And now they’ve painted it, dolled it up, and put it on the market…







