Epic Edits

HOA HOA HOA HOA HOA~~~

I have a serious problem 🤣🤣😝😝

12 hours ago | [YT] | 17

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I got a Nico Di Angelo phone case 😝😝

17 hours ago | [YT] | 23

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NOCEMBER?? 😭😭🙏🙏

1 day ago | [YT] | 21

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I don’t have any editing ideas~

1 day ago | [YT] | 14

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‪@that_jercy_shipper‬ I need your MEP part :)

2 days ago | [YT] | 19

Epic Edits

My chapter 2 and 3 :) *All capitalized words are meant to be italicized EXCEPT the words in the quote*


“Chapter 2: ESCAPE

Writing music was my only freedom. It gave me the liberty to escape from reality, where I didn’t have to live with all the pain. It was where HE didn’t exist, and where SHE was still alive. It was a place I could be happy, to an extent.

I had started creating lyrics when I was 12. I wrote them about a life I wished, with all my heart, was real. Where my house was one of kindness, not hatred. Where I had friends who cared about me. Where I didn’t have the irrational fears that had evolved from over the years. And where I didn’t have the pain, the torment, and the MEMORIES.

But eventually, it stopped working. I was still as tormented in my lyrics as I was in the real world. Because my mind knew it wasn’t real, no matter how much I dreamed, how much I wrote; it was ALWAYS THERE.

I soon realized though that I could write music to express my actual feelings, my whole life, into words. So I did just that, and it helped better than when I had written an imaginary life. It was like the weight of the world had lifted off my shoulders just a little bit, but it made things better. Some things, anyway.

I wrote about my misery: the one who caused it, the one who broke me, and the ones who never cared.

I wrote all the lies, all the truths, all the wonders, and all the scars.

I wrote about the sleepless nights, the nights I had cried myself to sleep, and the nights I wished I could scream until SOMEONE finally noticed me.

I wrote all the fears and all the wishes; the love that turned to hate, the anger, the sadness, the bitterness, the loneliness, and the kindness that had evaporated out of existence.

I wrote about the thoughts I could never say aloud, the empty smiles, and the silent shouts.

I wrote about THAT moment: the sound, the smell, the sight. Every dream, every cry, every scream, every blame, and every scar put into words. Every. Little. Detail. 

The instrumentation for my music described feelings of melancholy and hatred, never blissfulness or enjoyment. It always included soft pianos and deep bass.

I had written all of this in the course of 3 years. I hoped to publish all my music when I was 18, when I was finally free, so I could show all of my pain for the first time. I was also hoping to share it with the world so that no one would EVER have to be like me, alone and tormented.

When I was creating music, I felt… ALIVE. But fantasies and dreams always ended at some point. When I closed my notebook and came back to reality, Study Hall had ended, marking the end of the school day.

As I walked out the front doors of my school, that liveliness, the relaxation, had died, and my dream turned to my WORST NIGHTMARE.


Chapter 3: PRISON

It was a 3-mile walk to my house. It was the perfect distance; anything shorter would pass by in a second, and anything longer would break my composure.

But, although it was the perfect distance, I hated the walk. It gave me time to think. Thinking was BAD. Knowing what waited when I got to my house made it even worse.

To anyone in my neighborhood, when they saw me, they saw a normal, ginger-haired girl walking home from school.

But that was what I had created. That’s what I MADE them see. On the outside, I was composed; my feelings had been buried, and I wore a neutral face. I was still tense, obviously, but no one came close enough to notice that.

On the inside, I was terrified. My heart was beating so hard and so fast that it could’ve surely been heard from 5 miles away. I started hyperventilating and my hands started to shake. The bruises from over 2 weeks ago started hurting like they had just happened. The 45 minutes to my house passed by like seconds, and all of a sudden I was there.

I quickly composed myself again. He couldn’t see that. He WOULDN’T. Everything was buried deep inside of me. Everything. The tenseness of my back, the shake of my shoulders: GONE. Well, almost everything.

If I could, I would’ve walked to the ends of the earth to be away from that house. But it was my prison. So instead, I took a deep, calming breath before grabbing the key underneath the welcome mat and stepping through the front door.

‘Hello, Father. What would you like dinner to be tonight?’

My voice was a monotone, neutral. There was not a hint of alert or misery.

“Pork ribs,” he answered.

Not even a hello. He was sitting on the sofa, watching TV, never once even glancing at me. I was fine with that. Used to it.

My house should’ve been nice. The light blue walls, checkered chairs, and wooden tables should’ve given it a cozy, gentle feeling.

But the cracks in the walls, the missing legs of a chair or table, made that feeling impossible.

I took my shoes off and put them and my backpack against the wall by the front door. I immediately grabbed the pork ribs from the freezer and started cooking it.

My father never asked how my day was. Never asked if I had homework. Never asked if I needed help.

To him, I was insignificant. I wasn’t his daughter. I was a tool, an object he could get rid of at any time. I cooked dinner, cleaned the house, grabbed the mail, and he never did ANYTHING. I didn’t complain of course. But if my father really knew me, he would’ve seen the fear in my eyes whenever I looked at him.

He wasn’t an alcoholic. He’d never been diagnosed with having anger issues. He didn't hit me because I had gotten in trouble. He just… did it. Like he ENJOYED it.

After 1 hour, I finished making dinner and set up the table. I started cutting the pork when my father got up from the couch and walked behind me to sit down at the table. Instinctively, I flinched. That was the one thing I COULDN’T STOP from happening. Of course he had noticed that.

He screamed, ‘WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!’ and hit me in the back.

A memory of my father yelling at me and calling me names from a few years ago entered my mind, and I flinched again. I didn’t like yelling. Yelling meant pain.

He aggressively spun me around and slapped me in the face. The knife I had been using to cut the pork ribs sliced my hand and started bleeding out onto the floor.

“Clean this up,” he spat. “NOW. Then go to bed.”

With an unnoticed tremble in my shoulders, I nodded swiftly and said, "Yes, Father.”

I quickly grabbed a towel and bent down to clean the blood off the floor. Then I wrapped my hand and went upstairs.

I always did what my father told me. It was the safest option. The ONLY option. Even if that meant not eating dinner some days.

My room was small. It had just enough room for a bed, a shelf, and a closet. If I was the messy type, I would not have been able to navigate around my room.

I changed out of my clothes, brushed my hair, and then went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and look at my hand.

It had stopped bleeding, but it stung like crazy. It curved left from below my ring finger to the bottom of my palm. THAT’S GONNA LEAVE A MARK, I thought bitterly. I wrapped it up again and went back into my room.

I laid in bed and checked the time. It was 8:00. My stomach gurgled, but I ignored it. I hadn’t deserved dinner today. I stared up at the ceiling for two hours before grabbing, with my good hand, a framed picture from the inside of my pillowcase. It was of a young woman back-hugging a child. I stared at it longingly for exactly a minute. I did this every single day, at exactly 10 PM. And during this one moment, I let my feelings overwhelm me, and let my thoughts control me.

The group of boys from history played in my mind; they had broken my so-called “barrier” like it didn’t exist. WHAT DID THIS MEAN? I asked myself for the one-hundredth time. Obviously, it was nothing good, but what exactly would they do to me?

Then the blond boy specifically popped into my head. He had looked at ME. With CONCERN. I didn’t deserve that. I didn’t need that. I didn’t WANT that.

Or did I…?

But then came the memories. Over. And over. They became clearer at night, when there was no school to distract me.

A mother getting slapped and punched until she was blue and black all over. Then it was the child’s turn. The mother begged him to stop hurting the child, but that just made it worse.

Items flying EVERYWHERE: a chair to the floor. A table to the wall. A lamp to the ceiling. An umbrella, a baseball bat, a book; ANYTHING was a weapon.

That night it had almost ended… speeding down the road, twisting and turning nervously in the seat, afraid he would catch us, and then—

I hadn’t realized I wasn’t breathing until I was gasping for breath. I put the picture back in my pillowcase. The minute was over.

But the words were not.

USELESS.

WORTHLESS.

PATHETIC.

WEAK.

‘No… I’m not,’ I weakly tried convincing myself. 

But my vision had started to turn blurry from the tears that filled the brim of my eyes. So I curled into a ball and, my body facing the door, let the tears fall.

As I silently cried myself to sleep, and the memories and nightmares consumed me, I wished, not for the first time, that I could escape the house I had become trapped in.”

3 days ago | [YT] | 18

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I’ve finished chapters 2 and 3 of my story! Would you guys like to hear them?

3 days ago | [YT] | 20

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Mwahahaha 😈

5 days ago | [YT] | 15

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I was singing a SAD SONG in the shower and then I just started SMILING, while STILL SINGING, because I was thinking about a very cute and adorable moment between my OCs. It happened about five times over the course of three minutes😭😭

6 days ago | [YT] | 24

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‼️FULL‼️

✨I’M FEELING A WILLIAM SOLACE ANGST EDIT COMP✨

So here we are :))))

•15 spots
•Must be 20-40 seconds
•Have at least ✨one✨ effect/filter
•Due November 1st
•NO COPYING/AI/TEMPLATES
•HAVE FUN!!

1. ‪@ur.fav.tvrtlrৎ‬
2. ‪@TeamSokeefe-Solangelo‬
3. ‪@Zxfriend.143ৎ‬
4. ‪@Blue.L3M0N.ৎ‬
5. ‪@moonlark.editzz‬
6. ‪@Randomlife569‬
7. ‪@js.xnoth3r.1n.yr.stxry_ৎ‬
8. ​⁠‪@Shor3s.0f.Solxce‬
9. ‪@luckier.clover‬
10. ‪@CABIN7MUSICANDPOETRY‬
11. ‪@astras.evermore‬
12. ‪@jxson.grxce.and.i.ৎ‬
13. ‪@grxxk.editxr‬
14. ‪@edits.from.olympusৎ‬
15. ‪@Sahara-edits‬

‪@moonlark.editzz‬ ‪@Elina_DiAngelo‬ ‪@That.Greek.Mythology.kid.‬ ‪@Octxvian.Lover.ৎ‬ ‪@ur.fav.tvrtlrৎ‬ ‪@TeamSokeefe-Solangelo‬ ‪@edits.from.olympusৎ‬ ‪@CABIN7MUSICANDPOETRY‬ ​⁠‪@anti_social_demigod‬ ‪@Shor3s.0f.Solxce‬ ‪@ath3nas.appr3nt1ce‬ ‪@I-make-edits-of-pjo‬ ‪@WILLL.EDITZZ‬ ‪@js.xnoth3r.1n.yr.stxry_ৎ‬ @anyonegodsisuckattaggingpeople

6 days ago (edited) | [YT] | 30