me, a writer, staring at one sentence for 10 minutes straight: i don’t know what’s wrong with you but i don’t like you
Tiny mushrooms growing on a Douglas fir pine cone.
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Holy SHIT.
THE ONLY ONE ALLOWED TO SIT THERE SHOULD BE THE ARTIST AND THEN IT SHOULD GO BE IN A MUSEUM.
Hand made crafts should be worshipped for the art they are.
i respect this SOOOOO much more than any iron sword throne chair
This one involves way more stabbing
SHE BOUGHT A PEACOCK
psyduck is probably like. the most achievable pokemon probably. like i don’t think i could teach a cabbage to grow legs and be a bulbasaur but there’s probably a certain threshold of mental torment i could subject a duck to that would make a psyduck
“what about rattata” “what about wooloo” “what about pidgey” none of you understand me or my art. i don’t mean animals that look like pokémon or could be dressed up like ones i’m explicitly talking about what i could do to an animal that would make it capable of performing destructive psychic attacks
According to my uncle, I “should be outside balancing rocks in a stream somewhere.”
what kind of forgotten god are you
gamegrrl
