Ely's Writing 🤍

he/it Commission's open

[elys-writing]

If anyone would like custom/personal writing, or to support a disabled person trying to create an emergency fund due to a current bad home situation, hi! my name is Ely and i have 6+ years of professional education in writing! DM over discord or tumblr for commissions!

thank you all! Ɛ>

[elys-writing]

Her

As a child I ran

As a child I was always running

(The sun burdened my bare shoulders and left them red)

I was a child of the uninhabited

The unprepared, the unpredictable, the leaves

Now I am an adult

Now I will soon be an adult

(Clocks are beginning to bind their hands to the creeks of my cheeks)

My joints crack like the old oaks

Wildfires have burnt away her muscles and left unstable ash

Now I am a grown child

Now I am in pain

(The weight of ashes is killing her and she doesn't know why)

Young branches are chaining my knees to the ground

But the saplings already tore my feet in the womb

Maybe if the woods had offered shaggy moss seats

Maybe if there had been a crow calls to guide her

Maybe that little girl would have walked the paths instead

Maybe that little girl would have left the buttercups in the ground

(Instead she ripped this raw young man from the ground)

But I don't blame her, I never could

I blame those with hogweed eyes and mandrake ears

Those pretending to know her

So as a child, she ran

And as a man, I miss her

this was originally written for a writing contest

[elys-writing]

AceAro

Rain is a love poem

A warm dewdrop drizzle, made for dancing

Touched by the orange of a sunset

Shadowed with blooming flowers and spring

Rain is a love poem

A drumbeat of heavy fall in the morning, the pulsing roof

The sun beams yellow into the ponds

The summer heat follows the droplets through open windows

Rain is a love poem

A damp snow frosts the gutters, a bitter gingerbread house

The ground reflects the white into blinded eyes

The nipping cold cries with the wind

Rain is a love poem

A drizzle past the gutters, remnants of the morning dew

The morning moon’s dregs beginning to show a cyan background

The children's rain boots rippling the waves

Rain is a love poem

A storm pounding on the ocean, the birth of foam and fairytales

The sea’s waters become a dark blue as they strain forward

Splashing and churning as children wade in the lull

Rain is a love poem

And I’m not sure I ever loved it

I love the drums, the warmth, the idea

I embrace dewy grass with bare feet

I admire the umbrellas sprinkling the streets

But I don't think I ever truly held the rain on my tongue

Can you forgive me?

this was originally written for a writing competition

[elys-writing]

overgrown

Long dead birds pick at a rotten apple core

Snakeskin lays on a linen rack sycamore

Step carefully, my darling, across the dirtied tile

(Because the ground was overtaken by rabbits burrows long ago

And he dare not fix bones broken by this land)

This land, my darling, has grown wild

With lions tooth and stinging nettles

It’s not your fault, my darling, nor the apple blossom petals

Weed the garden with me, my darling

(Before it gets too late)

[writing-prompt-s]

The paladin just received a prophecy that no man shall ever kill him. To his annoyance, the party is sitting around the campfire making guesses and creating scenarios on what will actually kill him and why.

[elys-writing]

"Easy, a woman." The rogue threw the grass she was ripping absentmindedly into the fire. The fighter rolled his eyes.

"Too easy, I bet it'll be a child." The fighter grinned. The paladin groaned.

"Guys, please," The paladin began. The monk butted in with a small smile.

"Perhaps it will be nature, or even a god." The monk's voice was just loud enough to compete with the crackling of firewood. The rogue nearly cackled.

"Right, cause a god will care enough about us to kill him." The rogue's fangs showed in her grin, reflecting red fire light. "Natures a good guess though!"

The bard strummed a lute thoughtfully, its claws creating a melodic ringing. "Perhaps he won't die."

The monk nodded thoughtfully. The fighter let out a sudden laugh. "That idiot? He's basically dead already!"

"Thanks." The paladin mumbled, head in hands. "Real nice dude."

The fighter shrugged and patted the paladin on the back with a joking grin. "Of course!"

The bard strummed again and hummed, its feathers ruffling as its adam's apple bobbed. The noise drew the parties eyes to them.

"However it happens, we will be there for it and burry you honorably."

The rogue nodded solemnly, tapping her foot to the bards tune. The monk licked the bottom of her teeth as she smiled in agreement. The fighter sighed and nodded along, placing his arm around the paladin.

"And make fun of you." The bard added with a grin. The group burst into laughter, creating true music with the fire.

"Thanks."

[elytra404]

Welcome Travelers, to a blank slate. A place to heal, to grow, to become however you wish to be.

This world is seemingly untouched, yours for the taking.. You aren't sure just how this place ended up on your server list, but it was the perfect timing for this new chapter of your life.

Welcome to Lavender and Midnights! A private minecraft roleplay server. Make a character and join our world (events with the lore of the world will happen (; )

this is not made for streaming or anything, but you are free to post what you like (obviously ask permission if it's someone else's character/art/builds)

Join the discord to apply! https://discord.gg/SPJXT339x5

Logo art done by zzkayscreationszz who also coruns the server with me! (though even she doesn't know lore spoilers) (she doesn't have a tumblr unfortunately)

Sweet Dreams

[curiousgemstone-deactivated2016]

[ukulelewrap]

THIS ALSO GOES FOR WRITING

[lovelyunknown]

REBLOG REBLOG REBLOG! EVEN IF YOU DON’T ADD TAGS.

[icarianlibrary]

I LOVE PEOPLE WHO REBLOG MY ART, I GET DOWN ON ONE KNEE FOR YOU

[the-haiku-bot]

I LOVE PEOPLE WHO

REBLOG MY ART, I GET DOWN

ON ONE KNEE FOR YOU

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

[elys-writing]

Ode to Hate

Her skin burns to touch,

It stings my lips.

Her heart hurts (full of blood and sinking underwater and it all tastes of iron)

I will kiss her till she can not breathe,

Hold her till she can not feel,

Be her till she can not see,

Dream her till she can not hear.

She tells me she loves me (it hurts)

She tells me she wants me (it hurts)

She tells me she needs me (it hurts)

She tells me she is me (it hurts)

I tell her to let me go (it hurts)

She will die in a meadow of daisies and roses

She will die in a smile

She will die under a white stone

She will die in my hands.

(And maybe love and hate are the same, maybe we can not tell dreams apart from reality, maybe I don’t know which is which but I know she needs me as much as I need her and she is nothing, maybe I am nothing, maybe we are nothing, maybe we breathe cyanide and live in dopamine because of it, maybe I’m broken and can’t be fixed,

maybe I love you,

maybe I hate you.)

[elys-writing]

He bit his nails, pressing his teeth down till they clinked against each other and broke through the bone. He tangled his tongue and teeth against the fracture and ripped. It split down the finger, pulling bloodrops from their caves into dull light. He placed the finger on his tongue and pursed his lips. The clouds frowned at him.

“That’s dirty,” The clouds said. Spittle and clear bloodrops landed on him. He looked up and hummed.

He spoke, his words muffled by the finger teasing the back of his throat. “So are you.”

The clouds didn’t respond. Blood continued to leak from his finger and it fell from the sky. He looked back down at his free hand, removed the salt and iron from his mouth, and inspected his right pinkie for leverage. His teeth clinked, and bile rose in his throat.

“You act like you're dying,” The clouds laughed. Their laugh was the pitter patter of blood on roads and roofs. He didn’t look up.

“You act like you're alive.” He responded, his hands slipping into his pockets with a twinge of pain. “Isn’t that worse?”

[elys-writing]

[elytra404]

hi all!!!! 

my online/adoptive mum needs commissions to have somewhere to live by September 1st!! i'll attach her price/reference shit below! if your able to, please commission her! msg her on discord @ zzkayscreationszz ! shes running a sale on colour and more!

i've known her since she was the age i am now, she is a wonderful human being. she even picked out what is about to be my middle name! so please please please commission her if you can, no worries if you can't, either way please reblog! thanks all!

[writing-prompt-s]

“Aren’t you an elf, one of the longest living beings in existence?” “Yes, you are correct.” “So why is it that I’ve only ever seen you adopting hamsters?”

[elys-writing]

"I have millions in stock from time. and hamsters have such short life spans. i may as well use mine to take care of them."

"thats.. actually kinda sweet of you. maybe elfs aren't actually that bad."

"yeah, a lot of the sterotypes are honestly cruel and entirely untrue. just cause i use the hamster bones for my follower's sculpture class after i give the hamsters a long beautiful life doesn't mean im a 'eccentric elf weirdo'"

"and there it is."

"huh?"

"..."

"..."

[elys-writing]

The city goes dark on a sunday evening. Soon after, the electricians of the old world are sent to light the lamps. This is something that hasn’t been done for years, however the streets are now lit by firelight. Most people hurried home. Some kid’s began to skateboard on the car’s that the government hadn’t gotten around to moving yet. I layed with you in the park, eyes tracking the stars. It was the first time you’d seen the star’s so clearly, so I explained each of the constellations to you. You said you liked Ursa Minor best, until I pointed out that the constellation you were pointing to was actually Cetus. You decided Cetus was your favorite after that.

The star’s hadn’t been this clear since I was a little girl. You’d grown up in a world covered by smog. As a child you might have told me star’s were a myth. The sky was still waking up, its blanket being lifted. I mentioned that one day the star’s may be as clear as they were in my grandmother’s stories. You said that you hoped they were.

We headed home after hours of stargazing. Our jeans were stained with the grass of central park. I guessed it was around 2am. You told me about how snakes stargaze, and how when they stargaze they're actually tilting up their heads due to illness. We walked in silence after that, though it wasn’t uncomfortable.

I tucked you in that night, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. I moved to plug in your nightlight, the one ‘waste’ of power we had been allowing ourselves. It, of course, didn’t turn on. You didn’t mention it, so neither did I. There was no news for me to watch that night, no terrifying updates or story’s of rich families being locked out of their homes with electronic locks. Instead I turned to the record player we had spent our savings on at the beginning of all this. I placed a record on it, not bothering to check what it was. I spent the rest of the night staring at the blank TV screen and listening to Billy Joel. I think we were the last awake in the city that night. In the end, I think I was the last one awake in the city.

That morning, you found me on the couch. The same 20 Billy Joel song’s had been replaying, but I had yet to notice. You didn’t turn off the music, you just slipped beside me. You asked me a question, and I had no answer for it. You asked me;

“Is this the end of the world?”

And I had no response.

[elys-writing]

The suitcase will be left on the side of the bus stop, just far enough out that rain will begin to stain the leather. You will not see the man as he leaves, simply the shadow of a raincoat. As you slow down, your shoes wet from rain, you will watch your bus roll away. You will take a seat under the small shading, huddling away from the rain. After a moment, you will notice the suitcase. Your hands will shake as they clasp the handle and pull it away from the rain. The shaking of your hands will knock the fragile lock open, revealing the contents.

Inside will be five item’s, and you will think for a second about how much empty room has been left in the suitcase. Then the picture will attempt to take flight with the wind, and you will be distracted. The photo will be a polaroid, faded with smeared handwriting on the bottom. You will be able to faintly read the words ‘i love you’ in all lowercase beneath the photo. The photo itself will be something you would not wish me to describe, due to its pornographic nature. Needless to say, you will be very pleased that it did not fly into some unwitting civilian’s path.

You will place the now damp photo back into the suitcase, and place the silver pocket knife on top of it to keep it from flying away. The pocket knife itself will be quite rusty, yet functional. You will slice your thumb with it, small drops of blood will blossom around the thin cut. You will of course be surprised by how sharp it is, then remind yourself to get a tetanus shot.

Next to these is a chocolate bar. You will not touch this bar, there is simply no need too. Whatever the first chocolate bar that popped into your mind is, it is very likely that it will be that type of chocolate. However if you did not think of a melted cookies and cream Hershey’s bar, you are incorrect. Instead you will pick up the poetry book. It will be one of those poetry books that lists a poem for each day. Despite the book being damp and old, you will flip to today’s poem. Today’s poem will be the one listed for December 24th. It will be quite appropriately titled December 24th, written by Rose Styron. You will skim it, and find it quite beautiful. However you will soon set the book down, and you will forget the poem entirely.

Finally will be the old coat, which will be far too neatly folded for you to wish to pick up. Instead you will simply read the tag. The tag itself will tell you that the coat is extra large, and was made 20 years ago in 1985. You will appreciate the fabric for a moment, as it will be quite soft and warm.

After this, you will have a moment of humility. You will realize that you have been going through a stranger’s possessions. You will hurriedly close the suitcase and place it where it originally sat, only you will move that placing in your mind so that the suitcase is no longer in the rain. Soon your own bus will arrive, and your cheeks will be red with cold. You won’t look back at the suitcase, and in doing so you won’t notice that it has vanished.