All I Do Is Yearn, Read Books, Chug Coffee, Talk Shit, Cry And Have Panic Attacks

What are some chronic illnesses that can only occur in a fantasy setting?

my goal in life is to inspire the same level of fear in a man as beth harmon instills barely after introducing herself to a chess player:

“beth harmon”

“…shit.”

20 Dialogue Prompts Part 2

Here is a list of twenty dialogue prompts! Thank you everyone for contributing!

“You know, until you pointed it out, I never really noticed that horn on your head.”

“Honey, this relationship isn’t going to work out if you keep getting charged for murder”

“I don’t know what your teacher told you, but milk isn’t real.”

“Uh, Mr Reaper sir? Do you still do the game for your life thing?” “That depends on the game. I am tired of chess.” “What about golf?”

“You have angered our feline overlords! Now you must endure the litter tray of doo-doom!”

Keep reading

do I feel bad for the trauma and stress that bb Marinette is going to go through because it'll be so bad and relatable? yes.

am I also kinda bitter because I feel like they will sideline and underdevelop and just mistreat our sunshine boi with sh*tty writing? HELL YES.

(i mean he showed up a total 2 or 3 times in the whole freaking trailer? isn't he supposed to be the co-protagonist? idk)

(not that I don't like Marinette, I do, but I miss adrien)

Surround yourself with people who love you 🐰✨

folklore is for the girls who can't bring themselves to close the last page of a book. for the girls who hate the cold but love the feeling of snowflakes upon eyelashes. who wear sweaters to cover up their aching, who notice every single little detail, who sit in solitude and silence and observe their loved ones. for academic validation girls who love the moon. for girls scared to get drunk, because of the fear that they will lose everything if they lose themselves.for the oldest sisters. girls with not a lot of friends but the ones they do have are considered family, who appreciate the little things, who tell their mothers everything. girls who love their families with their entire soul and just want their grandparents to be proud of them, and know that they are loved. girls who are 'mature for their age' but miss growing up, who sneak stolen glances and feel like second chances, girls who feel forgettable and retreat into themselves wondering if anyone will care. girls with quiet voices, who don't know how to dance, who worry over everything. for the introverts. for the ones who long to be understood with their whole hearts so much it hurts. girls who hope to recieve a love letter at least once in their life. girls who like rain. girls who want to say i love you but the words get caught in their throats. girls who forget about their stuffed animals for a month or so and then hold them tight while sleeping to apologize. the girls who don't know if they're an augustine or a betty, who love and love with all their hearts but end up brushed aside, wrists broken and bruised from fighting their feelings. girls like me.

my hidden talents include overthinking, crying at every little inconvenience, romanticising everything and imagining myself in situations that will literally never exist

I wanted to write. What about? No idea.

I have so many stuff going on right now that I don't really know what to do.

For instance, the impending question, how do you know if you like someone in a romantic way?

This is lame, I know, but I've never *ever* had a crush on someone who is not a fictional character or an unreachable celebrity, and I'm having a real hard time separating my feelings, for I still have this stubbornness regarding our only being friends.

I think about him a lot, not too much, but he's constantly on my mind. What's worse, is that I haven't seen him properly for months, the day I saw him and chatted for two minutes three weeks ago not counting.

He went to a different high school, and at first, we continued chatting every day, never going as far as to phone one another . Then we grew apart, he stopped answering to my texts and I stopped trying to contact him, sure that he wouldn't answer. I texted him on his birthday, and after a curt greeting and a thank you, we didn't speak for a month.

I texted him first. I was lonely and sad because it was the anniversary of my grandmother's death, and I gave in tothe urge of texting him. He answered, thankfully, and we happily chatted for a week before he ignored me again.

It hurts a lot. It hurts when I think of how close we were and how he dismissed our friendship, continued texting a friend of mine who be wasn't that close with and focused entirely on his new girlfriend. It hurt that he had a new girlfriend, even if I had had no problems with the last one, but honestly, that had been over a year ago so I couldn't be sure if I actually felt jealous or anything.

Am I jealous?

I don't know. I've never even met her!

But even if we aren't close anymore...It just hurts, ok?

I don't know what else to write, and this is quite out of my usual style, so yeah, signing off,

A girl who knows very little about love.

OMG

Problem with drawing your OC?

There is a 3D program where you can set everything.. i mean EVERYTHING on your character! And it’s free! 

It’s called FUSE

http://store.steampowered.com/app/257400

you can pick between realistic and anime style… But most important: you can ANIMATE THEM!

sometimes a poem is just a poem and sometimes a poem is actually a confession and sometimes a poem is a person and sometimes a poem is a cardinal. sometimes art is just art and sometimes art is actually therapy and sometimes it’s a pipe and sometimes it’s also not a pipe. 

sometimes the text is “got home safe!” and sometimes the text is actually saying i already miss the way your hair feels in my hands and sometimes the text is a warning and sometimes the text is thank you for caring. sometimes you are on the phone with your friend and you’re talking about curious monkeys but you’re also both admitting how lonely you are but you’re also both talking about how love can be a bicycle and sometimes it is not a conversation it’s an intervention and sometimes it’s not a conversation it’s a poem and sometimes it’s not a conversation it’s an art piece and sometimes it’s just a conversation but more often it’s holding hands without touching

& sometimes you are in an argument about the dishes but none of the things you are mad about are about dishes, they’re about the stuff around the dishes and the hands and the soap and how he smelled on sunday of another girl. sometimes the dishes aren’t even dishes they’re blankets and sometimes they’re burnt food and sometimes they’re your favorite book. sometimes the song isn’t a song sometimes the song is a manipulation and sometimes the song is just bad and sometimes the song is stuck in my head from you singing it in bed and sometimes it is “i listened to this so i could learn what you like” and sometimes it is “i showed you this because i want to also show you my palm lines and my heart and the inside of my head.” 

sometimes you are dancing alone but you are not dancing alone because you are picturing seeing her in a green velvet dress across the room from you, and sometimes you are dancing with ghosts, and sometimes you are dancing with your mother’s voice. sometimes it is not a dance it is a walk and sometimes it is not a walk it is lying in bed and sometimes it is not lying in bed, it is not-dying, which is often good enough for survival purposes. 

& sometimes you say  oh, take a cookie with you when you go and you mean that i should take a cookie and sometimes you mean - take me with you, also. sometimes it is just burning something and sometimes it is burning something and sometimes it is burning a lot of other things first. sometimes it is just a shirt and sometimes it’s what you wore when you kissed her and sometimes it’s what you wore when you didn’t kiss her and sometimes it’s what you wore to the movies when you saw your last in-theatres movie without knowing it would be your last in-theatres movie. 

& sometimes the poem is just a poem and sometimes the poem is my earring in your hand and sometimes the poem is your smell and sometimes the poem is calligraphy and sometimes the poem is good lord you are addicting and sometimes the poem is a poem and sometimes the poem is unfiltered yearning and sometimes the poem is an anvil and sometimes the poem is - can i write a home, can you crawl in, can we be like little ferns, all curled up in bed. sometimes the poem is a poem and sometimes the poem is a dance and sometimes the poem is saying - no, i will skip showering, if you need me there, i’m coming.