Gnome Sighing

I'm so bummed man,

Im hanging out with Jerald and I can't take a good picture!

I know it's not his fault he corrupts every picture he is in, but I wanted to show a slefie!

yall know that one audio where a woman yells STEVEN in an Irish/Scottish (I genuinely cannot tell which) accent?

Imagine Danny and Damian's reunion goes like this:

At a gala (Danny is unfortunately vlads heir)

Damian: DANYAL!

Danny, freezing:

Damian: I thought you were dead!

(please tell me I did not hallucinate a whole audio)

what if instead of having spell slots, each time we cast a spell, we have to eat a proportional marshmallow? Like, eventually ur gonna become so disgusted by the taste that you can't eat them anymore. And thus, you are out of spells.

just got hit with a wave of pain

L I f e s u c k s

i cannot believe this.

I was wearing my cloak out today and someone called it a cat.

IT IS CLEARLY A BAT! IT HAS BAT WINGS AN EVERYTHING!

I am offended.

I should probably pin on the nose

What if we all just treat the rich and politicians like dragons?

They hoard their wealth, so why don't we make like brave knights and steal it?

SLAY THE CORRUPT POLITICIANS AND STEAL THEIR HOARD!!!!

Trust made of dust and bones

Trust is like a chalkboard.

Covered in words and phrases and actions, Written with a chalk made of dust and bones.

It's easy to erase, But the chalk is so hard to make.

I always used to wonder, Why didn't we use ink instead?

Write it on paper? With the ink made of blood.

Its more permanent, It lasts longer.

I think I understand why we use chalk now.

Any mistake made in ink can never be fixed.

It can be hidden, It can be covered with more ink,

But it's always there.

We have to work hard to make the chalk, When ink is so easy.

We have to treasure the chalk, But we don't worry about the mistakes made in it.

The ink made of blood is far to easy to make, Far to easy to write with, Far too easy to mess up.

When you mess up once, It can never be fixed.

With chalk, You can just wipe it away.

Spilled ink is forever ink astray.

The Crown of The Unwilling

My crown is one forged of blood.

Blood of innocents, criminals, lives that could not be saved, It is blood all the same.

However,

This crown forged of blood, Was not forged by me.

Rather it was forged, Then forced upon me.I

could not stop it.

They said

"You alone are worthy of this honor, Now you must earn it."

I thought it was to help, That I would be given a title to live up to. Something like a hero.

I was wrong.

They sent me to kill.

To destroy.

They told me

"These people whom you must end, Are terrible, Horrible, Monsters that would kill us all if left unchecked."

And like a fool, I believed them.

They told me I was a savior, Stopping the world's end!

They told me,

"This is your reward"

As they drained me of myself, My humanity.

My innocence.

When I next awoke, A crown lay on my head.

I was propped on a throne, Unable to move, Unable to speak, Unable to do anything at all.

Like a statue.

I was trapped there, Until she came along.

She did not need to hear my voice or words, To know I was unwilling upon this throne.

She saved me, She ripped the crown from my head, And cradled my limp body in her arms.

She told me

"You'll be alright, I promise it.

You won't die in such suffering, You will not die here."

And I stared at her, Tears rolling down my cheeks.

I was free.

I hope she does not blame herself.

I hope she doesn't mourn.

She could not look at me, She just hugged me, As tight as she could.

I took my final breath,

And the quietest,

"Thank you"

Brokenly echoed in the hall.

She gave me my freedom.

Now,I just hope she lets me go.

Me: you say romance isn't dead

Me: *cocks gun*

Me: lemme fix that for ya.