No One Asked But I’ve Been Thinking Abt Trans Axl Au So Much Lately .

not to cry or anything but. I’m crying

Shout Out!

Blogs that post GNR & other Rock/Metal bands for you to follow

@ghostyearzero0 (Happy Birthday!)

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*I know there are so many people I forgot, so PLEASE ADD THEM!! I am really really really sorry if I forgot you!!

send me a ⭐ if im one of your favorite mutuals and explain why

Happy birthday lovely! Hope you’re having a good day ❤️

aaa thank you sweetie 💞

self projection is my only personality trait

Y’all ever look over your WIPs and realize that a majority have the same basic theme and you are a known self-projector in fanfic and so you end up just sitting there like “Huh…. guess I’m not dealing with THAT as well as I thought I was.”

Two things that can co-exsist:

-Writing overly personal fanfiction about real people can be super gross especially if you’re insisting its real, or dramatizing trauma

-Using real events/places & creating fictionalized versions of real people as a baseline for stories is a great way to get inspired and get creative

some doodles that have just sat there and stared at me until I post them

my beloveds

alter bridge – words darker than their wings, live at the royal albert hall ( 2018 )

Top/bottom charts >>>>>>

Hands, Water, A Reminder

Not me and self projecting again lmao. 

Warning for self worth issues.

It’s a suffocating feeling. Phantom hands wrap around your throat. They’re always there, a reminder.

Sometimes, the hold is loose. There, but very light, like a thought in the back of your mind that you can’t quite shake off. It needs you to know it’s still there, that it’ll never go away .

Sometimes, the grip is strong, thumbs pressing into your throat, difficult to breathe. Vision blurred and clouded over in this feeling.

And other times. . . The hands hold you down, a tight grip, shoving you down into the water. Breathing is impossible, coughing up air and replacing it with water.

The way you carry yourself, the way you walk and talk. Surface level observations scream that you’re proud of you, that you like you.

But they don’t see those hands, wrapped around your throat. They wouldn’t want to, anyway. It’s so much easier to take someone at their surface level, so much easier not to bother looking further, finding flaws, problems.

So you take it. Take their words and criticism, use it, solidify the image, the mask, you’ve created.

But the hands are still there. Constant reminders.

You can do better.

You fucked up.

You ruined everything again.

You’re not worth anything.

You can’t get shit right.

They tell you, you have talent, you’re skilled. But what does that do?

You still mess up.

You still know there’s so much better out there.

You’re not worth shit.

Every breath you take is a waste, every sip of water, every little resource you use to survive. It’s all a waste.

But you fear death, don’t you?

So with every time the hands drag you down, watch you cough and choke and fill your lungs with water, it still brings you back up. Resuscitates you.

You’ll forever continue drowning, you’ll forever be reminded of how little you’re worth. The water is in your lungs, forever.

it takes ten seconds to tag something and forty five minutes to hours to calm down from a panic attack. think about that for a second