#writingdump
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Unopened Backpacks
Thoughts we carry in our unopened zips of our backpacks.
The futile attempts of keeping a thought in our head always fails, for you tend to burst with either hurt or joy. A small pinnacle of thrust is all you need to unleash those thoughts, but trust after all isn’t easy to find.
So many zips in a backpack, the middle one maybe carries thoughts about how you’ve been smitten over this person since the seventh grade. They’ve moved on to new things, while you’re still stuck chewing your pencil thinking about the time you made an eye contact in the hall. You go to their feed to see them smile, merely to satisfy yourself that they’re doing okay, their happiness gives you a breath of fresh air. This person is someone you wouldn’t mind giving your hand to, because they make you so whole and yet you keep your fondness for them inside and in the process, you fail to give a piece of your heart to them.
More thoughts in the backpack, peaking inside the small one you find polaroid’s of you and your best friend, cheering to trips you know you will never take. Your heart feels so heavy, but in a good way for its filled with appreciation for them. You start stupidly smiling as you look back at the times you fell on the floor laughing, at the walks you took together and that everything you did with them made you feel at ease. But again, you fail to express what they mean to you, and you instead compress those convoluted feelings into three words, “I love you”.
You open another zip and you can’t see anything, its pitch black. It’s filled with hurt. It’s all of those times you’ve wanted to scream, to harm yourself, to feel angry. Every time you open this zip, you remember so many names but you’re constantly torn between telling them and letting it slip.
There are so many other stories and thoughts, that we carry in a backpack of ours. It feels so heavy to keep it all in, but it also makes you feel at ease. At ease because the moment you show even a peak of what is inside those zips to someone, you start feeling vulnerable, almost naked.
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intro maybe
its been years since ive used Tumblr sorry if I'm a lil rusty w it all. anyways this is mostly gonna be like. quotedumps storydumps writingdumps all the yada yada. my hopeful focus is kinda oneshots with the emphasis on how small we are as humans yet how beautiful that is anyways. if u wanna see weirdo write stuff go ahead and stick around !!!!
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I've personally never had Instagram or amino so idk how we met, did you have any other blogs alongside this one? (I'm sorry is I sound pushy btw, I don't mean to. It's just your pfp is bringing very vague memories to the edge of my vision and idk why.)
Um I have a couple of writing blogs. The main on us undeadcavalrys-writingdump
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Hey i made another account @underscore-writingdump where I'll post things that i wrote! Go check it out! You can also request some stuff
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can you burn the sin from my lips or is that not how angels work
say my name like it's summer and you're holding violets and you don't want them to wilt yet;
like it's you and me and time is flowing like the creek by my house.
it is slipping through the tips of my grasping fingers;
i cannot hold it all.
like we're fallen angels missing our wings;
like you taste of vodka and honey and your hands are broken glass and mine are cut and god i didn't know pain could feel this good
like i hold guilt in my mouth and maybe if i say your name enough it will wash it with something too holy and it
will burn instead of ache;
like maybe decay is the extent of life so everything that's rotted is just proof i am alive;
like i will scour for words to fill what is not,
like one day i will be something more than empty.
like how someone told me immortals can never truly love and now i watch my veins throb under the stars and the blood is red like anger,
like heat and pain and the way i hold things too tightly;
like it isn't beautiful it just exists and somehow it finds its way
back to the heart and if that isn't poetry i don't know what is.
like i press my lips to everything as if i could leave an imprint of my love;
like did you know birds bones are hollow and maybe being empty is the secret to flying,
like rose petals are the softest thing i knew until i saw your eyes;
say my name like it's safe in your mouth.
#poems poetry words summerwords word iwrotethisinjuly angels pretty bones empty emptybones yea emptywords oldwriting dump#poetry#writing#poetrywords#iwrotethisinjuly#angels#pretty#bones#empty#emptywords#writingdump#poems#poem
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His hatred has not peaked yet
After travelling from the seaside vistas of Alkan, the salty breeze was no longer an issue to me. The pirate legion debacle could have been avoided if I shut my damn mouth and not been tempted to scam them out of a completely bogus map. Barely made it out with my multiple personalities and my employer.
“You’re still salty about what happened back there?” my employer quipped, “you know if you knew that the map leads you to a pile of junk the local kids collected; Stal wouldn’t have gone berserk and overpower the entire legion to his and by proxy, your command, and we could’ve caught up to Frawn with the spare time.” He sighed, knowing the love of his life was at stake, I can see my hubris has failed me once again and now it's in this second life. No excuse could weasel me out of this one, might as well bite the bullet.
“I know that’s why I’m making up for the lost time.” I replied, still marching on, “Turns out, having an entire legion of Pirates is completely useless when your destination is completely landlocked,” annoyed by the caveat of a land-based escort mission, I looked at my employer again, his unamused and disappointed face would be an indicator of the rejected idea of having Alkie float one of the ships, but I was completely against the idea considering the power move it would look to the reining lord of the land to see an imposing galleon flying across their land, it could spell as a declaration for war, and my hated of life has not reached the point of ending the entire world.
#amateurwriting#writingdump#firstpost#idk what i was doing#Characters are WIP#fantasy#one-shot#tidbits#Short Post
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the eight post
the song I listened to while writing this: https://open.spotify.com/track/6Rd4ep779v8CjlFVhaHrNX?si=9e5e99f2ddfe4320 (Banda Neira - Yang Patah Tumbuh, Yang Hilang Berganti)
Debu diatas gaun putih dan kulit yang panas dan kasar, angin berhembus lembut dan daun bergemerisik pelan di belakang, punggung sakit namun dengan nyaman bersandar di kulit kasar pohon.
Kereta yang berjalan cepat dan kumpulan manusia yang bergegas pergi, namun pergi lagi, sinar bulan dan sinar matahari yang masuk melalui jendela. Karpet di bawah telapak dan hijaunya alam.
Lagu ini bagaikan segelas teh panas dan selimut halus di kala hujan turun pada malam hari, tubuh remuk akibat hari yang melelahkan. Bagaikan pelukan ibu dan teguran ayah, permen yang kakek belikan dan rumah nenek.
Lagu ini bagaikan pulang ke rumah yang sudah hilang, dan sekarang kamu harus mencari yang baru, tersesat di jalan pulang dan tak bisa kembali.
Namun, nun jauh disana, dengungan lagu yang asing sekaligus familiar dan cahaya hangat mulai terasa.
listening to this song while writing that second to last bit made me cry.
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"I'm going to kill you."
"You do realize I'm immortal, right?"
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Just Because...
I was looking through my old writings and I found this. Felt like putting it somewhere.
“I’m still not entirely convinced you’re real.” She confessed, watching with awe as his lips burst open in a smile that radiated pure white. It couldn’t be possible for someone so ethereal, so perfect to exist. “On the nights you don’t visit I start to think I’m a crazy girl who has nothing better to do than hallucinate about the man in the moon.”
“Has the moon ever disappeared from the sky?” His voice was a whisper, a quick streak of a shooting star across a dark night.
“Well, yes.” She mumbled, unable to stop herself from sharing the knowledge she soaked up like it was essential to her wellbeing. “During eclipses…”
“But it is always there, waiting for it’s turn.” He insisted, and she held her breath as his ghostly pale face turned towards hers, marked here and there by a freckle that if looked upon closely could have passed for a crater on an otherwise smooth moon. His eyes were darker than the night that surrounded them as he inched closer across the blanket she had set up hours before, hoping and praying that he’d return. “The sun might cover the moon for a small fraction of time during your eclipses, but only because he’s a showoff.”
“Are you telling me there’s more of you?” Her lips parted in a gasp, and another sky shattering smile crossed his lips as he witnessed the awe in her eyes.
“Yes, but they are not nearly as interesting as I am.”
“Why not?” She protested, heart pounding as he drew closer still, but refusing to let her curiosity go unsatisfied.
“The others are big and strong and I am but a moon, who am I to interfere with the way our universe is run?” He sounded bitter, his voice did not hold the lilting quality she had grown to love, but rather it was the sharp, unpleasant crash of a meteorite burrowing into the Earth.
“But you control the tides…”
“I never said my job wasn’t important.” He contradicted her unfinished argument softly, like the waves he sent lapping against sandy shores. “I was merely sharing the view held by many.”
“Well they’re wrong.” She declared with finality, earning a chuckle from the being sitting next to her as if they were no more than nighttime lovers enjoying a picnic on a dark night. “Do the others interact with humans?” Instantly, his eyes dulled and she wished to take it back, wished she could have asked any other question.
“It has happened before.” He forced out, his long, white fingers tracing the rumpled fabric beneath them. “Once there was a girl who could see all of us, wanted to see all of us. She was Greek, and it was early enough along in that particular culture that their myths of how things came to be were not yet set in stone. We would often visit her as she grew, bringing her trinkets and charms with the sole purpose of delighting her.”
She was struck then, by how lonely his life was. Suddenly his strong desire to visit with her made sense, and sorrow coursed through her as she wished to take away the pain in his eyes as he continued his story.
“One day, I went to visit her with another of our kind.” His eyes narrowed, and the blanket was crushed within his fist. “We realized that she was no longer a small child but a beautiful woman.”
“Oh.” Her heart slammed into her toes as her mind frantically drew conclusions she hoped were lies.
“We all wanted her.” Shame poured from his lips, from his posture as he hunched forward. “We were lonely and miserable and she offered us what no other mortal could, acceptance and love.” His jaw clenched, and when he raised his eyes to meet hers fire burned in them. “It destroyed her, and we vowed never to interact with those who could see us again.” Harsh, unforgiving laughter broke through the tension gripping her, and the realization of his words slowly seeped into her understanding.
“But you didn’t keep that promise.” She finished, tears in her eyes.
“No, she was not the first mortal we destroyed, and she was certainly not the last.” He growled, frustrated. “But her story spread. We were all given names, I’m sure you’ve heard them. The planets have many different names in many different cultures, all because of our ruinous interactions with humanity.”
“What am I then?” It was not the answer he had expected. He had anticipated hatred, rejection, fear. But there was only sadness in her eyes as she gazed up at him.
“A miracle.” He breathed, daring to trace one finger down her dark cheek, his finger almost looked as if it were caressing the night itself. “The others, they’ve been feuding for a while now, they haven’t had time to focus on searching for those capable of seeing us.”
“But you have.”
“Yes.” He admitted, unabashedly meeting her gaze. “And that is why I’ve come tonight to say goodbye.” His words hit her like a punch.
“Why?” She demanded, slapping his hand away from her tear stained cheeks with vengeance. “You are the only one, you said so yourself!”
“They will stop fighting, they always do.” He pleaded. “And when they discover that I have kept you to myself your life…”
“Was meaningless before I met you.” She argued, spitting out the words as if they burned her. “You have been alone your entire existence, and while mine is much shorter it is the same. I have never had a friend, never had a family. And now that I have found you, you expect me to throw you away as if you are something that can be lost!”
“Your life is what cannot be lost!” He roared, and when she flinched, self-loathing stung like acid eating away at everything he was. “You have a chance to live, to grow, to die, all without interference from those who would surely destroy you.” He softened his voice, needing her to listen, to understand. “I won’t force you into something that will ruin you.”
“And what if that is my choice?” She whispered angrily, her fists wound deeply in the grass surrounding them. “What if I don’t want to go back to what my life was before you?”
When his cool lips pressed against hers, she considered pulling away, but the desire to make him stay overwhelmed her and she desperately poured every emotion she felt for him into their first kiss, needing him to realize that he was far too important to her to let go...
When her eyes fluttered and she slumped against him, he wept.
“I’m sorry.” He choked, swiping his thumb across her forehead and with it bringing her every memory of him. It flowed, in a precious stream of silver, and he vowed to cherish it forever, perhaps visit her on her deathbed and return it to her if only for the selfish excuse to see her one last time. “I’m sorry.”
When she woke, it was in her own bed, to a normal day in her life just like every single one had been before she met him. Her fingers tightened around the crescent shaped pendant hanging from her neck, and confusion clouded her mind as she struggled to remember where it came from, why she was wearing it.
That night the waves were the largest ever recorded, and each smashing tide against the shore sounded like frustrated screams, alone with no one to hear them.
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i have 5 assignments due this week and i only finshed 1 lol
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Anyways, it’s 7 AM here and after a restless night, sleepiness has finally come to me.I’ll be posting some requests tomorrow probs. Scenarios might take a while, since I have an important exam this Tuesday and I am scared af haha.
while you are here, please check out @undeadcavalrys-writingdump ,it’s a new writing blog that has just started its life and I want to support it even with my small audience. You might want to check it out and request something (I certainly will do!)
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I never considered the posibility that Pokemon could’ve been too large for the setting.
youtube
The coroner watches in disapointed at yet another set of dead trainers and pokemon. “They used their Kyrogre on the train again, didn’t they?”
The friends of the trainer nod with tears wet on their faces.
“Yes, yes, I see. We really must ban indoor pokemon fights. This is the six incident this week. Real shame. It was said this Kyrogre, in particular, was the top of his class. Just yesterday, same thing happened with a waillord.” The cornor begins cleaning their glasses. “So much potent yet wasted on someone with no common sense. Don’t you think, Officer Jenny?”
Officer Jenny swallows audibly but otherwise, has nothing to add.
The coroner sighs. “That’s what I thought. We really need a prepubescent child to take down the evil-doers pulling the strings. Clearly, we can’t stop fighting in enclosed spaces.”
.
.
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<———- _______ ————> Writing Blog
~Script~
Not posting on here anymore. I’m tired of hyperlinking and I get why people have art blogs now. So, all these short scripts will be going in pr-writingdump where I’ll put anything that I don’t put on AO3 or isn’t in my perspective (ie. past self, or me bitching about life while being overly descriptive because I’ve got mood.)
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Writing Dump (voice dictated/ ignore misspellings)
I died last week, the doctor, hand over hand assuming the position. Was holding touch is there physicality might harm her. Like a machine, programming told her to soften her eyes-and lower her voice.
“It’s terminal “she said voice drawling on.
“I know, I’ve always known. “I responded.
I’m not sure she was expecting that response, maybe a shrill cry, shriek, or something signifying any regret. She just looked at me, more puzzled.
“No I’m not going to give you the bullshit, that everyone is dying.“
It’s just, when you’ve been sick for a quarter of your life, you already know what you’re going to die from it. It’s no surprise. I suppose the timing is the surprise, kind of like throughout your years and your many birthdays, there’s always going to be the one jokester in the crowd that put a prank candle on your cake. Maybe this is my prank candle. And many birthdays that I’ve had, I’ve never had a crank candle. Maybe this is my Frank candle, because my birthday is tomorrow, and it’s terminal.
I’ve died, many times. Once when I was 17, a few times when I was 20 something. I won just six months ago as well. I don’t know, that is not as mysterious as people make it out to me. I say that they see light, no death sort of feels like when you take a shot of amaretto. It’s nice and smooth, warms your throat as it goes down. But rather, as you’re dying and drifting you feel as if you’re falling backwards into a velvet blanket. A warm, velvet blanket. It’s not black, and it’s not even really any color. It’s just there, and you’re with it. And you fall, and it is true that the only sense you retain is your dying a sound. I heard everything, I heard them prepping the defibrillator, the nurse screaming at someone for something. Somebody saying “oh shit she’s not breathing“. I didn’t mind dying, I laughed. I remember chuckling, ha ha she’s not breathing. No shit, I’m not breathing. But then as quickly as I fell, I shot fourth back into the world, as it being reborn. But the talons of an eagle sunk into my shoulders and ripped me from the darkness. It was unsettling. More unsettling than dying. The talons-which were actually the defibrillator pads, left alveolar shapes on my chest and back – burns. Scars of my trip to the beyond or wherever it is.
I don’t remember feeling a whole lot. I don’t remember seeing anything at all, there’s no light there’s no life flash before your eyes it’s just nothingness. And I’m not sure if I’m reassured, or unsettled. I can’t particularly say that I wanted anything in the afterlife, no Rosie gates her trump tears no sendoff into the ancient fjords on a flaming boat. No, I’d rather falling into the Marianas Trench of life or death but never truly hitting bottom.
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Your Slave
It’s not the scars I see anymore, it’s the blood that stains the water red. It’s you with your wicked grin, and bloodied blade in hand that creates the wounds. Even though your attempts at trying to put me six feet under the ground have failed, you linger around me like a fly, looking for rotten fruit. You have your moments of glory when someone pushes me away, or another incident at home happens.
It’s everytime that you join me in the shower, when you create bruises on my thigh from the constant punches, that I want to retaliate. But every time I raise my hand, you catch my wrist and smile that horrible, crooked smile.
“You’re mine,” you remind me every time, staring down at me, pressing your thumb against the scars on my wrist. “Remember, I’ve marked you.”
Lately you’ve had such a strong hold on me, that it’s hard not to curl into a ball and cry. You watch every time, as I pull the blankets up by my neck, and wipe away the tears. This is enjoyment to you. My life is your soap opera, and you can’t get enough.
“It’s no wonder he chose her,” you taunt, poking me in the side, making me squirm. “He always found you second best.”
I tire of this constant annoyance of you in the back of my head. You follow me to school, and continue to bother me. Everyday you force me to piggy back you around with me, it’s no wonder my back constantly hurts.
You love to hover over my head during my classes, whispering in my ear. “Of course she’s mad at you. You made a fool of yourself once again. I can’t wait to see what she says to you when you get home.”
I regret letting you into my life, but now I can’t get rid of you. I had sealed my fate, and my relationship with you, by letting you in. Now you seem to come as the only comfort to me. This is what I’ve done and I can’t undo it. No amount of happiness, and laughter can break you away from me. Here I am depression, I am your slave, and you have utter control over me.
Push me around as much as you want, knock me to the ground and create as many new scars as you can… Because in the end, I can always pick myself back up again. What I can’t do is push you away, or fix everything you’ve done to me. The scars will remain in my skin for the rest of my mortal life, and you will be the one who caused them.
Here I am depression, your little play toy. Your marionette doll, pulled and tugged by the strings to do what you will. I hold my arms out to you, willingly letting you use them as your canvas. Create your masterpiece, and then show it to the world. Let everybody know what you’ve created, let the world see what kind of man you are. How many of my friends would hate you if they found out how much you abuse me. All of them, that’s how many.
“But you wouldn’t let them find out. Would you?” you threaten, pinning me against the wall.
Fear clouds my eyes as I’m pinned to the wall. But either way, you’re right, why would I show my friends. I know you better than they do, and no matter what I do, I pay the price.
I’ve noticed that you don’t hang around me when I���m with my friends, but then you’ve always despised them. The way they make me laugh, and cause me to smile, it makes you angry. I’ll see you on the other side of the room, punching the wall. Then there is when I’m sitting in front of the computer, calmly chatting with my friends. You read over my shoulder.
“Why should he still love you?” you breath, resting your arms against the computer chair.
Sometimes I think you’re right. After what I did, why would he still love me. You continue to bother me, even though I’ve told you to stop. You taunts about why he left, why she’s mad, and why he hates me, drives me over the edge. Now with me riled up you laugh, as I throw things about the room, trying to hit you in the head.
Here I am depression.
#writing#depression#personification#creativewriting#oldwork#emotions#exspressive#writingdump#writing dump#poetic
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Writing Dump
The gentle sloshing of water could be heard. A soft breeze caused ripples outlined by the yellow glow of the street post. Although it was dark, it was the nice kind of dark. Like a blanket that made it seem like the world was alright. It made the light deeply contrast in a way that didn’t quite hurt your eyes, but kept them sleepily open. The water was comfortably warm, different from the gentle chilled wind that couldn’t seem to push the clouds from the night sky. Almost-quiet settled around the pool, disturbed only by the music in my ears that molded into the sleepy hush of the pool. Wind-water and chlorine scent drifted past with each gust, swaying like a silent tune.
Leo awoke to the rumble of thunder. His body was heavy from sleep, protesting as he slipped out from under the warm covers. Lightning illuminated his messy room. Guess it was that sort of day today, huh? The boy quickly changed into his usual clothes- baggy jeans and an oversized t shirt- before finding his way downstairs.
The lights in the kitchen were warm and bright. Leo squinted as his brown eyes adjusted. His mom looked up from her tapping on her phone, still in her bathrobe. “Hey, your dad will be picking you up from school today, alright?” Leo murmured a quiet, “Uh huh.” As he rummaged through the fridge for breakfast.
In his hand he held a blade as long as my arm. At least, I think it was a blade. Instead of metal, it seemed to be made of solidified shadow. Smoke curled off and dissolved in the slightest breeze. He gripped the handle tighter and glared at me. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was somehow related to the thunder clouds above. His hand was covered in darkness, as if the sword was absorbing the light around it.
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the seventh post: Why?
tw: thoughts of taking of life
There’s nothing but pavement miles for miles for miles, but all she saw was quicksand. Boiling, hard, painful quicksand. All of it.
She had friends but they were not friends, and notifications made her breath hitched. Her heart pounds come morning and classes begin, her hands shaking.
She forgot to drink water and she skipped her meals. She forgoes the mirror and she kept avoiding the ringing telephone.
Her hair is oily and she hadn't taken a proper shower in days.
Her stomach is rumbling and aching but she’s been starving and eating within the same hours.
She plays the same songs and repeats them over and over in hopes of getting that rush of dopamine to complete her tasks, but they never do and she’s tired of running and catching up, always out of breath but never quite there.
Her eyes are heavy and they’re hurting, and the thought of getting thicker glasses makes her heart churn but she couldn’t stop and there she goes again.
Everything has to be perfect and everyone seems to be managing themselves just fine, so why couldn’t she do it and struggle at the simplest things?
Why was it so wrong and so right to feel and think the way she does?
Why can’t she just stop it all when she can’t go on, although she knows it's not yet her time?
Why?
there’s just something about number seven isn’t there? so special and mystique. everywhere.
#tw sui thoughts#angst#anxiety#writingdump#adhd feels#i have adhd and this is basically how it goes#spotify is lucky to have me
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