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You’re so lonely that you find comfort in the enemy.

/dsmp /rp

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when your cringe son blows up his fail country

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I made a DSMP storybook (with cutouts) inspired by Arthur Rockham's Sleeping Beauty silhouettes.

Full poem (in text) under the cut.

In the depths of a forest, a twisted man did dwell, with all he ever wished for, yet still his greed would swell. A prince of great might, with the earth at his feet, clad in a verdant cloak and a mask of ivory sheet. Though he owned all he sought, his essence was bare, devoid of the joy that his wealth could ensnare. With nothing left to own, he sought immortal life instead, for death he would defy. To be a God, he chose himself, in pride, he led— for none divine could die. One day, he chanced upon a boy who frolicked in the mead. For the first time, his heart was moved and it began to plead. "This child," he exclaimed, "Must be the key to my divinity, for what can move a God's heart, but a muse's affinity?" For weeks, he watched him with passion and zeal, and planned to keep this muse, to whom he would appeal. With gifts and good fortune, he lured the boy with ease, seeking nothing but for all his friendship in his kindly pleas. The boy, trusting and naïve, followed the False God's lead, his deceit spun like silken web, to which he paid no heed. The man betrayed him and drove his loved ones away, leaving the boy destitute, completely alone to sway. "Do not despair," said the False God, "for I will not leave you behind." He held tight to the weeping boy and promised, “To you, I will be bind.” "Never will I leave you," the False God declared, "I am your only friend. Forever, we'll be paired." The boy followed him, his obedience in vain. Often, he was struck, the man delighting in his pain. The boy tried to change, to avoid the man's ire, but nothing could satisfy the False God's desire. "You are my muse," he confessed with glee, "The key to my salvation, the one who'll set me free." He locked the child away in a vault without end, using him as a vessel for magic he could bend. The boy's pleas for mercy went unheard and ignored. Each time, he was destroyed, and again, he was restored. Every return to life, he was less the same, no progress made. The boy no longer smiled or laughed, his inner-light soon to fade. The False God gazed upon his work with horror and with fear, for now he knew his immortal life was impossible to near. He would die, alone and bereft in a world so vast, his muse no longer moving his heart, for at last he could see, that the boy was just an ordinary child, and nothing more than he.

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this is a lovepost for all the mcyt archivists out there, y'all are doing god's work and i love you

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i think it just kinda sucks when your dead dad won't have a conversation with you, yk? Not super pogchamp if you ask me.

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when wilbur momentarily role played a petty ghostbur 

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also a doodle 4 today

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The con man

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oh but these days are never coming back, are they? no, but you still have the memories… whether that’s a blessing or a curse

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how i imagine crime boys meeting for the first time, tommy tried to rob wilbur

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I just want to say your work preserving this fandom is been incredible thank you so much, this account is seriously so important

I’m glad people appreciate it! :]

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an admission

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