Uncool Stories

𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙥 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 ³:⁴⁶ 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞 𝙘𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙣; 𝗺𝘆 𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀 (𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆) ❝ 𝘪'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 ❞ 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 ~ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵗʰʳᵉᵃᵗᵉⁿ ᵐᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ: ᵖ!ᵃᵗᵈ 1:05 ───|────── 3:37 |◁ II ▷| ∞ ↺ ▁ ▂ ▃ ▄ ▅ ▆ █ 100 %

I'm using the internet as my diary

loading. . . █▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ 10% ███▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ 30% █████▒▒▒▒▒ 50% ███████▒▒▒ 70% ██████████ 100% ᴄ ᴏ ᴍ ᴘ ʟ ᴇ ᴛ ᴇ ! ❝ . . . . . . . . ︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶ ☆ * . ☆ . ∧＿∧ ∩ * ☆ * ☆ ( ・∀・)/ . . ⊂ ノ* ☆ ☆ * (つ ノ .☆ (ノ ┏━━━━°❀•°✮°•❀°━━━┓ welccy !! this is my first story thing so its stoofid. look at my cringe editing evolution- enjoy :3 ┗━━━━°❀•°✮°•❀°━━━┛

Tidbits and pieces of old stories and chapters, nothing too coherent. Hope you enjoy!

This is a story about an awkward, unattractive loner boy named Hike (yes hike like the verb) that accidentally forgets that he sold his soul to a shape-shifting immortal being to become more popular at school. The best part is that, not only does the shape-shifter finally come to collect his soul on his 16th birthday, but he also simultaneously becomes his new classmate. Watch Hike awkwardly menuever a new adventure full of near death experiences, social status renewal, and dimension hopping all while trying to balance being a high school kid. Enjoy.

Alienated, unknown, unrecognizable

. . .

Ivy moves into an old house with her mother after her parents divorce. Ivy finds an old mirror, intending to keep it. She began experiencing weird things. A boy's reflection. Does Ivy end up keeping the mirror? And who's that guy? Ivy Evans, a seventeen-year-old student. With a hatred of school. Ivy like to do art, poems and write. That's her way of expressing feelings and emotions, since she has it with bottling it up. Ivy Evans is so said a seventeen year old student, we follow Ivy and get to see her become the strong young woman she is, Ivy has huge opinions and is still learning how to love. A quick disclaimer, I'm in no way shape or form experienced with writing, i usually just read and do art (like Ivy), English is not my first language, so there will be grammar mistakes and lots of typos. But hey, at least I tried. Since it's my first time writing, i will learn lots, and be better next time. WARNINGS: language, mention of bullying, self harm scars and insecurities. (there will be not details whatsoever to the selfharm part, it will only be the scars and struggle to stop mentioned) (i might be adding/removing warnings throughout the story so make sure to check here) struggling? national suicide prevention lifeline: 1-800-273-8255 selfharm crisis textline: text HOME to 741741 for free.

Hey, so, just as a quick heads up: this isn't exactly a proper novel. It's a crossover thing of my own characters, along with some of my friends', so some things probably won't be understood. You're more than welcome to read it if you want, but that's up to you

Cynicism and high school:--)

This is just things I just randomly think about or somethin'

Ayyyy I've written a short lil' poem that actually rhymes AND makes sense this time

A random story I have been writing for a while now and I only continued it because my (old) best friends inspisred me to.

A couple of 15-year-olds. Extremely different people beat all odds and become the coolest group of friends, going through life together.

"I love the sound of the rain. The feel. Even the taste. Most people find rain dreary, but when I hear the inviting pit pats on my roof, I know that happiness is right outside of my front door. Rain is my lullaby at night and my comfort in tough times. Rain is more than just weather, rain is my friend. Rain is the splish that lands on your forehead, that tells you "spring is here." Rain is the bouncing of water, but not just the bouncing. Rain is playing. Rain is jumping and leaping excitedly--and sometimes angrily. Rain is spilling onto my skylight right now, soothing me into a zen state of mind. Clearing my problems--diminishing them. Rain is the one that tells me "it's okay, I'm here." When rain is here, and it feels like lightning is striking me even though there is no lightning, rain makes the crack of thunder fade away. Rain makes me dance and sing and cry and every other possible thing I could do. Rain makes me contemplate, rain makes me romantic, rain makes me smile. Pit pat. The rain taps steadily on the skylight, slowly growing faster and faster. The sound evolving from a distant pitter patter to loud footsteps, now distinctly banging over and over, faster and faster, quicker and quicker. The rain is not just any of those things. The rain is me, and I am the rain."