you know Exactly what I'm talking about.
Some fruit flavored Fashion Illustration
is it possible for me to label my layers normal, constructive things that actually tell me what's on them instead of being random thoughts and lyrics? 9/10 brain cells suggest not.
The Forestmxsides -
Summary: Everyone knows not to go into the forest, it’s full of magic and creatures that haunt man’s worst nightmares. Unfortunately, it’s the only place left for him to go when circumstances become dire.
He was rushing away from home, the only home that he had ever known in the entirety of his life. The marks burned on his face like the snapping embers of a blazing fire, as the blisters on the edges of his skin had already been rubbed raw, bleeding freely now as his bare feet stung with the scratches of the thorns and thistles along his path. No matter the pain however, he did not stop pushing himself to run faster and farther away, as he didn’t dare to look back, not even once. His freely bleeding burns were howling in an agony that was unlike any other he’d felt before, as his now blinded eye was seeping in the tears that drenched his face. Stinging it as his feet barely grazed the ground as he ran.
He could hear the shouting behind him, just as clear as he had heard the screaming of his name as his once family chased him down mere hours ago. They had been looking to end him as eagerly as a fox would end a rabbits life at the end of a long hunt. He ran and he ran, until he could no longer feel the bottom pads of his feet, the stinging nettles turning everything below his ankles completely and utterly numb. It was only until his knees had started quaking like that of a tree that had been struck down by a storm, did he finally seem to realize that not only was his body is wracked with exhaustion. But there was no way that he could go a single step more.
The process of stopping was leagues more painful than continuing would have been. Stopping meant staying on his raw bleeding feet, stopping meant letting his screaming muscles get the better of him.
Regardless however he still stops, and it’s only upon stopping does he notice just where he has landed himself. The fact that he’s in the forest that he had been warned so many times to stay out of, the forest that many servants and maids had warned the other children about, the forest that had so many nasty rumors about it..that it was impossible to not know about it. But it was far too late now, and it wasn’t like he had any reason to care anymore anyways. He was as good as dead if he tried to go back to them.
It was only upon glancing down did he notice just where he had come to a stop at.
His blistered, sore, and exhausted feet bleeding freely on the bright green grass. Standing right in the center of a fairy circle.
The shock and horror that consumed him held him in place for only a moment, but even so, it was a moment too long. Before he could even think about remedying such a grievous mistake, a mistake that would likely cost him his very life. The sensation of a pair of ice cold hands resting, as solid as steel, on his shoulders stopped him dead in his tracks before he could even take a single step away outside of the circle of mushrooms. He was dead, there was no other way around this, he was so very dead. The fae that held him in place would not so easily let him leave, especially not since he had just stepped into their territory. He was doomed, and fae that held him in his place knew it too, the tinkling of laughter filled the air behind him cutting through the stark silence that his fear had filled. His will, his pure stubbornness that had caused him to run for hours in this very forest, turned to jelly as those icy cold fingers moved to turn him around. To make him look at the deathly beauty that would steal him away from the human world.
Then again…it wasn’t like he had much to live for anyway.
A scarred face, and a blind eye that nobody would ever find loveable. Let alone beautiful.
The fae wouldn’t find him beautiful or even remotely interesting given just how his legs were trembling from the pure terror that was rushing through his veins, so perhaps..if they were being merciful today. They would do away with him quickly, giving him a painless death, ending the suffering that he had already been put through.
If he was lucky that’s how it would go.
So he turned with as much courage as he could muster up in his exhausted body, and the sharp silver eyes that stared back at him made his breath catch in his throat as if someone had just punched him in the chest. The fae truly were beautiful, so much so that he felt like nothing more than a pile of mud in compared to the wonder that floated before him, with sharp silver wings, like that of the dragonflies that had often occupied the rose garden back home.
“Such a poor little human, who’s stumbled upon my woods,” The fae’s voice sounded like the loveliest of wind chimes on a sweet summer day as those ice-cold fingers grazed the fresh burn that was scabbing over on marred his face. “What is your name little wounded one? Tell me, and I might give you something sweet to nibble on, you’re surely tired. Are you not? Wouldn’t you like to sleep awhile?” The red lips from which the sweet promises poured from like the dripping juice of an apple, twisted into such a lovely smile. It was such a promise and such a smile that it nearly had him pitching forward into the fae’s arms right then and there. Nearly spilling all of his tears, worries, sorrows, and all of his secrets from what had happened in the past day. The temptation tugged at his tongue.
The idea of sleeping and never waking up was one that seemed all too lovely.
He wanted to sleep, gods did he want to sleep and forget everything that had happened. The thought of resting within the fae’s arms, secure and safe was a tantalizing one, of never knowing fear again. It was..something that tugged at his heartstrings to the point where he could feel his cheek resting more and more in the palm of the fae as the other’s thumb brushed away the drying tears with a carefulness that he just wanted to soak in for all eternity. How long had it been since someone had touched him..held him in such a manner? Held him in such a loving manner with no hate or malice behind it?
“I…” He swallowed thickly, as the fae’s eyes turned hungry for just a split second. It was a look that was split between greed and utter curiosity upon seeing the bitterly wounded human there among the forest. He wanted to speak, to spill every single thing that had hurt him. He wanted to so very badly, as exhaustion tugged at his weary bones, his knees begging to just sink down into the bed of grass. To relieve him of his consciousness, and to finally let the darkness consume him so that he wouldn’t have to worry about the waking world a second longer.
A tear dripped from his blinded eye, and the fae before him inched closer.
While the other’s fingers were as cold as ice, the tongue that drifted across his cheek was as warm as the stones before a winter fire. It was a warmth that made more tears spring to his eyes, as a sob tore through his lungs making an ugly gasping noise leave his lips.
Why was the fae stalling? Why wasn’t it just getting it over with? Why? Why? Why?
Those cold fingers drifted across his burned face once again as the other arm of the fae pulled him in closer. He couldn’t help but to sink into the other’s hold, to let his face rest against his collarbone as he wept and sobbed until the tears refused to come anymore. Until he was weeping without a single hint of wetness on his face, gasping and wheezing.
It was a while before the fae spoke again. “Your tears taste of the sadness of a lost one,” Those needle-like fingers ran through his hair, again and again, the repetition soothing him in a way that nothing else could, until his shuddering finally stopped and came to an end. “Speak to me your name, and I will end this sadness that consumes thee.”
He shook his head against the collar of the fae that held him, that had soothed his tears until there was nothing left.
“I…” It hurt to speak through his raw throat that was croaky from just about everything that he had gone through. “I don’t have a name anymore, s..so..” He swallowed thickly before eventually lifting his head up enough to look into those glinting silver eyes, that reminded him too much of the executioner’s ax, that would be waiting for him if he ever decided to go home. “You can call me Deceit.”
Do you know what I kinda wanna see? I wanna see Thomas say: “Yeah, I guess my logic is a little faulty here…” In regards to something that might confuse him, or in regards to something he doesn’t know about. Just something he doesn’t have all the facts on, and where he doesn’t know that those words both hurt Logan and echo what Logan thinks about himself. Just to have, every side step in and furiously deny such a thing. To tell Thomas that there is nothing faulty about Logan/his logic. To show Logan that they care, and they will lay down their lives for him. Because they care. Because they well and truly care enough for him that they’d do that without question.
Creative Writing Essaykatiesnonsense -
still a rough draft, but i like it
I’ve always been fine with being by myself. My mind is good enough company on it’s own, so making friends has never been top priority on my to-do list, not when I could simply keep to myself and be content with that fact.
Maybe that’s why I struggled to grasp the idea that sometimes, you have to be one to keep saying hello. The way friendships have gone for me in the past can generally be summed up as such: one, I met someone who I think is cool; two, we talk to each other for a time, maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks; three, we stop talking to each other altogether. I can’t say why this kept happening on their end of the relationship, but looking back, I can say that I never put as much effort in maintaining these friendships as I could on my end. Ah, passivity, my old curse.
It doesn’t bother as much as I suspect I should— nothing really does, at the end of the day, that’s just how I am— but I can understand, intellectually, that this is not a good pattern. Even if I don’t mind my semi-selfmade solidarity, I should strive to at least has some connections to those around me. Human nature, and all that.
So, about half-way through my Senior year, I came up with a plan. I would find several people I thought I could get along with, and would stick to them like burrs. Subtly, of course. I started in one of my classes, with two girls I had been put next to by the seating chart. I started with “Hello!” everyday, making sure to remember their names as quickly as I could. With in two weeks we were chatting regularly in between class activities and having fun working together— a rousing success, by all accounts. A month in and I was still saying hello, and we were still going strong. Two months in, and they still greet me whenever we passed each other in the halls. Compared to a passing friend from Sophomore year, who never seems to hear me when I call out her name, this is a great sign.
By now I have their phone numbers and could, theoretically, call or text them whenever I wanted, though I likely won’t. There is, after all, a great difference in friendliness and clinginess, and I’d rather not pass that line if I can. That’s might half the problem in my relationship struggles, but I prefer to take my introspection one step at a time. Dividing and conquering is by far the most effect strategy, in my opinion.
I’m afraid there is no grand ending to this writing. No deep conclusion, no secret to societal success. I can’t even be certain that the friends I’ve made and mentioned here will stay my friends, or even remember my name two weeks into summer vacation. But I can walk away from this final school year knowing that even if I didn’t make any long lasting friendships this time, I did at least put the effort in, and in the end I suppose that’s all you really can do. Put in the effort, be the first one to say hello, and hope that you can build a worthwhile relationship over such a small beginning.
My name's Jasper, I use she/he/they pronouns (I don't really mind which ones are used) and my interests fluctuate as much as my focus levels. As of now though, I'm interested in Sanders Sides and Thomas in general, musicals and plays (Starkid ones are my favourite atm), and writing pieces that I'll never finish.
If any of y'all want to talk, just send me a message! I'll try to remember to respond, and if I don't I apologise I'm either zoning out or I just,,,don't know what to say asjhdkajdk
Logan has a gecko in his bedroom, with the massive tank right next to his desk so that he can watch it and feed it while also working on whatever he has his mind on. Deceit often times likes to joke that he only comes to Logan’s room just to watch the gecko do his thing, but he also loves to listen to Logan ramble off facts about geckos as he’s feeding them.