Cavetown Is My Comfort Artist

Cavetown is my comfort artist

The songs fit me, they fit my kintypes, some of them are calming, some of them give me energy, basically its perfect

Kin mems are getting to me? Cavetown.

Feeling overstimulated? Cavetown.

Need energy to get through the day? Cavetown.

Bad thoughts? Cavetown.

Need motivation? Cavetown.

Ect

Fucking love robbie's songs

me, an aroace: hmmm yes i do think i'll write about love today. yes dating, first kisses, yes yes.

kaido would love tumblr i think. he would get to post about dark reunion and stuff. can someone make a fic like that

On Writing and the Never-Ending Need for Gratification

Ah, writing. The noble pursuit. The art of crafting worlds, breathing life into characters, and—let’s be real—craving validation like a plant thirsting for sunlight. If there’s one thing no one tells you when you start writing, it’s that half of the battle isn’t the words themselves but resisting the urge to scream, “LOOK AT ME, I MADE THIS. PLEASE TELL ME I’M GOOD.”

There’s this delicate balance between writing for yourself and quietly wondering why the universe hasn’t sent a parade of adoring readers to your door yet. You spend hours, days, weeks nurturing your story—pacing around your room, brainstorming at 3 a.m., possibly shedding a tear over a paragraph (or your third cup of coffee)—and then hit "publish" only to be greeted by... silence.

And suddenly, you’re asking the real questions: Was it too long? Too short? Too niche? Did my main character come off as too emotionally unavailable? Should I be more emotionally unavailable?

But here's the thing, my fellow writers—deep down, we know why we do it. We write because we’re storytellers, right? Because the worlds we imagine are so vivid that they can’t stay locked up in our heads. Because we genuinely have something to say, something that’s worth saying.

...But also, wouldn’t it be nice to get a few notes? Just a handful of little dopamine boosters. I’m not asking for much—just enough to remind me that someone, somewhere, is reading this and is vaguely impressed by my ability to string sentences together.

I mean, sure, "write for yourself," they say. But also, write for that sweet, sweet gratification that keeps you from spiraling into existential dread after pouring your heart and soul into a piece. Because if art isn’t appreciated by others, did it even happen?

(Okay, yes, it did—but you know what I mean!)

So, to all my fellow writers out there feeling like they’re screaming into the void: I see you. We see each other. You’re doing great. Your words matter. Even if the void is a little too quiet sometimes, remember—you’re still out here, putting pen to paper (or, more likely, fingers to keyboard), and that’s something worth celebrating.

But seriously, if you read this, just drop a like or something. It’s good for my creative process, I swear.

found a crab claw today. its moveable, very fun.

Afton Family? More like Autism Family, ammiright *I am attacked by animatronics*