the 3am dress is one of my favourite dresses in fiction.
because i couldnt think of a background
are we gonna fuckn hold hands tonight or what bitch
if you ever see me at a con scream my url at the top of your lungs and even if it turns out it wasn’t me, hey, free promo thank u
Anonymous asked: Could you please draw Vriska? Please, I would really really appreciate that
I’ve drawn Vriska tons of times before, but I still had to look up what she looked like;;
hey friend. one day ur gonna be happy. one day ur gonna be sitting w someone u love in ur favourite place in the world and ur gonna think “wow. life is p great” and everything will be okay. but u gotta make it til then okay? just hang in there. u’ll be okay.
robin williams died today.
here is a list of things that robin williams was:
- and sad.
that’s important, the “and sad,” because sometimes sadness can feel like the only thing we are. it can feel all-encompassing. it can feel like the only thing anyone could possibly see, when they look at you: sad. that person is so, so, sad.
but there is always an “and.” we are never just sad. we are never only. we are always and.
we have all known people who were sad, who are sad; some of us are ourselves sad. being sad does not remove the other parts of us, though it can make them harder for us to see. when you are sad, you don’t necessarily feel like you are also funny, and sharp, and clever, and kind.
but you still are. you don’t have to feel like something to be it.
those things are written on your bones, they are woven into the fabric of your skin. sadness can feel so big, so big and overwhelming and complete, even when it is not a directed sadness. maybe especially when it is not a directed sadness, when it’s a depression that has no direct cause and nothing we can name.
sometimes the sadness is too big. people try to cut it out, or starve it out, or drink it down, or drug it silent. if this is you: i’m sorry. if this is you: you are not alone. if this is you: remember that the solution is never to give up, because you do not live in a vacuum. there are people waiting for you. there are films and songs and books and not-sadness waiting for you. i know that you don’t feel like waiting, but wait anyway.
if you need help, ask for it. here’s a link to crisis centers across the globe. if you live in the U.S., this is the national suicide prevention hotline: 1-800-273-8255.
robin williams died today, but the genie didn’t, and mrs. doubtfire didn’t, and peter pan didn’t. sean maquire didn’t, and professor philip brainard didn’t, and alan parrish didn’t. batty koda didn’t. john keating didn’t. you didn’t.
don’t.i wasn’t going to reblog anymore on this but i read this and i feel like there are probably some folks on here who might need to read it, too.
'It's not your fault.”
I’m not prone to tears. I’m not really prone to overt displays of emotion in general, but tonight I am in floods of gentle tears about a stranger’s passing.
It’s the power of art, I think, that it can touch us very deeply in ways we don’t necessarily expect. This is not a profound or groundbreaking statement, but I just remembered that the name my father calls me is from Robin Williams’ sign-off in Mork & Mindy. It’s been one of my names since before I have conscious memory, so in a way, so has Robin Williams.
Belonging to the generation I do, Robin Williams was part of the fabric of my childhood. I saw Aladdin more times than I can count like countless other children, but I also want to talk a little bit about how Robin Williams was part of the formation of my understanding that art is powerful.
I remember this scene in particular because I had never heard it, the simple phrase “It’s not your fault” in this context, never with this degree of perfect, hard-won sincerity. Troubled, disruptive children rarely hear this from the adults in their life. I cried harder furtively watching this on stolen VHS long after I was meant to be asleep than I ever had while watching anything before. The power of this reached me from a hunk of plastic in an outdated VCR in a basement I used to hide in, and it’s never quite left me.
This is a performance that made me feel better for a little while, and I can’t textually express how important it was to me, at the time and ever since, to realise that art has meaning, that there were people out there who also might have needed to hear this, or it wouldn’t exist.
I am going to miss Robin Williams, not just for his unfailingly warm, wry presence as I experienced it through his work, even with his ability to be chilling, but for his ability to reach through the screen and illustrate to me that there was a spark of something more vital and visceral in the world than I had ever imagined.