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[Zoella❤]

" When you find your happy place, it most often involves a good book by your side." Anonymouse

[Kunzite]

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~Minecraftpuppy606

~Prompt 1

~Story below!
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WIP

[Yunjin]

marking res

[pillowa]

ʙᴜᴍᴘ!
"ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜰᴀɪʟ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ."
-ʀᴀʏ ʙʀᴀᴅꜱʙᴜʀʏ

[beeqlass]

mark!

[pillowa]

ʙᴜᴍᴘ!
"ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴀɢᴏɴʏ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʙᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴛᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ."
-ᴍᴀʏᴀ ᴀɴɢᴇʟᴏᴜ

[paria.]

mark! :3

[pillowa]

ʙᴜᴍᴘ!
"ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ꜱɪᴅᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ,"
-ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ

[Pyra Ilver]

User- Pyra Ilver
Prompt- #3
Word count- 314

Silver for silver, red for red, what we conceal still written clearly on your face in gross caricatures of human nature. The silver lines of scarring only covered by intricate twists and twirls, the shine of a burn hidden by rubies. Perfection is everything. That's all we know, that is what they tell you every day as you wake up. Even those with the most minor of flaws hide themselves behind iron masks, as if trying to hold evil within. Because that's what imperfection is, isn't it? The highest sin, struck down by heaven.

Then there are others, perfect, flawless, maskless. Paper people, drawn by the hand of God, with steady intent and desire. They are few and as paper as they look. Easily broken, easily persuaded.
Like I was.

Like when they told me it was safe to go into the city of masks at night, like when they told me nothing would happen if they were paid. Like the fool I was, I fell- deep deep into that twisted abyss of disaster, poised on the eddy of ruin. I didn't cry when the glass cut me, I didn't scream, I didn't protest, and all I thought was where will I get my mask?.

And now, gold and silver weave and dance across my pathetic façade. Everyone knows what I was, everyone knows what I am now. But I hide behind the work of another. Paper layers for a paper heart, paper deceit over paper truth. Imperfection over perfection. Because that's what imperfection is, isn't it? Something that covers who we are inside? Layer after layer, metal, stone, gems, paper, paper, paper, trying to hide what we see as flawed, but in reality is just, us.

My paper may be torn, first, second, but inside is unscarred, still drawn with intent and desire. Because we are all paper, inside and out, but is that such a bad thing?

[pillowa]

вυмρ!

“ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ'ꜱ ᴀ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ʜᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ʏᴇᴛ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ɪᴛ.”
― ᴛᴏɴɪ ᴍᴏʀʀɪꜱᴏɴ