I donât ask anyone to stay Not anymore The phone may tremble in my hand But never again Will I beg for someone to love me
(via melindacarolinee)
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we're not kids anymore.
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@checkmateflip
I donât ask anyone to stay Not anymore The phone may tremble in my hand But never again Will I beg for someone to love me
(via melindacarolinee)

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I climb up to look at the vivid, drenching stars, to breathe the cold wind, to see the dark sea sliding.
D.H. Lawrence, Sea and Sardinia (via soracities)
Sphere swirl by Gabriel Dzieslaw
Fanfic Author Gothic
-You always have ideas. When you open a document, they disappear.
-You have a file full of ideas. It is lost. You open all your files and find hints of ideas mixed in between the lines. None of them connect. You follow them forever, deeper into the folders, until you canât remember what you were looking for anymore. You end up reading fanfic until 4 AM.
-Youâre not a torturer by profession. Itâs merely a hobby. The sadism is a natural skill.
-Your fingers and wrists hurt from typing when youâre on a roll. You swear youâre not a masochist, but it hurts so good.
-Readers accuse you of causing them pain. You say youâre sorry, but youâre not. You comfort them while not-so-subtly digging for what caused them the most harm, eager to repeat the trick.
-Your friends enable you and laugh at your yelling. When you blame them, they claim they didnât do anything. They never do anything. You no longer remember who started it, only that youâre halfway through the fic and still writing.
-You have a WIP. You swear youâre going to finish it next. Itâs always next. Thereâs always another fic that has to be written first.
-Anonymous messages are sent to you, asking you not to acknowledge them publically. You know if you answer theyâll disappear from your inbox. Tumblr has eaten the Ask. Was it ever there in the first place?
-Someone comments on your fic. You have no idea who they are, but their username looks familiar. Every username looks familiar. You think you know them. They know you. Itâs flattering, but you canât shake the feeling that you should be alarmed by your poor memory.
-You reblog a writing prompt meme. Itâs the same meme you reblogged yesterday. There are symbols instead of numbers, and you hope people will find them more interesting and send you more prompts this time.
-Promoting your own work is okay. You tell yourself this as you reblog yesterdayâs fic post, tensely waiting for a rebuke that never comes.
-People laugh at something you wrote. You canât figure out what. When you ask, nobody responds. They never laughed in the first place. Youâre not sure you wrote anything.
-The fic is 50 hours long and 7000 words long; no one cares. A 10 minute speedwrite is reblogged into eternity.
-The kudos stack up. They are a solid block of names. You canât read who left them. When you blink and look again, only 10 Guests have left kudos.
-Your inbox is full. Thereâs a comment on your fic. It has been edited 17 times. Six more emails come in as you read the initial comment. The numbers in your inbox climb and climb. You canât find whatâs been changed in the comment, but you canât stop obsessively comparing each message.
-This comment is a book report. Glee and fear fill you in equal amounts.
-Someone apologizes for leaving a comment on an old fic. You canât find who started the absurd rumor that authors donât like comments on old fics. You plan their murder anyway.
-You eye your old username and associated fics. You pray that no one ever finds them. You resist the urge to tell people where to look.
-The fic is finished. You are dead. You are sick of it. Youâve never been so tired in your life. You hate the world. You force yourself to post it, absolutely exhausted, and suddenly canât sleep for refreshing your inbox.
-The words multiply. You canât control them. They eat your brain and come out your eyes. When people try to talk to you, you speak in snatches of character dialogue and narrate unconnected events. They keep talking to you, encouraging you to say more. The words own you now.
-No one believes you when you say the story is writing itself. You stare in despair at the screen. Why wonât anyone help you?
-Youâve misspelled âthe.â Autocorrect is wonderful until itâs not.
-Sleep is for the weak. You dream youâre still writing.
-The fic is 50 hours long and 7000 words long; no one cares. A 10 minute speedwrite is reblogged into eternity.
Hahaha, ah itâs funny because itâs true. *eyetic* what do you mean thereâs blood coming out of my nose? No, no Iâm fine, go right ahead. Reblog the scone post again, I donât mind.
-Someone apologizes for leaving a comment on an old fic. You canât find who started the absurd rumor that authors donât like comments on old fics. You plan their murder anyway.
GODS OWN TRUTH. Who told readers that thereâs a statute of limitations on commenting? Why is apologizing for commenting so common? Who has abused these readers for sincerely expressing their appreciation and affection for fanwork?
@hedgiwithapen
OH GOD SO MUCH OF THIS IS MY LIFE
@weconqueratdawn @jadegreenworks @fragile-teacup @thisismydesignhannibal @thesilverqueenlady @victorineb @hotsauce418 @desperatelyseekingcannibals @hannibalnuxvomica @cheerios-and-pocket-lint @avegetariancannibal @redfivewritingby @apoptoses @pka42 @hannigrammatic @chronicopheliac @wrathofthestag @devereauxsdisease
THISSSSSS. AHHHHHHHHHHHH!
javier salinas x Simbiosis

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I hate living.
Ive been upset every day this month (Its currently March 7th 2017). All I want to do is be happy and not be angry all the time, why is that so hard? Its upsetting that even though I try to be positive it doesn't work and then when I try to be the bigger person, I'm essentially "being Salty". Am I? I thought I was doing the correct thing by walking away from the stimulus that bothers me most? Apparently not. Apparently that's being angry and salty at the people around me. I guess I must really be quite aggressive if people keep thinking I'm angry at them. Sad, pathetic me can't keep her anger in check? What a shame. It isn't like I'm trying or anything anyway. Nope. Not at all. Perhaps I should just leave. I don't see the point in staying here. What I would do to go missing. I hate this place and I hate the life I lead. The want to die is still apparent even now, 7 years down the line. Unfortunately for me, I care too much about some ofthe people I'd leave behind if I offed myself. Some I would love to watch grieve when they realise its their fault. Death doesn't and never will scare me. I only fear about what it would do to the people I care about most. I don't understand why my life is such a plaything for these fucking non-existent gods or whatever asshole is up there raining bad luck onto my very being. I just want to do my thing and be happy but apparently I'm not allowed that. Everything is literally becoming a cancer while I try not to fly off the fucking handle.
In the Flame lyricsâ Pyre
If anyone has a need for the lyrics to Supergiantâs latest song for their new game, I wrote them down!
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From the future me
I don't understand how people want to be absent during the process but present for the success. Talking smack during the journey but saying that they love you when you make it to places. You don't love me, you love what I made for myself. You want a cut of the prize without putting in the blood, sweat and tears that I did. Back then you all said I wouldn't make it so I broke the communications. I didn't need people who look down on what I wanna do. Toxic frauds that put you down before you're even back up from the last knock down. I found people who liked my ideals, picked me up and dusted me off when I didn't think I could pull through any more. Backed me on the way to success. They are the people who will stand with me at the end of the road. When I can stand by myself, doing what I do for me, I'll return the favour to them. Sixfold. Sevenfold. Tenfold. Starting with the respect, from telling me the truth and looking at me, eye to eye. Thanks to those who keep it real. Who kept up the support and the love, even when I was in the worst of places. Thanks to the haters too, you're the fuel to make me do even better.
To find yourself, think for yourself.
Socrates (via lupus-ex-machina)
âŚFindâŚsomeone who will tremble for your touchâŚSomeone whose fingers are a poem.
Janet Fitch, White Oleander (via thelovejournals)
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Aesthetic - Capricorn Sun, Capricorn Moon, Virgo rising.Â
You are an amateur magician in a supernatural world full of other magicians, half wolves, vampires and more. One day youâre walking home from the worst gig youâve ever had when a gang of half wolf/half humans are about to make you one of their own when suddenly you become an alpha wolf, they then freak out and run away. Turns out you had a âwolf disguise kitâ amongst your magician props. It is then you discover your true calling in this world: You are a prankster.