there's script on my hands (＆ it kinda looks like poetry)

My gallery · by **ruse** » Thu May 12, 2016 4:21 pm

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ＴＨＥＲＥ＇ＳＳＣＲＩＰＴＯＮＭＹＨＡＮＤＳ（＆ＩＴＫＩＮＤＡＬＯＯＫＳＬＩＫＥＰＯＥＴＲＹ）
"dang this thing looks edgy ," quote by affinity/aftetasty/heavenondrugs/anything-else-u-may-know-me-as
(warning: these blocks of words are my trash writing)

01

song

02

QUESTIONABLY WORTHWHILE LINKS, ETC.
my aesthetic tumblr

(also found under the flower photo)

my writing tumblr
one-on-one rp 01 and 02

(both of my rp partners are extremely
amazing ??? like check em out pls)

coding storage
kalon

(her name is kitao akari and i love her)

idk what this is lmaoo

+ = multiple parts
- = the woRST

DIRECTORY,

act one // + -

artificial sun

BLOSSOM BLUSHES

-

PARTITIONER of the HEART

sunrise vs. sunset
act two // +

afraid to try (a2t) +

17. king-killer, red queen +
i was your icarus
love letter to a dead guy
ideally
candy floss violinist
one-word-based sentences
act three // +
jealous, falling
note to self(-love)
meminisee?
i don't know her
chatzy babbles

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My gallery · by **ruse** » Thu May 12, 2016 4:23 pm

HE WEARS HER SMILE

dashes of fire across his back, he is a vision of glinting, gleaming lights-
my hands, on his back, they are light now,
holding him captive,
wrapping around his torso,
fingers mussing his hair,
bated breath against ear,
smile on his skin.
brown eyes that glimmer like stars in the sky, depth deeper than oceans.
smirk like a sliver of the moon- i wonder if he borrowed it from her (i wonder if he'll return it back anytime soon).
his laugh is in the shell of my ear, it dances like the light on him, and i dimly entertain the thought, if we could just stay like this. (us. him. me. here.) but the words never make it out, silent syllables on my tongue, pressed between my lips,
and he is gone, gone (gone).
with him, my heart- gone, gone (gone).

TIPTOE

she always felt like she was stepping on thin ice nowadays; one day probably, she'd get tired of tiptoeing on frozen waters.

LOANER HEART, LONELY GIRL

your love is a hand-me-down from your (heartbreaking e)x's and o(h my freaking god what did i do ogo dohgod o my frea-)'s, and it's battered and frayed at the edges, and i took it as it was, in loaner condition, stamped with the label USED (it's bright, it's loud, i skimmed over it and now i'm drawing back from my mistake). and i took it for granted, that it was free, no cost -but i didn't take into account, the interest that'd kick me later on- i'm on the floor (black tears, cold, empty hands). your love, it was never mine to keep, it was just to hold and borrow and test, while your (heartbreaking e)x's and o(h my freaking god what did i do ogo dohgod o my frea-)'s reconsider and try for the gift receipt they crumpled at the bottoms of their purses, hand it back to you, say a few honeyed apologies and win you over. take your heart from my hands, (take my heart from my hands,) leave me on the floor, (leave me in the dark,) leave me without a goodbye.

SIX WORDS TO DESCRIBE OUR TRAGEDY

don't let go, i need you.
my hands are cold, heart gold.
time hesitates; your hands, on mine.
breaths mingling, hands tingling, hearts singing.
as long as i have you.
in your kisses, i find love.
your lips, they taste like home.
my thoughts are full of you.
i let myself be carried away.
everything is fine- if you're here.
if i fly, will you follow?
note to self: remember to breathe.
your words brandish me with bruises.
in your sturdy hands, i shatter.
i should've never fallen for you.
empty hands, dry eyes, longing heart.
as long as i had you.
your name's on my skin; a mistake.
you promised me no more heartbreak.
stop holding on. just let go.

I AM;
FIRE

i am an outlet for these feelings, they burn inside- so slowly, like a flame, waning off its candle. i am a victim of ignition; burn bright until my light dims.

YOURS

i am noctorious for tripping; i fall over so easily, so i promised myself that i wouldn't fall again. then i met you.
(i fell. head-over-heels).

DREAMING

i am the laughter in your dreams, the dancing girl who gleams. whose eyes you lose yourself in, and smile you've memorized to every detail. i am who you fall in love with, no hesitation, just falling. i am the girl who is remaking herself to fit the vision of your dreams; tell me now, is it working?

WORDS I ASSOCIATE WITH THE THOUGHT OF YOU (feat. no particular order)

standstill, heartbreak, differences, distance, tentative, lonely lovely, longing, him, ending. begin, tension, boundaries, high,
(the list becomes less legible from here on; my thoughts are a mess when it comes to you).

YOU TOLD ME, DON'T DROWN

you told me that you were worried that i was gonna go in too deep, and you said that you thought that it was already too late. i was unsure then, i had become numb and immune to everything besides love. two weeks later, you told me the same thing, and yes; i know now that i am in too deep, but i'm not afraid of drowning, and besides- i'm not drowning yet.

YOUNG GIRL

he thinks this is just a young girl's crush; i don't have to hear it outright to know that, his words betrays enough standing alone. he thinks it's the pretty face that won me over, so how do i say it's his personality i walked into love with?
i am in love with the details that make up people:
whether you laugh without inhibitions or hesitations, or take a moment to try to hide your thinly veiled amusement;
if you get lost in your own thoughts, or in the conversation;
stand independent, or lean on others for support;
hand over trust blindly, or guard your heart completely.
i am in love with the details that make up people.
you,
you sent me birthday wishes through the computer,
played your violin until it gave up on you (but not, never vice versa);
you, you are insecure of yourself, the image you project,
gave a girl her favorite flowers in return for a kiss she gave you at your door,
sometimes proves to be the very definition of meme;
polite to a point, never failing to become an ungentlemanly mess.
told me you liked me, though not in the way i did.
i fell for yours.

DEPENDENCY

he looked like stability;
different from all the boys before,
with their shaky foundations and unsteady hands.

TENSE(S)

brighter than the sun, more dazzling than the stars, more luminous than the most glorious object to take company in the solar system. he was her stars and she was his sky. he is her solar system and she is the gravity that strings him together.

ICARUS

he never understood the comparison of love to a moth to a flame- he did see her like the sun, of course, (obviously,) though he saw himself as a tree; with limbs that extended and longed to hold her warmth in his winding arms, and roots that roamed for a way out of their stiff posture. she was warm and radiating and his and lovely and lonely- (until she wasn't).
he borrowed wings from his butterfly friends; he called himself a foolish boy, who's mistaken himself for a moth now. he said this with a breathless laugh, but his eyes were warmth that echoed her smile.
if she was the sun, he was a moth. no, rather, icarus,
that boy who had wings and went to meet the sun,
rubbery wings that wore off too soon,
before due time and let him fall,
xx fall
xxx(fall).
and he had fallen so hard. they say that you don't fall in love, but more like, walk into it, as gradually as you do; noticing, but never realize before you wake up with all this love in you that you don't notice until after time decides to take pity on you. but eventually, you are bound to trip and fall and struggle with blood in your hands and tears traveling down with the pull of gravity and the weight of sorrow. and that's what he did exactly, precisely what he did.
he wishes now he knew sooner, that it's impossible to love the sun and have her love you back, (it'd be much less trouble carrying an unrequited love in your heart for the moon who never showed the other half of her face, or herself).

WRONG AND RIGHT

he has these hands, that feel like he can hold the weight of the world with, and this smile that's like the sun, and that back (my god) that seems as big as far as the sky stretches. and a personality that's tailored to the fairytale persona but all the while more developed, more whole than that fake smile and falsely kind countenance. he holds the door open and innocently returns my smiles, even when he's with her. even when he's with her, he disregards the desperation in my eyes and likewise, i disregard the fact he's arm candy to her and he's hers. i mean- it's okay, right, to borrow him in my daydreams and nights alone and awake, as long as i return him in the morning, right?

FORGETTING YOU (how do i stop?)

am i forgetting you? i think i'm forgetting you. it's hurting. it's throbbing. i'm panicking. i don't want you out of my memory yet; i still have words in me for you. i am still yours, i'm just waiting for you to take my hand. you are my muse, you are my dreams, you are the hope that's dim but there in my shadowy nights. please don't leave me. do you know, that my heart still skips a beat when i read your name? when i see you, i don't think. i just smile to myself. i want to hear you play violin one day. i want to catch you asleep and hold your hand and kiss your neck because i'm too short to peck your cheek, i want to laugh at the same things you do and brush your thumb against mine, or maybe even across your lower lip and bring you flowers when i see the slightest frown tugging at your lips, and hold you when you're at your breaking point and be there, be there, be there for you. i'm wasted on you, the thought of you drives me mad still, but i know, i know you don't think the same of me; i write your name in cursive on my math papers, i imagine how the light would catch on your jawline as i sketch it out onto watercolor paper. what if, we knew each other in another life? met in some other circumstance? would you fall for me? would you walk into love with me? where would we be, i ask myself this constantly (the quiet is killing me).

LIKE BLUE

black-and-white colorblind, you are what i imagine blue to be like, to look like, to feel like. there is nothing like you, or the hue of you; you sparkle and shimmer and gleam, sometimes my vision gets spotty and i have trouble looking you in the eyes. but never do i shy away from your gaze --

My gallery · by **ruse** » Mon May 16, 2016 7:15 am

ARTIFICIAL SUN

he's in my chemistry class, he's the light from the projector casting onto the screen in the room full of black. he's the class clown; and his smile is never dim, really. it makes me wonder if this is a facade, or if it's just me thinking this, because, you really can't smile all your pain away (i should know, i've tried.)
he still doesn't know his salts or his acids or bases, and the teacher picks on him because of this (he's smarter than he lets on, i pass his papers to him; i remember a's in purple ink on the right-hand corners and his name brushing my thumb). but i do. maybe, i think this cautiously and wearily, i can teach him and he'd smile like the sun's human counterpart and laugh what i think is the clouds' voice, and i'd blush as if i were burnt by his gaze (would he say thanks and call me copper tellurium?)
one time (once) i saw him off-guard, and there were bags under his eyes (were they always there? i think maybe his smile was just making them less defined; distinguished) and his voice didn't beam like it usually did, his head was low and eyes cast down- instead of upwards, daring and captivating (and fake). but, he seemed more real in that moment. he was the rain and the darkness in a dreary storm that takes weather forecasters by surprise, and the shadows lying low under his eyelashes were the puddles that don't evaporate immediately. but they did fade eventually, and there's still that residue of shadow sleeping, seeping beneath his eyelashes that he hides with the brightness of his smile. he's the cute boy in my chemistry class, he's the glare of artificial sunlight casting onto the screen in the room full of black. he's the guy whose laugh is as contagious as blowing dandelions in the swell of summer; and his smile is never dim, really- but i'm pretty sure, the brighter it is, the faker it becomes.

My gallery · by **ruse** » Mon May 23, 2016 8:21 am

BLOSSOM BLUSHES AND LOVE LIKE DRIZZLE

when she falls in love, it's like rain.
she does not expect it at all; if anything, she imagined it to come at full force like a storm at sea and all at once, all its weight. and never with him, this boy who has no correlation to her besides their like stature, and whose smile is like the peeking sun on a day made out of endless rain. instead, it's delicate (pitter-patter, pitter-pat), quiet, never-faltering. she does not foresee his words when he asks for a portion of her time on a summer day after the royal meeting finishes, nor her answer to the aforementioned.

yes. i will date you.

he is giddy when she says yes, and his smile again resembles the hushed beauty of the sun emerging above dreary clouds and infinite rain. she blushes lightly like a spring bud, and turns her gaze away from the secondary heir when she feels the tips of her ears blossom into brighter variants of pink.

they date. it's not loud at all like what she's seen from her imagination or books, but rather, it's like rain (still) being with him. her descent into his love is slow and deliberate. she falls for his endearing show of a smile, the contemplative look his eyebrows develop examining a more difficult text. his trembling hands as he compares her elegance to the iris swaying in time with his heartbeat and wavering fingers. the way he seems to delve into her kiss like they're both drowning and can't breathe and their lungs can't hold any oxygen in (because the lungs have become a home for their love). the way he seems to ask permission to press his lips against hers in the gentlest manner, with a fragile, unfaltering gaze (ghosting breath and beautiful, brooding eyes).
he looks at her like she looks at her favorite plays, and he loves everything she can't about herself. she braids small strands of his hair into intricate knots with nervous fingers (i-i'm sorry, i apologize; braiding hair is one of my nervous habits, she says one day when it's just them and he puts his hand on hers, feels the tremor that take ahold of her butterfly hands, i don't mind, just keep them in so i can see them later in my room, he replies, with subtle color in his cheeks) and he leaves kisses by her ear and lovely, lovely (longing) words by where her heart resided.

avyn queens, you should just fall in love with me, already.

she does not respond with her lips but with her thoughts. (pitter-patter, pitter-pat).

what if i already have?

the summer eventually draws to an end. her suitcase and bags and multiple dresses are by the door of her room (temporary home) now. she looks back at her bed and the window and the balcony and the closet and tells herself that she had to go sometime (it couldn't have lasted forever). she tells herself these things, nursing her lower lip between her teeth anxiously, to ease the biting urge to break into sobs like a storm. the door snaps open and she feels her walls begin to crumble ever so delicately, but she hides it with the weakest smile.
he comes by her room in a rush, and his breath doesn't have time to catch up. his words are missing momentarily, but he finds them just as fast as his gaze finds her face.

were you planning to tell me (or leave me for lost)?

she sees the hurt. hears it; clear as day (without the drizzle pouring down the garden walls of her heart). she does not respond at first, and when she does, it's with her thoughts, again, and then her lips form words and she remembers the pressure of his lips against hers. the memory burns.

pitter-patter, pitter-pat; pitter-pat,

pit pat pit pat

she knows he doesn't deserve only two words. if anything, he deserved at least three more (i love you). but she doesn't know how to say it, she only knows that she's not good enough for this boy, who has no correlation to her but similar position and whose laugh she wanted (and still wants) to live in. he reminds her of her sister in some fashion; he would be a much better fit for her than she.
he falters. he walks to the chair by her former closet and clings onto it like he did with her, and she wonders dimly, if he looked as lonely holding her in his arms as he does clutching the arms of the chair.

this

it's spiraled far from it.

so much

when have you ever been wrong, avyn?

no answer.

he doesn't question it. he borrows her habit of biting his lower lip, his teeth cradling the edge like he's about to fall (isn't he, though?). he manages a poker face, he seems to recall his lessons as your highness, house of vipers.

i love you.

she does not fall in love again (she's still in the hollow of love and her lungs still are the residence for her love for him). their world of just the two of them seems to no longer hold rainwater on the petals of the blush flowers nor dancing on the edges of his eyelashes and strands of their brunette hair. they are good friends now, and they pretend they've never touched each other's lips or offered shy smiles to each other. they could be mistaken for best friends at this point. they are captivating in how competitive they are, always trying to achieve something more than the other. whenever they meet, it's bright noise and shared laughter that never settles (it's almost like a sunny day, right?).
their families' relationship is rocky now, and it's treacherous to try to climb over the differences (in power, stature, ambition). his father had taken the smaller kingdoms hostage, but nothing seems different to her (everything's screamed in the same way to her since their parting).
when she receives an invitation to the main castle, she does not expect it.
nor the contents of the letter sitting inside, thinly sliced paper and fancy script offering her the chance to improve her standing, (as well the probability of falling in love again).
she takes it. even if she does not know if she'll fall a second time, even if she holds her feelings for him close and tender to her heart, like she's holding rainwater between her touching palms.

(pitter-patter, pitter-pat, pitter).

My gallery · by **ruse** » Thu May 26, 2016 11:03 am

he had pretty hands (that he used to break me)

the first time i fell in love --
like hell, i'd remember.
and a note, it's never that you fall in love, actually; it's more of a gradual thing and you never notice it until you're walking in this dreamscape and there he is, and he's like a sunrise (spilling over the horizon, draping warm color over calm, calm morning waters) and you're there, but you're not. i remember someone told me not to go for the guys with pretty hands; they'll use those pretty hands to partition your heart (without hesitation) and crumple it like a bill you're not planning on paying anytime soon. discard you, like you don't exist at all.
so the falling in love thing? i think it's like a theory, like that cell theory (mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, my mind drones without color, without consideration of thought). so of course, i would recall nothing of the sort;
but walking into love?
yes, i remember it vividly -- i remember it catching me by surprise and taking my hand to a place with just him and me (me and him), i remember laughing until it felt like my lungs would never breathe another dose of oxygen, i remember his pretty hands wavering over my shoulders, kisses i'd felt like i'd drown in, cheekbones i felt like could cut through heaven and nirvana, and hell, anything; i remember a promise we'll never keep, and pretty hands waving me goodbye (without [seemless] consideration of thought).

- ─ ───── WRITER'S NOTES ────────────── ─── ── ─ -
possible series?? more like snapshots honestly; idk but i like this voice so imma roll with it aight; basically a girl is like 'lmao what is love fr' and then a guy forces his way into her life and she be like 'o man'; a typical story with more metaphors and embroidered words than needed.

My gallery · by **ruse** » Sat May 28, 2016 2:50 pm

SUNRISE VS. SUNSET

often, sunsets are associated with (cheesy) classic romanticism; a gilded vision, twin silhouettes connected by intertwined hands, a kiss and fingers on a collarbone, jawline contrasting like someone dragged a highlighter across it. a boy who says he'll stick with you through hurricanes and the good days. a girl who falls hopelessly in love despite the pink and red protests clear on her face. a love you believe is only made for the movie audience and never goes deeper past your ankles on the shallows of the beach water.
but consider this: morning.
there is a light hiding behind the trees, lying low until the clouds shift for a melodramatic entrance. a day that doesn't start until the sun wakes up, your eyes fluttering open like a butterfly's flitting appendages; there is nothing besides opportunity and possibility and probability, it's a blank canvas waiting to be ruined by your artistry. a hand is draped over your shoulder as carelessly as the curtains shielding you and her from the light moving from behind the trees. lips you remember on yours just the night prior. feet dangling over the corner of the bed like the edge of a cliff; a snore that sounds, deep and breathless and you don't know how you can possibly find it attractive (or even, cute) but you do anyhow.
a day where you feel like you've held your breath for your life entire until the moment her eyes (they resemble the sun in their affluent aureate, the green of april grass is the backsplash to the bits of gold) stagger open, eyebrows furrow; you kiss the spot between them like it's made for your mouth to touch. the skin there unfolds, smoothes like crisp newspaper between fingertips and she smiles; your cheeks blush incandescent.
loose laughter follows- there is no concept of time between the two of you (thank god it's only saturday) and you take your time even as the sun protests outside, the birds chatter endlessly outside your windowsill. you don't leave the security of your blanket (you are a cocoon, a butterfly waiting to blossom) until your hear and smell the sizzle of bacon, the ding of the toaster. the sunrise that was outside hours ago has long moved into your shared kitchen; you see it reflected in her eyes, her smile and laugh, the unceremonious way her hair falls over one part of her face (a win and lose all at once) and her showing bra strap, her shirt sleeve falling (or rather yours, since she's wearing your favorite band pullover; traded in her peplum top for a makeshift pajama t-shirt). you hear the sun in her voice and yours too, when you say good morning and a rushed i love you.

My gallery · by **ruse** » Wed Jun 01, 2016 4:18 am

PACIFIC OCEAN SCREAMER or, tenth year penguin

i've breathed the winds of hurricanes,
i've met the reincarnations of writers victim to the enlightenment, artists to the cause of renaissance art;
tasted a dream one time ago, danced with gravity on the stage of kindergarten shenanigans
cried salt-water trails that stemmed from the pacific ocean;
i'm made from stardust, i used to be a star older than this body
and i ate a hot dog from mexico once,
screamed at the sky until i thought someone could hear me
tugged a kite along until it flew away like the birthday balloon i had the eve of my tenth year
left a trail of pennies on the concrete sidewalk, like hansel and gretel in my old storybook
i made a stranger laugh one time when i almost tripped over my feet and waddled like a penguin;
i foster plants by donating my carbon dioxide for their photosynthesis,
i'm made out of stars before who's cried like a storm but laughed like a hyena afterwards;
and y'know, you're just as magnificent.

FAILED REVOLUTIONARY

in her kiss, i taste revolution;
frenchmen screaming, boys of chocolate skin and faraway descent hollering
they sound like their voices stretch across seas,
i feel like
the sound of my heart against my xylophone ribs stretches across seas
and her mouth is on mine, a stealer of breath, a giver of desperation;
if i'm the frenchman screaming and the chocolate boy hollering, she's the
monarchist with a crown heavy with my blood, and a kiss that drowns;
beck and call, she'll take me down easy,
stop the battle in my lungs, sweep me away before i can cry, liberté, égalité, ＆ fraternité;
she's the queen, she'll put down the rebellion
before my lips yell for a revolution.

DROWNER(s) unfinished

when she kisses him, she is reminded of days and days of sitting by the fire and reading of fantastical adventures and hearing the fire burning on oxygen and wanting to amplify the soprano of flickering heat capering in orange and red and gold smears; captivation by fire, his cheekbones soft in the candlelight. shuddering flames that engulf her, trade her breath for fire almighty, when he touches her and heat blossoms from that spot on and spreads throughout her like an uncontrolled wildfire. careless girl meets dangerous boy, playing at something more than friendship but less than love

CAERULEUS ROMANTICS

shallow kisses like chlorine water, we jump in without precaution;
the taste of salt is vibrant against your lips-
your hands feel like silk against my skin,
i am a mermaid, and i'm reeling you in;
there's no warning, my whispering keeps you at bay
the sound of your heart beating plays percussion
to the voice of the ocean kissing my ankles,
this is a dangerous love we play at; careless lovers,
caeruleus romantics;
your words against the shell of my ear,
a passing i love you i laugh off like a child building a sand castle,
you fell for my honey words like a sinker to gravity;
(who's the fisherman? who's the prey?)
i am a siren, and i'm watching you falter.

STRANGER'S HOME

one time i
took a plane to new york city,
expecting snow and receiving dirt
stuck between the motifs of my shoe soles,
taking a detour to a hair salon on the way to the nintendo store
walking ten blocks without direction,
using headphones for earmuffs
a view and a sun and its playground the cityscape;
eating watermelon while getting lost (again)
finding the way back to the hotel,
hiding by the entrance because it was warm there
smiling at a stranger,
bumping shoulders with another passerby;
shopping only with the eyes,
my throat aching more than a broken heart or a smarting cheek, from screaming for a boy
who'll never recognize my voice like i do his
a poster that cost twenty dollars but i'd pay fifty dollars for
a song that shook and trembled like the fire standing taller than him
a hundred more photos sitting in the storage of my phone,
lack of snow, smattering of money left in my heavy pockets
airplane ticket in hand, returning back to the homeland
yearning girl who's homesick for a city she's only met once / and a thousand times before in her dreams

TONE-DEAF DEAD kimiuso!au for miraculous ladybug, in which adrien is arima kousei and mari, miyazono kaori

he glances at marinette, her hands mirroring his, (her smaller ones resting on his) caressing the keys. there's a light tune tickling her vocal cords, he wants to laugh for happiness. but for a moment, he sees her smile, her hands under his, the sadness that swept him away from music before, his composure breaking. he hears himself being stolen by salt-ridden tears and memories colored in grays, and a hand reaches out from a place not in his personal hell; a voice sounds,
"it's alright, adrien." i'm here, marinette's hands say, rubbing circles on his back in a comforting sort of way, and slowly, he feels his worries take off like exhaling a breath. he takes her in his hands, pressing her body against him, until the sobs run dry and her shirt is the wake of a hurricane.

My gallery · by **ruse** » Wed Jun 01, 2016 5:50 am

PERPETUAL THOUGHTS, WAVERING PRESENCE

there is a boy about two hundred years, who wears winter in his eyes and a loose tunic with tugging sleeves, a smile more mischievous than the waning glimpse of the man in the moon; hair, a shock of white. a boy paired with capable hands that conjure delicate, embroidered frost and white blankets of snow, blue eyes like the pool and the sky of his origin story (blue eyes who hide twin snowflakes in the hollow ponds of melancholy). in his hoodie pocket he holds perpetual thoughts (who am i? why am i here? why am i alone? why me?) and a wavering presence. no one sees him, they only hear of him; they call him jack frost, with his nimble feet that have walked the earth a thousand times before and whose laugh that the wind loves to carry and sleeves carry more (weight) tricks than the everyday adolescent.
the boy learns to fly by mimicking geese in seventeenth-century canada (for a while, his tongue is french, english tinged with the articulation of the language of romance), and he flies like them too, with arms outstretched and hand with wide widths between his fingers. his hair brushes against his face and it never grows, it's static like he is, but he doesn't mind and he forgets even, when he's flying and calling the wind his friend and ally (who happens to ship him anywhere he needs to go with relative ease). it's different in the skies for him, above the clouds and the people and the desperation, he doesn't have to try; he can just be.
he travels the world, but he has no aim. he lost it a while ago, when too many people passed through him and took the breath away from the boy's redundant lungs (he doesn't need oxygen, not at all; but he likes the feeling of tricking himself that he's also human). sometimes, he gets a rise out of knowing he's the cause of laughter, impromptu snowball fights, and abrupt cancellations of school in the winter. he flies over heads, throws compliments and insults alike, just to see if they ever react (and they never do). he is alone and it's a thought that haunts him when the stars speckle the sky like spilled glitter, when the moon's glare is the brightest. he only screams in his mind now; he's long realized yelling at the moon (with an actual voice, and sound, sound passing through his lips and his sparkly, gritted teeth) is a waste, but it hardly stops him.

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!!!! jack frost!
another series-kinda-deal (this time tho, in limited omniscient) i'm working on?? and it takes place not long after his rebirth, now known as jack frost instead of jack o. for rn i'm working on characterization and i want to get his character on point and do him canonical justice. but it'll gradually warm up with some plot with elsa? bc i'm a terrible jelsa shipper?? (i blame at the center by therentyoupay, this is my excuse bc it's like my jelsa bible haha)

My gallery · by **peachy keen-** » Wed Jun 01, 2016 11:29 am

My gallery · by **ruse** » Fri Jun 03, 2016 5:14 am

17. KING-KILLER, RED QUEEN

♕

your name is sitting on the edge of my lips, waiting to fall out as a whisper; /
there's a hitch in my breath as you brush your thumb / against my lower lip; / this is a dance we play, the two of us /
try to break me down, i'll get you to bow / a caress to beat through my walls and / take them down, a hand on your cheek to try for a facade of ease /
you were a king-to-be once, but you're no more than / a shadow today, a tall one who's succumbed / to the boy i love /
( only seventeen, and / already a monster )
a fire in your hand but it shivers / only above your palm and never leaves / to scorch, a vestige / like its master /
steady arms that don't tremble, but a heart / that's about to crumble /
traitor prince, / kiss me until your wounds've healed / i'm in love with your brother, but i only know your touch /
we sleep in the same bed and / i always find myself hugging your arms back, / before the sunlight breaks into the window /
you used to smile brighter, but / that was before you saw a king fall / and another take his place /
( only seventeen, and / already a monster )
a woman's cruel laugh that shakes your morals and / a battle you're bound to lose / but only fight / when you see me and my quavering hands / without the buzz of lightning in my palms /
once, i compared you to a cliff / and i, the girl ready to throw herself over the edge / i am falling, but i don't feel physical pain /
how does it feel to be used, mare barrow? / a question posed at me / spilled from your lips, the boy / who didn't mean to kill his father and / whose brother gave him the moniker, / traitor prince /
a voice i don't know, / a voice colder than the cells we sat in together /
the fight's lost in your eyes, he used his brain to beat your brawn /
we danced together once, / and it ended in a kiss to a song with a rhythm / that plays in my head like a nightmare but / words i don't care to recall /
i went back to the castle and kneeled down to him, / traitor prince; / i'll save you like you did me, a hundred times more /
they told me something / once upon a time, / just a few months ago, / that you'd always choose me, /
even if i had your brother to love, / even if it was your crown and heritage against / the little lightning girl who dearly hated you /
we could've been once, but that was before i fell in love with the king-killer //

A BOY ARMED WITH LIES

♕

tragedy painted across his eyelids // a boy who lied more than he breathed, / who made a home out of a shadow; melancholy-colored eyes, / a practiced smile he never forgone / a desperate kiss with hands at the base of her neck / a girl who’s a stone starting to drown // he wishes he didn’t lie //

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some stuff from the red queen universe tbh
maven is my favorite character omg u don't knowwwww (i find his character to be so impossibly captivating and he's so interesting to read about idk he is just gr10)
and 10/10 i'll probably be posting more of this red queen stuff later on when i feel up to it <:
also a warning - both of them are spoiler-heavy oops
also thank you for the compliment up there? it means a lot, thank youuu <33 (again, i'm sorry friend for the overabundance of thanks and idk how i do the thing? i'm just here until my fingers give out ???)