#plus you don't always know why someone's visiting your inbox

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

🌸hiii i want it to be known that you have become The Comfort Blog Ever. ive been seeing a lot of not so nice stuff in the SAMS community lately and your stuff is part of what makes continuing to participate worth it, so thank you for that :)

Why thank you and you're welcome! I try to be an impartial safe zone, since I know there's always someone who likes a certain character and I try to be fair to all of them.

[carolmunson]

you keep me without chains | em.

this is a re-post of a ramble fic of me processing some stuff i've been through and am struggling with in my own healing. if you're familiar with my 'bad at feelings' series, it's in a similar vein of writing except eddie is incredibly soft and sweet to reader who is going through her own stuff. eddie sucks here, i don't think it's a correct characterization of him but it's just me using him as a placeholder.

originally, i didn't want to put this story in the tags because it's sad and explores the mindset of someone in a non-physically abusive relationship. however, since it is DV awareness month, i wanted to make sure to express that if there are people reading this who are struggling that they aren't alone and there are people there that understand and support them. and also that if there are younger readers reading (still eighteen plus!) who aren't sure if they are in an abusive relationship they are maybe able to get some context via fiction. my inbox is always open. DV Hotline US: 800-799-7233 DV Hotline UK: 0808 2000 247 tw: 18+ mindors dni, references to emotional and psychological abuse, minor threats of physical violence.

he left this morning with a kiss on your cheek and your lips, a nuzzle against your temple when you gave him two thermos's, one with hot black coffee and the other with the beef stew you made last night. hot hot hot. the way he likes it.

you made bread, so crisp on the outside, pillowy soft on the inside. he groaned when he popped it in his mouth at the dinner table, soaked in broth and butter. you warmed some in the oven when you put his lunch together, wrapping it in foil to trap the heat -- maybe it'll keep until his lunch hour. he might eat it all before his lunch hour. he never eats breakfast really.

you clean the counters and do the laundry while he's away. no kids to take care of, not yet at least. you mend his spare coveralls, treating the grease and oils stains, resewing his name tag stiched in red thread. you shine your mary janes and stilettos, shine his doc's just to be nice. you fix his patches on his vest from the last show he went to. you clean the stubble out of the sink in the bathroom.

he has the car so there's nowhere to go.

you shower, you do your hair, put make up on, go through the motions while he's not home. he hates to wait for you to do it but you hate looking tired when you're out and about. better to do it when he's busy doing something else.

next door neighbor is heading to the library, knocks on your door to see if you wanna come with. she just wants you to get out of the house for once, stop playing wife to a man who hasn't married you yet.

you hesistate, wanting to be home in time to make dinner, but you can't imagine the library taking too long so you go. she looks at you with a strained pity that you can't stand. he doesn't hit you, so why does she even look at you like that? he'd never do that. he just got back from all that shit with a few screws loose. he never knows what he means when he says it.

he's always sorry. y'know? he's always sorry. sorta.

doesn't hit you but you know how the day will go by the way he says good morning. by the way he wakes up with you -- or without you. know how the night will go by the way he breathes when he comes in through the storm door. by the cadence of his steps on the metal stairs. by the way the van pulls in.

sometimes things break and that's fine cause he just replaces them. he knows he shouldn't have thrown it, he knows he shouldn't have tossed it, he knows. he knows. that's why he gets it the very next day. new plates, new house phone, new coffee pot, new records, new casettes, new picture frames, new flower pots. he doesn't throw them at you. he's only punched the wall twice. he slams his head against it all the time. cause he knows he's not good. he knows. you go to the library and check out some books, laugh at your neighbors jokes, tell her about your weekend in the city visiting his friends. he held your hand in front of everyone and pulled you onto his lap, he joked with you and you laughed the whole time. you went to see a band play that you'd never heard of and he got you a t-shirt and the next morning you all went out for hot chocolate and breakfast and he kissed the whipped cream off your lips and ran his thumb over your engagement ring over and over. he never stopped calling you baby. so charming. so perfect. you don't know what you did to earn it, but you've been chasing it ever since. modeling that week's behavior into this one. tip toes through the tulips of the trailer. jagged. shell like.

you get home from the library and lunch, she even stops with you when you mention you have to go to the grocery store. out of eggs for meatloaf, needed some canned string beans for one of the sides.

it's the best dinner you've made in a while and the mashed potatoes are double whipped and extra buttery because he can never get enough of them. you know that it's little things like that. you love the smile he gets when you tell him you do some things just for him, so blushy and boyish.

'that's so nice, baby,' he gushes, 'thinkin'a me.' and god he gushes. cries when he can't contain it. saw you in a new dress and wiped his eyes. new hair cut sent him into orbit.

so pretty.

you're so beautiful, i don't deserve you.

you're gorgeous i -- i can't even like, think.

presents on your birthday. handwritten notes with tear drops washing over the ink in a wave, blurry letters blue and black, black and blue. he'd never hit you. too in love. too bursting with affection when he looks at you. too nervous when you look at him when he takes you out. when he plays a show. when he sees you get dressed into your pjs at night. you're so good to me. especially when you hold him through those nightmares. when you calm his anxiety, those deep breath panic attacks. the ones that the meds miss when he misses them. you're patient through the mood swings and he always says thank you. he always says it -- you're the only one that understands him. that sees him. sometimes you don't get it. that's what he says at least. you don't get it and that makes him upset. but you're not sure what there is to get. and you try not to get sad about it -- 'bout anything really 'cause you're not the one who got a few screws knocked loose. nothing bad like that happened to you. i mean, sure, maybe some bad things happened to you but not like the way bad things happened to him, right? you wouldn't get it. but he gets you, he tells you all the time. he gets you so well. symbiotic. the only person who knows you, the only person whose been in your skin -- right? at least that's what he says, and he's said it so long you can't help but believe it.

your eyes fall on the newly vased roses he bought you two days ago from the florist near the shop. bright red petals opened and fat, contrasting against the pea green of the walls. you smile at them while you pour gravy over each plate, extra on his mashed potatoes. he kissed you this morning, he was almost late leaving the house -- couldn't stop kissing you. couldn't stop looking at you with those brown eyes, sparkling with a mischief saved for tonight.

the van rolls in as you set the table, still in your outfit from earlier, the books you checked out on the counter need the flowers. the storm door opens off kilter, your throat constricts. you know by the way he doesn't say anything when he comes in the house. work boots kicked off with loud thumps. his jacket swishing with a thwap when he throws it with a grunt to the ground. something bad must've happened at work. 'hey honey,' you say quietly, 'got dinner for you.'

you know better, watching him turn the corner into the dinette, looking down at you from where he stands and you sit. you hold a mug full of orange juice on the table, fingers tapping on it silently while he holds his gaze. 'you goin' somewhere, dressed up like that?' he asks, there's nothing behind those sparkling eyes now. dulled out to hollow brown.

'no,' you shrug, you know how to coreograph your responses now -- still stepping on his toes sometimes, 'went to the library with gina, she just wanted a friend for some errands.'

'you know gina doesn't like me,' he nods, walking to the fridge to grab a beer, 'she doesn't like us together. she hates me.'

'she doesn't hate you, ed,' you assure, voice still calm, mediating, 'no one hates you.'

'your folks hate me, your sister hates me,' he nods, curls bouncing while he takes a swig, like it's normal conversation. so steady, 'you think they like that i got you ever here in this trailer park?'

'my parents don't ha--'

'they do.' and that's final. you don't argue. and he's right. your parents don't like him and that's why you don't call anymore, and they stopped calling you too. so did all your friends from back home.

'so what'd gina tell you about me today, then?' he presses.

'nothin'," you shrug, 'we didn't talk about you.'

'of course not,' he laughs but it's one that sends a chill under your skin, a laugh to not seem so mean when you know he's about to be, 'she was prob'ly tryna set you up with someone. that's why you got all dressed up right? anything to look good for other guys out there.'

's'cuse me?' 'you heard me,' he nods, voice still steady like nothing's wrong, 'that's why you wore all those tight jeans in the city last weekend, right? those dresses? tryna show off to harrington and the guys. don't act like i didn't notice.'

'what are you talking about? why didn't you say anything when we were there?' you heart rate quickens, you try not to get mad.

'i shouldn't have to. but that's how you are, y'know?' he shrugs, another swig, another chuckle, 'makin' dinner and everything, you must've been out there makin' eyes at everyone if you made my favorite.'

'i wasn't doing that,' you urge, voice raising, tears threatening to pool, 'i just made it cause you like it, cause it makes you happy.'

'so you just do anything to make sure i don't get mad? do you even know why you do stuff like this for me?' he asks.

'what are you even saying?' your voice raises again, a mild yell. you're frazzled now, heart racing, head already scrambled.

'don't yell, what're you -- fuck babe, see! this is why gina doesn't like me,' he grits through his teeth, 'cause you're always making a scene over nothing. you're over fuckin' reacting.'

'i --' your voice catches in your throat, quieting, 'i'm sorry? i'm sorry.'

'd'you even know what you're sorry for?' he nearly sneers, 'always sayin' your sorry over nothing. y'know somethin' babe, sorry loses it's meaning when you're sayin' it all the time. it doesn't mean anything from you anymore.'

you nod, losing your resilience, too confused about how quickly you got here -- and he's right. you're always apologizing but half the time you don't even know what you're apologizing for. just that you feel like you need to be sorry. like you need to say sorry.

he holds that stare on you like he's waiting for you to speak again. daring you to say something. you stare down at the wood grain of the table, blank and empty -- numb, even. the mug between your hands is warm from how hard you were gripping the ceramic to keep you grounded.

's'what i thought,' he nods, voice a low rumble while he makes his way to the bathroom.

he'd never hit you.

the slam of the bathroom door makes you flinch.

sometimes you wish he would. maybe it would hurt less than this. at least that physical pain fades, right? at least it wasn't the same dull ache on a bruise that won't go away. are you hemmorhaging? do you just not feel it yet? will it be too late when you do?

he slides into bed with you at night after spending the rest of the evening out back with the other couples and families that were smoking ribs, having a little fire out in the brush. he smells like cigarettes. you could hear his grizzly laugh through the windows while you laid in the dark of your bedroom. too tired after the way he spoke to you to do anything else. everyone's favorite mechanic loverboy in the park.

you feel his fingertips on your shoulder, one of them gliding down the slope of your arm. he presses his lips to your shoulder blade, your eyes shut -- blearing with tears from that dull ache.

'dinner was really good, baby,' he says softly, a whisper.

you try to get out a thank you but it becomes a choke, a sniffle, a gasp. then a cry and then a harder one, remembering how he rolled his eyes at you two weeks ago when you cried after he threw out the love letter you wrote him for your four year anniversary because 'you didn't mean any of that shit anyway'.

he sits up, shushing you softly while his hand smooths over your bicep.

'what is it, sweetheart?' he asks, 'are you mad at me?'

you shake your head no. looking up at him, lying flat on your back. he looks so handsome in the moonlight, concerned eyes and tilted head peering down at you. 'n-no, ed. m'not mad at y-you,' you push out, head still scrambled. you feel guilty about last weekend, about going out today. what if guys really were looking? you know you weren't looking at them but what if they got the wrong idea? gina doesn't know what she's talking about, she's always hated ed. ever since they were kids.

'you just havin' one of your moments?' he asks, soothing voice, 'yeah?' one of your moments. always just one of your moments. couldn't be him, you're just -- maybe you're over thinking it.

'yeah,' you nod, 'm'sorry i went out with gina, baby i -- she didn't say anything bad about you.'

'it's okay,' he smiles, 'm'not mad at you. never mad at my girl.'

'no?' you ask, swallowing hard -- your heart leaps. he's not mad. maybe he just had a rough day.

'no doll, m'never mad at you. you always think i'm mad at you,' he says, thumb brushing away the tears that threatened to roll down the sides of your face to your hair line, 'you need me to kiss it better?'

another sob rips through you, nodding, because you do. you need it. and you sort of hate that you need it. you hate yourself for needing it. but he kisses you and it does feel better. he knows how to kiss you just right, he always has. he knows just where to put his hands. just how to pull away and brush his nose against yours. how to kiss your forehead between affirmations. smooth and understanding, like a movie scene. his kisses are his apologies. his sorry. you accept it every time.

because he doesn't hit you and he never would. in the morning, when the bathroom door slams so hard the walls vibrate, you flinch.

[nothingmatters-everythingmatters]

Hello! Lesbian from the last ask about qprs again! Your ramblings were delightful as expected, it definetely gave me something to think about (as someone who has also identified with aroace for a while before adopting my current "label"). If you're still okay with answering questions, I'd like to know more about your thoughts on the aroace spectrum itself? I remember there being some discourse in the community about whether or not gray area aroaces were valid or not (or something like that... I don't care enough now to remember lol). But just generally, what do you think of the concept of an aroace spectrum? (also can I be 🪼anon pls? I'm pretty sure I'll keep visiting your inbox in the future sorryyyy)

hi again :0 !! honored to get a named anon and I did not know there was a jellyfish emoji so that was also fun to learn lmao, and do not worry I love having stuff in my inbox it's like a little writing prompt for me sometimes and I really love that!

onto the actual question in the ask (which I am also very happy to answer genuinely I enjoy yapping far too much so this is very self indulgent)

it is also very long... I hope you enjoy more long paragraphs !!

similar to how I feel about qprs, I think a lot of the labeling and identification that comes from the concept of the aroace spectrum is just unnecessary and puts far too much focus on the idea of labeling yourself anyways. I mean, does it exist? yeah, it exists since you could define many things as a spectrum if you want to. and clearly, there are people who have such experiences that can be labeled on the spectrum, micro-labels do have some point of origin. but what it always comes down to for me is: does it matter? does it change anything to have a label versus not having one? does it actually help to have a label?

because, on the one hand, I totally get wanting to know that your experiences aren't isolated, that there are others who feel similarly. especially since we live in a world that has such a deluge of media that reinforces a very slim view of what the human experience looks like, and that there are a lot of traditionalist societal norms in the US that dictate the "normative" way to think about sexuality and romance, if you deviate from that norm, it can be incredibly isolating. that's why I do get why there is always so much passion (especially among younger generations) to defend these labels and communities, because in a way people just want to feel seen and understood. that's pretty universal, I think.

however, on the other hand, I think using a spectrum that spawns a new identification label promotes the "being seen" aspect more than the "being understood" part, and at least to me, the understanding is much more valuable when it comes to the function of a label.

a label that allows people to understand you, which can foster community--think "lesbian" as a label, it allows for same-sex attracted women to identify themselves and find each other to share experiences, advice, and advocate for general rights and protections.

a label that allows people to just be seen could be an identifier, sure. but if you just label yourself as "gray ace" or "on the ace spectrum", considering that it is a spectrum and thus could mean pretty different things for different people, it just lets people know this is what you call yourself and you probably think it's interesting enough to keep mentioning. plus, a majority of this kind of niche identification happens online anyway (what would be the point of a aspec bar, y'know. that's just a bar. or what legal protections do gray aces need? everyone has the right to not have sex with people they don't want to, that kind of stuff is in fact protected by the law, which is great) and calling yourself anything on the internet is explicitly about being seen a certain way and not questioned on it. so, the label becomes more of a vanity. maybe a conversation starter. more cynically, maybe a ticket into feeling special and asserting yourself in a larger, trendy community that has been slowly growing in a marketable demographic. (I really wanted to go on a tangent about the "do aromatic/aspec identities belong in the lgbtq community" discourse but then I realized I don't even really believe in the concept of "lgbtq community" so. uh. maybe a ramble for another day.)

(tangent I will go on: one very petty thing that pushed me to question the identification of aroace was that I noticed people who were identified as aroace or on the ace spectrum talked about it so much even though there wasn't much to say outside of niche fandom opinions. I found that a bit irksome, and became more self conscious if I was talking about it too much myself because if I found it annoying, I definitely didn't want to behave like that lol, especially because it's basically a conversational dead end to mention. for definitionally embodying the lack of something honestly aroaces do love to talk about that. I say this as I type another 500 words or something though lmao)

honestly, I think the label of asexual is pretty functional by itself, it's a lack of sexual attraction, which is pretty self explanatory and important to communicate to others. It's unique enough to have it's own community struggles to share (dating while ace, not relating to peers) it's just when you get to stuff like demisexual or throw in the split attraction model then it's actually way faster to just say "I don't really consider that until I have an emotional connection with someone" or "I don't see myself with that person/most people/whatever distinction romantically" or "I care more about personality" or just not talking about it unless relevant in conversation, which most people already do when it comes to their preferences and details of their relationship boundaries.

this is already so long and I feel like I've gone slightly off topic but I am just gonna sandwich this last thing I've been thinking about regarding micro-labels, especially aroace related ones. sometimes, to me, it feels like there's too much possibility for them to become excuses. like, if I say I'm aromantic, I might just be justifying my own fear of intimacy and opening up to people, and no one can push me on this because it's "valid" and if you push back that would be the equivalent of "telling a gay person they're not gay". which it obviously isn't. If I say I'm "fictosexual" I might just not talk to a lot of people in real life and am very obsessed with fandom culture, or I might just have a celebrity crush and very little real relationship experience, which I definitely won't gain if I just label myself as some flavor of aroace and commit to justifying my adherence to a comfort zone. (the aromantic one is based on my actual experience, the fictosexual one is not but I can definitely see how a much younger version of myself might latch on to that. concerning!)

I personally also used the "safety" of the aroace label of not needing to come out as a crutch to ensure I wouldn't have to think about telling my parents at all (it's much easier to tell your parents that you don't feel like dating anyone than to tell them you want to date a woman). it just became another way I could repress things without having to come to terms with the fact that it was repression. sometimes I blame myself for this, sometimes I don't. it is actually pretty bleak sometimes to be same sex attracted, and I have had many sleepless nights where I truly feel the weight of what I have to do to simply find the love and support heterosexuals have easily. it's all tangled up with my self-hatred, and led to me dealing with a lot of anger and dysphoria over "not having it as easy" as men. obviously all that is pretty toxic, and only when I was able to come to terms with being same-sex attracted could I start tackling these things head on. I do think if I kept believing in the aroace spectrum and community wholeheartedly, some of my problems would have gotten worse. repression is not really a good technique, who knew?

all in all, I think if you start to think about all of it too much, it begins to unravel. asexual is maybe the only "useful" label but the rest of it falls apart in meaning and purpose to me. and the more nuanced stuff, like the concept of a split attraction model, is interesting academically and in discussion, but I feel like introducing to the clumsy hands of twitter, tumblr, tiktok (and other social media sites that don't start with t) as a way to determine identities on par with lgb ones is. probably not super productive.

apologies in advance for the unhinged use of prepositions and conjunctions on this one, I had way too much random shit to say and too little energy to actually properly draft and edit it, feel free to ask for further clarification or elaboration! big big thanks again anon I shall look forward to you in my inbox once more :D

[dcnt-preach]

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These are open for whoever wants to reply yk? But can definitely have your characters react in the inbox . Like with my @angel-fxced blog your actions hella influence the storyline direction like one of them VNs without the art part for every scene .

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It WOULD be Cherri’s luck to be immediately fucked over as soon as she regenerated from the explosion, how long had she been gone anyways? She just knew it was the end of the year and apparently some war was happening then furthermore after her visit with Asmodeus the lights went out as she was preparing her bunker for E-day and catching up on what she missed - chores and checking on her crew included but, Vennie was apparently on some mission. They were not surprised she was taking a long nap and luckily Pix-L had Chewie and the others did the bare minimum to keep her territory in check.

The Ring had this weird glow from the emergency lights but, it reminded her of uptop at night because the streets were slightly empty and especially in Vox’s territory with a purplish hue or was it blue and the red natural lights made it look purple? Who knows.

She just balanced a small clothes basket on her hip with her shark puppy fast asleep curled in the middle as she put on her headphones to help drown out the soft hellish ambience while on her way to maybe the hotel since it was closer or wherever her feet led. You'd think after decades one would get bored of the sights or fear it but, it was always changing like everything else and she wanted to see what had changed - maybe even run into others in the night looking to find something to do in the blackout. Humming along to the song while reading the head's up and tips she's missed on the glowing screen to see how much damage was done to her territory and trades.

“ You of all people should know to keep your eye on surroundings. ''

Cherri didn't get a chance to react before her headphones gently slipped off her head making her look up at the person who dared touch her. Cynithya. She looked confused as to why the older demon was outside this late until looking down and seeing her bloodied hand clutching a generator motor. The lumbering demoness preened her hair with a clean hand to adjust the white bow daring to slide off the mass of pink hair “ And why are you out here this late? You're not partying or trailing after that arachnid friend of yours, are you? ”

“ It's a laundry party, didn't you know that shit is the rave nowadays? Even got my plus one. ” Cherri quipped back, putting her headphones around her neck this time, “ Why are you out here? You following me? ” The other sinner froze for a second and slowly pulled her hand away, making Cherri raise her brow. “ Okay… weirdo- why?”

Cynithya gave a little wry smile and gently pushed Cherri’s shoulders towards the main street where there were more denizens lurking about either partying as if nothing happened or complaining about the lack of electricity, she was ignoring the protests from Cherri about being put out here like this at first. It was better to talk with people around because that meant you weren't singled out so easily and you would certainly hear someone coming, for now it was allowed. She even allowed Cynithya to guide her to the front steps of a residential building to talk. When she was sure, she kept her hand on Cherri’s shoulder and furrowed her brows.

“ It's Vennie, he just got sniped the other night - he's fine but, he said his target was… you know.”

“ No, I don't - can you stop being cryptic? And Vennie always gets hurt because dude just rushes in! I'll go to his h-” she was silenced by a hand softly clamping over her maw and furthermore by the serious look on Cynithya’s face.

“You know we can't say his name, it might draw his attention – I was following to make sure you were alright. Pix and I aren't on this list apparently but you and Vennie are. Vennie is uptop until he heals and you need to lay low, Pix-L already came up with an alibi for you to use for TV head, we're handling the Territory.” Cynithya slowly let go of her face and backed up a bit. “ and He knows you're working for a Sin, ask Pix about it.”

The cyclops’s head was starting to hurt, adding onto the list of misfortune it seemed. She had to sit down on the stairs to ground herself - more annoyed than scared but surely the tides would change after she got more awake. “ I believe you but, I just don't believe this gnarly shit luck. So how long am I suppose to lay low because you know that's definitely not my speed.” she looked up at the other only to discover that she had disappeared and frowned deeply, “ So much for a goodbye?!” Cherri sat there for a second longer and just basked in her bad luck for a bit longer, trying to think.

[zillychu]

I apologize for going anon on you, seeing your inbox note. I'm aware I probably won't be answered. Earlier on Twitter you talked about popularity and social media. I have a personal situation and I wanted to know your thoughts, even if it might be harsh. I know notes =/= worth. I like what I make. I was also bent on improving. Yet it hurts when I barely get recognition when I've been in a fandom for years. I don't feel like I exist. -

- Plus I’ve become a little jealous over someone with same interests yet they’re popular. I try to avoid them, but I see their stuff everywhere. Their existence reminds me of my own ‘failure’. It’s not that I want to be wildly popular. I wish more people cared. I do feel as though communities aren’t as supportive as they could be. Thank you for taking the time to read this.           

I really don’t make a habit of answering anons, but if you have something that’s sincerely upsetting… well, it’s very hard for me to ignore that. We’ve all got weaknesses and sometimes it’s really super hard to talk to anyone about them.

No worries anon, I think this is something a lot of people struggle with. I don’t claim to know the answer, but I can certainly give you my two cents.

For anyone who doesn’t follow my Twitter (it’s a mess, I don’t blame you), this is the thread they’re referring to:

In addendum, it’s really easy to say things like recognition don’t matter. Numbers don’t matter. Twitter doesn’t lend well to talking at length about sensitive subjects, so I didn’t really delve into that part of it.

If I sounded like I don’t have my own problems with envy, don’t be fooled! I think even at our best, we all experience envy of others. No one is perfect, and we all crave what we lack, even if it’s not from a place of malice or ill-will.

It’s a really rough struggle, I’m not gonna lie. Things like natural advantages/disadvantages can take their toll (natural talent is a thing, friends), things like dumb luck can be downright infuriating. And a lot of times, that’s what it boils down to - because everyone works hard when they’re passionate about something. Sometimes, it’s about being in the right place at the right time, being born into an optimal environment, having the right resources, being in the right fandom, stumbling into the right group of friends, etc. Hell, the professional world is more often about networking than anything else, and that’s kind of a version of that.

Long story short, there are too many things out of your control. Which to me, is yet another reason why you shouldn’t beat yourself up over lack of popularity. Not to say that hard work and self-improvement should be thrown out the window, that’s not the point I’m trying to make; I’m just trying to say that there’s so much more that needs to be taken into consideration before you beat yourself up over low followers/likes/etc. (Not that you should ever beat yourself up for that)

So I suppose my advice is this: go out and make friends. Tailor your experience so that you no longer care about those numbers, or at least care less. Baby steps. Get more excited about sharing your work with close friends than posting on your blog and watching notes come in. Show your work to people who really matter to you - more often than not, a few kind words from them will mean more than 100,000 likes from some random strangers. If you think a community isn’t very welcoming or accepting… then look elsewhere! Other social media sites, other fandoms if you have to. No two places are the same.

Get more excited about self-discovery. Get more excited about self-improvement, learning something new. Your world is about you, your thoughts, your experiences. Not the opinion’s of random people on the internet. If you love something, if you enjoy something, they don’t matter.

It’s often a very slow process, learning to let go of envy and jealousy. I’ve only loosened my grip on it, it’s still there. I still feel petty and gross whenever I see an artist half my age and twice as talented, and I wonder, what sort of luck did they have? What silver spoon were they born with? Must be nice, I think bitterly, and then I catch myself and have a nasty taste in my mouth until I can let it go. Remind myself they’re a person too, and never wished to be better/more popular/successful to put others down.

Nobody is perfect. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, and at the end of the day, only you can make the art you make. No one else can, not even so-called master artists. They don’t have your mind, your eyes, your touch. Only you can bring your art into the world.

Life is fleeting. Enjoy yours as best you can, be happy. There’s more to life than comparing yourself to others. More to life than art, even. There’s tasty food to be eaten, new places to visit, new friends to make.

It’s little things like these that help me loosen my grip on envy’s hand.

And on a lighter note… do you even want to be popular on this hellsite. ‘Cause let me tell you a thing, back when I had, I think I peaked at around 80k (maybe 100k) followers on my old blog? The amount of harassment I got was ridiculous. Turning anon off at that point didn’t even work, I’d get just about everything under the sun on par for internet culture. Popularity means visibility, and holy shit that isn’t always a good thing. I’m 10000000% happier in my tinier fandoms, and I hope I stay here.