But he's a skeleton

yeah and I'm upset about it, okay?

Never kill yourself.

tragic! trans person no longer merely tolerating the act of existing just now realising their entire wardrobe is ass

Straight guys who use tumblr are the funniest people ever literally how did you end up here

Dei hire

i gave my sister $100 for her bday, but i gave it to her in $1 bills that i folded into origami. so that’s how she pays for delivery food & now the pizza girl thinks she’s a stripper

You’re really good at origami holy sh

i learned it specifically to make these for this exact situation 

Aren’t you the same bitch that gave your sister $100 dollars in nickels?

same bitch

Yeah, neither of these things happened 👍🏼

listen here my good hoe, i can’t find photos of the 2000 nickels or the 20 stars, but i did not spend weeks planning meticulously inconvenient birthday gifts over a period of years just to get whaled on by internet gremlins. here is some equally compelling evidence for an anecdote i was saving for later:

it weighed 68.6 lbs

I fucking love sketches for art, like fucking look at this. I love how I drew Snorpy here but I'm also too busy fucking giggling at Chandlo look at him guys

Astronomers are the funniest people on earth actually

this was a poor excuse to draw them old

who up psychin their naut

EYEHEART CRYPTIDS KS IS LIVE! We've got from now til the end of April to get this funded!

If you want a cute lil wooden cryptid to carry around with you, this is the time & place to support!

I love this flavour of 90s furry art that can never be duplicated ever again. Like you CAN make art with Lion King characters in action blockbusters but it simply WON'T be the same.

i keep thinking about how flowey had to construct the very concept of cruelty from the ground up.

not from watching anyone else, not by osmosis, but by cobbling it together himself in the garden where he woke up. alone.

this was a child who fell asleep to his mother's stories, who knew every inflection of his father's laugh. who spent endless golden afternoons with his sibling, both of them doubled over with giggles as they filmed their silly videos, messing up on purpose just to hear each other laugh. again. and again. and again.

so warm. so safe. where the gravest offense imaginable was maybe tracking mud on the carpet.

the worst fear, disappointing people who would love you anyway.

where could he even begin?

save. say these words that once meant comfort, but twist them just so. watch their eyes dim as something inside them breaks. load.

save. make a promise—you remember those, how snug they once made you feel—then shatter it. document exactly how hope crumbles. load.

save. try another combination. another betrayal. watch what splinters differently this time. load.

the world's loneliest science experiment.

look at the cruelty he creates, it's all so personal, specific. so devastatingly asriel.

watch how often he comes back to the idea of being replaced. of being forgotten. how he taunts you with the possibility that none of your relationships matter, that everyone will move on without you. that none of your choices mean anything in the end.

your fault. your responsibility.

if only he you hadn't made anyone love him you. If only he you hadn't loved them back.

of course he'd fixate on all that. how could he not? his mother, who used to speak his name like it was sacred, those tender words she reserved for him—for THEM—are now handed out indiscriminately, like candy to anyone who asks.

all he can do is take note: see how easily love transfers? see how simple it is to fade away?

so, he sneers. taunts you with the thought that it's all dust. you're just another passing face in the crowd. nothing lasts. nothing is worth the weight of caring. but even as he pushes that narrative, as his voice drips with contempt, he is still out there. in the ruins. checking on her.

observing from a distance, like maybe if he watches long enough, his past will solidify into something he can hold again.

flowey develops his cruelty like he's trying to solve an equation. if this word plus this action equals pain, then surely there must be some formula that yields not caring anymore.

if he'd just gotten it right. if he'd just kept everyone at a distance. if he could just be flowey. save. load. the answer has to be here somewhere.

but how do you quantify the sting of hearing her say "my child" to someone else? how do you account for the absence left in the places where joy once thrived? how do you document, in clinical terms, why you keep watching over people you swear don't matter anymore?

you don't devote yourself to perfecting devastation unless you remember, with searing clarity, what it felt like to be whole.

you don't give so much of yourself mastering the art of ridiculing attachment unless you're terrified of how much you still have left to give.

unless every attempt to prove love meaningless just confirms how much meaning it still has for you.

...point IS! flowey did an interesting job creating his own idea of a bully. it's all pathological. so crudely stemmed from his own sorrows and fears. he's created his own textbook definition of meanness...but then every chapter's just him screaming in a mirror.

realizing i am essentially a god presiding over my creations. and i choose to put them in chaotic situations. anyways heres me picking one up

no escape.