#i am still fucking alive to see this shit !!!!!

[inktr0vert]

hi! i just saw your recent ask from Birdie about commissions. i wanted to 1) tell you how proud it made me feel to see you be so candid about your mental health & 2) echo her sentiment that i would love to commission a piece from you someday if you were ever in the headspace to do so. you are so incredibly talented.

in the same way that i’ve spent thousands of dollars on art in the form of tattoos, your art is beautiful and valuable enough to spend money on. i’m not saying this to try to, like, persuade you to ever take commissions. i just felt the need to verbally express how floored i am by your art. my tattoo artist occasionally needs to be shaken/reminded how incredible she is sometimes, and i feel like you can just never hear it enough, especially when you’re struggling.

i profoundly relate to your struggles with bipolar/simply just existing. i see you. & i just wanted to be another voice temporarily speaking over the deafening bad thoughts in your mind.

if you ever want to scream into the abyss at a bipolar stranger on the internet, my DMs are always open 🖤

i hope you’re having a good day

Hi there :)

1--I am tired of feeling ashamed for being me. Fuck shame. I think that's why I still act like I'm 13--that's the last time I felt unashamed of everything I am. So I'm done feeling bad for who I am. *I* think I'm pretty fucking cool. So does my husband and my beautiful kiddo. So yeah. Fuck shame <3

In regards towards my mental health vs shame, I had an epiphany:

There is nothing wrong with me.

And the world is wrong for telling me otherwise.

We are all different. And that's not always a bad thing.

2--With all of this self-discovery shit, I'm realizing that I am worthy of so much more than I let myself believe. That I have allowed others to convince me that I am a nuisance, that I am incompetent, that I do not deserve love, praise, or that I shouldn't even be allowed to exist. By the by, someone telling you that you aren't worthy of being alive feels pretty shitty. Don't let those people in your life. Run away. Run away and warn the others, jesus fucking christ.

ANWAYS. I think I may work towards commissions.

I always thought it sounded fun, tried it out, but I pressure myself too much--what if they don't like it? what if they don't want to pay that much? what if my art is trashfire kindling and everyone that's ever complimented my art is a dirty dirty liar that wants to see me fall flat on my face?

And most importantly: What if it's not perfect? What if the eyes are off, or the anatomy is 'wrong', or it's not the EXACT thing I pictured it to be in my mind?

Newer motto (still under construction): Fuck perfectionism. What a stupid cage to lock yourself into. Working on unshackling myself. Have been KINDLY (*this is important) reminding myself whenever my thoughts head down that path to redirect back towards the joyous parts of creativity. And it's been going pretty good. Slow, but making progress.

So yeah! Rambling coming to a close. Thank you for being another positive voice in my head to help fight away the void that other's have created. And for being that for a fellow tattoo artist as well <3

I think I should create a discord group called "screaming into the void" and invite all of you wonderful humans that have invited me for private sessions to join. We can all caterwaul into the abyss together XD

I hope you are having a good day as well. Be kind to yourself <3

[yourdeepestfathoms]

as hyped as i am for P3, i’m so scared that the fandom will sideline and ignore Clara even more than she already has been

[infinitelyweary]

Has anyone endlessly dissected Armand's subtle Marius shade yet

[allmyandroids]

Raymond Reddington

In Season 4 Episode 2 - Mato

[third-doctor]

I feel like I'm going insane. That episode read to me as a lot more tragic than other people are reading it. Yeah they were racist and rich and spoiled and awful but they were just kids. They were all just kids. Lindy was absolutely terrified throughout the whole thing and clinging desperately to what she knew, which was terrible. They could've had the chance to learn and become better but they chose to go die and it's infuriating and tragic because nobody deserves that. Nobody deserves to be eaten by slugs or die of exposure in the woods. Nobody deserves to suffer like that. But they chose it rather than let the Doctor help them because they'd rather stay in their rich white supremacist bubble and he just wants to help and there's nothing he can do.

Maybe it's because one of my core beliefs is that nobody deserves death and suffering. Nobody. Even the worst person on earth can learn from their mistakes and come back and change and everyone deserves that chance. There's no such thing as too late. But they're never going to get that chance because they actively rejected it and to me that's still very, very sad.

[mosstrades]

played thru slay the princess again with the pristine cut update. many thoughts. extremely many thoughts.

[dimonds456]

thinking about freehoun so bad tonight oughhhhhhhhhhhh

[jrueships]

sometimes i'll think abt a Fandom and wish it were bigger, and sometimes i'll read something from a fandom.. and wish it were smaller

[lamb200345567]

Haunted by V8 ending & V9 storyboard ending. 4ever and ever

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

god I'm so fucking glad I didn't kill myself ‼️

[the-casbah-way]

i found loads of pictures of my uncle i am going 2 cry

[clock0fmeantime]

chnt fandom was so mean to you and for what🙁ur so cool..

i can think of a couple reasons

[orcelito]

I think I cried harder today over my dad's jackets than I did at his deathbed. That was a miserable time of course, a memory that will likely be seared into my brain until I die, but I cried... I think a normal amount, all things considered. More than I ever usually do of course, but I typically don't cry At All. All this free crying is certainly surreal.

The jackets, though. I was put in charge of doing his laundry, because we don't want to pack up dirty clothes. I was expecting it to be unpleasant bc my dad's dirty clothes - gross. But really, it was much more unpleasant in that... those were his. It felt wrong to touch them. Felt wrong to treat his jackets as gross. Because they were just his jackets. They weren't even in the hamper. And then I was remembering him wearing them, and then I was crying. Again. And again. Weeping over these damn jackets.

Then I found a shirt on his bed that still smelled like him. It smelled like a Hug From Dad. And that set me off crying even harder.

In total, I think I cried like 6 times within 40 minutes. It took me that long to finish sorting the damn clothes bc I just. Was a wreck. Like, what are you supposed to do when you're living life like normal, vaguely hopeful bc you're taking steps to secure your own happiness, and then 4 days later you're sorting your dad's laundry because he fucking died. Suddenly. Without a goodbye.

And you have to worry about his lack of a will (even under an ideal situation, only 2 heirs and no conflicts between us, probate's a fucking Bitch), and arranging the funeral, and prepping his obituary, and picking out pictures, and writing a speech bc you want to talk at his funeral, of Course you want to talk at his funeral, but even just thinking about anecdotes you could share has you crying yet again.

I've cried more times in the past 3 days than likely the entirety of last YEAR. And that's WITH my cat, and uncle, and family friend dying. Those all hurt, my uncle most of all, & I was real fucked up over it. But this? This was my Dad. Likely the person I'd have named 2nd closest to me in my life, second only to my sister. He wasn't perfect, but he did so much for me throughout my entire life. All he wanted was to raise us to be happy and independent. And he accomplished it, we're getting by without him, but we still wanted several more decades with him. He was only 57. We should've gotten several more decades with him.

But here we are now. Playing investigators to his life, digging into all his shit, trying to find documents and take inventory of all his things, and learning Many things about him in the process. In his lockbox of sensitive documents, like his SSN and birth certificate and all that stuff, we found an old letter. About a decade old now, written in my hand. Right at the very top, we found that he'd kept the letter I wrote to him telling him frankly about my struggles and the things I wanted him to do better. He kept it. He tried to take it to heart. He looked at it again, sometime more recently than all the rest of the documents. That was on top.

His love for us is evident everywhere. The pictures he has hanging up all over the place, majority of them with us in them. The old fathers day cards placed on display in his bedroom bookshelf. The gifts we gave him, even stupid little knick knacks, placed around his apartment with pride. I wish we'd taken more videos of him. I don't want to forget the sound of his voice. I don't want to forget his smell either, the smell of a Hug From Dad, but I still tossed that shirt into the wash even though it felt like saying yet another goodbye.

It's the suddenness that hurts the most, I think. We were planning on having him help me finally get my license this year. My final words to him, the last thing he would've seen from me, were messages asking up on whether he'd called his car insurance company to make sure there wouldn't be problems. I should've called him more. I don't know if I'm going to learn from this.

I cut my 2 weeks off early to have time to grieve and to work on things for the funeral and settling the estate. The last thing I'd wanna do right now is selling fucking bubble tea in a job I already decided to leave. So here I am without a job, though with potentially two life insurance policy payouts to come. Inheriting half his 401k. Inheriting couches, knickknacks, keepsakes, paintings, art pieces, maybe even his guitar and other furniture if we can figure out what to do about space (I don't have room for this furniture, I don't know if I even have room for the couches, but God do I want to keep so much of this furniture). It has me even considering keeping one of his guns, just one. A tiny little revolver, it sits so comfortably in my hand. I don't even want to use it for anything. I just want to have it, keep it stored in a drawer with its ammo kept separate. I don't like guns, but this is a part of him. He loved collecting guns. He was about as responsible with them as someone can be, keeping them locked in a lockbox and impressing upon his children the importance of gun safety (I've known the basic gun safety rules ever since I was a little kid. Of course, of course, of course.) It reminds me of him. It's horrifically easy to have a gun in Indiana. I apparently don't even need a permit to carry anymore. (I have no intention to ever carry this in public.)

It's all a cycle. Business, grief, thoughts about my future. Round and round, like the most nauseating carousel in existence. I don't know how I'm still so functional. My skills with compartmentalization have been my lifesaver.

And im just thinking about the story my dad's best friend shared today. About a friend of theirs who lost her father. She reached out after hearing about my dad to share his words with her: "it's okay to grieve, but don't make his death your life".

He explicitly referenced himself in this, saying if he were to die suddenly that he wouldn't want us to define ourselves by it. Grief is expected, but he wants us to be able to move on. He's always wanted us to establish ourselves and make ourselves happy. He wouldn't want to be a weight holding us back from that.

So every time I start to feel guilty for thinking about having nicer furniture or using his life insurance payout to fund the rest of my college, I remind myself of that. Thinking about the material isn't a bad thing. I'm only human. And in the end, he'd Want me to be thinking about it. He never intended to die, certainly not without warning like this, so he would've only encouraged me being pragmatic about it all.

He only ever wanted us to be happy. So I need to do what I can to live up to that.

I love him. I miss him already.

[hershelwidget]

Hi I just completed Dual Destinies and I keep on getting SHOT with prophetic visions of a game where Phoenix fucking dies but he becomes a ghost that can only be seen by the light of a specific flashlight that Athena has and through the usual Ace Attorney shenanigans he b. did i just write ghost trick

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

I don't care when people don't include me in stuff, I'm used to it but-----

my own family going on a trip w/o even asking me kinda felt

shit 🫠

[phagodyke]

ykw actually I am angry + disappointed w them. I've been pushing how I feel aside and trying to make it my own fault so it's all contained but I think theyve just been mean. and they really should know me better ik I try to pretend I don't expect more from them so I feel less hurt when they do things that upset me but we've been friends for years by this point. like come on.