Catastrophe

When I was 19, I made a large oil painting of the nerd I would eventually marry. I poured all my attention and care into this painting. It's the only art I have from back then that still holds up as a work I'm proud of today.

I entered it into a judged show at the local art center. It got an honorable mention. I went to see the show with my beloved model. One of the judges came up to talk to me, and highlighted that all the judges really liked the painting. It would have placed, except, you see, the feet were incorrect. They were too wide and short, and if I just studied a bit more anatomy-

I called over my future wife, and asked her to take off her shoe. Being already very used to humoring me, she did. The judge looked at her very short, very wide little foot. Exactly as I'd lovingly rendered it. I would never edit her appearance in any way.

The judge looked me in the eye, and to his credit, he really looked like he meant it when he said "Oh I'm so sorry."

Anyways the moral of the story is that all of those anatomy books that teach you proportions are either showing you averages, or a very specific idea of an idealized body. Actual bodies are much more varied than that.

For those calling for justice, the same painting won a contest at my college (my university professor had met my model), and the university bought it from me and hung it up there for over a decade, square little feet and all. Then, the library underwent renovations and a librarian I am thankful for forever went through heroic measures to track me down again even though I'd gotten married and changed my name, and offered it back to me. And now it hangs in our house even though my wife doesn't ordinarily want to look at paintings of herself and I don't normally want to look at paintings I made. We both have a soft spot for this one.

I made this transparent PNG the night he died in preparation for one of the many ways I was going to memorialize him--a surface rug in his likeness that I planned on laying directly in the line of his favourite sunbeam. And I uploaded that PNG here, because this is the website where people post their cats.

I was not expecting the reception I got. Many people have pointed out that this post has more reblogs than likes, and how insane that is in 2025 when reblog culture is at an all time low. I didn't even talk about the fact that Burger passed away in the original post, it wasn't a tearjerker reblog bait or anything like that. People just loved Burger that much, in the same way I fell in love with him at first sight. He was such an ugly kitten.

Anyways, it's really special to me that so many people have reblogged my best friend. I made this PNG to memorialize him in a completely different way, and you all wound up doing just that in ways I never even imagined.

Thank you. Wherever he is, I know the sun is shining.

Like, a lot of us who had traumatic childhoods had our emotional responses beaten out of us. Don't smile, don't raise your voice, don't cry, boys don't do that, don't bounce your knee, why are you doing that it makes you look weird, don't look away, stop doing that, don't make any noises, and stop moving your hands like that.

Gradually, you become a statue. Immaculate in your formlessness, the world unable to touch you. It's awful.

And, it's not like that goes away when you're out of the situation. Learning to emote again is work. Real work. And it's very hard to justify. On some level, hiding yourself so totally is a strength. It's not 'learning how to put on a mask', it's becoming one with the mask. It's useful, or at least you'll notice when it's useful. To emote again in the ways you lost means fighting through years of trauma.

But. You have to understand. Not emoting feels bad.

Have you ever felt really, really sad but been unable to cry? Denied of tears, you want to gouge your eyes out. The catharsis is gone. Your sadness feels less real for it. Inevitably, you seek other ways to reify your emotions.

It's like this for every emotion that was removed from you. All of them not just an absence but a void. A vacuum that demands more and more. Unstable equilibrium. You have to do something about it but the natural outlet is hidden behind the scariest thing in the world.

So, you fantasize. Wings, horns, tails, ears. You'd coil around her to express your desire. Your wings would flap out and show your pride or bend inward hiding you to show your embarrassment. Your horns would be sensitive the way none of your body could be. Your tail would wag or droop or lift. Here, we see a new language to express ourselves, one untainted by the past. Escapism.

Tenna art by @9Aaaalt29 on twt

The crowd roared in confused enthusiasm as Tenna gave a gracious flurry of low-FPS bows, pausing only for the occasional stink-nose at his audience plants who weren’t throwing enough 3D roses.

Eventually, the room fell silent. It was Senshi’s turn to speak.

He puffed out his chest, took a long, sweeping look over the audience… and shook his head.

“I can see not all of you are eating properly.”

The crowd murmured with embarrassment.

“I don’t know who needs to hear this, but it’s time to take the turkey out of your icebox. I have seen the ingenious technology with which your people store food... and I have also seen the waste which results from such convenience.

“The food you take had a life. Beasts grew fat on the grass of the field, plants grew from the sun’s rays, and mushrooms grew from minerals in the cracks of caves. And yet, it sits in your iceboxes, collecting moisture until it perishes.

“Eat what is given to you. Because its life will make you stronger, too.”

Without another word, Senshi left his podium and stepped away from the stage. The crowd murmured in confusion. “Is he really like that?” somebody said. “I only remember reblogging the photosets of him tripping and showing ass.”

--

Back in the Green Room, Tenna wrung his antennas nervously.

“Y-y-you think they liked me!? They HAD to!! I mean, I don’t know what Asgore was thinking, getting that weird haircut and running that food waste campaign, but… YOU thought I did good, didn’t you, Kris?”

Laios nodded aggressively, a streak of blue face paint peeling from his forehead.

“You did AMAZING, Tenna! By the way, now that we’ve seen all your insider campaign secrets, do you have any more videos of Susie? Especially her tail... If I could get a look at that, I could finally tell if she’s a dinosaur or --”

THWACK. Fake antlers butted Laios’s head.

“LAIOS?? Weren’t we dressed up to help SENSHI???” Marcille hissed, gesturing awkwardly with her hooves.

Suddenly, Tenna turned to the two adventurers.

“Hey, WAIT a second. SOMETHING’s not right here...”

Laios and Marcille held their breath.

“Where the heck are my POINTS!?”

Just then, the door opened. Chilchuck took one step into the room, whistling and holding a large bag.

Everyone turned to him.

Chilchuck paused, took a step backwards, and closed the door.

“CHILCHUCK!!!” yelled Tenna.

“How come Chilchuck got to stay Chilchuck!?” yelled Marcille at the same time.

--

the field is a standard football field including the goals, goalposts, and end zones

there are four teams: two football teams, and two football teams

the two football teams play football and follow all the usual rules for it

the two football teams play football and follow all the usual rules for it

at the same time

on the same field

while dodging around the teams playing the other football