#and happened over a long period of time

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

the fact that shakespeare was a playwright is sometimes so funny to me. just the concept of the "greatest writer of the English language" being a random 450-year-old entertainer, a 16th cent pop cultural sensation (thanks in large part to puns & dirty jokes & verbiage & a long-running appeal to commoners). and his work was made to be watched not read, but in the classroom teachers just hand us his scripts and say "that's literature"

just...imagine it's 2450 A.D. and English Lit students are regularly going into 100k debt writing postdoc theses on The Simpsons screenplays. the original animation hasn't even been preserved, it's literally just scripts and the occasional SDH subtitles.txt. they've been republished more times than the Bible

[lit-in-thy-heart]

been trying out a new writing technique recently and it's called chilling tf out and reminding myself that fic is written for fun.

[snowflakeselfships]

A family can be an evolved former circus orangutan, a former primate sanctuary employee who's abandoned humanity, and their adopted human daughter. And that's beautiful <3

[bondagebimbo]

LOVE when the pharmacy decides to fucking dick around with my meds so badly that now I’m off my mood stabilizer, my pain meds, and my fucking birth control (in a few days) because they’re insisting I should have extra fucking bottles of each one and I DONT because they don’t let me pick up more than a one month supply of narcotics at a fucking time so do explain where these extra bottles are, hmm ????? and they didn’t have enough caplyta ordered last time to even give me my usual 3 months supply of that so … ???? get your fucking heads out of your asses and give me the fucking meds you owe me ??? like ??? but I’m in a nasty headspace right now so if I call the pharmacy this morning, I’m going to be that cunt ass customer they bitch about all day because this isn’t the first time they’ve done this. in fact, the first time, they straight up committed insurance fraud by marking one of my scripts as filled and picked up WHEN, IN REALITY, THEY FUCKING LOST THE SCRIPT AND HAD NO RECORD OF IT BEING FILLED OR PICKED UP IN THEIR SYSTEM, BUT YET, MARKED IT AS SUCH AND CHARGED MY INSURANCE AN ALMOST 8 GRAND FOR THE FUCKING 3 MONTHS OF MY MOOD STABILIZER THAT I. NEVER. RECEIVED. I’m genuinely about to report this entire pharmacy to the pharmacy board because I’m so fucking done with this place. it needs to be shut the fuck down because you’re telling me, out of an entire pharmacy, y’all share the same IQ point AND dead brain cell, collectively ??? then don’t fucking work in healthcare where people rely on you to know your shit and keep track of their fucking meds because you’re just constantly making shit worse on people since you can’t seem to not fuck around with these meds and not ‘lose’ scripts. fuck out of here.

and I’m pretty much out of weed, which is usually my back up pain management method, without the money to afford a delivery order by their cut off time to order in 3 hours because I just paid my fucking bills and have SOME to go towards it, but not enough for delivery to be free, and I’d still have to walk my ass to one of the ATM’s nearby because they don’t accept my bank as a prepaid method OR any of the cards I have on my person. 🫠

I can literally feel my back spasming and seizing on and off while I’m laying on my fucking side, I’ve had a migraine with a stupid ass aura for almost a week now because chronic migraines fucking suck and i was REALLY hoping this one would be over by now, my muscle inflammations that my pain meds are supposed to limit are already beginning to start their itching deep in my muscles so soon they’ll blossom into a whole fibromyalgia fucking episode and become entirely inflamed, my joints in my hands fucking hurt because of the dreary weather so I really need to get into a rheumatologist at some point soon as well and get that shit figured out, I’m nauseas as fuck from all the pain, and I’m moody, hormonal, and just feel like fucking death physically.

I’m just. I give up.

this shit is exhausting and painful and so mentally fucking taxing to constantly deal with and I just want a fucking break from all this fucking shit. I wish I could just … not exist … for even just a little while with how fucking painful existing actually feels right now 🫠😭

[orcelito]

Actually, on the topic of the baby fever. God it's so frustrating. Bc when I was like 14 ish I was Adamant that I never ever wanted kids. And my dad said smth around the lines of "that'll likely change" (probably from his own experience with this) and I was like NO. it WONT.

And then eventually, age 21-22 ish, I admitted that Okay, I still don't want to have my own kids, but someday maybe I'll adopt...

And Now, 27 years old, I got the general baby fever on occasion. It Did fucking change. And I don't know if I actually WILL bother with having my own kid (I still don't want to go through the hassle and massive body changes). But god. I do see a fucking baby and feel that stab of longing. It's almost like my damned hormones betrayed me or smth. Maddening!

I shall simply write fanfic about it.

[vessel214]

hi lotf fandom👋

im considering making a post island au (+ a blog for it) and im curious about if anyone would be interested

[iraprince]

Sorry if you've already said but can I ask what age you started drawing? I'm in my twenties wondering what sort of skill level I can acquire if I haven't been applying myself very much before this point

i have been drawing for as long as i can remember. i started wanting to actively improve my technical skills when i was a teenager; i think i started learning how to actually actively improve my technical skills (on purpose instead of by accident, lol!) in my 20s.

(also -- as wordy as it may be, you'll notice i'm really particular about saying "technical skill" over and over! this is because it is only one factor of what drawing is, but a lot of times when ppl talk about being "good at" drawing, tech skill is what they really mean. when i say technical skill, i'm usually referring to draftsmanship, the ability to draw things not just accurately/realistically, but as they appear in your head; your hand doing what your mind tells you to, your ability to meet your own intentions/expectations for a piece, however it makes sense to conceptualize it. it is NOT the most important part of drawing, not by a long shot, but realistically it's often the sticking point for people who are learning + it can be one of the big struggles in keeping morale up.)

these may seem like finicky distinctions to make, but to me they make sense! bc the benefit we may have starting as adults is a better grasp of how to CONSCIOUSLY study and improve on specific areas of a skill, vs the passive improvement that will generally happen from pure directionless repetition. i feel that i've had jumps in my technical skill level over the course of a year or two as an adult that are bigger than my improvement through all of middle + high school, for example -- and i bring this up bc if what ur concerned about is technical skill, that is not purely 100% about time invested, and starting later than some does not mean you're at some kind of massive insurmountable disadvantage.

in that specific example, the difference as an adult was going into it with intentional curiosity and a drive to specifically improve, vs middle + high school was six years of me happily drawing the same 4-5 characters floating from the waist up in perpetuity. were those years wasted bc i wasn't drilling myself and doing studies? fuck no! but my progress was different, bc i was focused on other, equally important parts of learning to draw. (like discovering + honing my own tastes, consuming a lot of media that inspired me, and having fun!!!!)

SO, anyway, my personal perspective on the skill level u can attain if u start now: the same as anyone else!! and i don't think i'm being like, sunny or unreasonably optimistic in saying so. i think keeping ur chin up and being patient w urself as u learn to draw is generally way harder than actually drawing, for literally everyone. u have to make a lot of dogshit drawings to eventually make good ones, and that is the part that's actually really really hard. but u can make decisions about how and where to apply the time u invest that may show u visible progress in ways you'll find surprising! (pls balance that time with shit that's just fun, too.)

in case it's helpful, i'll leave u with a different very wordy multi-para response where i talk about where to start if you'd like to learn to draw with no/little prior experience: here! it's def not comprehensive and is totally colored by my own opinions/perspective on art, and specifically on illustration/comics, but i hope it might be a starting point :)

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

me when the dissociation causes memory loss: *surprised Pikachu*

[kikuism]

the reason the kaname doc is taking forever is 1) i don't know if i want the story to be lush and meandering or fast and punchy and 1) i don't know if kaname is an unstoppable force or immovable object

[pepprs]

ok i survived yom kippur. but it took every single scrap of strength in my body and i’m not completely better yet

[kingofscoops]

Being on my period normally sucks in general, but being on my period after the last one was only 2 weeks ago is a whole new level of suckyness, especially seeing as I had to take meds to stop it last time... I just hope that this cycle is it going back to normal and I won't have to go to the doctor's for more meds to make it so again because my doctor's fucking sucks...

[dirt-str1der]

I miss y5 so much kiryu is trying his best to just be some guy and everybody in the world keeps trying to seek him out and tell him no ur not

[wewontbesleeping]

ohhh man i just know ttpd is going to be. a lot. to handle for me

[meatriarch]

im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.

[indigoipsum]

My fandom progression:

2010-2011: Fruits Basket

2012-2013: Harry Potter, Hunger Games, Team Starkid

2014-2015: Hetalia

2014-2019: Kuroshitsuji

2015-2016: Free!, DMMD

2016-Now: Patalliro

2017-2020: Jojo

2020: HxH, ACNH

2018-2022: Drag Race

2021: Sk8, Owl House

2022: WWDITS, Amphibia

2023: Kuroshitsuji

[meatriarchived]

i did not sleep yay for me im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.