If people start to ship yukeru because of my art I’ll become very happy
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from Netherlands
seen from United States

seen from Aruba

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Aruba
seen from United States

seen from Netherlands

seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Singapore
If people start to ship yukeru because of my art I’ll become very happy
my friend after i linked her to my first choice college
Indrid asks duck to play his old trumpet bc in most timelines he sees duck is really good at him and serenades him sweetly but it turns out he's in the hell timeline and duck plays hot cross buns very badly and ends up getting alittle spit on indrid's glasses. Although Indrid still gets flustered and flattered that someone would play music for him. Wig
kjHLSDGJHS thats adorable. but also the IDEA that someone can be serenaded by a TRUMPET is the fUNNIEST thing to me. those things sound like honky ducks. which is probably why duck chose that instrument. but also: him only being able to play hot cross buns is the most realistic thing i’ve heard all day
classmate: how are you doing today?
me: pretty good
her: that’s not what your eyes say
me:
Me when Blake and Yang finally have "the talk"
SUNNY AND HER GLUED ON BABY WIG
“It all comes back. Perhaps it is difficult to see the value in having one’s self back in that kind of mood, but I do see it; I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammer on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were.”
Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethlehem