The Seasons Are Changing,

I will be like "I'm fine" and then another fucking event will occur

thank you for 1k followers ^_^ ♡ ♡ ♡

The type of parents who argue that simply putting food on the table and keeping a roof over their kids' head is sufficient parenting are always so shocked when their children no longer want to deal with them once they've got their own place and can buy their own groceries. Like what else did you expect to happen? You told the people who had no other choice than rely on you for food and shelter that asking for any more than that is unreasonable of them, and then they don't go to you for anything once they can get those some other way. What would they go to their parents for?

They've got food at the house.

I think- Pearl, you deserve this more.

this is how the bad boys feels to me

Woke hermitcraft be like

BIdoubleO100

CubPAN135

GAYm77

EthosLab

SAPPHICsymmerty

GeminiTay

GAYtimeswithscar

GAYian

HypnoTRANS

BIJevin

GAYpulseSV

JoeHOMOs

KerGAYlis

MALEWIFEJumbo

PearLESBIANMoon

Rendog

Skizzlewoman

Smallishbeans

TangoTRANS

VEGETARIANBeef

TRANSknight

XBTRANS

ACEsumavoid

GAYdaph

ZombieCleo

i wish ads felt pain when you skipped them

new reaction image

Thinking about the vibes of Minecraft's antagonist groups...

Illagers are evil, but human evil. They're a cult in distant strongholds, a vendetta against a severed kin, creatures trapped in cages for who knows what ends. They're tribalism, pride, desire overstepping morality, lust for power, lust for knowledge, lust for wealth. They're the grumbling soldier, the scowling hatchet-man, the monologuing mastermind, the sorcerer sneering from his throne.

Undead are evil, inhuman evil. They are mindless, relentless, merciless. There is no thought or conscience behind those empty eyes, just the drive to make life end. They are death, and death follows with them. They are the groaning horde of corpses, the keening spirit, the grim avatar of death.

Piglins are the barbarians, a hard people from a hard land. They are not your friends, but neither are they inherently your foe. They are hardened survivors, huddling in ruins of a past glory or scraping by a living in the wilds, defending their land from those coming from outside. Their desire is the companionship of the tribe, the sweet smell of meat after a hunt, and the lovely gleam of gold. They are the barbarian chief, the cunning trapper in the wild, the berserker red with glory.

Endermen are alien. They seek no goals we can perceive, wander lonely in the night on what might be aeons-spanning missions or the passing whims of chance. They follow fair rules, but their rules are alien. They will pass you by and seek no harm, but will not suffer eyes on them as they do their work. They are the half-seen monster in the night, the quiet figure by your window, the fey people of the otherworld.