The High Priest lay on the cobblestones, feeling the heat of the flames licking the wall, feeling the weight smoldering vestments settle on him, the burden of tradition chaining him down.
"Please . . . spare this temple."
No answer. The fire began to burn the tapestries, and the heat became unbearable. Blood and ash had mixed, and were indistinguishable. The Dreamsmith had been right. The false prophet had been correct. The doom was upon them.
"Doom?"
The High Priest jerked
The fluorescent lights of Mr. Hemmingsworth’s AP Sociology class hum with a clinical, soul-sucking frequency. I sit three rows back and two seats over from Luanne, hidden behind the broad, stiff shoulders of my own jacket. Mr. Hemmingsworth is droning on about “social structures” and “the invisible threads that bind us,” but all I can see is the island of oak where Luanne sits alone.
She doesn’t look like an invisible thread. She looks like a jagged, purple lightning bolt in a room full of
Ok. The reason for the odd title and thumbnail is because I'm gonna start keeping the after-midnight writing separate from the daytime ones. I wrote these after midnight last night, which was technically today, but that's just confusing. Plus, I want to post them now, but also might write more today, and then would have to go back and edit to add them. So it makes sense, right? Also the reason for "22?" is because it works I guess and still fits alphabetically between .../22 and .../23. So yup.
Better Person
Sometimes you just have to suck it up,
And be the better person.
Sometimes you just have to realize,
That your feelings don’t matter.
Sometimes you just need to see,
That you don’t need to argue.
You don’t need to complain,
You can just do it,
And enjoy it,
Enjoy helping others.
Deeper Understanding
You know when you really get someone?
When they say something,
And are ridiculed?
Dismissed?
Silen
For Week 2 of this series, we’re talking about the Secret Wardrobe—that first piece of clothing or jewelry that actually felt like you, even if you only ever wore it behind closed doors.
When you’re a trans girl navigating the early stages of transition, the world feels like a place where you’re constantly performing. You wear the "boy clothes" like a heavy set of armor that doesn't quite fit, waiting for the moment you can go home and take the mask off. But for me, the first time I felt li
Too Much
Just a meal.
Just a meal.
Can I just eat a meal?
Clearly not.
I want to leave.
Won’t they please stop.
This time it’s too much.
Too loud.
Too much.
Too much.
I can’t.
I can’t.
Let me leave.
Please just stop.
Please get along.
Please stop.
Please.
Please just be quiet.
Please be nice.
I beg you.
I can’t do this.
I can’t sit here.
It’s too much.
So much.
I do
I wrote this kinda late yesterday, so I'm publishing it now the next day.
Unlived
She sat with them, happy.
She sat with them, a rare joy.
She sat with them, being herself—or trying.
She sat there in one of the few amazing moments of her life.
…
She walked with them, through the night.
She listened as they talked, sometimes joining.
She rarely spoke, however.
That was her way—as long as she could remember.
It could be hell, but it was
function isFraction(num) {
var numMod = num % 1;
if (numMod==0){
return false;
} else {
return true;
}
}
The stars are beautiful
tan(90)
Poetry
Coding
Writing
Math
Worldbuilding
Trigonometry
Roleplaying
STEM
Humanities
AP CompSci
English
Sudoku
Reading
Logic
Emotion
Bitter, caffeinated drinks,
You’re pretending to love pouring it,
Waking from eyeing dark drinks,
Darkened eyes from awaking.
It’s poured love - to pretenders,
You’re drinking caffeinated bitterness.
Risky choices. Death the punishment
Deserving, not doing, wondrous things
Wonder does not deserve punishment
The dead choose risks.
Did I really miss three days? Oopsie.
I’m a Heart
Sometimes I feel like a heart,
In this cycle.
Never stop working,
No rest.
But I can’t rest—can’t stop.
I’m on the treadmill—not slowing down.
I’m on the wheel.
To stop means chaos.
To not means…a cascade.
So I keep going.
Check it off, momentary relief, sigh and continue.
Thus is the true cycle of life.
If this is even life.
It’s not what I dreamed of
Why did he die when I lived?
Why do people call me by his name?
Why did he have to make me?
When he knew he would not live?
I call myself a monster
And people nod their head.
I am a monster
That much I know
But I was his monster
I am a monster for stealing his name
I am a monster
Because I stole his name
People remember me, not him.
Why don’t they remember him?
I am a monster
Because they remember me
Documenting history is important,
We cannot repeat mistakes.
If we don’t remember, it will happen again and again.
War, slavery, lies, wooden stakes.
Wooden lies, enslaved war, again and again.
Happenings, will it remember?
Don’t we?
If mistakes repeat, can’t we?
Important is historical documentation.
Untitled. Blank. Unknown.
We don’t label things we don’t care about.
We shrug it off, for it doesn’t matter.
Doesn’t it? For off, it shrugs us about.
Caring, not d
The High Priest of Plot staggered through the temple, bleeding. The end had truly come, just as the Dreamsmith had warned him. Demons had come from the sky, thousands of them, attacking the cliffside temple. The withergeists had returned to the Thread once more.
He gasped, clutching his side and slumping against the wall. The temple was burning . . . Blades above, he needed to get to the reliquary . . .
He had fought them off, the withergeists, but at great cost. The western wing of t
Restrained
Do you ever feel,
Restrained?
Do you want things,
You can’t have?
Or don’t have?
Or won’t have?
Do you feel like what you truly want…
…is wrong?
And therefore…
…you just continue along?
Not loving what you do,
But pretending to.
Not being passionate,
Not expressing yourself,
Not being you,
Not exploring,
Not fulfilling,
Your inner truth.
Have you ever been scared,
The smudge on my thumb is stubborn. It’s a deep, galaxy-purple stain that refuses to wash off, a leftover mark from mapping the Iron Peaks until two in the morning. I like the way it looks against my skin—a reminder that I can build something out of nothing.
I check the mirror. I don’t look for a person; I look for a vibe. The green turtleneck is clean, free of orange cat hair for at least the next ten minutes. I pull it on, feeling the wool hug my neck like armor.
An orange blur strea
💔
Tony
Tony opened the door to the classroom and hunched—trying to remain unseen—as he awkwardly moved through the room to find his seat. It was the first day of 11th grade, and yet Tony still felt like he was just starting high school. He barely knew anyone, and certainly had no friends. He rarely spoke more than a sentence to his classmates. He tried to avoid speaking in general.
Tony found his seat—luckily near the edge of the classroom—and set down his backpack quietly.
See previous day for part 1.
Day - pt. 2
Lily stood there, shocked. No one had ever wanted to spend time with her. No one had asked her to eat lunch with them. And here was Amy—someone Lily didn’t know but would certainly like to befriend—asking her just that. It felt great.
“Yeah!” Lily said, smiling. “That would be great!”
“Cool,” Amy said as they both walked out of the Statistics classroom.
As they walked to the dining hall—Lily shivering all the way, Amy bundl
Day
Lily woke up as they did any other day. Their brain suddenly turned on, and they groaned. They snuggled deeper into their covers, but the shrill alarm still sounded from their phone. And that phone—it was all the way across the room. Why had she put it their again? Oh, yeah. For moments like these, when she just wanted to sleep forever. It was so warm though. Why did she have to get up?
Lily lay in bed pondering her existence, and eventually the phone silenced itself. He drifted of
The first one's title describes its own creation.
Also, sorry I guess for all the posts, but I have a bit of a backlog.
Writing Past Midnight
Lily glanced at the clock on her laptop, then back at the pitiful paragraph she’d written. 1:56am. Damn it, she’d done it again. Lily had let the days slip by, pushing off the essay, always “I can do it tomorrow,” until she couldn’t. She literally couldn’t. It was due at the start of class tomorrow. In 7 hours. Lily didn’t know what t
Easy;Waste
IT’S EASY BUT IT’S NOT
or maybe i just don’t want to do it
IT SHOULD BE SIMPLE; I DO IT ALL THE TIME
yet i waste hours—delay hours—on what inevitably takes ten minutes.
WHY!! WHY MUST I DO THIS!!
i just do. i do. i...do. whether i like to or not.
I LIKE TO THOUGH!! AT LEAST…it depends.
and yet i write this. and yet i write this instead.
Just. Do. It.
Please.
Pressure…Surface
“I work best under pressure,” she says.
Some of these come from SUs...actually I think both of these are lol. So yeah.
24......2025..26
Twenty-twenty-six:
Did I ever have a life before this?
Was I truly I?
Twenty-twenty-five:
What was this amalgamation?
What happened in Spring? Summer?
I remember only Fall, Winter.
I remember only…what happened.
Split in two:
First and second “halves.”
With the second, and more prominent, leading to now.
Twent
I copy/pasted this from my SU
Alright, so I consider my favorite book, ORV, to be a pretty big aspect of my personality
I also realize that their may be a lot of you I haven't attempted to convert yet.
So.
TIME FOR A VERY LONG SU THAT I WILL PROBABLY REMAKE INTO A BLOG SO I CAN GIVE IT TO OTHER PEOPLE/COPY AND PASTE IT WHEN I WANT TO RECOMMEND ORV TO THEM!!!
History tiiiiiiiiiime!
End of history lesson.
Anyway, you know my greatest regret (and the main reason
In our corner of the internet, we spend an incredible amount of time dissecting the internal lives of characters. We analyze their growth and how their self-perception shapes the world around them. But this week, I decided to turn that analytical lens inward. I took a break from the theories to focus on a more personal project: The Pronoun Test Drive.
The concept was simple: spend seven days using a new name and pronouns in a controlled, safe environment to see if they actually felt like me
