Apparently I Liked My Earlier Post So Much To The Point I Drew This

HE BETTER HE DESERVES IT!!

Something abt hanako being tone deaf and tsukasa being the singer is funny to me

Also it's given me a new headcanon; whenever amane had nightmares or couldn't sleep tsukasa would sing for him, instead of amane singing to tsukasa i would love for tsukasa to do it for him, even if it was terrible i would love to see tsukasa try to soothe amane

ALSO LOOK AT MY BABY SMILING HE LOOKS SO HAPPY JUST LISTENING TO YASHIRO SING ACK-

Papyrus, what's your favorite food?

When ur mutuals w/ some cool ass people rb if u agree

generally speaking when it comes to mental and physical health, if you're asked "do you struggle with this" and your answer is "no, Because I Have A System," then your answer is actually yes

Start a petition for brujc to draw ghostly management

A fanart of a fanfic I've read

Ghostly management by Starrylitme

This took 7 hours but it was so worth it

I cant believe this post reached 100 before my yuri robot/hedgehog and yaoi robot/hedgehog

Something abt hanako being tone deaf and tsukasa being the singer is funny to me

Also it's given me a new headcanon; whenever amane had nightmares or couldn't sleep tsukasa would sing for him, instead of amane singing to tsukasa i would love for tsukasa to do it for him, even if it was terrible i would love to see tsukasa try to soothe amane

ALSO LOOK AT MY BABY SMILING HE LOOKS SO HAPPY JUST LISTENING TO YASHIRO SING ACK-

but at least the war is over

shmilk's brainrot kids 💔

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.

Pretty!

A lil thing from my Bluesky