I Adore This So Much. The Emotions Of The Characters Can Just Be Felt. I Don't Know The Full Context,

Ooo I am so intrigued so far! I wonder why Jesse and Lira feel connected. Are they soulmates, did they know each other in a past life? I also wonder who that man was. So excited to read more!

Chapter 1 - Jesse survived

For most of her childhood, Jesse lived in what could be called a shed. The inside was cramped, barely enough for her mother and herself to move around. Drafts always managed to seep through the cracks in the walls or the gaps around the windows by the moment. A narrow bed was pushed against the wall opposite the wood burning stove, just big enough for the two of them to sleep in together. Despite all this, Jesse’s mother made sure her daughter knew she was doing her best to add as much comfort as possible to their living conditions, there were a few hand-me-downs and scraps of fabric adding some semblance of privacy and color which the two of them appreciated.

The outside was a mess of unkempt grass, some discarded tech, and a broken down truck. Nothing to write home about but it was their land, and she knew every inch. Mom would tell her stories of the past when they could afford this small patch of peace, the freedom it instilled in them before corporations swarmed the suburbs with towering, sterile buildings. This was a place of calm resilience for Jesse, though she never fully realized the weight of the situation until much later.

One day, the inevitable came barreling down on them–the land had been bought up by some nameless megacorporation. They woke from a deep slumber to a blaring horn from the bulldozer, a solemn reminder of the destruction to come. They scrambled to flee the building in time, leaving behind everything that wasn’t already on their backs and feeling distraught as they watched the home they had lived in for years get demolished in front of them.

Her mother fought hard to keep the land, but a corporation stole it. She was old enough by then to know the look of despair on her mother’s features. The last bit of freedom and dignity they had clung to for the last seven years of her life had been torn from them–leaving them both metaphorically and literally naked as she stared at the broken rubble of what she had called home.

She despised watching the apartments build up on the plot of land where she had spoken her first words, taken her first steps–but what is someone like her able to do against that level of authority? Everything she had known since birth was destroyed in a matter of moments by the cruel, unflinching megacorporation that her mother had warned her so much about since as early as she could remember.

She knew she couldn’t do anything about it–not yet at least–but she made a silent vow to herself in that moment. She would make them pay for taking her dignity, and she would personally carve out her own freedom from the very foundations of every single corpo bastard’s cushy home.

When Jesse and her mother were first forced into the complex, she found herself lost in a crowd of people. Every wall looked the same–sterile and all too clean. Every concrete hall echoed eerily, either with silence or sounds she couldn’t bare to comprehend. Her mother worked long hours to afford the rent, leaving Jesse alone in these sterile halls for all to long for her comfort. To escape the reality of the situation she wandered the labyrinthine halls or sitting on the flights of stairs–until she met Lira at least.

Lira saw her, a girl who looked like she didn’t belong in these halls even as she was aimlessly wandering them, and felt herself drawn to this girl by an unseen force. Neither girl tried to blend in, not really. Lira’s heavy boots made loud echoing footsteps as she walked towards Jesse, who seemed to almost be in a trance as she walked–seemingly not hearing the steps coming behind her. Lira could tell this girl was hiding something, some heavy burden she couldn’t help but feel intrigued by.

Lira tapped Jesse’s shoulder and turned her around, seeing the girl’s trance snap the moment her hand touched the girl’s shoulder.

“You seem lost,” Lira said almost too matter-of-factly as she searched the girl’s deep emerald eyes for any signs of modification.

Jesse didn’t answer for a moment, but she didn’t pull away from Lira’s touch, either. She felt an instant connection, as if there were impossibly unspoken decades of conversation that had already happened between the two.

“What of it..?” Jesse managed, her voice foreign and broken in her throat.

Lira could feel the contempt brewing beneath the girl’s calm exterior and smirked at the attempt to suppress it. “I like that about you, the name’s Lira.”

Jesse locked eyes with Lira, a small smile threatening to creep up on her lips–the feeling was just as foreign as her voice felt just moments ago. She was speechless, considering her reply for a long moment.

“Thank you, Lira…I guess there’s no getting out of being your friend now huh?” Her voice initially came out as quiet as a mouse, “My name’s Jesse.”

Before Lira could answer, a loud bang rang out in the halls, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. What seemed like a scream was interrupted by another bang–two, three, four–Jesse’s face was contorted with fear and anguish as she recognized the scream. Without thinking, Jesse ran toward the source of the sound, Lira not far behind.

Jesse skidded to a halt as the hallway bent sharply, her sneakers scraping against the concrete. Her breath caught somewhere in her throat–a choked sound, halfway between a gasp and a sob. The surrounding air was thick with the sterile scent of cheap industrial cleaner, but underneath it lingered something coppery and unmistakable.

Her mother’s body was sprawled across the threshold just outside their apartment door. A crumpled form that once held tired laughter and soft lullabies. Her eyes–usually alert, darting, always worried about Jesse–were empty now. Open. Unseeing.

Blood seeped out from beneath her mother in sickening contrast to the dull grey walls. The pattern of it already began to dry into the cracks of the floor, spreading out like tendrils trying to become part of the building itself.

Jesse didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her legs were locked beneath her, the world suddenly quiet. Too quiet.

Behind her, Lira arrived, breathless, her presence a sharp contrast to the horror. She looked between the body and Jesse, reading the story in the girl’s silence. The air buzzed faintly with the distant hum of corpo drones–already gone, their protocol overlooking this. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the form of a man rounding the opposite corner, and for a fleeting moment, she saw the glint of a gun in his hand.

“Jesse…” Lira whispered, stepping forward carefully, as if she were approaching a wounded animal.

Jesse was beyond hearing. Her fingers began to twitch at her side–tap… tap… tap-tap… tap. The rhythm she didn’t realize she knew. A lullaby pattern, ancient and instinctive, a whisper of her mother in motion.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t scream.

She just stared.

And then her knees gave out.

Lira caught her without hesitation, arms circling Jesse like they’d always belonged there. She didn’t speak. Didn’t try to fill the space with comfort or apology–only silence and warmth. Even though they’d just met, Lira understood something vital and unspoken. Jesse needed someone to witness this moment. Not fix it. Not erase it. Just be there.

And Lira stayed.

Teenage Wasteland - Chap. 2 - Bad Music and Good Desires

Sunlight streamed into Samantha’s cavernous garage, illuminating a lone, scarlet-colored toolbox and stacks of cardboard boxes which smelled faintly of dust and old newspapers. Yet more pervasive of all was that stench of motor oil which clung to the air, a thick, greasy perfume even the strong breeze couldn’t quite shift. This emptiness came with a strange comfort, the perfect canvas for Sam and Tegan’s rehearsal space; the quiet hum of the neighborhood traffic added a low background thrum to their afternoon. Samantha’s parents’ absence, a welcoming situation, stretched out before them like a long, open road.

“Yeah, we both should sing, right? Like, If’n it makes you feel better. I can be the lead, but you got to be my back up.” Samantha offered the well-used can turned weed-bowl towards Tegan. “I can’t be singing alone, ya know?”

The metallic clang of the can against the lighter echoed as Tegan inhaled deep of the weed’s smoke, the butane’s sharp scent stinging her nostrils. She sat the can down on a rough, large cardboard box, its texture a sharp contrast to the smooth metal. “I can’t sing for shit,” she mumbled, her voice husky from the smoke. “You are the one with the beautiful voice.”

“Hah! No! I’m going to go all punk with this shit. Because this isn’t ‘bout beauty. We’re going to make music and say, ‘fuck the man,’ all at the same time.” Samantha’s passion took over as she strummed the V-shaped guitar strapped around her. “Now let’s make some music!”

With a snorting laughter, Tegan nodded. “Fuck yeah! We’ll be the next Bratmobile or Bikini Kill. But before we get to that point, co-band leader, what’cha playing?”

“I don’t know! Fuck it! Let’s jam!”

Not saying a word, Tegan moved over to Samantha, the soft brush of her cheek against Sam’s was a fleeting whisper. An almost secret smile played on their lips; they both smelled of Teen Spirit, the Romantic Rose aroma, that is. They’d tried to conceal their affections from the older generations—a hushed giggle, a furtive glance, but here they could do what they wanted. Being so far back from the road, no one could see them.

Samantha was still brand new to playing guitar but made up for it with sheer enthusiasm and a can-do attitude that most did not have with something they were so new at. No imposter syndrome for her, no self-consciousness telling her she could not do it. Just a desire to play and play she did. Not great, even by punk rock standards, but the pair played Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, and Jack Off Jill as rough and raw as they could—they played their hearts out over and over.

Sweat beaded on Tegan’s forehead, as that Carolina summer heat started early this year. Her sleeveless black tank top with that stylized heart and knife stabbed through it—a lucky purchase at the mall-soaked through and clung tight to her thin torso. Playing the bass line for the songs, eventually just playing whatever sounded good to her. It flowed with Samantha’s rather chaotic guitar-playing. She hopped around, scream-singing whatever came to mind, which was both good and hilarious.

“I’m your whore! The one you adore!” Samantha yelled into a microphone that didn’t exist, which had Tegan doing her best not to laugh.

They lost track of time, and people had driven past on their way home from a long day. That’s when Tegan noticed the sour expression on Mister Oakley’s face. A man in his mid-forties and about as conservative and closed-minded as they come. That type of Christian that followed none of the tenets of Christianity that hated everything and everyone that was not white, Christian, and straight. Anyone who did not fit into his archaic view of what Americans or America should be. Tegan was well-acquainted with this man in the past. So, as he stomped up the driveway, she knew this was going to be a bunch of bullshit.

“What in the hell are you two doing?” He stepped up, chest puffed out and hands on his hips. “This isn’t the type of neighborhood that allows such type of music. We don’t like punks here. Tegan, you have a long history of being nothing but a pain in the ass ever since your grandparents did this entire neighborhood a disservice. By bringing your inconsiderate, rule-breaking ass home.”

Which was Mister Oakley’s modus operandi, to act like he had the higher moral ground. When, in actuality, he was just a bigot.

****

In the late winter of 1993, on March 13th to be exact, brought with it a blizzard of sorts. Where temperatures dropped beyond any normal winter, and alongside that, over a foot of snow in some places within the upstate of South Carolina. Which neither the state, nor any of its citizens knew what to do, nor were they prepared for such a snowfall. The south froze over that day, and despite it all, Tegan’s life finally opened up, and in a fashion, defrosted for her. With previously unknown grandparents spending months freeing her from this prison, and everything seemed brand new and beautiful.

On the long car ride from Spartanburg to Simpsonville, her grandparents—Sadie and John Morgan—asked a hundred and one questions. Of which Tegan had no issues answering, though her right knee bounced the entire car ride. She wasn’t sure if that was from her nerves, or if it was the excitement which surged through her veins. Her new life would begin; she never thought it would at all. That there came with her life a curse, unbroken and unbothered, yet here it was broken and bothered.

“We promise to never send you back there. No matter what,” grandmother assured. “Ain’t that right, John?”

“You’re one of us. Family watches out for family,” grandfather agreed. “I just wish your mother remembered this.”

“Not now,” Grandmother admonished.

Sullivan Road winded its way through a thickly-wooded area on the outskirts of Simpsonville, SC. Several parcels of land portioned out with every house a ranch-style, every third one just the same as the third before it. Lawns neatly-manicured and maintained, covered in a layer of snow. Which gave everything a soft, sculpted veneer, as if crafted by the hands of a master. Kids in their thickest clothes ran about throwing snowballs at one another, building snowmen, and for Tegan, it was a first-time experience.

“Can I play in the snow?” Tegan asked, already wanting to jump out of the car and do snow angels. Get completely covered in the white, frozen stuff, and enjoy that sense of freedom that tasted oh-so-good right now.

Grandmother bade Tegan to wait; to let her get situated into the bedroom they had prepared for her. To eat something more hearty and bone-warming than the rather sad breakfast she ate that morning; but, more important than all of that, the five simple rules of living with them: Finish all homework on time, making sure grandfather checks its—no excuses barring sickness. Definitely no drugs or drinking whatsoever. Be back home by 9:30 pm sharp, 9 on school nights. No one can come over unless they are cleared by grandmother first. And absolutely no boyfriends over, though this was not an issue for Tegan.

All easily agreed to by Tegan, who then stuffed herself in as much warm clothing as would fit over her and rushed outside into the snow. With blustery winds and dancing snow, Tegan ran over to a group of kids who were engaged in a light-hearted game of throwing snowballs at one another. Kids who introduced themselves were kind to the new girl, and only asked surface-level questions about where she came from. It was a beautiful kind of freedom.

“Oh! So, you’re that kid that came from the orphanage? The broken one?” Asked Lisa Oakley, her black hair pinned back behind her ears.

“Father says you were unwanted, and we shouldn’t associate with someone tainted like yourself,” said her twin brother Robert.

The two teased Tegan over and over, and it caused her fists to clench, her jaw to clench. While the other children were nice enough, the twins kept pushing her throughout the whole time. To not jeopardize her new home and her place within it, Tegan just took it until it became almost too much. That after Robert asked what happened to her mother, or if she even had one. Tegan lashed out to where he took a swift punch to the nose, followed by being tackled by the smaller girl, and a rain of punches landed over and over. He did not know how to defend himself in the least.

Strong arms wrapped themselves around Tegan and pulled her off the boy, who lay in a pool of freezing blood and sobs. She wriggled around enough to elbow the man in the nose and escape his clutches. To notice that it had to be their father, for he looked just like the boy quivering on the ground.

“Stop attacking my children, you demon!” He shouted with the fury of an angered pastor. “I saw it all! You just blindsided him for no reason!”

“No reason, eh?” Grandfather trudged out through the snow. “For the things he said, he deserves even worse. You touch my granddaughter again, and we’ll have some real issues here. Understand?”

Pointing his finger at grandfather then at Tegan. “Do not even talk to my children again, you-you forgotten child! Jesus has no place for the unwanted and unwashed, like you.”

****

He’s been the same since the day Tegan moved here.

“Okay, old man, you can fuck right on off,” Samantha growled, resembling a guard dog. “This is not your house at all. If you have an issue, call the fucking cops and see how seriously they take you.”

Mister Oakley took a step forward but stopped suddenly at Samantha’s voice. “Another fucking step and I go to my dad’s gun cabinet. You have come onto my parents’ property, making two underaged girls feeling WAY unsafe. Any issues? Take it up with my father. He’ll tell you the same that I told you. Go eat a fucking dick. You are unwanted, unwelcomed here.”

As if he had just experienced the most traumatic event, Mister Oakley stood shell-shocked. Tegan took the opportunity and said, “you heard her! We’re just having fun and hurting no one. Does having fun hurt you?”

“I-it’s not good!” He sputtered out.

“No fucking shit, dude. We’re just starting out and learning,” Tegan fired back with more venom than she expected. “Why don’t you just go back home to Missus Oakley, and disappoint her in all ways, and just leave us alone?”

“Well, I’m going to tell your parents,” he threatened as he pointed at Samantha, “and tell your grandparents about this!”

Tegan shrugged, readjusted the faux leather of her bass strap before she resumed playing. With a disgruntled huff and the soft thud of his loafers on the concrete driveway marked the man’s departure. Sam’s laughter, bright and clear, filled the air as she playfully hip-checked Tegan, the impact a gentle, almost loving jolt. Followed by a quick, fleeting kiss on Tegan’s cheek. Then back to his guitar, the enthusiastic strumming a cheerful, if a bit clumsy, melody.

Eventually, the two young teens had to depart, and Tegan carried her bass in its case across the street. Her mismatched eyes turned toward the Oakleys just down the way, and an overwhelming desire to throw rocks at it almost overcame her reasonable side. Being so late in the school year, there was not much homework for her to do. So, instead, she watched MTV Live and tuned out on the pop music that played in the top hits of the week.

“So, Tegan,” Grandfather began as he cut into his steak and shoved a piece into his mouth. “Mister Oakley said you were very rude to him today. Even cussed at him.”

“Meh, he’s a holier-than-thou blowhard, grandpa,” Tegan replied as she poked her fork at the mashed potatoes on the plate. “Plus, he was saying some mean things to Sam.”

Grandmother gave a half-laugh. “He is a blowhard, honey. But I do have a concern. He said you two were playing music and smoking weed?”

Not looking up from her good, Tegan took a bite, always loving how buttery and garlicky grandmother’s mashed potatoes always ended up as. “Yeah, well, we were playing some music. She’s learning to play guitar and is getting better, after all. So, since her parents were gone, we figured why not jam out in her garage? Might even form a band. Maybe. Either way, Mister Oakley didn’t like it.”

“And the weed?” Grandfather’s tone took on the one that Tegan recognized as his not-messing-around voice.

“He said he was going to try and get me in trouble. Just making up some bullshit,” Tegan muttered.

“Language, Tegan,” Grandmother admonished, but neither said anything else about the matter.

After dinner, America’s Funniest Home videos blared on the television as Tegan was interested in everything else but that. Waiting until the house went quiet, she laid on top of her thick blanket with only the lamp on the bedside table on. A creased copy of Alanna: The First Adventure in her hands, and despite how worn-out it was, and how many times she had read it. Tegan could always get lost in the Kingdom of Tortall and Alanna’s adventures as a page in a fantasy Royal Court. Sure, Alanna had to hide her gender and pretend to be a boy, but it didn’t last the whole story. It just seemed so romantic and awesome and so much better than the boring-ass town that is Simpsonville.

Tap-tappity-tap came from outside her window, and Tegan paid it no heed at first. Just a bird far-too-close to her window, yet it happened again with more insistence and need. Crawling across her bed, Tegan peered through the blinds to see the beautiful face of her girlfriend, who gave a wide grin and a wave. “Hey, Tee! Come out here!”

Pulling open the window, Tegan giggled as she climbed through and landed barefoot on the soft soil of the flowerbed. Doing her best to not step on any of grandmother’s prized flowers. Before she could even gain her bearings, Samantha pulled her into the shadows that concealed the side of the house away from the prying eyes of the neighbors and the road. Sam was very much assertive, almost too much by some standards, but Tegan loved the dominant side. When Samantha would press their lips together with such force and passion, to be desired as such and to be loved as such, or at the very least, to be lusted after. Each teen’s hands would embolden and explore each other every time they kissed and embraced.

Samantha’s hand lingered at the edge of Tegan’s shirt, as the faint sound of their breaths mixed with the rustling of fabric. The touch of recently-calloused fingers traced a path up Tegan’s smooth stomach, sending a shiver down her spine. The air was filled with a hint of anticipation as the fingertips playfully danced just below the curve of Tegan’s breasts.

“What if someone sees us?” Tegan finally protested, but she didn’t protest strongly.

“No one’s going to see us,” Samantha’s tone carried with it something Tegan had never really heard before, a true longing, desire, and lust toward her. “I have this burning need to feel, to taste every bit of you. I want to make you quiver, squirm, and cum.” At those words, Tegan had to stop herself from moaning out with barely a touch by this point.

The warm evening air smelled ever sweeter as Samantha lifted Tegan’s shirt to expose the pale-skin beneath and kissed her belly button. Which caused a soft giggle to escape from her, who said not a word but bit her bottom lip as Sam' moved upwards at a slow, deliberate pace. Indescribable, utterly indescribable were the feelings in Tegan’s mind as her eyes closed, just as Samantha’s lips found the buds of her destination.

“Keep your beautiful eyes open,” Sam whispered her demand. “Makes it so much better.”

Yet before Samantha could really turn Tegan’s life around, the light in the house beside them turned on and forced the two teenagers apart in the blink of an eye. Tegan pulled down her shirt, face flushed, breathing deep and heavy, and Samantha’s frustration etched across her face. When the older woman peeked through the blinds at them, the two teens gave a short, sharp wave.

“Son of a bitch,” Tegan groaned.

Samantha sighed but then giggled. “I was feeling so, you know, horny for you. We can always go somewhere else.”

“Not tonight. We need to find more privacy around here.”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’ll find something. There’s got to be somewhere.”

Tegan pulled her girlfriend into a tight hug and kissed her on the nose. “Never apologize. I’m just happy Missus Auerbach over there doesn’t gossip.” With a bashful smile, she tucked a strand of reddish-blonde hair behind Samantha’s ear. “There’s still so much in front of us, you know? Though, I agree, we need a place to be together from prying eyes.”

“Blah, I’ll see you at the bus stop.” Samantha planted another long kiss on Tegan’s lips before she scampered off back home.

After she crept back into her bedroom, Tegan kept the window open, which allowed a cool night breeze to stir the curtains, whispering against Tegan’s face as she snuggled under her soft blanket. Sleep evaded her for who knows how long; Samantha’s lips, warm and lingering on her breasts, played on repeat in her mind. This memory, this vivid memory, sent shivers down her spine; a potent cocktail of longing and arousal surpassed anything she had ever known before. She ached, oh did she ache for Samantha—her touch, the taste of her skin, the lovely fresh aroma of her hair, every exquisite detail that her girlfriend brought with her. Tegan bit her lip, a sharp sting against the overwhelming heat that built within. Her hand, much like a silent intruder, slipped beneath the soft-blue cotton panties. A muffled moan followed by a breathy sigh escaped as she encountered the slick, undeniable evidence of her desires and lust she felt. It did not take her long to reach that peak she was not unfamiliar with.

She brought up two fingers slick with her own moisture; Tegan pulled them apart. A glistening strand stretched, then snapped as a wave of hot shamed washed over her—she’d never imagined herself rubbing one off to someone she actually knew and not some hot celebrity. Yet, the cool night air on her skin offered a stark contrast to the fiery blush that stained her damp, sweat-covered cheeks. The intensity of her orgasm was unlike anything she’d experienced before; Samantha had truly ignited her, and this was not quite as satisfying as she suspected being with Sam would be.

Was this just hormonal lust, a wildfire of tingling skin and racing pulse? Tegan knew she cared for Samantha; she always did her best to make Tegan feel cherished, and vice-versa. But was their intense attraction merely physical, a symphony of breathless sighs and flushed skin and stolen kisses, or something deeper?  She wasn’t sure; love felt like a hazy dawn, a dream that slipped through the mind once awoken, and had no true examples of how it was supposed to be. If it meant the sun-warmed happiness of Samantha’s presence, each day brighter with her laughter, then maybe, just maybe, it was love.

“Shit,” Tegan cursed before she got out of bed to clean herself up. Changing out her sheets, tossing them into the washer and tossing herself onto the fresh set. A fresh wave of exhaustion overcame her, and this time, Tegan fell into a deep, sound sleep.

****

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @bardic-tales

@dyrewrites

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Writing update 5/1/2025

I am continuing to write Sleep Laughing slowly but surely. I'm getting caught up in making the logs detailed, and trying to get myself to realize, "you need to write the skeleton of this idea before you can go into the depths of this character's suffering". And also, during the first logs he's so weak/in so much pain he's barely concious or thinking straight, so it makes sense why they're not as detailed.

Still, I managed to get extremely good progress for logs 7 and 8. Here's my favorite snippet (tw body horror and agony):

I've come to a conclusion. Even if I am in Hell, it really isn't such a bad thing. It just means I'm being punished, and, if I'm being punished, that means there's a chance to redeem myself, right? Every single agony I experience is a debt being paid, a sin washed away. This pain isn't a curse. No… …this pain is a blessing! It's giving me a chance to repent for everything. Oh God I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'll never do it again. So please, just let the light take me!

Also, I am looking for beta readers for my stories The Diary of Spinel Bramford and The Breeding Grounds. You can find their descriptions here. If that'd interest you, please let me know!

Taglist: @aweirdshipp

Pretty much all the characters are planned, I just need to finish the bios.

Mothers & Daughters

"My Neice Is Probably the Reincarnation of Shirley Jackson" by CJ Hauser / Shameless, Season 1 Episode 9 / "The Taste of Hallowed Earth" by @pulcherri / "On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous" by Ocean Vuong / The Haunting of Hill House, Episode 5 / Yellowjackets, Season 3 Episode 10

IRIS - Spoilers Disguised As Memes [PART 3]

This is the fourth and last option of the community poll. Next up: yet another poll! If you wish to choose what to see next, join us!

Work on IRIS the remaster has officially began! Content is shown on the B/T community a couple days prior blog posts.

IRIS' L. is the placeholder title for an upcoming (Teen bordering on Young Adult) book: a portal fantasy, whimsical story with teen drama, mystery, venturing and body horror. It is part of the Creation And Destruction (Standalone) Tetralogy, the very first installment of the first BAD TOKENS story.

I am going to make the villain so plural and no one can stop me.

Writing Update 5/15/2025

Hi hi! For the most part, I've finished the hero side of the worldbuilding. I mostly just have to think of more holidays. Anyways, here are the categories of heroes for anyone interested (keep in mind this is a draft that needs more polish):

Commons - Heroes that represent common hopes and dreams.

Pinnacles - Heroes that represent hopes that are achievable, but need a lot of work to become reality, and depend highly on the direction of the future. This can include heroes that represent concepts like world peace or futuristic technology.

Ambitions - Heroes that represent hopes and dreams that are more personal, such as hopes for one's family, personal goals, and so on.

Unattainables - Heroes that represent human desires or dreams which can not be attained. Some are obvious like those based on things like flying or shape shifting dreams, while others are more abstract and connect to humans attempting to disregard their humanity.

Tag list: @aweirdshipp, @floofyboi57, @aralithmenathere

📖Help Rural Library After Fire 🚒

Thought I would try to signal boost for this small village. The library in the village of Prescott, Michigan was lost in a fire last month. While the building was insured, they need donations to keep summer programs running and other temporary needs. They still need supplies, including storage and craft supplies for the kids!

Donate on their website ● Amazon wishlist ● Updates on FB ● News article

Please reblog to boost! I know book lovers here understand how important libraries are.

Can we make this post do numbers? 💥

I adore this. You perfectly took symbolism and imagery associated with the heart that would usually be framed as comforting, and distorted it in a way that gave me chills. This poem felt extremely powerful because of that, and I love the haunting imagery you've created here.

Cracks are in the molding of the drywall

where my fingers push in the heart

I'm tired of holding

The squelch it makes when it hits the ground

notifies me of my failure and makes my voicebox

attempt to imitate that horrifying sound

My knees slip in the flood of red from it's exit

And I fall in time with it's beating

Gorey giggles bubble from my mouth

when I end up landing face to face with it

Realizing that this is karma's dealing