⏣ tyler's writing thread . ｡:+* for funsies, swc, etc.

.. “like paper; blank, fresh— untainted by cruel hands that mar its pristine plane.”

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table of contents ⏣ .

01 ⌬ about me—
+ name, prns, general stuff
+ hobbies/interests/fandoms

02 ⌬ writing stuff—
+ books/authors i like
+ writing style ??

03 ⌬ project links—
+ various random projects somewhat related to something i'm writing (or plan to)

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about me ⏣ .

01 ⌬ general stuff—
heyy, i'm tyler!!! i'm a bi trans guy, and my pronouns are he/him. i'm quite the idiot at times, so please bear with me if i end up confidently incorrect. i'm high school age, so i am usually quite busy with homework and coursework, but i try my best to continue writing as it's a little break from all of that! i'm american although i live in the uk, and am aspiring for german art university! i hope to be a costume designer in the future, as i think i've got a bit of a knack for it (fingers crossed i'm good enough haha), and i find character building and, well, costume design both extremely fun! so i love to focus a lot on the character side of things, not just outward appearances, but also emotions and whatnot. i hope you enjoy reading my writing, or at the very least aren't sincerely regretting it afterwards…

02 ⌬ hobbies/interests—
i've got quite a few of these, mostly on the creative side of things. my absolute favorite things to do (like oxygen to me) are singing, writing (prose and poetry!), drawing/art in lots of forms, and of course costume design. i also do rowing competitively (i know that sounds just like a prep school thing but it's not!) which is frankly insane, 6 days of training a week? gotta confess i bail at least once a week. anyhoo, some other things i really enjoy are conlanging (i'm a massive linguistics nerd), world building in general, cooking/baking, and going down extremely random rabbit holes instead of doing my homework some things i'm obsessed with are medical/police dramas or documentaries, any movies that catch my eye, for some reason knowing more about plants and birds than most people at my school, and psychology.

03 ⌬ fandoms—
i'm not INTO any fandoms really, but i do drift in and out of some: ROTTMNT, MCU (particularly into Spiderman lol, also love the winter soldier), PJO/associated series, lockwood & co (niche fandom?? no way), and pokémon. like i said i'm not crazy in the fandoms but i do really love the media and would certainly enjoy to yap about headcanons and such nonsense.

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writing stuff ⏣ .

01 ⌬ books/authors i like—
i'm certainly not the right person to recommend books or authors (half the time i don't even remember whose written a book), but there are some memorable ones!! the song of achilles by madelyn miller MUST be mentioned as it is the only book that's ever made me cry (i got so ridiculously upset it's unbelievable). it takes some getting into, and sometimes (this might just be me with ADHD, but), it can be a tiny bit difficult to follow, BUT it is impossible to put down (genuinely i read it in one night) and definitely not a book i'll be forgetting. i've also just recently started circe by her as well, and so far it is just as addictive as the song of achilles— her writing style is so intricate and fluid, it's a delight to read. i also can't leave out dracula by bram stoker and frankenstein by mary shelly. i gotta admit the latter annoyed me slightly with the endless yap that frankenstein's monster spouts, but it was still an overall good read. dracula was also very intriguing and although it takes a bit to read, it's genuinely very compelling.

02 ⌬ writing style—
my writing style is pretty much whatever i feel like it should be?? but ever since i read kill creatures by rory powers (very cool book, and the ending still gnaws at the back of my mind to this day), it's definitely leaned into the sense of really describing the mind of characters. basically i just try to write how it actually FEELS if that makes any sense whatsoever, i don't do it for the metaphor or the personification. i just write that because that describes it right. umm but i can end up rambling on which i know can be a pain to read, so. yeah. as for poetry, i love love LOVE to experiment with rhyme structure and formatting, beat and syllables and such. albeit not very experimental, but still. it's fun!

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project links ⏣ .

01 ⌬ links—
my project about me . https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1374562027/
ghost (a short story) . https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1378537037/
oc memes (for one of my various stories) . https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1386681217/

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enjoy!!! (or don't, but preferably do)

⏣ mortality . ｡:+* a short WIP

.. 733 words . written/last edited 2/10/26 (dd/mm/yy)

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content warnings ⏣ .

01 ⌬ topics—
+ vomiting
+ hospital setting
+ death/afterlife

please don't read this if you're sensitive to any of those topics!

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prologue ⏣ .

you’re dead.
at least you think you are. you feel nothing. see nothing, hear nothing, smell nothing. you can taste something, though. perhaps it’s just imaginary, a phantom of experience. cause you can’t truly taste it. you’re nothing, now. but even so, bitterness blooms. you’d say on your tongue, but you haven’t got one anymore. you wonder where you are. how you’re conscious, thinking. suspended in some sort of purgatory. it’s not dark, at least. it’s hard to describe— you search your memory for some phrase to do it justice. a laugh bubbles up in you, dissipates in the emptiness. it was never you. some ghost of your life, imprinted so wholly on your mind you seem to cling to it, despite its uselessness.
you inhale— no, you’re not breathing, you’re dead— and it changes. you’re not entirely sure what— but you know, you know with every shred of certainty you’ve ever had, it’s different. as though the atoms have shifted (are there atoms where you are now?), infinitesimally. you take another breath, your synapses remembering what it was like to have lungs. projecting it onto the void. you feel (know? you can’t seem to find words to place how it works) it alter again. the vague bitterness, the idea, the concept, morphs into something sharper and fuller. you suddenly realize you’re upside down— wait, there is no up. right?
you keep breathing, all in the electrical impulses firing in the nothing. you aren’t really breathing, are you? you think you are, you’ve convinced yourself of it.
the bitter tang hooks onto somewhere, a point in space. if that exists. the primal part of you that knows, that knew better than you ever did, tells you that’s your tongue. the taste is thick, metallic (you remember what that’s like), disgusting. you didn’t realize you couldn’t feel emotion, either, before now. the repulsion rips through you, stark and blinding.
you wake up.

chapter one ⏣ .

light, light, light. you don’t remember anything ever being as bright as the pure white flooding your vision now. your ears are ringing, so loud it resounds within your skull. you can feel your arms, your legs. each breath raises your chest. the sensations are devastating, sickening, nauseating.
you vomit. your chest heaves, and you retch. you don’t know what onto. it’s still too bright; you squint your eyes. you become conscious of the hand on your back, pressed firmly on your spine, holding you upright. you don’t remember if you were laying down.
the ringing in your ears quietens, winding down like a pendulum slowing its swings. muffled voices grow, overlapping, clattering, bustling through your head. it’s so loud, so clear, so real. your vision is blurry, fuzzy, but then you see.
pale blue. blank and solid. details sharpen into focus and you see it’s fabric. your brain makes the connections— you’re wearing it. you feel its scratchy presence on your thigh. you’re aware of another hand, curled around your bicep. your head is hanging down. your hair does too, curtains of strawberry blonde over your shoulders. someone brushes it behind your ear. you look up.
a man is looking you in the eye. he’s talking, but they don’t seem like words. they ripple through the air, but when they meet your ears, they’re warped, twisted. though you’re looking at him, you see right through him. you can’t bring yourself to focus on his face. you feel so weak. your eyes drop to his lips, which repeat the same movement, over and over. you struggle to place what he’s saying. again, again, again, he says it.
margo.
everything snaps into clarity. your eyes dart towards his and your lips part. they’re so dry— thirst suddenly grips your throat. you remember how to speak, don’t you?
you breathe, forcing the air through your larynx, trying to move your lips like he did, forming words so effortlessly. you feel like a sound came out, but it was thin, a whimper. you swallow drily and try again.
“where am i?” you manage. your voice is strange, raspy. a shell of what you had before. you make yourself focus on his face only, wincing at every sound. each breath rattles through you.
“you’re at the hospital, margo. we’re taking care of you. can you answer some questions for me?”
you nod, the movement sending waves of dizziness through you.

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other/notes ⏣ .

01 ⌬ notes—
writing this was SO difficult cause i just could not find the words to describe what i was trying to get across?? but i think i did alright. i love writing in second person, it makes it easier in my opinion to describe things. somehow easier than first person? but i love that it lets you incorporate thoughts and doubts seamlessly whilst also feeling uncanny, like someone else is speaking to you. uh yeah i'm yapping, but i just think it's really interesting! like i said this is a work in progress, there's likely many errors or clunky things that could be improved massively, so feel free to suggest any constructive criticism! mostly just trying to describe an idea i've had in my head for a while. the biggest thing i struggle with when writing is pacing, cause since i sit for a while figuring out how to describe things, it feels like the pacing is a lot slower cause it literally takes me longer to write. but then i read it back through and it's not the speed i was going through it in my head. you don't sit in it long enough lol. so, yeah. i'll probably be editing/continuing this.

02 ⌬ music i listened to while writing—
JUNKY - Happy Halloween ft Kagamine Rin
kian - Jack's Admontion ft Yuma
Kiichi - Love Love Nightmare ft Hatsune Miku

(can you tell i'm into the halloween spirit??)

⏣ exponential . ｡:+* a poem

.. 446 words . written/last edited 2/10/26 (dd/mm/yy)

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content warnings ⏣ .

01 ⌬ topics—
+ references to anhedonia/feelings of emptiness
+ implied depression/near attempt
+ implied eating disorder

please don't read this if you're sensitive to any of those topics!

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episode one ⏣ .

the first time, you didn't know what would happen.
you felt it all rushing in,
and it was new, unexpected.

everything became too much, didn't it?
you became lazy, wasting away the days,
dreading the mundanity you trudged through.

no one else seemed to get it—
they clung to their ephemeral joys,
looking at you in bewilderment when you asked

isn't it all pointless?

episode 2 ⏣ .

you've grown worse, you think,
but you are helpless
trapped beneath the waves.

each day flies by,
time passing evermore
while you remain stagnant.

all but sleep bores you,
for it frees you from the thoughts
even though the dreams you wade through

plague your waking mind.

episode 3 ⏣ .

months have passed;
you can't recall what it was like before,
when life seemed flush and novel.

you fell into yourself,
ache upon ache piled up in your fragile frame
until it couldn't bear the weight.

you planned it for weeks,
ran it through in your head,
wrote it and picked apart every detail,

for it seemed inevitable now.

episode 4 ⏣ .

you've done it.
this should be it,
the glorious climax you envisioned.

the lights flashing, surrounded
being pled with
momentarily having the power you never thought you'd get.

you know you're selfish,
manipulative, even machiavellian
but you're too much of a coward

to lift your foot above the rail.

episode 5 ⏣ .

it feels surreal, now,
sitting in the cold early spring
pitch black night lit by the passing cars.

you didn't get the big show you wanted;
they didn't even report you gone.
just packed your bags and waited, perhaps praying with their fingers crossed.

they were either fools, the pair of them
or cowards like you, too afraid to face what they knew
in every bone of their bodies:

you didn't want to come back.

episode 6 ⏣ .

everything's back to normal now.
heading into school, laughing with friends,
secret locked tight and pressed deep.

it comes so easy, the pretending
it always has to you.
lies and flattery and guise.

you start to doubt if it ever happened at all,
that private drama you lived
the story built in your head

that they would come to save you.

episode 7 ⏣ .

the final chapter.
you've always liked the number 7:
cleanly with its middle, on each side a trio with its own center point.

it flashes in your mind always
the calories scribbled on your post-it notes,
the stacks of books you keep on your nightstand.

you pull yourself through every week,
its perfect 7 days.
each day it grows, that same feeling

last winter all over again.

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other/notes ⏣ .

01 ⌬ notes—
woooh OK! this was real fun to write. obviously a bit sensitive, essentially a mini autobiography lol. also don't worry, i do get help and support now! not much more to say about this haha.

02 ⌬ music i listened to while writing—
mitski - washing machine heart
hisohkah - school rooftop
mitski - the last words of a shooting star

(hey mom if you ever listened maybe i'd actually talk to you)

⏣ summer 2017 . ｡:+* a short WIP

.. 558 words . written/last edited 24/10/26 (dd/mm/yy)

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content warnings ⏣ .

01 ⌬ topics—
+ entity watching/being present
+ psychological horror

please don't read this if you're sensitive to any of those topics!

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summer) ⏣ .

it’s always so warm.
so, so warm.
never hot. never chilly, or cold. though it must get cold in the winters, right? you remember when it snowed. that was so long ago. maybe you blurred it with a dream.
it’s 8pm. it looks like midnight. the sky is as dark as you’ve ever seen it, with those faded flickers of stars and airplanes drifting across the abyss. it stretches over you, seemingly unending but finite, like a glass dome. perhaps that’s why the heat never lets up.
the horizon is blocked by the woods behind your house. the trees are so tall. you’ve gotten used to them. you feel safer with their presence. there is always an orange glow arising from them, far enough that you can’t smell the smoke. always.
the air is humid, sticky, hanging and dragging on the porch awning. the cicadas are buzzing, they never stop. if they stopped, you’re not sure what would happen.
it’s so warm.
you should get to bed. though it’s only the early evening, everyone else is already asleep. you see their lights switching off, until all the houses are blank silhouettes against the sky, each with a single faded amber square of light. darker, even, than the darkness that surrounds them.
the coyotes howl distantly. everyone tells you not to stay out too late, that they prowl the fringes of the trees. you know they’re too afraid to approach you. all the same, you head inside, double-checking you lock the door. you perform the nightly routine, as all your neighbors do. latch every window, pull every curtain and blind. you don’t look through the glass when you do. you don’t want to see what might be looking back at you.
you turn off the lights, except the living room one. no one ever turns off all the lights.
you go upstairs. houses never creak here. never shift or settle. you fear the day that inevitably, the insects will cease, and you will hear true silence.
you wash your face and brush your teeth. you don’t look in the mirror for more than a few seconds.
you need to replace the bulb in the bathroom. it flickers, dimly illuminating the tiled room. you replaced it only a week ago. you will replace it again.
your bedroom has a closet, and another door, tucked in the corner. you have never opened it. you never will. it’s always ajar when you enter, and you always shut it again, staring down at the beige carpet. you’ve considered moving your dresser in front of it, but you fear what will happen if you restrain whatever is inside.
you wish you could sleep with the window open, so that a breeze could cool the sweat beading on your forehead; the air inside is stagnant. but you can’t, and everyone knows that. nobody seems to know why.
you sleep facing away from it. though your curtains are drawn, the ambient glow of the hazy horizon irradiates them a sickly cream. you do not want to face whatever casts the shadows that you see.
sleep doesn’t come easy; taunts you and leaves you shifting position again and again. you wish, so badly, that you could turn to face the window. a momentary spark, the thought so absurd it is instantly extinguished.

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other/notes ⏣ .

01 ⌬ notes—
i wrote this on a whim like i usually write things.. i'd been scrolling looking at that “(place) gothic” stuff haha. this is based off of where i lived, the midwest. in my head it's actually the same house i lived in. the thing i couldn't quite capture was the sense of the sky above you,,, really was like you were in a diorama or something, in a big black void. also i think my plan to do the different seasons is sorta cool tho it clashes with the thing at the start.. but maybe that can be part of it.. cooking !!

02 ⌬ music i listened to while writing—
none haha

(i'll continue this whenever i get back in the vibe again)