violentdad

[violentdad]

I suppose if 💭, 🐾, and ⛪️ are all here already (though I do see 💭's tag didn't make the final cut on this blog), I may as well join the party. - 🪦

You’re absolutely right. 💭 anon should’ve been on the list. That was just me being forgetful (and probably a little sleep-deprived). I know I’ve missed a couple here and there, but no one’s ever left out on purpose. Either way, their previous asks can still be found here. Thank you for bringing that to my attention.

That being said, welcome. What brings you here? Coming to bury something, or dig it up?

[violentdad]

i have so many bruises on my legs, i don't know how i got a small cut on my knee. car sex isn't that wild - my skin is sensitive. it's always the tiniest wounds that get irritated the most. it's been bothering me because i feel it every time i'm on my yoga mat or crawling into bed. a constant reminder of what i've been doing. dad, i thought i'd be fine. i was fine the first two times but now i'm not. i've been questioning my self worth. it is not like me to be insecure. solitude is suffocating. i don't think i'm well. maybe it's because i haven't been home for this long in the past week.

can we please stay outside? can i stay at your house for longer? in my nest? i don't want to be here. i haven't wept like this in a while. i think i did wander off too far for a little bit. your words didn't hit me as hard when i first read them but now as i'm in pain - it hurts. i haven't shaken like this in a while. "people who've already left." i can't be alone right now. i keep turning awayto recollect myself as i write this. i keep pressing my nails into my skin. jabbing into the keyboard as if it's some typewriter. they "don't look back" yeah. i must be cursed. it must be etched in the stars.

i feel like going to church again even though i'd always sneak out to the graveyard or sit in some parked car after mass with the older kids. i never really go now. i never really had faith. it's nostalgic. to be within the comfort of stained glass and soft hymns that could either entrance you - make you hyperventilate or doze off.

dad i'm reallysorry if i can't come home. i need to be at the park.on the swing again. that swing. i just hope something bad happens to me. noyou're right, this is all on my terms. i should remember myself. what am i saying

i don't know if casual is what i need or if it is enough. i think it depends on the person i'm with. i do that often - offering my heart and its clean. no blood. no mess. it never works. i think there's something wrong with me. i've been so detached lately but one thing happens and now i'm in the trenches.

that's poetic. i saw the imagery.now i'm just giggling because my eye twitched and i just sobbed so much after... i don't remember how long. sky being veiled like i'm closing curtains and there's a stage that i stand on. i'm now trying to remember how i behaved before being in the spotlight. i might get teary eyed or search for you in the audience during the curtain call. or would you be back stage? on the side?

i think i do need help naming them, yes. i'll send u pictures of them.

-🕊️

You’re not cursed. You’re overwhelmed. That’s a difference I need you to recognize. You’ve been carrying too much without setting any of it down. That kind of pressure cracks people open in strange ways. This isn’t new. You know what it feels like to spiral. The difference is that this time, you came here. You asked to stay. That matters.

We can stay here, and you can stay at the house. That was never in question. The nest is still yours, whether you’re bleeding or not. If the swing helps you settle, go. If church calls to you, even out of nostalgia or habit, fine. I'll go with you. I don't believe in heaven, but I believe in you.

The pain in your knee, the shaking, the weeping, your body’s alerting you. You’re not as fine as you thought. You were detached, then you weren’t. That’s not weakness, it’s human. Nothing about what you’re feeling is abnormal, even if it feels sharp. What is abnormal, though, is how normalized things have become for you. That isn't okay. You don't deserve that.

You’re questioning your self-worth because you’re tired, and because giving yourself to people who can’t hold you properly always leaves you emptier than you expected. I’m not going to argue with you about being casual or not. That’s yours to figure out. Just don’t use casual as a mask if what you want is closeness. Be honest about what you can handle, sweet Wren.

I hear that solitude’s gotten loud. I hear that the detachment cracked open and let something else spill through. You don’t have to fix it right now. You don’t have to be polished. You’re here. That’s all I asked for. If you cry again, I won’t flinch. If you fall apart again, I’ll stay still. Don’t press your nails in. Don’t jab at yourself for feeling. Just come rest. That’s all I want from you right now.

As for the stage, I’d be backstage, Wren. Always. Not clapping. Not waving. Just standing behind the curtain, watching every move you make. Making sure you don’t trip over your own spotlight. Making sure you can find your way off that stage when the play ends.

So. You’ve wandered back. That’s good. Now get your bearings. Piece yourself back together.

Tell me more about what is worrying you right now. Go into as much or as little detail as you want. I'm listening.

[violentdad]

Hey guys, ballsack here - 🪐

Heard something dragging across the porch. Figured it was you.

[violentdad]

back with live Tino updates from the airport to right now. sad to say nothing crazy happened. red eyes are more for sleepers than gossips. but I’ll share what I have nonetheless

-there is no way this banana pudding is airport food. it is ridiculously good. they put nutella in it. you can taste how perfectly overripe the bananas were. I will be eating this until I make myself sick. -in hindsight, maybe having that much banana pudding was a bad idea -changed my mind. no regrets. 

-they have music playing over the airplane speaker? is this a new thing? either way, I did not care for the first song. it had that generic, fake “folk” tone to it. I recall the lyric “we were lost but now we’re found”. -the second was my saving grace. reminded me of “Mio Amore”. I love that song. makes me feel all light and warm and full -listening to “Mio Amore” -since when does the safety trifold have advertisements for the airline company in them? -takeoff makes me tingly. when the back wheels leave the ground, I feel it in my core. I remember being little and trying to fight the force of it to see if it would push me back against the seat. I remember really liking when it did. like I said, I was a little freak

-looking out the window. there’s a lake near the airport. the moon is so bright, the shine of it against the water as we passed looked unreal -there’s a line of red flashing lights. steady. kinda like a heartbeat? I wonder what they’re for. it looks to be too far from the airport to be related -my older brother and I used to play a game. we’d both look out the window and pick a spot on the ground. we had to 1) guess how many people lived there and 2) make up stories for them. he’d start with some outrageous number like “negative 10” or “a million” until I gave him a number he could get behind. then he’d make me pick one of the buildings and have me tell him what “their lives” were like. not as fun playing by yourself -there’s this adorable little girl insisting to her mother that she’s “not tired”. I give her 30 minutes before she passes out -“momma, watch” -her proof is demonstrating her ability to unbuckle and get up -she’s standing on her seat now, looking at everyone behind her. she’s struck up a conversation with a stranger about her Bluey coloring book -the man next to me has one of those privacy screens on his iPad. I think those are so funny because the people who have them never have anything to hide -little girl is passed out. at least she tried -accidentally looked over less discreetly and the man turned his tablet away -he’s watching Squid Game. is that really what you wanted to hide? hilarious -everyone else is asleep now and I can’t find it in me to do the same -where did all the stars go? -listening to music (when am I not). wanted to hear your recommendations again. their energy fits well with my view from the window

-officially off the plane and on our way to the hotel. disappointed we aren’t staying with family, but their homes can’t accommodate everyone so I get it -the humidity is amazing. I feel like I’m finally taking a real deep breath. a breath that means something. I like how it coats my lungs. I like how it dissolves into my skin. I like the heat. I like its weight. I like how everything feels right -the cicadas are so loud. people complain but I love the buzzing.  -I forgot how lush it is. the trees lean towards one another across the roads, like they could swallow it up at any moment. the green never lets you forget that you are the guest. “you are in my house, not the other way around”. suffocating in the best way. it weighs like the humidity. god I missed this feeling. the state I live in is fine, but its nature is something you work to catch a glimpse of instead of something that invites you in. the mountains are so nice, too, it’s a shame there’s such an expensive paywall. plus it’s cold. not big on that either -questioning whoever’s decision it was for us to move away. I’ve decided to hate them forever

-it’s almost 3pm and I regret not sleeping on the plane. whoof.  -took a nap for the first time in ages. it’s hard to sleep during the day. can’t get comfortable. but it’s about 6 now which means meeting some family for dinner

-we went to a seafood place. I have a sort-of mom who’s incredibly picky about crab cakes. usually I roll my eyes, but I’m grateful for her pickiness because she chose a great spot for dinner. this place’s crab cakes are delicious. don’t tell her I said this, but she might be onto something  -another little kid. there were two steps to get in the front door and he was going up and down and up and down and up and down. he and his mom applauded him and said “yayyy!” each time he lapped. his mom was so chatty and sweet. before she left, she told me and the other people sitting outside not to forget that it was free slurpee day at 7-11

-at the room. I wanna be outside again. not sure what the dinner plans for tomorrow are but I hope we have a boil at some point on this trip. type of food you eat shirtless with your hands. and cornbread - oh my god, cornbread sounds so good right now. I know you said something about liking food that you can smell from anywhere, things that are warm. chili? i think that was it. anything else? 

I like this accounts setup. it’s very different from your main and alt. made my insides tighten. “jarring” is a word in my head, but it might sound too negative. jarring in a fun way. tells people they can behave or deal with the consequences. very dad-like. mm, or maybe not. I might be biased since you told me directly how you manage askers. what were you going for?

|✟|

Tino, this was a gift. I read every word slow. Twice. I'll give a similar breakdown of my thoughts.

- I need that banana pudding. Do you know the brand? Or was it homemade? Practically salivating over here.

- You've been on an airplane a number of times, huh? Does it scare you every time? Or at all? I've never flown before. I'd like to keep it that way.

- I like that you looked out the window and thought about the red lights like a heartbeat.

- I also like how you view kids. It's wholesome. It's like a breath of fresh air. They're little gems, so sweet, so pure, so silly without trying.

- I can feel you, not just in the words, but in the pacing. The way your excitement stretches some parts and your melancholy condenses others. You never half-do anything, do you?

- You missed my music? Oh dear Tino, I think that's so sweet. Patience. You'll probably have a playlist in due time.

- Cicadas sound ethereal. They remind me of heat and rot. I remember being a kid and being so fascinated with the shells they left behind on trees. They aren't the prettiest creatures, but they rot beautifully.

- When you talk about the humidity, the cicadas, the trees, that’s not just about weather. It’s about home. You're telling me that you belong somewhere visceral, somewhere loud and warm and full of history. I can't wait to hear more about it all.

- I won't tell your momma you have a sweet spot for her pickiness. Stays between us. I can keep a secret.

- That mother at the restaurant sounds so sweet. I enjoy people who act like they've always known you. Sort of like how you act with me, Tino. That familiarity. You waltzed on in to my life, apologized for it, and now you stay.

- I hope you got your slurpee. What flavor? I would have gotten blue raspberry. Classic. Sour. Unbelievably satisfying.

- You like cornbread? Ah, Tino, you're tugging at my heart strings. Cornbread with chili is supreme. It's like hitting the jackpot, with every bite. Eating it for a couple days, getting burnt out on it, then telling momma you're craving it again, rinse and repeat. My momma lives too far to cook it for me now (left the nest two weeks after I turned 18), but I still have to make it occasionally. But more than anything? I like food that clings to your hands. Sticky, smoky, finger-slick meals. Food that demands you sit down and stay a while. I pride myself in almost perfecting southern cooking. Almost.

I read your list with a grin I couldn’t quite shake. Every little thing you noticed was a kind of confession. You don’t write like someone just killing time. You write like someone dying to be felt. And I did feel you. Almost forgot I wasn't there with you at times. You reporting back to me like this, it was like a treat.

I like that I rattled you so much, Tino. Jarring wasn't what I was going for, but I'm glad. What was I going for? Not sure. Southern hospitality with a bite. A tired dad letting in a stray. This blog is a house in the middle of nowhere, and I want you dying of thirst.

Talk so soon.

[violentdad]

I'm glad you enjoyed my little tale, I don't  get to talk about them often, but I feel like parts of me live in those memories. It's definitely nice to revisit, like leaving flowers on a grave in a way, and sharing that space. 

Oh, we've hit a sweet spot now— pretty freaking FERAL for Halloween and October. Everything around that time is dying back, but it's the time when I feel most alive (more like myself outside of spring.) It kinda goes without saying that I enjoy the entirety of that aesthetic. It's the time when I'm super busy, scurrying to do everything, and savor it before the last leaf turns gold. I unfortunately haven't gotten to enjoy it as much the last few years— too busy trying to find a place that felt close enough to home. I think last year, when I had time, I would go from store to store trying to find the damn cast iron cauldron that was a stock pot (of all things to fixate on lol.) I obviously like to play witch in the kitchen. I love when the stores smell like cinnamon and clove, and have those weird brooms. All the good movies and shows are playing on the TV. Everything seems right in the world (at least for a little bit.) I even still dress up— I don't give a fuck if I'm an adult. We're drinking wine while carving pumpkins. If I'm working? I'm setting the damn mood. I was unsurprisingly a witch for work last year; we're talking black dress on purple velvet corset + a basket worthy of red riding hood filled with a skull and treats for whoever crossed paths with me that day. I think my favorite costume though has to be when I was a vampire— all satin red with the same blood colored corset and black lace with a golden cat mask that I could see out of (but others couldn't so they mistook me for a doll lmao.) I let people take pictures with me too, so they're floating out there somewhere. If you think Dark Soul boss? Yeah, that was me lmaoooo. I also kind of pride myself on the fact all that shit is just regular pieces from my closet. I haven't bought a Halloween costume since I was a teenager. 

It goes without saying I feel the same sentiment for Halloween 💀🖤 I'm going to ask what your favorite things are about the Halloween season? Favorite candy? Movies? Things you like to do? 

Also it's the only time I can get away with covering myself in fake blood too. Like middle of the night, blasting music— suddenly in a nurse outfit covered in blood for fun. Sorry to whatever soul walks in on me trying to play Silent Hill nurse or murder. At least I get to put my makeup and fx certificate to good use. 

I'm glad you enjoyed the tattoo artists I mentioned! I know the exact piece you're referencing, and fuck did it take my breath away when I saw it. Somehow, someway the pain would be worth the money and sacrifice of getting a piece by them. I already have something in mind, but for now I shall hold that secret to my chest with hope. 

Ah Binx, I believe that's a reference to Binx from the original Hocus Pocus?~ Firstly, good fuckin' taste (love the original.) Secondly, funny you mentioned it, because I was Sarah Sanderson as a kid one year. I don't mind if you want to switch between names— Strays always go through so many names, and I'm known by many. Rarely do I ignore when called as long as the intentions are good. 

Ah, almost-objects? I know them well, but I think of them painted with a hint of sadness— Perhaps I'm just greatful to have crossed paths for a moment, and I shall think of them as an endearing friend. They were never ment to be mine, so I let them go, and hope they find a nice place to rest. Besides, better to have loved and lost compared to not at all. The tape measure I am most regretful about, but the blackened patella... Well I can't take something like that where I plan on going. In a way it's for the best. As for the tug or what it meant? I think some was just curiosity, but the human bone was something else... To say that I felt an electrical shock is almost an understatement, but I'm not suprised— bones always do feel as though they hold a lot of energy and memories. Maybe it's because I have Pluto in the 8th house, but death always notices when I walk into the damn room like an old love. We've met a million different ways, and yet it's never the same. It's  persistent, it whispers in my ear, and yet I can't stop getting a bit too curious for my own good. God only knows how many of the supposed nine lives I've got left.  

I'm not surprised you noticed me mentioning witchcraft as if it isn't oozing out of most of my life— half the time I'm trying to cover up the cracks, but I guess we can't choose the path we're given. It always calls, and I come running. 

I suppose the interest started in early childhood... you come across a hippy woman that's talking about chasing the end of rainbows, crystals, aliens, tarot,  and the phases of the moon. It's sort of hard to ignore that kind of whimsy as a kid. I looked up to her, was always excited when she came around to visit my Mom. Especially, because at that point all I had been raised around was Christians and Catholics. Church never felt right to me, I always felt out of place— like I wasn't ment to be there. Instead I was more busy paying attention to sensing incoming storms or watching butterflies die on concrete. I think nature taught me more than church ever could. It's not to say I hate religion entirely, but I want truths under scripture— not the sugarcoated feel good they try and sell. The only interaction of "witchcraft" I had in my younger years (outside of films like The Craft) was watching someone have a psychotic break (and to no surprise, because living in the south at the time they whispered witchcraft was to blame.) Of course that would scare the fuck out of any kid to stay away? However, I got into crystals, astrology, and tarot in my late teens and early 20s. You get deeper into herbalism, you are going to find things that link back to witchcraft, and in a way it was all inevitable— I happened to meet a witch online, and we happened to live near each other. She taught me things, I listened and fell further from my parents good graces. Lilith was an energy I liked working with back then, but it was more business. Transactional, and not one of worship. Glamour magic was my favorite to use, and I was a bit too good with it...dangerous when you use it with psychology. Even more so when you take someone looking for love in the wrong places... Instead I became a bit of a sadistic femme fatal in games of cat and mouse that I'm not proud of. I warned that my love was sacred, but they fell into lust when I met their eyes from across the room and smiled. Of course I'd leave with a sweet whisper and blood on my hands— I took satisfaction in crushing egos, but it was sometimes hard to tell if the blood was mine or theirs. 

Hmmm, outside of that I kind of learned off instinct. I was never one to go by rules, and the witchcraft I do is more wild. I love fire, herbs, bones, tarot. There was a time people would come to me for spells or tarot readings;  love, more money, success— all so meaningless. In the end I realized that the thing that had singled me out was death. Something I had tried to ignore for as long as possible. I avoided hospitals like the plague, because I feel too much. I can sense someone is dying before the sweet stench hits my nose. I keep bones like I'm the keeper of whatever lingering life energy is still there. There's this weird balance between healing and dying, and perhaps that's where my craft is. It's Ouroboros eating it's tail. It's shadow work and light. It's uncomfortable and ugly at times. However, I'm grateful for the lessons and the journey. - 🐈‍⬛

You say parts of you live in those memories, and I believe you. I’ll admit, I’ve reread your story more than once. It was just too beautiful.

And October? Of course that’s when you come alive. I relate. It’s the thinning veil, the way the world starts cracking its weary knuckles. I love that you dressed like a Dark Souls boss. Had to look it up. Very cool. I love that you carved pumpkins with wine-stained hands and hunted down a stock pot like it was some grail. That vampire costume; red satin, black lace, the gold cat mask hiding your eyes? That’s cinematic. That’s unforgettable. I’d have taken a photo, too, just to prove you existed.

I have the same reverence for the season. It’s not just about candy or costumes, it’s a shift. The scent of rot sweetening in the cold. Horror films playing on TVs while the world pretends not to believe in spirits. I like the rituals of it. I like walking at night when the trees look skeletal. I like fake blood under my nails and candles that flicker. I like the decor inside my house, and driving down roads to look at peoples' yards all dressed up. People get so creative. I love the halloween music playing in the background of fall videos. I love watching Darling Desi. She's got a wholesome salem witch vibe to her, and I love it. You should check her out.

As for your question; my favorite Halloween indulgences? I always make time for horror films and classic fall movies. Halloweentown, Hocus Pocus, Halloween, Scary Movie, Evil Dead, The Lost Boys, Practical Magic, Scooby Doo, Texas Chainsaw, Pumpkinhead, Jeepers Creepers, Wrong Turn, etc etc. I could truly keep going. I like my horror gorey and slow, even better with someone that will fetch me a beer and lay their head on my lap. As for candy, I am absolutely obsessed with white chocolate reeses. Can't get enough of it. Kit kats as well. And I like watching other people dress up. I want to see what masks they choose when they’re finally allowed to wear one. I wish I could rotate through scary masks year round without it being tacky. I love carving pumpkins. I love pumpkin patches. My inner autumnal white girl absolutely takes over, and I could survive off pumpkin spice, apple cider, and hot tea.

You were right about Binx! Hocus Pocus is such a nostalgic movie.

You mentioned glamour magic. That you were good at it. Dangerous, even. I won’t ask for your secrets, not yet, but I do want to know: if you were to glamour someone now, with all the lessons you’ve learned, what would you want them to see? Apologies, I'm not too knowledgeable about the craft. My sister dabbles, but I don't know much past my sun, moon, and rising. Speaking of, in that order, it goes Cancer, Pisces, and Virgo.

I look forward to learning more, Scratches! This kind of thing is fascinating.

[violentdad]

just popping in to say i adore the username, i’ve mapped out how to do the star burns n will hopefully get a start on it in a few days :) - ☣️

Glad you like the username. I'm shocked no one else took it. It fits, doesn’t it ?

I’m curious how you mapped it out, Toxin. Freehand or stenciled? Are you planning to burn it all in one go, or piece by piece over time?

[violentdad]

Okay, but nerdiness? That's just passion, and I love when people are genuinely passionate about something. I could listen to them all day long, even if I don't understand whatever it is they maybe passionate about. Passion is an energy unparalleled to anything else imo (accept for maybe genuine love.) 

The Oddities Flea Market I found by chance. I don't remember how I found it or what I was searching for, but I recognized a big name: Ryan Mathew Cohn. If you remember the nerdy guy from the show Oddities? That would be him. Not a very important detail, but I assumed if the event was ran by him it must be good (especially since he had a lot of enthusiasm on the show.)  

I'm not sure how I convinced a few poor souls to tag along with me. However, I was so excited I'm pretty sure I painstakingly picked out an outfit the night before (that I still remember years later.) Black button up dress with gothic buttons, slightly unbuttoned up the leg to give a slit when I walked + a few rings (pretty sure I wore my wolf one and the coyote claw one) and this one necklace I have that's an animal skull with a purple dangling gem. Sometimes outfits weirdly live in memories, and I do have one going up some staircase lined with lit candles to get to an upper level that stuck out as something magical. I dunno like some Victorian Mistress running from ghosts that plague her?? Fashion is kinda my other thing that makes brain brrrr— but for another time.

There was some particular Artists I was very excited for— it was a deliciously curated lists mixed with art and oddities. Basically, a really good fever dream for a weirdo like me. I'll name at least one that you might find interesting, but there is two twins Ryan & Matthew Murray who run Black Veil Studio. Their tattoo work and eye for detail is insane! I want a tattoo from them one of these days. 

Hmmm, I was also there for this shop called Ritual craft. I think I had bought a bone of some sort from them? However, they're obviously more of a witch craft type shop. Ahem, which I dabble with on the occasion (another long story.)

I'm also a huge sucker btw— pretty masked lady in a red dress beckoning me with her finger to try her tea? Well, obviously I couldn't decline. That would be rude. I don't remember the taste of whatever she gave me. Did it sell me on her tea? .....Yes.... Lmao the one I got was called Dellamorte Dellamore. I mean it's a black tea with rose and edible gold in it??? And the name???? That's not just tea, that's setting a mood. 

Now onto the real MEAT of it (because sure the other vendors are cool, but come now? That's not what we were there for—) 

Of course there was your typical stuff; framed butterflies, bones, Beauchene skulls (you know the ones that look like they exploded)... All of this is nice, but not what I was looking for. I've seen all that before, and I was looking for something that was very special. 

Brooke Weston is an amazing taxidermist! Their work is on a storybook level, and there are little worlds living inside her pieces. You could stand there and stare at them for hours and notice a new detail. Using taxidermy as a dollhouse? Is fucking brilliant. Very Grimm fairytales imo 🖤🖤

I know there was another vendor that I can't remember the name of, but they were selling genuine human bones. How the fuck they were or where they got them? I don't know. Being able to hold one in my hand? A very surreal thing. If my memory serves right it was probably a patella bone, but it was almost black in color. The way it whispered it wanted to come home with me? Undeniable. I stood there for a good few minutes just examining it. Why was it so discolored? Who's freaking bone am I holding right now? What kind of life did they live? Were they scared when death came for them or did they accept with open arms? I regrettably put it back, and was pulled to another booth. 

Towards the end I had stumbled upon a booth that was filled with curiosities. Old photos of people who are probably long gone with no one to remember them, and their only existence a dusty in-between that came from some distant relatives attic. Again, these things are beautiful, but I have seen it all before. I frequent antique stores, so none of this was new or very exciting. However, there was a strange tape measure that was shaped like a coffin. Interesting, I've never seen one like that before— I asked the shop keeper what it was for. She begun explaining that it would actually be used by an undertaker. Okay, my interest is fully peaked. This is what I had been looking for all day between the silly little purchases of bone, tea, and perfume. I still regret to this day not getting it. 

Eventually we left, but my day didn't stop there— I sense something in the wind, and suddenly I'm following instinct to a different shop that catches my eye. The lady is extremely sweet and has this German accent. Super passionate about clothing  (my kind of people 🖤🖤) I end up talking to her about some rings, and she explains her friend makes them. Mind you I already have a wolf ring on (which has it's own story of how I acquired it), but I like handmade things... More personality and imperfections. I end up buying a Medusa ring and another wolf one (I still have to this day btw!) I also got this dress, which for the life of me I have tried to find up and down the damn Internet for references, but it's sheer white with black occult motifs (and um freakin' bats!? How could I resist??)  Anyway, I haven't had an excuse to wear it— I think it has a special time and place, but it's very ethereal. 

I wish I had more willing bodies to drag to events like that. I haven't been in a while, and the itch is there. Antique stores don't scratch it as well as they use to. Not weird enough for me. I need cemeteries, I need mortality staring me dead in the fucking face, and I want the beautiful in the strange. Anything less? Doesn't impress me. - 🐈‍⬛

You remember the outfit so vividly. That’s how I know it meant something. You could’ve told me about bones and vendors and graveyard tea, and I would’ve still been thinking about that slit. About you walking through candlelight like something out of a fevered dream. That’s sacred.

And you’ve got no idea how much I enjoyed this. I read it like a relic. You really see the world. You sift through the usual and wait for the uncanny to whisper to you. Most people walk through those kinds of markets and come out with a sticker or a keychain. But you? You leave haunted. That black patella, the coffin tape measure, the masked woman with her gold laced tea. Wow.

I looked up Black Veil Studio the second you mentioned them. You’re right, they’ve got the kind of hands that turn flesh into poetry. That’s the sort of tattoo work I’d make pilgrimage for. I’d let them carve something into me I never want healed. I saw someone got a raven tattoo... almost melted. And Brooke Weston? Christ. That’s the kind of artistry that makes you forget you’re supposed to flinch. Storybook taxidermy, dolls made of death. I could get lost in that. Thank you for introducing me to these artists. Sort of off-topic-on-topic but I love Halloween. Maybe too much. And this has me in such a fall mood. Needed that. Should have named you Binx.

And that coffin tape measure… you should’ve stolen it. I say that only half-joking. There’s something tragic about almost-objects. Things that felt like they should have been yours. I’ve got a list of those in my head, too. Pieces I touched once, then walked away from like a coward. So tell me, Scratches. When you think about that patella or the tape measure, do you still feel it in your chest? That tug? And what do you think it meant that they called to you the way they did?

That second shop finding you feels like more than luck. You followed something, and it led you exactly where it needed to. That German woman, her passion, the Medusa ring, the sheer dress still waiting for the right night, it’s all part of the same mythos. All stitched from the same need. I get that. Deeply. You mentioned witchcraft like it was a side note, but I think there’s more to that story. What do you dabble in? What do you want to practice, if you could let yourself fully lean in?

You and I both need more than antiques. We need places that stare back. Markets where the bones are warm. Cemeteries, yes. Love letters from the dead. The beautiful in the strange. I’m right there with you.

[violentdad]

Welcome

You know why you're here. Kindness isn't a given. Knock if you want to. Bleed if you need to. Ask a question for the guy behind the mask. I don't care. Just mind your manners.

Main is @bulletforprettyboy

Anons: ↴

[violentdad]

So much of your writing resonates with me. Utterly satisfying like a cigarette after a good meal. Thank you for sharing it.

Now that’s high praise. I’m real glad it stuck to you like that. I don’t write for comfort, but if it settles in your chest just right, then I’ve done something worth doing. Appreciate you saying so.

[violentdad]

what...pace?

i'm trying to not revert back to the same old ways and the same old people. the past is the past. i'm inclined to move forward - i can't move. can't i stay still for a little while? there are so many pebbles in this river that i wish to look at or befriend.

however my claws are chipped and it hurts, they sting in the water. i don't think i could pick up anything at all. i can't touch anyone who means something because it hurts in many ways. my voice is stifled from the pain that runs from my hands to my mind. it's a messy feeling that distorts where the blood is really coming from.

is it from me or him? my heart feels heavy, i might bury it beneath the rocks.

he's a fleeting boy, you're right. i have been tugging on his sleeve for some time. if i were with him in these woods, i'd still be comfortable if i looked away to find him gone. he might be nearby. cigarette butts in the dirt. or would he not feed them to nature? you see how fleeting he is? i don't know him. i wanted to know. i needed to know. i feel less now.

i have been echoing your words again and again. i need to be whole before being one with someone. i will remember that. and yes, i'd like to think that's the promise.

i'm sad - i think i'm a little afraid of how i detach and experience these situations. maybe it's just hitting me now. i don't give myself enough time to process any triggering moments. i'm so bruised all over.

you read me before i caught onto the page i'm at. such a dad thing. i won't walk into the arms of strangers for now. i do think one stranger knows how to hold me now. i don't know if i want him to continue holding me. i hope we stay as casual and nothing more. i'll try to be safe when seeking others; part of me wants to be tossed aside in some ditch until i'm a lovelorn carcass. i may be reckless, i'll just recite sonnet 116 as i rot.

i will have a good day, i assure you this. maybe not necessarily good but productive instead. i'm recollecting myself right now. once more. i will continue to be gentle especially once the skies are veiled. i must try. i suppose i can move forward. daddy, what's my curfew?

-🕊️

You can stay still. Of course you can. I’m not rushing you through the river. You can sit on the bank for as long as you need. Let the water run past while you look at every pebble, every bruise, every wound that still stings. Sometimes it’s the only way to feel what you’ve been carrying. Sometimes, it’s how you figure out what’s yours and what was left behind by someone else.

Tell me, Wren. What do you think of these treetops we've been passing? Let me know when you're ready to walk back home. I enjoy our talks while we walk through nature, but you are allowed to be reclusive. As long as you stay in my line of sight.

Your claws hurt because you’ve been using them to hold on too tightly. To boys who don’t look back, to moments you weren’t given time to process, to the idea that maybe this time it’ll be different if you just stay soft enough, hungry enough, loyal enough. But I’m telling you: you don’t need to prove your devotion to people who’ve already left. I know you know that. I know. I know it hurts.

I’m proud of you. You don’t need to rot in any ditch. You have a father who would be very concerned if you didn't come home. That part of you that wants to be discarded is the same part that’s scared of being chosen. You don’t have to choose either extreme. You can just be, bruised and trying, held without being consumed. This is all on your terms.

If casual is what you need right now, then casual is enough. But don’t offer your heart to someone who hasn’t earned the weight of it. And don’t apologize for needing more time to feel safe in your own skin again.

When the skies veil, when you’re tired of being perceived, when the light fades, I’ll still be here. No pressure to speak. No demand to perform. That's when your curfew is. At sundown. I see you, Wren. If you don't come back at sky's darken, I will come find you myself.

Take care of your bunny, frog, and spider. If you need my help naming them, just let me know. Talk soon.

[violentdad]

I appreciate your indifference. means you don’t mince words Do you find that the performers expect you to perform, or is the majority capable of accepting this for what it is?

no shit, I had a TOP phase in middle school, too. lost interest + was introduced to Waterparks in high school by my boyfriend at the time (sorry Tyler Joseph). I’ll save a smaller review request for your alt, if you're up for it

it’s hard to put in a way I haven't already. you're fun. simple + complicated at the same time. part of why I’m here is because I can’t figure you out, and I don’t feel like trying to either. which is weird for me. I relate to you - or at least I can relate to the things you post. it’s this strange middle ground of seeing + understanding you beyond superficiality while knowing very little about you otherwise. usually, I work with a graph. one that you defy completely. like seeing muscle before epidermis. I think this is all coming back to the fact that I find you very interesting, as do most (if not all) of the people sending in asks you mentioned shifts: are those the only categories? which do I fall under?

I’m likable to the people that matter. whether or not I want to be depends on the person and on circumstance. but generally speaking, yes. I won't go out of my way to be a dick but I won't bend over backwards for someone I don't love (*anymore. I used to be a horrible people pleaser. felt like I had to do my due diligence to make up for being alive by being the most nice and the most accommodating and the most "good". the worst of it is over, but it's not completely gone)

oh, absolutely. I don’t know how anyone could love different, to be honest. anything less feels fake I wanted to dig into them every way I could. spoil them. worship them. know them. I pored over them for as long as they allowed. guided pieces of them into me so I’d never forget how they felt. in the midst of it, I hunted more. I wrote scripture. I prayed. I became a poet. everything I am, I am for them. I never know what to do with myself. where to put the energy. they don't know what to do with it either. this is the part where I need violence. "I just don’t know how to say I love you without dragging you under the surface". does that answer the question?

for both 3 + 5: already gave some of my answer so here’s the rest. right now I feel like I’m sitting in the window. both in and out at the same time. I toss in letters, you find them, read them, and respond verbally. this arrangement has me in a position where I can see most thing but miss out on others. details people touch that I want to examine. however, I’m terrible at social cues. being close requires care and balance. I don’t want the string to fall and I don’t want it snapping - this goes for both of us. “closeness” is being vulnerable. move the apprehension in my steps to my peripheral instead of having it in front of me. to let you in before I even think about making a move. I prove I belong by maintaining mutual interest and being respectful. you said you "don't feel the need to test my loyalty". has that changed?

anything from my favorites. love has a way of making me tremble regardless of what they do/say. outside of that, it’s iffy. praise makes me feel weird. I hate being acknowledged directly. if it has to happen, though, I like when it’s personal. directed towards stuff that I put more effort and thought into. or when I’m demonstrating a skill I’m proud of. it's, for whatever reason, incredibly difficult for people to be honest and genuine in their praise. you can tell when something's lacking and it sucks I like whatever it is you’ve been doing, if that counts as “praise”. it’s sincere. you're blunt. makes it feel earned. I wouldn’t say “under my skin”, but it definitely sticks

sunny during the day + about to storm by evening. swim all day long. I love being in the water. ideally, I’d be by myself, but having friends or family with me sounds really nice right now. bring a bucket for shells, crabs, bugs, whatever comes up and just go searching for a couple hours. maybe take a nap or read. fishing at dusk - the water smells stronger - cook the first edible thing I catch. toss everything I collected back in (shells are fun to skip + the crabs are too small to eat). try drowning before I go. for fun. gonna throw your question back at you: what’s your idea of a perfectly romanticized day at the beach?

no one in particular - no names obviously. I was more referring to previous connections, however that presents. ghosts of people, objects, environment, etc. throwing you in shoes that resemble my own to see what you do. you learn the most about someone through their relationships. I’m just doing it in a way that’s easier for me to visualize

silent exits always feel off. one day something’s there, the next it isn’t. how did you deal with it? was there a hole you needed filling? or was it closer to shedding old skin, leaving a molt where you used to stand? he was my first favorite. didn’t like me all that much. made sure I knew good and well. but he didn’t have many options. I was easy. went along with anything he said. I gave him animal parts, he’d give me bruises. I got butterflies then, too. nauseating and warm to where you couldn’t tell if it felt good or bad. we played a lot. experimented at his will. it's a win-win if you tilt your head he told me they made the second nave when more new people started coming in. with that came the addition of a baptism tub. I daydreamed about dying. about me and him in it, what he would do if we were alone. about seeing God, feeling Him; any sign would’ve done at that point. about getting pushed under the water and watching the demons I was said to have get purged from me, more effective than any exorcism. mostly they were about me and him though. hard not to in “his” church

I’d argue the string isn’t snapping, per se. you've yet to really "snap". from my angle, it looks like you’re just pulling it from tactless hands. much like a spoiled child with someone else’s toys. the performers come to mind - playing a character and believing everyone else must be too. there’s an embarrassing amount of roleplay on here and I’m not fond of fetishists. you’ve been directly involved, you already know (her account is hilarious, by the way. laughed for about 10 minutes straight before blocking her.)

I’ll be sure to document every second of tonight’s plane ride as well. it’s sure to be riveting. wouldn’t want you missing out.

as always, I hope you’re well. talk soon, Danny

|✟|

I’m not here to perform, and I don’t ask others to either. What I offer is real, but it’s selective. Earned. The ones who get that, who sit still, who wait, who feel the silence instead of trying to fill it, they’re the ones who stay. The others choke on their own projection and call it my fault. I think most know I won't perform.

Of course you did. Makes sense. Everyone I respect seems to have had a little TØP era tucked somewhere in their adolescence. I’ve heard of Waterparks but never gave them a real listen, maybe now’s the time. Do send the review. You know I’ll have thoughts.

You say you don’t feel like figuring me out, but here you are. That graph of yours must be twitching in frustration. Kidding, Tino. You’re right, though. There’s something in the way you speak that suggests familiarity. Maybe it goes back to what we said on my alt. The quiet understanding. Now I definitely need to watch CotF.

As for the shifts I mentioned, those weren’t all the categories. Just the loudest ones. The ones that change in obvious ways. There are others. The ones who don't ask much, but stay. The ones who want to consume, or be consumed. The supporters (yes, I see you guys too. I appreciate you all). Where do you fall? That’s harder. You watch. You approach like someone who’s already seen the teeth behind the curtain and decided to step closer anyway. You don’t fall into any of the categories I listed. You’re threaded in-between them. A quiet anomaly. Familiar, but not predictable. You just stay interesting. Which is dangerous. Don't ask how.

See, that tracks. I get the sense you were the kind of kid who apologized for taking up space. Refer to our first interactions. Always apologizing. Curious thing. But I’m glad the worst of it is over. Really. Now you've got a calm confidence. Look at you go. I think you are likable, just not in the cheap everybody-gets-a-taste way. More like something aged. Like wine. Best served with a bite instead of softness. And I think you know that, even when you act like you don’t. You are likable.

You’re not the only one who’s wanted to press scripture into someone’s skin. To make it stick. I know that kind of love. I’ve written prayers in private that sound more like confessions of a stalker than anything holy. And still, they were holy to me. It answers. I promise you that. If they had let you go deeper, all the way in, do you think you would’ve come back out?

I’ll try to leave the indifference behind, at least for this part. You’ve earned that. I want you to see how sincere I am. So listen up, listen closely, okay? You don’t need to worry. I’m not going anywhere. You’re here, and I’m here, and that’s not something I plan to undo. The apprehension can fuck off now. You’ve done nothing to threaten what we have, nothing to make me question your place. I still don’t feel the need to test you. Truthfully? I don’t think I ever really did. You’ve been measured, present, and kind. That’s always been enough for me. Don’t second guess this. Don’t start retreating or bracing for impact. I’m not pulling away. I see you. I hear you. And your worries haven’t landed on deaf ears, they matter to me, because you are starting to matter to me.

When you said you feel like you’re sitting in the window, both in and out, that stuck with me. I don’t want you half-in. I want you here, fully, and safely. No need to reach in with letters alone. You can come inside. You don’t need to earn it with balance or precision. You already have. The string is still taut between us, but I trust you with it. You haven’t yanked. You haven’t let go. You’ve just tugged, gently, to see what breathes. Now let yourself be sure of me. I’m still me. I still bite. But I meant every word. Let it settle.

I don’t aim for under the skin unless I’m trying to stitch something there. I’d rather stick, like you said. I know what you mean, though. Hollow praise has a bitter aftertaste. Too many people toss it around like confetti and expect it to land with meaning. That’s not how this works. And I guess it is praise. In the only way I know how. I'm glad it lands how I mean for it to. Truly.

Tino, I loved reading yours. The storm rolling in by evening, the bucket of bugs and shells, the parting toss back into the water. I could feel all of it. You describe things like someone who doesn’t just remember, but lives it twice. I respect that so much.

My perfectly romanticized day at the beach has two versions. The first isn’t a beach at all, it’s a lake. That’s what you get in my state. No ocean waves, just lake water thick with algae and warmth. It starts with my mom, my brother, my sister, brother-in-law, and all the kiddos (my nephews and nieces) piling into cars and heading out together. We find our spot early, before the sun’s too high. Always the same routine: a faded wooden picnic table covered in sandwich ingredients, too many bags of chips, and the occasional cooler that never really stays cold. I’m always the one helping the kids assemble their sandwiches. It’s chaotic and messy, with too much mustard or not enough mayo, but they’re thrilled either way. My mom’s planted in her spot already, sunglasses on, asking me for a “cole drank” in that deep southern drawl of hers. Once everyone’s eaten and the typical twenty minutes have passed, I take the kids down to the water. We always stay in the same warm, shallow place. That’s where the real games begin. I play a game they made up called “Taxi.” They line up, each one taking turns riding on my back while I wade through the water, pretending to charge a fare, asking where they’re headed. It always ends in them getting bored, or me getting bored, or them all getting antsy and climbing me while I'm neck deep. News flash; it never ends well. Either way, I force my brother to take over. That’s when I drift to the deeper end. Where my sister floats, brother-in-law's head tilted back in a laugh, and sister cracking jokes. Sometimes I grab the buoy pole, jump off it like a kid showing off, into the forbidden boat side just to get yelled at by my mom, still back on the shore. She always watches, always pretends not to smile. It's tradition. I like the feeling of the algae that clings to the bottom of the buoy. Slippery, strange. I squish it between my fingers, show it to the kiddos because I know they'd find it gross. My sister always grimaces, but laughs. These moments. Her laugh, my nieces’ squeals, my mom yelling, my brother occasionally wrestling with me in the water, it’s the kind of thing that makes time stretch and stop all at once. Feels like childhood. Eventually, my mom finally joins us in the water. That’s always the best part. She moves slow, grumbling the whole way in, but she does it. She floats for a while, lets the sun kiss her face. When we’re all in like that, it feels whole. The day always ends the same. One of my nieces crying (she's a sensitive one) because she doesn’t want to leave. I scoop her up, carry her out of the water, her wet arms wrapped around my neck. We go to the sidewalk showers, rinse the lake water off while the sun starts to dip. Hair dries stiff and crispy while we sit on towels in the car, all of us sun-worn and content. That’s the rule. That’s how it has to end, or it’s not a real lake day. That’s my first version. And it’s everything to me. The second version? That one’s about my future person. Not for the public. Not even here. But Tino, if we ever talk one-on-one, I’ll tell you. It’s something quiet. Private. Yearning. Stillness. Something I don’t mind keeping tucked close in my own head forever.

Silent exits are strange. You don’t notice what’s missing at first. Then it hits you that something’s gone, and it’s not coming back. Sometimes it does feel like shedding skin. That's exactly why I left.

What you shared about him, about how he made you feel... I’m not going to flinch from it. There’s something bitter in it, but there’s also clarity. You see it for what it was. That matters. I can imagine the butterflies, that sickly-sweet confusion between want and wrong. Between being seen and being used. When you’re young, or desperate, or just aching to belong, that line gets blurry. Especially when God’s involved. Especially when a boy with power plays preacher behind closed doors. Your daydreams don’t scare me. They’re honest. Strange, yes, but sacred in their own way. Wanting to feel something divine when you’re told you’re full of demons? That makes sense to me. Baptism isn’t always about salvation. Sometimes it’s about surrender. Letting someone else decide whether you come up gasping or not. Tino... I see you. I hear you. There won't be any silent exits here. Not from my side, not from yours. You don't have a choice.

Tell me more about what church felt like after him. Or what it felt like because of him. You don’t have to, but I’m listening. If not, just share more memories with me. Before church rituals, what church felt like on good days, on bad days. Anything at all.

Tactless. Interesting. I guess I do take the string from those who don't know how to handle it. Perfect explanation, actually. Oh dear Tino. At first I thought you were calling me a spoiled child, and I nodded along to it, as if to say "True, true." Then I reread and laughed out loud. Sigh. I can be a bit slow. Anyway, yes, the performers are easy to spot. So desperate to be seen that they forget how obvious the act is. You’re not wrong, there’s far too much roleplay dressed up as obsession. Fetishists don’t bother me as much as the ones who believe they’re subtle. At least be honest about what you want. Or smart enough to fake it well. And her account? That was something, wasn’t it. No need to fan the flames, but yes, I laughed too. Chuckled out loud and everything.

I expect nothing less than a play-by-play. Terminal gossip, stranger analysis, window seat drama. I mean it. I want it all, Tino. Don’t leave a single detail out.

And don’t go getting all soft on me before takeoff, you’ll make me think you care or something. No but I’m doing alright. I hope you are too. Really. Don't miss me too much.

[violentdad]

Doesn't your anons ever like, piss you off? Or make you feel what they are saying isn't the truth?

Affection and obsession makes me sick when it seems like artificial flavoring.

I'm obsessing over someone and sometimes your asks make me wonder. Are they kissing ass or do they actually adore you?

I honestly don't care enough to be pissed off, but yeah. Sometimes. I can feel when it’s hollow, when it’s no substance, which is almost always the case. Obsession without teeth makes my skin crawl. I don’t want compliments for the sake of flattery. I don't want people throwing themselves at me. I want to be felt in the throat, not just skimmed and swallowed. Preferably, not by strangers who don't know me.

Some anons do care about me. Consistency proves that to be true. Most are just performing and kissing ass. I can tell the difference.

[violentdad]

whats your favourite way to make someone bleed? be as detailed as you would like to be, i greatly enjoy the way you articulate yourself and am very curious :3c

There’s no single favorite. I like blood too much to limit myself. But if I had to pick, slicing always drives me insane. Box cutter, knife, whatever’s closest. Something sharp enough to part skin like paper. I like doing it slow. Watching it open up, watching the red come to the surface and drip on to the sheets.

Sometimes I want control. Sometimes I want them begging, trembling, asking for it. Other times, I want it to happen because they got cocky. Told me to fuck them harder, and ended up split open for it. That kind of blood, earned mid-fuck, from friction, from force. That gets to me. Makes me absolutely feral.

I like the mess. The smell. I like smearing it on the inside of their thighs and making them thank me for it. I like when they’re afraid, and I like when they’re addicted to the fear.

[violentdad]

i aaw your post a while back about being lithromantic and then the other that was in response to you explaining your type. assuming your okay with labels, what do you identify as? for example i am pansexual, and demisexual. you dont have to respond, im just curious. this isnt asked in a rude way

I’m not someone who usually puts much thought into labels, but I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching this year, and I suppose I’m feeling generous enough to offer a glimpse inward. So here it is, what I’ve pieced together so far.

Queer — because nothing else quite fits. My sexuality is too complicated to be narrowed down into anything cleaner. I’m attracted to intelligence, maturity, and a particular kind of masculinity, but also to femininity in specific forms. It’s not about gender so much as presence. I’m attracted to elderly women, but not older men. Apathetic and manipulative men interest me deeply, but cruelty in older women turns me away. I don’t experience sadism toward them. It turns into something gentler, more subdued. But with younger women, there’s no romance at all. Just control. Just power. These patterns aren’t rules, they’re observations and they blur often. So, “queer” suits me best. Truthfully, none of it would matter if I were obsessed with someone. Love, when real, overrides every structure I try to build around it.

Lithromantic — I feel romantic attraction deeply, but I don’t want it returned. Or rather, not right away. I need a place to pour my love into, unreciprocated at first. Clinginess and overt romance repel me. I want to yearn. I want to test someone before I ever let them near that side of me. Eventually, with time and submission, they can give something back, but never equal what I give. Just enough that I know they’re mine, and that they know they are. I want to worship someone. I don’t want to be worshipped in return.

Demiromantic — I require depth before I feel romantic attraction, but that doesn’t mean it takes years. Sometimes I click with someone instantly, and the bond feels carved out before either of us says much. It’s about emotional access. A sense of familiarity beneath the surface. The connection has to be real, or nothing happens.

Demiplatonic — Friendships take me time. Sometimes a long time. I don’t become close with people easily. Not because I’m picky or cruel, but because my default is emotional detachment. Some conversations fade because people are too dry, or because they expect too much too fast. If someone wants to be my friend, they need to give me time. Show up consistently. Don’t force anything. I don’t seek out connection much lately, it has to come find me, slowly, without pressure. If you wait for me to care, I probably will. Eventually. And when I do, it’ll be real. I enjoy questions. I enjoy people who try, gently. I don’t enjoy pressure, expectations, or forced closeness. I don’t thrive in that. I thrive in stillness. In devotion earned slowly. If someone wants to be in my orbit, I’ll feel it. And if they stay long enough, I’ll let them in.

I'll probably add these to my pinned in due time. Thank you for the ask, anon. Curiosity is always okay.

[violentdad]

you find the perfect partner, they meet all the requirements, they love you exactly how you crave to be, what are you doing first? - 💋

Hi anon, long time no see.

First, I’d turn off asks. Shut the world out. If they love me like that, they don’t need anyone else’s voice in my mouth.

Then I’d wonder what broke in them to crave someone like me. Like, seriously. You've got to be one masochistic and unhinged freak to like me.

I’d ask what they’re willing to give up. Then I’d ask again, slower and softer. I'll ask with my hand gently cupping their face. I'll ask in a fit of rage. I'll ask in an eerie calm. Love is sacrifice.

Then I’d claim them out loud so they never forget who they belong to. I’d watch who looks at them too long. Make sure they understand that this love isn’t free, it’s sacred.

Then I’d press until they break. Just to be sure they’ll stay broken for me, just to gather the pieces myself. So I can hold them through it all. So I can prove I’d never leave, no matter what I find. I'll always be the only one who hurts them and loves them, all in the same breath. No one else can harm them or care for them the way I can. No one else matters.

And I’d tell them I love them, then prove it the only way I know how. By testing it. Over and over. Not to hurt them. To make sure it lasts. To make sure that all they see is me.

[violentdad]

Hi! New mutual here, I love your blog :) I would love to reach out and say hi off anon but I have really bad social anxiety !!

I understand the anxiety. It’s not easy reaching out, even when you want to. I’m not really looking to make friends right now, but I won’t ignore anyone who decides to speak to me. Just keep in mind I may be pretty slow at responding.

Also, if we’re mutuals, I’ll be honest, I have no idea who you are yet. Just curious what brought you here. What caught your eye enough to stay.

[violentdad]

You don't have to answer, and I know I don't have to tell you what to do so I already sound a bit foolish. But so is my nature.

What you have written here, your own space for you and only you, was a sweet and comforting personal realization that I deeply appreciate. I know you're not trying to help, or maybe you are but not for a way most will understand, but I appreciate you for all that you do.

Keep it up, and let the parasocials who grovel die in your inbox as they should.

- ⚰🕊

You don’t sound foolish at all. Your words were a breath of calm in the middle of noise, and I appreciate you seeing the space for what it is.

Thank you for stepping in without demanding anything, for speaking gently. That alone means more than most will ever know.