Burn One- A GamTav fanfiction Part 2 [Final] by sailormoon1fan, literature
Literature
Burn One- A GamTav fanfiction Part 2 [Final]
Summary: Your name is Gamzee Motherfucking Makara, and you aren't a good motherfucker when you're sober. That's why Karkat sent you to this place- so you could get better. You aren't going to get better. Nothing would change your habit, not Karkat, not Tavros- No one. And frankly, you're okay with that.
(Thank you to everyone who liked the first part of this story! I hope this conclusion is up to par with the first part. I'd like to apologize for how long it took to update this story, but I really, really wanted it to be the best that it could be. Also, I'd like to say that this story is very unrealistic, and I'm sor
You only fly for a little while by Tangled-Tales, literature
Literature
You only fly for a little while
She was just four years old
kicking her feet
harder and harder,
as the swingset creaked
and cracked
She finally reached the peak,
jumped off,
and said,
"Mama, I'm gonna fly."
and so she did;
three feet into the air,
sticking the landing
like a gymnast
And I wonder everyday
if those were the same words
she muttered
before jumping off that bridge,
unable to remember,
you only fly for a little while.
Six Ways to Earn More Commissions by woohooligan, journal
Six Ways to Earn More Commissions
If you’re serious about earning an income with your art, then you have to be serious about marketing yourself. If you’re like me, you hate selling… you don’t like rejection, it makes you nervous and you think you’re no good at it. That’s why we’re artists and not salesmen. Fortunately marketing yourself is kind of an art form. :nod: Although I don’t have all the answers, I’d like to share a little of what I’ve learned about the art of marketing ourselves.
:bulletblue: Be Seen: First, make it easy for people to find you. Create a deviation with a list of the different kinds of commis
Suicides Learning To Speak by Rosary0fSighs, literature
Literature
Suicides Learning To Speak
It’s 6 a.m. A girl is beginning the journey back from Oz, anchored to life by the whirr and beep of machines and tubes. Above her emaciated body, nurses pace, write on clipboards, click their heels and purse their lips. She is oblivious. Her mind drifts in freefall, stuck in an eggshell skull wrapped in nasal gastric tubing and an oxygen pipe forced down her throat like a synthetic umbilical cord. Somewhere, neurotransmitters are sewing themselves back into conscious awareness. There is a person lost somewhere in that body. There is a mind overboard in a black sea, sending up a flare. The nurses are afraid that she will stay in there fo
Depression (in Eight Parts) by tinkertype, literature
Literature
Depression (in Eight Parts)
I.
I took a walk once, and
Depression walked alongside me.
"I want to be alone," I told him.
"I know," he replied,
"Why do you think I'm here?"
II.
"I have a plan,"
Depression said to me.
"Not today," I said.
"I'm tired."
He frowned and asked,
"How did you know my plan?"
III.
I gave the weekend over to Depression
but he took three days
instead of two.
"Think of it as an investment," he said.
"And maybe I'll let you have a Friday night
without regrets."
IV.
Fallen to the floor
I look up and see
he's smiling at me.
"You know what they say
about old dogs."
He's doing this on purpose,
I know he is-
and it's working.
"They can't l
How to love a girl who can't love herself. by lupus-astra, literature
Literature
How to love a girl who can't love herself.
one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
two.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
three.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says
Nonessential Prosthesis
By Aaron C. Richards
The pain comes in waves like a hole in the head. A hole in the head. A hole in the head. And as each wave comes I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead. I wish it was dead.
Then the overlord comes around and everything changes. It’s all “Hail Spectrum”, and “Song of Ages” and “Whose thrum is loudest to please the queen?” I’ve been waiting a long time for my chance to please the queen. But my thrum is weak. The prettiest sounds I make are inside my head: the one place that the hive doesn’t seem to be able to get to. Because the only place darker
On Monday, he killed a spider. He scraped its guts off the bottom of his shoe before reluctantly putting it back on and shuddering. He knew it was just paranoia - he’d used the outside of the shoe after all - but he could still feel the tiny legs as if they were scampering over his foot. His cat Socrates distracted him from the ghostly sensation, meowing for the half open tin of food that was still sitting on the kitchen counter.
Reaching down with a smile, he pet Socrates and forgot about the spider.
---
He rolled out of bed on Tuesday, the sheets tossed around him in an attempt to cool down during the warm summer night. Half asleep