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European Pine Marten in a meadow. :-) peace and contentment.

This will be one of the prints for my crow tier Bird Mail members this month!

[ID: an illustration of a pine marten in a field, surrounded by white and purple wildflowers. It is standing upright and looking toward the viewer. End.]

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I get intrigued when women look sinister

instagram | twitter

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telling job interviewers i work great under pressure knowing id kill myself

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Jeanne Mammen - Sleeping Cat (ca. 1908-1914)

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Hunger by Nightjar art of Adam Burke

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My mom's friend posted something about her on FB and it was just so wrong but like. I can't correct her. I can't just comment and say "her favorite color was purple, not green, wtf are you talking about?" And I cant say "Her favorite holiday wasn't St Patrick's Day, it was HALLOWEEN!!!!" because none of it matters anymore but I'm still irritated as fuck about it.

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Porygon2 hanging out in windows 7

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etching. Jan 2025

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i Love that anders’ clinic delivers babies and treats STDs. thank you for calling planned parenthood of Kirkwall. we are one guy in the sewer. they’ve been trying to catch him for Years . for birth control inquiries, press 1. for hormone therapy, press 2

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From the Wikipedia page on loons

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Butch doggies

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Hillside lake

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I would much rather welcome people into the queer community despite not understanding their identities or how their identity makes them queer than let them feel ostracized and unsafe in other spaces. If someone feels queer, then that's queer.

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I’m sure someones already said this but I often see Tumblr described as a hellsite. This is fundamentally incorrect.

Tumblr is the faesite. Everybody is super confused and lost, you keep running into random places. Somehow you end up stuck there forever after interacting a couple of times. The people are all strange, everybody simultaneously seems to be from the future and the past as if time is meaningless.

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The Last Unicorn

"[...] the unicorn screamed. It was not at all like the challenging bell with which she had first met the Red Bull; it was an ugly, squawking wail of sorrow and loss and rage, such as no immortal creature ever gave."

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A Sunday in Galveston