burning-cyprus

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sixteen (going on seventeen) 

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my main is @rust-yxx :)

i am @stupid-elf s advocate here, u should definitely follow them they post some p banger stuff

So, guys. I need some new things in my feed, so active writeblr please, rise up? Like, reblog or commet this post if you wanna I get a look in your blog.

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Beginning and End tag game

I got tagged by @stupid-elf , an absolutely FANTASTIC writer, you should go check their blog :)

Anywho, I similarly worked on a short story recently and now you're all being subject to it.

Beginning: "Come on, Finn." Dakota rolled his eyes and sighed. "Drop it."

End: The quiet groan that escaped him was hardly perceptible, but yet there it sat, the hilt of the knife embedded in his side.

"I'm sorry, Dakota."

"Finnley. I understand." His smile was weak but warm. Painfully, horribly warm.

With a final twist and a pull, Dakota lay limp on the ground, the life ever draining from him as Finn wiped the knife against his shirt.

"Goodbye." Finn stopped. The words felt... so final. So unfinished. "For now."

He began to walk away.

And although Dakota never replied, though his final breath had quietly ebbed out, the ticking of his heart had come to a grinding halt, Finn could almost hear the words following him, echoing in his mind.

"You'll have to try harder than that to get rid of me, darling."

And at that, Finnley wept.

I tag @divergentwizardingdemigod @fangvandaddy @hollofsquids and of course, anybody else who wants to participate absolutely can. :)

#tw blood #tw gore #tw knife #writing #writer #short story #creative writing #writing challenge #writers of tumblr

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We have made something so much bigger

than we are

I lick my lips before I speak and my words topple out in fragments

and you smile and they get stuck

I want

You talk about something I don't understand

I'm okay with that, your voice is soft and I am weary

I settle into a jacket and my throat is blocked with

I want

You yawn and say goodnight but right before you turn away they break from me,

loud and unrestrained, I can't tame them

I want

I want

I need

Your head against mine and your breath against my neck and is it really so bad if I'm breaking into bits in your hands if you'll scoop me up and adore me all the same

and

is it really a sin if I would entrance myself with the rise and fall of your chest and the way you seem so in love with the world around you and your little laugh

and

even if it's a sin you told me you'd go to hell with me, you'd live with me there and we would be happy and I promised you a kingdom if you'd promise me your blade

and

did you know you've run me through with it a million times over every time you say my name into the open air and I can't push my way into your arms to just be

and

the sun rises and falls on you and exists to light your eyes and I am in awe

darling

I am in awe

but they break silently and you say you'll talk to me tomorrow

and

I agree and the word, you know the one, skirts along my tongue and sits on the edge and waits and waits

but I wave you along and bid you adieu and it falls out on the paper beneath me

falling, torrential

blasphemous

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you

im sorry

#love poem #poet #poetry #spilled ink #writing #spilled thoughts #dead poets society #love #spilled poetry #spilled words

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and if i kissed you now, i'm sure you'd taste like cinnamon

same as it's always been,

same as you've always been

and if i'm honest, i've lied just a bit

you're cinnamon sugar, not just cinnamon alone

your smile is sweet on my tongue

and if i kissed you now, i'm sure you'd taste like cinnamon

same as it's always been

same as you've always been

and if i'm honest, i think i'd like it

to cradle a hand against your face and push your hair from your eyes

to be ever so close-

but.

if i kissed you now, i'm sure you'd taste like cinnamon

and honey lavender suits me best

same as it's always been

same as we've always been

[burning-cyprus]

something inspired by Old Friend by Mitski, and maybe this chasm in me my best friend has left.

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saving this for later--

Writing Royals Part 2

 The last part was all tips about how to write royal characters, and my apparently controversial opinions on certain things, like corsets……Anyways, I have two more tips I wanted to share about writing royal characters, and some questions I use when I’m about writing the people surrounding the royal family: the royal court!!! Every country with a monarchy or any similar system is gonna have a royal court around them. These people included advisors, favorites, ambassadors, and servants. Getting the dynamic of your royal court perfect often depends on how you write these characters, so here we go!

Homegirl, Where Are Your Guards???

There is nothing that bothers me more than when a royal character is like in the middle of a war or their people are rebelling and they’re like, “ugh, I hate having all these guards around me. I just want to be free!!!!!” Which, okay fine, having a bunch of people follow you around and stand outside while you pee, and generally watching your every move does not sound fun at all, but getting offed doesn’t sound fun either. If your character’s country is in the middle of a war, and even if they aren’t depending on the country, they are going to have guards around them all the time. In Tudor England, guards would sleep in the King’s room even if he had company because people were always trying to assassinate each other. Even if your royal character has magic or powers or something, they still probably need guards. If your characters have been royal all their lives, they probably will know their guards very well and know how to sneak away from them for that oh so coveted night in the town as a commoner. But, even though royalty probably did feel claustrophobic with all those guards surrounding them, especially in the Victorian era right up until the end of World War 1, everyone’s biggest fear was being assassinated. People were getting offed and assassinated left and right, so take that into account when your character oh so desperately wants to leave the palace. 

Above the Law, Cause You Are the Law

I’m pretty sure that has been the motto of like almost every medieval to late Renaissance European monarch. Don’t get me wrong, there have definitely been good, benevolent monarchs who actually care about the needs and requests of their people, but then you get to Henry the 8th, and you’re like….., but that’s how it was back then, and even to an extent now. Royalty and nobility get away with so much shit that would send a normal person to prison, just look at Prince Andrew. Having all of that power and prestige, combined with being in charge of a country and being pretty much exempt from a lot of things can lead your royal or noble characters to have an inaccurate sense of right and wrong. Using Henry the 8th as an example, pretty much half of the things he decided in his life can be summed up with, “it’s okay when Henry does it, but if anyone else does it, then I’m offing them” That can create really good conflict if your royal character is forced to finally face the consequences of some of their actions, despite having gotten away with everything since they were a kid. 

So, now that we’ve got your royal family figured out, it’s time to get into the royal court. Here are some basic questions that I asked myself when I was writing my royal court for my current, wip!

How big is the total court?- And when I mean court, I don’t just mean the nobles, I mean like everyone, the cooks, gardeners, everyone. I know I’m using Tudor England a lot as my example, but y’all know the Tudors and Henry Cavill own my heart. Anyways, Henry the 8th’s official household could have up to 800 people at one time, and anyone of his various Queens could have another 200 people at their disposal. That’s a lot of people.

What factions exist within the court?- In the words of James Madison, factions forming is pretty much inevitable. Inevitably, people are gonna have similar interests and agendas, and those people will often band together to bring down other people who have the opposite agendas as them. Royal factions are some of the best ways to add some intrigue and spicy conflict to your story.

Where does the court meet?- All royal courts center around the Monarch, but where does the monarch live? Does the Monarch move around throughout the year? In my wip, all the Sovereigns live in their own territories during the summer months, but during the winter months, they all live together at Brookshire. The location of your court can play a big role in how power is consolidated in your world. 

Who all is in the court at any given time?- This questions is probably one of the most important questions when you’re building your royal court. The people close to the monarch who protect them, love them, or spy on them. These people, in some scenarios, might have more control over the country than the monarch themselves. They might scheme to control the monarch, marry them, or kill them. 

For your convenience, here is a list of people that might be at a royal court at any given time sourced from: https://ryanlanz.com

The monarch(s) – Regardless of what titles you give them, this person or duo is the center of a royal court; she defines the rest of the court. If the monarch consists of two people they are most likely either married or siblings, sometimes both depending on the culture and age.

The monarch’s family – people related to the monarch by blood, adoption or marriage fall into this category, and these people might or might not have their own titles and additional positions, though not necessarily always officially. Consider how younger royal siblings might be sent places to be married off, and be expected to function as ambassadors without the pay, or the many hats that a dowager queen might wear in her “retirement.”

Ambassadors – these men and women come from other kingdoms but they’re vital to functioning on a wider scale. They communicate their lady’s desires, intents and goals, as well as bring her insider news from the courts where they are appointed. When things are going well, they command a lot of respect and power, but if their two countries are on the outs, their lives are almost certainly in danger. Keep in mind too that ambassadors are likely to have their own households, and there might be a junior ambassador in play as well.

Nobles – At any given time, a royal court is bound to be packed with the country’s gentry, there to doing things such as discuss business, introduce a child for courting, serve the crown for their appointed time or because they are so active in politics because they make their home wherever the Queen does. Unlike ambassadors who are primarily going to be focused on inter-country negotiations, noblemen and women will have their own agendas to further their families, and while you’d like to think that they’re all loyal to the crown and their country, sometimes their own ambitions might get in the way.

Court Fool/Jester – We like to think of the court fool as someone who is, genuinely, a fool, but that’s often not the case. The Fool is a useful tool for the monarch because he distracts the court, and more often than not acts as a spy, passing along tidbits of overheard information or sightings–after all, who pays attention to the simpletons?

Courtiers – Courtiers are different from nobles in that they are people whose talents or ambition have brought them to court seeking the next rung on their ladder, rather than people whose daily business has brought them to the Queen’s presence. They are here to make a name for themselves, and can almost always be counted on to act in their own best interests, unless motivated by an exceptional force. These types are often at court on their own dime.

Resident military commanders – Military commanders are not likely to be regular fixtures at court, as they’re needed with their forces. But the highest ranking among them are going to be in nearly constant contact with the monarch (or the monarch’s representative, as is sometimes the case) and that will often necessitate being physically present at court.

Guests – Whether from outside of the country, rich or poor, landed or not, the royal court is ALWAYS going to have guests, and a well-established court is going to have provisions for housing and caring for a large number of them. A person’s station and/or possible value to the crown might determine wherein a castle they are housed and how they are treated, but if you write in a few guests consider that their perspective could be useful in defining the court as a whole.

Semi-permanent guests – These guests are people who don’t necessarily belong at court, and while their stay might be lengthy, it is well established that it will not be permanent. Examples of these kinds of people might be businessmen appointed to oversee some long term prospects, or the children of foreign nobles who have been sent to another country to be educated.

The monarch’s favorites – These could be really good characters for you to develop in depth. They’re essentially wild cards, and as they are favorites of the Queen, they have the potential to be outlandish or scandalous, hated or misunderstood, but the love and blind eye from the Queen keeps them nearby… tethered.

Royal lords and ladies – It will be rare for any ruler to find themselves alone; their personal attendants live to see to their needs and are never going to be far from hand. These politically powerful positions are likely to be jostled over a great deal, especially if the monarch is young, and might overlap somewhat with the royal favorites. Sometimes these people are lifelong companions and sometimes they are placed strategically close to the monarch for certain goals but regardless of how they came to be there, they are likely to share in the fine things, wealth, power and danger that surrounds a royal.

Sponsored artists – Sponsored artists could easily be labeled courtiers, except that it wasn’t usually their idea to come to court, and they’re not there for their own ambition. If the wealthy of your world are at all inclined to supporting the arts – drawing, painting, writing, performance, design, etc – they’re likely going to want to show off their investments, so in this regard these artists are usually nothing more than accessories. Though being a court is always a good way to increase one’s sales.

Guards – Any court is likely to have several levels of protective personnel, all the way from those hired by the royal household to keep the general peace and take care of grunt work  to personal, more elite bodyguards. This is another varied group that can include any number of peoples, skill level, objectives and professional capacity, but everybody who’s anybody is going to have one or two. Eunuchs might also fall into this category–those maimed men who have been conscripted in guarding typically women whose virtue is deemed vitally important.

Servants – Another highly varied group, but no less vital to the functioning of a royal castle and court. Servants might hold roles such as cooks, head cooks, librarians, messengers, laundresses, seamstresses, housekeeping, tasters, children’s nurses, ushers, grooms, heralds, and gardeners. If you world isn’t very progressive, some of these roles might also be filled with slaves or bonded servants.

Harem members – This again will depend largely on your story itself, but if the King or Queen is going to be flitting from bed to bed, there’s likely to be a group of bedmates hanging around for royal pleasure. Whether or not this group is well respected or received (or even publically visible) is up to you.

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TW for discussion of s*icide and childhood trauma (trauma listed under line break, please stay safe <3)

(Mentions of child abuse, religious trauma, sexual abuse)

Why am I writing this?

Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure. Maybe it’s because I think if I hollow out my chest I’ll finally be able to rest in a capacity I haven’t been able to in years. Maybe it’s because I think I’m empty and yelling to nobody in particular will ease my ache. There are so many maybes and so few explanations for why I’m staring at my laptop screen at 2:30 in the morning and desperately wishing I had a cup of tea to keep me company, so I’ll say what I’ve come to say.

I’ve always wondered who, aside from my immediate family, would notice first if I died.

I’ve wondered if anybody would notice at all until they were told.

Would they assume I was alright?

I find myself stuck between wishing I knew they wouldn’t fret and wishing they’d start to worry before the first day was through. Sure, maybe it’s selfish, but is it really so bad to want to be known? Is it so bad to want to be loved?

When I was 7 years old my father held me to the bottom of a pool. As I began to drown I wondered if God would be waiting for me. Now, I don’t even know if there’s a God. Even if there was a God, who’s to say he’d notice me among the flocks of others?

When I was 8 years old I had my first thoughts of suicide. God doesn’t like sinners, and I was a bundle of mistakes. Everything I did, I did wrong. A boy told me my smile was weird. I still don’t smile with my teeth if I can help it. A girl named Danielle told me she preferred to be around people with manners. I really didn’t know any better than to rush into everything with a loud mouth and a big hug for everybody who I came across. I’m quieter, more reserved now.

When I was 13 years old I learned that even those we consider friends shouldn’t be exempt from scrutiny. My best friend at the time wrapped his hands around my throat and began to choke me on the back of the bus. A friend who invited me to attend a concert with him told me the morning after that his parents had made him invite me.

Now I am 16 years old. I sit in my desk chair at 2:30 in the morning with shaking hands and a leg that just won’t stop bouncing and habits just like my father’s and a face just like my mother’s and I can’t help but wonder where the hell I came from and why I had to be like this and if there’s a God is he listening? Does he care?

I’ve got my grandmother’s affinity for losing games and my grandfather’s gentle love for music and a lifetime of memories of letdown after letdown and failure after every damned failure.

I’ve a silver tongue and a rotting heart covered in gold leaf. I’ve the musicians hands and ink stains up my arms as a testimony to my persistent attempts to finally free myself from the past through creation.

When I was 14 years old, I was convinced I could trade sex for love. When I was 15 I almost believed it.

I sit here ashamed before the universe herself with my head in my hands.

“What did I do to you?”

“What did I do to deserve this?”

She answers me no more than she answers the others like me who cry out to her at 2:30 in the morning.

I was born naked and yet pure but as I sit here too afraid to take off my jacket because of the memories flooding my mind I wonder where that changed.

I used to lean into the lightest touch, now I flinch away, I used to run and play, now I wheeze and double over if I overdo it.

I am 16 and the realization hits me at 2:30 in the morning: I am not of the Earth any longer, I am of the world.

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And so I decided I would let you go.

They always say if it's meant to be they'll come back to you and I hoped it was meant to be and so I decided I would let you go.

I whispered well wishes to each letter I sent you in hopes it would make it safely to you, I sang quietly to you in daydreams and learned that maybe I wouldn't be ashamed to hold your hand if you wouldn't be ashamed to hold mine.

When I dreamed, I found myself wandering wide open plains with your name on my lips and your hands in my hair and our foreheads pressed together in quiet understanding and just for a moment everything felt so perfectly alright I forgot what it was like to fear the future and despise the past.

I find myself thinking of you while my fingers dance across the piano keys. I'd like to imagine if you were here you'd sing along with the songs I played, maybe you'd settle onto the bench beside me and I'd teach you to play as best I could.

My shows of love are ordinarily subtle, too afraid to do too much, too afraid to not know how to properly love you.

But I do.

Love you, I mean.

I don't know if I'm doing it properly, I don't know if there's a proper way to love, I don't know if there's secretly a way these things are done that nobody ever taught me.

If I get it wrong,

may I try again?

I'm not the perfect man, my sense of humor is deeply flawed and, truthfully, so are most things about me.

I am painfully, wretchedly human.

I hope you'll love me despite it.

I hope in each letter you receive you know just how carefully I wrote each word, I hope that I treat you properly in each and every dream you have, and I hope that you aren't ashamed to hold my hand.

Yes, I hope somewhere underneath this carefully repaired exterior,

that you'll love me right back.

-CJR

--i’ll love you every day if you give me the chance

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it’s father’s day. the man’s man day. we will sit and grill and get father ties or shaving cream because we’ve never made a true emotional connection with him and he doesn’t know how to ask for things that show actual vulnerability. we will pretend that our father did not “be the bad guy” one or twice (we deserved it, we say, holding up our hands, showing no-harm-done, i’m glad it happened, do you see what kids who don’t get spanked are like?) and our mothers will wait on our fathers hand-and-foot while he watches tv, which is different than any other day because it comes with a card our mothers bought (at mother’s day, he did not, by the way, buy hers). we will make a fire or we will go see that movie or we will all watch him sip beers. we will pretend we are a jovial family who gets along, and it will feel thin, like a fingernail that is about to break. we will say, “oh, let’s let him decide” about things, even though he usually is the one who decides things. 

and today is a day where the dads who-are-good dads and the dads who are good-enough-i-guess dads and the dads who are around-at-least dads and the dads who are i’d-rather-he-was-dead dads will all bump elbows and get mugs that say “#1 dad” on them and we will tell them all they are good, good dads. we will talk about good, good dads and how good, good our dads are, even though we know they might not be, but at least anywhere he hurt you isn’t a place that really scars. and the good dads deserve it. they deserve a day to say; okay, i wasn’t perfect, sometimes i messed up, but i was a good dad. but they all think they are good dads and in all probability they will die thinking they were good dads, against the evidence, against the nights some of us will be nursing a vodka and saying i mean but if he never seriously hit us. and the mediocre dads won’t know they’re mediocre because they’re at least better than the bad dads, and the bad dads won’t know they’re bad because they’re at least better than absent dads, and the justifications we will find for our fathers and our fathers will find for themselves will loop back around and we’ll say. all things considered, he was my father, and i might cry every time a father is nice on tv, but he was just a person, wasn’t he?

and tomorrow he’ll go back to not really talking during dinner and we’ll go back to calling anybody else before we call him and it will feel less forced in the family again. but today is father’s day. we hand him a fishing kit.

“happy father’s day” we say. and, terribly, because that’s how love works, we mean it.

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there will be a moment when you realize you are more grown up than your parents are. this is the loss of childhood, my love. it is when you’re standing in the kitchen and one of your parents is screaming about something and you recognize: you will let them win the fight not because you are wrong, but simply because you know that they will keep shouting unless you drop the subject. you expect them to have childish understandings of things. they will hold onto their concept of the world as if it was not a changing thing. they must be right, and they must be somehow more right than you, always, in everything. their idea of control is so necessary to who they are that you just let it go.

this is the moment. you are 11 or 17 or 21. and you realize that you’re more mature than they ever were. 

and in some odd, sad way, this frees you. where they have stagnated, you continue.

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“Grab your coat, leave a note, and run away with me.”

— William Chapman

[burning-cyprus]

I’ve heard it called a great many things in my time, despite the shortness of it. I’ve lived a million lives, met a million people, and seen a million things from this 50 mile radius around my home, and yet, I haven’t found what I’d call it.

It sneaks up on you when you least expect it, warm and comforting so very suddenly that it might even startle you for just a moment. It’s gentle and yet bold in the way it begins to make you into who you are, in the ways it creeps up your arms and into your chest.

It’s the feeling you get when you see a vibrant sunrise and wish they were by your side. It’s the feeling you get when the world seems dreary and you just know it’d be all the better if their hand was wrapped in yours. It’s the feeling of seeing the oncoming storm but knowing exactly where home is.

So what have we built, darling?

If it leaves me warm when I wake on the coldest of mornings and runs its hands over my heart when I least expect it, what do I call it? If I couldn’t be mad with you even if I tried, if I couldn’t fathom losing you, what do I call it?

If it scares me, what do I call it?

--im less scared of calling it love than i am of losing you

-Cy

#love #love poem #writing #writer #my writing #writers #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr #author #poet #poetry #dead poets society #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #spilled poetry #spilled words

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REBLOG IF YOU ARE A WRITER ON TUMBLR

IT DOES NOT MATTER WHAT KIND OF WRITER YOU ARE YOU CAN BE WRITING: POEMS, FANFICS, IDK NORMAL FICS, NOVELS, SHORT STORIES, IDK ANYTHING!! JUST REBLOG!!!

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Hey! I'm Cyrus, he/they, I'm 16, I write poetry more often than I work on my WIP, but I enjoy working on both!! I love moodboards, specifically dark academia themed. :)

Calling all teenage writeblrs!

I always see posts about 18+ writeblrs, but I’m currently calling for teenage writeblrs. Any writeblr between 13 and 17 can reblog this, talk a little about one of your stories or general blog content, and I’ll give you a follow!

I’ll start off: I’m Raena, she/her, I’m 16, and while I’m not sharing any of my current WIPs right now, I post/reblog a lot of writing advice, especially on progressive writing and positivity.

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There are over 2,500 ancient languages that have either gone extinct, or been lost forever.

Or so I've heard.

I believe there are far more that have been lost, the languages of individual people.

Have you ever noticed the way the ones you love weave their words together?

Have you taken note of the way they speak when they're happy or when they're sad? Have you learned their most used phrases? Have you learned how to spot a lie?

Every day people pass away. Every day language is lost.

Don't let me be lost.

-Darius & Cyrus

#poet #poetry #writing #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #romantic academia #dark academia #sad #quotes #languages #freewrite

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God said: 

                GOD MADE YOU. GOD DOES NOT CARE  IF YOU ARE “GUILTY” OR NOT.

I said: 

           I CARE IF I AM GUILTY!

I CARE IF I AM GUILTY!… 

God was silent. 

                         Everything was SILENT. 

— Frank Bidart, from “The War of Vaslav Nijinsky”; Half-light: Collected Poems 1965-2016