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Writeblr Intro circa 2024

Hi writeblr!! Sooo, I've been around here since about 2014. (Yes, I am ancient.) However, I've been dormant for the past 4-5 years. Blame college and a brief stint on Twitter. Now that I'm active again, I thought I should make an updated writeblr intro so ppl know my Deal. Basically, I want to engage with other folks who write fiction (esp original SF), and that's a little easier if I have a clear post that outlines what I do. Here to make connections and hear about your blorbos :)

About me

Hi, I'm Vee! They/them, 23, 💖 🤍 🧡

I do journalism/comms in western New York

My literary jam is feminist/adult SF and gothic lit (OG or modern) 🥀 ⚔️ 🌙

Enthusiastic about gay people, body horror, and sociopolitical allegories

I cook, run, play tabletop games, and occasionally draw. Other than that, I'm mostly writing (for work and for fun)

If you were on pre-2020 writeblr, you likely know me from my eight billion daily tag games. (I still like tag games and appreciate u for tagging me. I have also gained adult responsibilities and better mental health, so I respond very slowly now. <3)

Always happy to get asks or dms, tho as I've noted: I may reply slowly.

Sometimes open to beta read! I only read one longer project at a time, but it's always super fun :)

I tag very consistently – happy to tag triggers for followers/moots

Fun fact: I love mushroom hunting and worked as a mycology TA. #cottagecoreera 🍄 🧚‍♀️ 🌱

About my creative writing

I write,,,, feminist/adult SF with gothic leanings (surprise!)

Longform and short! Trying to do more short writing this year, and I'll likely share a bit on Tumblr. It's easier to clip a short story than a 150k novel, god bless.

The Aesthetic: moral g(r)ays, Victoriana, androids/cyborgs, Women™, monstrous femininity, incessant Hamlet/Frankenstein motifs, extremely boring socioeconomic worldbuilding, evil queens and/or dilfs, psychosexual witchcraft, probably a cat. Also, an ominous, plot-relevant letter laced with anthrax from your unhinged and brilliant ex-wife. Open if you dare.

Major projects

I'm going to be writing some short work this year, but these are the longer projects that I have going in the background. If I reblog blorbo-related text posts, they probably have something to do with these.

Let me know if you want to be added to any project-specific taglists 😎

Heart of Lead – Series

The big one

Perpetually evolving

Never ceasing

Pls send help I can't stop adding shit

5-book gothic fantasy epic that I'll definitely publish one day but probably no time soon! My bastard child, my wicked firstborn, my greatest love <3

Character-oriented political drama set in a pseudo-Victorian, dystopian oligarchy where everyone's heart is made out of metal. It's about coming of age and discovering queer identity in a world that is absolutely fucked. God is an extraterrestrial lesbian who gives ppl very traumatizing magic powers. There are cyborgs, shapeshifters, and morally gray women in STEM. It's tight as fuck idk what else what to tell u.

Book 1 is about achillean monarchists, and book 2 is about sapphic anarchists. There are only two genders, I guess.

At this point, I've drafted most of the books at least once. Working to refine a lot of raw material atm!

Tag: "heart of lead tag" or "hol tag"

Lost Letters – Book

Aka the current active HoL WIP, and book one in the revised series structure

Length: 80k as of now; around 120-140k when the first draft is finished, I presume.

Genre: adult fantasy, gothic, noir detective drama?? um?? If you want me to frame it in BookTok terms (why?) it's a dark academia villain x villain tragic romantasy. Hrgh.

Summary: Cyborg soldier goes to college, joins a shady socialite frat, and falls in love with the jilted heir-apparent to the throne. Hilarity ensues.

(By "hilarity," I mean a militant revolutionary faction and a tragedy of Greek proportions.)

POV characters: Charles (the cyborg), Dale (the heir), and Cecelia (Charles' sister, a junior detective, the love of my life and potentially the Chosen One???)

This book is twisty and dark and immensely fun to write.

I'm about halfway through the first full draft! Hoping to share snippets and vaguepost about my children here.

Tag: "lost letters tag" (also "hol tag," tho that one's less specific)

The Last of Mortal Tourists – Book

The next longform project on the docket!

Length: a standalone work that will hopefully fall on the shorter novel/novella spectrum.

Genre: literary SF, cyberqueer, psychological space quest

Summary: The consciousness of a dead coding genius, trapped inside a spaceship, seeks a new planet to sustain their sister, the last surviving human, after the destruction of Earth.

If you're here to get wildly philosophical about gender and the myth of essential self, this is the story for you! That's why I'm writing it, lol. 🏳️‍⚧️ 🚀 🤖

This one started out as a short story (100% finished) which I want to expand.

POV: Archer Alto, the coder. Spaceship? Human? Soul?

Supporting Cast: Pandora, the last human, and Abby, a holographic impression of Archer's childhood consciousness

Tag: "the last of mortal tourists tag" or "tlomt tag"

If you read all this way, you get a whole bouquet of flowers that are certainly NOT poisonous: 🌸 🌹 💐 🥀 🌺

<3

Love the idea of having a diary for a character, and this is so beautifully written!

5/2

The death of winter is the birth of spring. There’s a certain melody to spring that I can’t quite capture. Is it the hum of the insects leaving their hiding spots I’ve not yet found? The chirps and caws of the animals greeting the still frigid morning? Or could it be the wind that no longer bites at my skin with a deathly cold but instead carries new life: seeds. The scenery is foreign to me now. I had grown used to the blank, muted world, where only the orange from the flames in my hearth broke through the colorless world. Spring comes every year, and yet, I grow no less used to this continuing cycle of life. I am always surprised by the way life continues after tragic deaths.

This book had sat on my desk, untouched for months. It had gathered a thick layer of dust. I stared at it many nights, knowing I had much on my mind. Still I did not write. I have grown comfortable speaking in my own head. Holding the pen is uncomfortable, the ink drips in the pages as I hesitate with my words. I will write, and need to practice what I am not used to. Before I had learned this skill I was ashamed of my incompetence. And yet, having now learned, I find many excuses not to write. My friend would find this humorous. I know that very well. But I love to see his laugh.

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

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Original Work Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Tegan Raines, Samantha Corino Additional Tags: Original Fiction, Young Love, Teenagers, 1990s, Original Character(s), Original Story - Freeform, LGBTQ Female Character, Queer Character, LGBTQ, LGBT, queer Summary:

In the spring of 1997 close to summer break, fourteen-year-old Tegan Raines. A former orphan and foster child, now living with her grandparents. Meets the new girl across the street who, unbeknownst to both, have their lives changed for both the better and the worse.

****

tag list:

@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

Want to join the tag list? Click here and interact with the post, or send me a message!

Hey, I made a survey for the recent writing project I am working on. If you want, feel free to fill it out. The questions may feel a bit random at times, but I promise they are relevant. And may have something to do with kissable object head people.

Google Docs

Dating Game Satisfaction Survey

For a writing project of mine, I was curious how people felt about the dating options in games that let you romance the characters. Let me b

Minors please do not interact

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

Wanna join my tag list? Click here and interact with the post, or send me a message!

y'know it is possible to hold all the following to be true at once:

'abled' and 'neurotypical' are constructs, rather than a specific group of individuals. every human body and mind has a range of things it can do and cannot do, and the lines we draw between 'abled' and 'disabled' are largely arbitrary

some of us are Disabled and unavoidably so, and this has real and continued impacts to the way we live our lives. the things we aren't able to do are hard and unchangeable limits. disabled people like us have always existed and always will

people are rewarded for proximity to the abled standard, where the better you are at imitating 'abledness' the more you're rewarded, both implicitly and explicitly

the process of hiding your disability or attempting to imitate abledness is difficult, stressful, and has adverse impacts on a persons health and well-being, and it is certainly not the preferred way for a person to have to live their entire life

and we have to get better at letting all of these truths sit side by side without falling into the pit-falls of "everyone's a little bit disabled" vs "you have to be This disabled to count". also worth saying that all of this Must sit alongside a genuine commitment to listen to & respect & advocate alongside people with higher support needs

Binding A Page In Print!!!

It took a month to work out all the kinks (lol) but our steamy vampire romance novella Binding a Page is finally available for print on demand! (Meaning you won't find it on the shelf in a physical store: they only print a copy when you order it.) I know it's at Amazon and Barnes & Noble's site, and it should be at most other online retailers.

There's the front and back covers and first page of my author's proof copy, looking good!

Binding a Page: Chris is a small-town high school drop-out from West Virginia, still trying to find his feet in the deadly currents of vampire high society after being turned into one of their Rulers by accident. Gabe is a disgraced Page, stripped of his bond and left starving and alone in Chris's guest bed by a man who wishes neither of them well. An unlikely match, nonetheless Chris and Gabe find themselves drawn together against a world they're desperate to escape… and find in one another a chance for true freedom.

Content warnings: Mention of: domestic, emotional and sexual abuse, drug use, captivity, violence, non-consensual bondage.

“Bought it and read it all the way through in one go, I couldn't put it down—sweet, hot, and great worldbuilding!” —ValencePositive

“Highly enjoyable for fans of complicated vampire politics, emotionally-sensitive men who want to do the right thing, and sex that’s full of feelings.” —thinofsubstance

I'm extremely excited about getting a book into print, and I hope our readers are too. Go forth and order if you want to hold this book in your hands!

Help out indie writers with no ad budget!

Our Michigan Fleet sequel novel (working title "Run Aground") is a good distance through the editing process, and we plan to post it on Royal Road as a free webnovel starting sometime in May! Before then, we thought we'd go ahead and get the first book, After the Storm, up there, both to attract new readers and hopefully to entice some of our loyal regulars to reread.

We now have After the Storm fully queued up, posting one illustrated chapter every Sunday at noon. Today, March 9th, Chapter 6 went up. So here's where you come in: we need as many recs and reviews as we can get on this new platform so when we finally start on the new novel it'll go as well as possible! We are SO looking forward to sharing Run Aground with all of you, and every fav, follow and review will help make it a success.

So go check out After the Storm, and make our day!

After four years of hell serving aboard the Sympatico, a dysfunctional ship with a deadly crew, all Rich wants is to prove himself worthy of an unexpected second chance. Get some sun, make some friends, maybe hook up with a cute guy and even learn to relax. But old scars, bad habits, and an insane AI aren’t going to make it easy…

Teenage Wasteland Chap. 2 Snippet

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 a fleeting whisper. An almost secret smiled played on their lips; they both smelled of Teen Spirit, the Romantic Rose scent, 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.

****

@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

MY HEARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT! That was so precious. You could just feel their history together, and now they're gonna be together. 🥺 Glad they had a time to relax and talk, even if they'll need to have a deeper discussion about it later down the line.

The compound sounds so cool! The descriptions you gave were great. It really feels alive like Jesse said, and you can just feel the activity buzzing with in. It'll be interesting to see how Jesse and Lira integrate into the compound. With their skills, I imagine they could be a great help around the place.

I also already love Maive, and Veyra always makes me smile. She's definitely one of my favorite characters now, though of course I adore Jesse and Lira.

Chapter 7 - Comfort.

The room was quiet, save for the soft crackle of a candle burning low on the far table. The air was warm, still, and heavy with the scent of wax—faint, but unfamiliar enough to remind them they weren’t home.

Jesse stirred first, her eyes blinking open against the dim orange light filtering in through a covered vent. For a brief moment, she forgot where she was. Her muscles tensed on instinct until the sound of soft breathing from the next bed grounded her again.

Lira.

Jesse turned her head, watching as Lira lay curled under the blanket, her hair slightly tousled, lips parted as she breathed slowly. She looked younger like this—less guarded, less ready to fight the world with her fists clenched.

Jesse sighed and let her body relax fully for the first time in what felt like days.

Eventually, Lira stirred too, eyes opening just enough to catch Jesse watching her. “Morning,” she mumbled, her voice rough from sleep.

“Or… whatever time it is.” Jesse gave a sleepy smile.

They sat in the quiet for a few beats longer, neither rushing to move. It was the first moment they’d had where survival wasn’t the immediate priority, and both of them were reluctant to break it.

Then Jesse sat up slowly, stretching her arms over her head. “So this is peace, huh?”

Lira nodded, rubbing her face. “Feels weird. Not fighting for once.”

Jesse gave a soft laugh. “Maybe we should get used to it. At least for now.”

Lira rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she shook her head. “No, it’s probably best we don’t get too comfortable yet.”

“I guess you’re right, but we could at least take this morning slower than normal and just relax… right?” Jesse asked, her voice almost pleading with Lira to slow down and relax.

Lira’s expression softened as she laid back into the bed again. “We have been going pretty hard… I guess one morning of peace and comfort isn’t the worst.”

Lira stood up and grabbed Jesse’s shirt, admiring the softness of the fabric before tossing it to her. “Put this on though, we should at least get comfortable with the new area.” Lira turned to give her friend a hint of privacy as she felt a blush rising up on her cheeks again.

Without hesitation, Jesse nodded and pulled on the shirt, the shoulder’s dull ache a calm reminder of what they had been through. As soon as her chest was covered, she stood and walked behind Lira, pulling her into a tight hug.

The sudden pressure of Jesse’s chest against her back made Lira jump and blush even more.

“I-I…” Lira stammered, her voice wavering.

“Don’t worry, Lira, just relax with me. Whether it’s in this room or out there, we’ve got each other’s backs.” Jesse squeezed Lira tighter and smiled, resting her head on Lira’s shoulder.

The two sat in a comfortable silence with Jesse holding her close, Lira’s head leaning to the side and resting on Jesse’s.

Then, a soft knock on the door, the sound of knuckles rapping on the metal before it slowly creaks open, Veyra poking her head around the corner. “I trust you two are…” Veyra’s eyes widened softly as she looked at the gentle scene, “oh good, you’re getting along just fine.” She giggled and stepped into the room fully.

Lira blushed even further, but Jesse couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

“Come now, you think I’m not used to seeing this kind of thing between two obvious lovebirds?” Veyra asked, smiling softly.

Lira was speechless, her jaw dropped as she looked down at Jesse.

Jesse’s eyes shone beautifully in the candle light and Lira couldn’t help but relent and nod. “My question is how long Jesse has felt this way…”

Jesse giggled and shrugged, finally managing to peel off of Lira’s back. “It’s been a little while…I could feel it brewing since the moment you walked into my life.” Her voice was dripping with sincerity, soft and calm. “I’ve liked you for a long time now… longer than I wanted to admit.”

Lira chuckled softly, trying to mask how flustered she had grown.

“Seems like you two are ready to explore the compound now,” Veyra smiled softly, pushing the door open the rest of the way.

Through the cold metal door frame, they could see a much warmer view of the rebel compound. There were still groups of people speaking even as the evening became night time.

Before the two walked out together, Lira whispered in Jesse’s ear. “Looks like we’ve got some talking to do later.” With that, they stepped across the threshold together, taking confident strides as their hands brushed against one another, sending a jolt of white hot connection through the two.

The cool night air hit their skin like a wave of ice water.

The sound of conversation had picked up slightly, growing more focused on the two of them.

One woman stepped forward from her group, offering a hand to both of them. “You two must be Lira and Jesse,” she said, her tone calm yet curious. “I’ve heard you’re planning on staying just the two of you. If you change your mind, you’ve got my support.”

The woman who’d greeted them had short, choppy hair dyed deep violet, and a jacket covered in stitched-on patches—most of them worn so thin you couldn’t make out the words. Her hand was calloused but steady as she shook both of theirs.

“I’m Maive,” she said, her voice carrying that quiet steadiness of someone used to surviving rough places. “Been here a while. Helped Veyra set up some of the security protocols. If you need help finding your footing, I’m around.”

“Thank you,” Jesse replied, her voice softer than usual as she tried not to shrink under all the attention. Lira stood slightly ahead of her, clearly taking the lead again.

Maive gave a reassuring nod. “You’ll be fine. People around here talk a lot of shit, but most of them mean well.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Come on, I’ll walk you around before they start asking you questions.”

The compound wasn’t a bunker so much as a repurposed skeleton of an unfinished underground transit hub. Graffiti and torn banners hung from exposed steel beams, and faint techno beats leaked from some unseen speaker system deeper in the compound. A few people nodded to them as they passed, eyes lingering just long enough to feel noticed.

There was a corner with crates stacked high—supply cache, maybe weapons. Another hall smelled strongly of spice and broth—mess area. Someone had built a makeshift garden under industrial grow lights, rows of leafy greens taking root in salvaged plastic tubs.

“Don’t expect comfort in the corpo sense,” Maive said, leading them through a dim corridor lined with mismatched doors. “But you’ll eat. You’ll sleep. You’ll have people who watch your back.”

Lira slowed near the garden, curiosity flickering in her expression. “You grow your own food here?”

Maive nodded. “Some. The rest gets traded or stolen. Depends on the month.”

Jesse trailed a few steps behind, eyes wide. This place wasn’t just a hideout—it was alive. Worn-down and stubborn, but real.

When they looped back toward the main chamber, Maive paused and gave them a final once-over. “There’s a war coming whether you join it or not. But if you do—” she pointed back toward the candlelit hall, “you won’t be fighting alone.”

Jesse giggled and nodded. “I appreciate it, Maive. We appreciate it.”

Lira nodded slowly, still taking in all the wonderful things around them and unable to hold back a smille.

It's so sweet that Veyra can already tell the connection those two have, lowkey calling them out by saying they can share a bed if they want lol. I feel the found family growing, and I can't wait to learn more about Veyra. Plus see Lira and Jesse's relationship develop more. I wonder how they'll realize their feelings.

I'm all caught up now. So glad I found this story, it's awesome and you're doing a great job with it! The descriptions in these latest chapters were so good.

Chapter 6 - Hope.

“Good. Now, try to follow my exact footsteps.”

Veyra didn’t wait for a response. She turned sharply and slipped deeper into the alleyways, her steps quick and deliberate. The path she led them down was a maze—twisting turns, tight corners, low-hanging wires. The girls followed close behind, hearts pounding, stepping where she stepped, careful to leave only one trail in the mud.

The neon glow behind them faded with every turn, replaced by dim streetlights barely clinging to life. Eventually, they reached a part of town untouched by the usual buzz—no ads, no corporate banners. Just shadows, whispers, and the occasional flicker of a broken sign.

Clusters of people were gathered around makeshift tables, voices low, eyes sharp. Every conversation seemed to stop and start again with passing glances. It wasn’t chaos. It was control.

Lira and Jesse kept their eyes fixed on Veyra as they followed, her stride unbroken as they passed table after table. Some were groups of men, others women, all casting glances that cut sharper than the silence.

Each group radiated the same quiet tension—alert, wary. They recognized the newcomers, not from introductions, but from whispers and headlines. Two women whose defiance spoke louder in one night than the entire movement had in months.

“Don’t mind them, dears,” Veyra called back, her voice smooth and disarming. “They’re just admiring your passion—and the power of your voices.”

Lira met a few gazes head-on, pride swelling in her chest. For once, the attention didn’t feel like a threat. But Jesse shrank instinctively behind her, trying to disappear into Lira’s shadow. Her pinky tapped out its familiar rhythm against her thigh, each step syncing with the pulse.

tap… tap… tap-tap… tap…

Finally, after what felt like an hour in Jesse’s skin, Veyra stopped at a heavy metal door set into the back wall.

“This is where you’re welcome to stay.” She motioned to the door with a tilt of her head.

Lira stepped forward, pressing her palm against the cool steel and giving it a push. To her surprise, it opened easily.

Inside, the room glowed with flickering candlelight. Two beds sat side by side, neatly made, as if they’d been expecting them all along.

“This is… much cozier than the apartment,” Jesse murmured, eyes scanning the warm shadows. Then she looked back at Veyra, nerves creeping back into her voice. “And if we don’t agree to join… what then?”

Veyra’s gaze dropped. “Then I’m afraid you won’t be welcome here. You’d both be on your own… in a city that wants you dead.”

Lira grabbed Jesse’s hand, squeezing it softly as they locked eyes—a silent conversation worth a million words passing between them.

Veyra smiled at the bond they shared, whether or not they realized it.

Just as the silence stretched too long, Jesse finally spoke. “Then I guess our best shot at seeing this city reformed is with you.”

“Oh good,” Veyra giggled, clapping her hands together with sudden warmth. “I didn’t want to send you out of here after what you’ve been through today. Now, make yourselves at home and relax. You can use one bed or two—your choice.”

Veyra slipped out, the door shutting softly behind her, leaving Jesse and Lira in a welcome silence.

“So… this is our life now, huh?” Lira said, giving Jesse’s hand another gentle squeeze.

“Yeah. Really living the dream,” Jesse chuckled, a small smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

“What do you wanna do first?” Lira asked, voice somewhere between caution and wonder.

“I could go for a nap…” Jesse yawned, pulling off her jacket and tossing it onto a hook.

She padded over to the bed, peeled off her shirt, and flopped under the covers with a sigh of relief.

Lira smiled as she watched her, a light blush creeping up her cheeks. Eventually, she rolled her eyes and joined her, flopping onto the other bed with a quiet huff of contentment.

This is getting so exciting! I can't wait to see wherever Veyra wants to take them. And also who else is on her team. It sounds intimidating, though it's definitely one of the few chances they have at safety.

Though I am a little confused when it comes to Veyra's description. She is originally described with white hair, and then dark hair. You may want to clarify for readers.

Chapter 5 - Mysteries.

They followed her at a distance—neither too close to spook her, nor too far to lose her in the crowd. She moved through the market with the kind of grace Jesse only ever saw in dancers or predators. Her coat was long, matte black with subtle electric-blue threading that shimmered like circuit lines when it caught the dim light. It didn’t match the worn, chaotic energy of the market; it was too clean, too calculated.

Her boots struck the ground with purpose, soles silent despite the grit beneath them. Jesse noticed the way people seemed to part for her, even without realizing it—like their instincts warned them to keep a respectful distance. She wasn’t just any local.

Lira leaned in close to whisper, “She’s not armed—at least not obviously. But look at her posture. Center of gravity’s low, hips slightly forward… Combat trained.”

“Military?” Jesse murmured.

“More likely corpo security. Or worse—ex-corpo, off-leash.”

Jesse kept her eyes fixed on the woman’s hair—a sharp, asymmetrical bob dyed white-blonde, the ends faded into an unnatural cyan that pulsed faintly under the neon signs. The back of her neck was bare, save for a glowing datajack with an old corporate logo burned into the skin like a scar that never fully healed.

She’s not hiding where she came from, Jesse thought. She wants us to know.

The woman glanced over her shoulder once—just once. Sharp eyes like twin razors. No surprise, no fear. Just confirmation.

“She knows,” Jesse whispered.

Lira nodded grimly. “Good. Makes it easier to skip the lies when the shit hits the fan.”

The woman chuckled, a soft sound that felt oddly out of place against the sharp edges of her presence. “Hopefully the only thing blowing up is going to be Omnigen, dears.”

Jesse tensed at the name. “I assume you’ve done your research?”

“Of course I have. Can’t go scouting for new team members without knowing exactly who you are.” Her voice was calm, clipped, like the decision had already been made for them.

“Team members?” Lira’s tone sharpened. “We tend to fly just the two of us. Not sure how well that’s going to fit into your little operation.”

The woman didn’t flinch. “Oh, I don’t expect that to change. Omnigen—and every other corpo snake—has eyes on you. If you suddenly had backup, they'd double their security before we had a chance to strike.”

They trailed behind the woman through a narrow alley choked with rusted fire escapes and neon reflections bouncing off puddles. The city’s usual noise faded to a distant hum, replaced by the sharp clicks of the woman’s boots echoing against the damp concrete.

Jesse quickened her pace just slightly, stepping closer. “So…who are you exactly?” Her voice was soft yet eager, the corners of her mouth twitching with the hint of a grin. “I mean clearly you know us, it feels kinda unfair not to know your name.”

The woman glanced over her shoulder with a half-smile. “Call me Veyra. That’s all you need for now.”

Lira stayed behind them, eyes sweeping over rooftops, windows, any reflective surface. She didn’t like how quiet this part of town was—it wasn’t abandoned, just… too still. “And what exactly do you want with us, Veyra?” Her fingers flexed, itching for the comfort of something familiar—like the spray can she kept clipped to her belt.

“I want what you want,” Veyra said simply. “To burn the rot out of this city. But if we don’t get smart about it, we’ll die trying.”

Jesse furrowed her brow. “I assume that means building a team?”

Veyra nodded slowly. “A decentralized cell. One no one can pin down. You two are ghosts—they’ve already spun stories about your ‘terrorist ring.’ Let them think it’s bigger than it really is.”

Lira narrowed her eyes. “You’re talking like you’ve already made the decision for us.”

Veyra stopped suddenly, turning to face them fully for the first time. In the dim light, Jesse could finally get a better look at her—mid-thirties maybe, sharp cheekbones, a jagged scar bisecting her left eyebrow. Her hair was dark and cropped close, her leather coat having seen more years than it should have. But her eyes… her eyes burned like dying stars.

“I’m talking like I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been breathing,” Veyra said. “But I haven’t survived this long by forcing people into fights they don’t believe in.”

Jesse tilted her head, intrigued. “Then why us?”

“Because you started something.” Veyra spoke calmly, eyes flicking from Jesse to Lira. “And because you don’t look away when the world bleeds.”

Lira folded her arms tightly. “That’s not a compliment. It’s a death sentence.”

Veyra didn’t disagree.

She simply shrugged, a faint smile creeping across her features. “And yet here you both are—following a strange woman who has a very obvious corpo past.”

“We don’t exactly have a better option,” Jesse replied, her voice firm and muscles tensed. “The apartment’s compromised, and we don’t have many alleys or markets to hide in.”

Veyra smirked, sensing the tension in the air. “Your apartment never was truly. Omnigen already knew exactly where you lived. They let you stay there to lull you into a false sense of security—until you started making too much noise. They wanted to scare you into submission, stop you from joining something bigger. Like my team.”

Lira clenched her fists at her side, her voice was ice cold. “And who says we’re joining your damn team?”

“I didn’t say you were,” Veyra said calmly. “I just figured I’d show you a place that’s safer than your busted apartment or the middle of a protest about to be gunned down.”

Lira and Jesse both froze, stealing a glance at each other.

“That…does sound like a better deal than just hoping we don’t catch another bullet.” Lira said, her voice an admission of guilt and defeat that Jesse had never heard before. Softer, more willing to submit to Veyra’s words.

Jesse watched carefully, unsure what scared her more: the bullets, or the tone in Lira’s voice.

I love this new character already! I'm also impressed with the way you write their dialogue. I sometimes struggle with certain characters sounding too similar, but you do a great job with the dialogue of all three of these characters. I can really hear their voice through the text. Also love how you write action, it had me on the edge of my seat!

Chapter 4 - The Protest.

The next morning, Jesse woke with a groan, the dull ache in her shoulder a solemn reminder of the danger she put herself into last night.

She looked over at Lira, who was still sitting with her knees to her chest. A wave of emotions washed over her. Guilt? Sadness? Love? Right now it was all too hard to parse over the pain.

“Hey, you wake yet?” Jesse asked, her voice hoarse from the ragged breaths she took.

“Yeah…” Lira yawned out, her gaze slowly lifting from the single tile on the floor she had been looking at all night, her eyelids drooping.

“…You didn’t sleep, huh?” Jesse’s voice was oozing for concern with her friend.

“Is it that obvious?” Lira whispered, a soft chuckle escaping her lips momentarily.

“Well…normally you look like a flame roaring to life when you wake up, but now you look like a raccoon,” Jesse said, a small smirk playing across her lips as she gestured toward her own eyes.

Suddenly, something on the TV caught their attention.

“Last night in Serath, protests broke out regarding…”

They both tuned out the broadcast, locking eyes.

Jesse spoke first, voice quiet with disbelief. “We… We started something, didn’t we? With our art?”

Lira nodded, her voice a hushed whisper. “Yeah… we did. Wish I’d finished mine, though.” She chuckled softly, her hands sliding from her knees to the floor as she pushed herself upright.

Jesse tried to stand too, wincing with every movement.

Lira laughed and smirked, stepping over to catch her before she could fall. “Careful, soldier. Don’t go hurting yourself now.”

Jesse couldn’t help but giggle, rolling her eyes.

The TV faded back into their awareness. “For those of you looking to stay safe, we recommend avoiding Duskline Avenue…”

“Let me guess… you wanna go there today, huh?” Jesse smiled, stretching out her stiff limbs. “Safety’s never been your thing.”

Lira huffed, smirking. “Guess you can read me like a book.”

“Not hard to do when I’m used to tagging along on all your little missions, Lira.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Lira chuckled, brushing off the tease. “C’mon, let’s get you ready.”

As Lira helped Jesse pull on her jacket from the night before, she couldn’t help but notice something. Jesse was still wearing the gloves from their run-in with Vance.

“You really like those gloves, huh?” Lira teased.

Jesse did her best to hide the blush rising in her cheeks. “So what if I do? They’re comfy!”

Lira chuckled, shaking her head. “Nothing wrong with liking the gloves you used to beat your first debt collector.”

The heat on Jesse’s face grew, and she quickly turned away, tugging the jacket on the rest of the way. For once, she was completely speechless — not from the hollow ache she knew too well, but from the sudden, fragile warmth blooming in her chest.

Satisfied, Lira smirked and tapped Jesse’s shoulder. “Time to go, soldier.”

Jesse took a deep breath, nodded, and smiled softly before leading the way out.

They wound their way through the maze of backstreets and alleyways, careful to avoid prying eyes. Eventually, they found themselves at the center of an enormous protest—voices bounced off the monolithic buildings towering over Duskline Avenue.

One message cut through the chaos, sharp as a blade: “RELEASE THE FILES. SHOW THE TRUTH.”

The chant thundered across the avenue, a living, breathing thing.

Lira joined in first, shouting with her whole chest. Jesse quickly followed, her voice softer but no less determined. “RELEASE THE FILES. SHOW THE TRUTH.”

Lira climbed onto the roof of a battered car, raising her firsts and leading the chant, fully caught in the moment. Jesse stayed close, feet on the ground, her presence quieter but no less vital.

The sight of it all—the passion, the sheer mass of people—moved Jesse in ways she hadn’t thought possible. Her simple little tag had helped spark this. It felt unreal, overwhelming…but she couldn’t stop herself from chanting alongside the crowd.

Their voices grew hoarse, lost in the sound and the safety of the numbers around them—the unwitting masses never realizing their two ghost leaders stood right there among them.

Eventually, the crowd began to die down—until a single gunshot cracked through the air, slicing past a wall of bodies and slamming into the hood of the car Lira was standing on with a sickening crunch.

Screams erupted in an instant. Panic spread like a wildfire. Lira leapt from the car just as another shot hit the metal frame behind her, sending the crowd into full-blown chaos. People pushed and stumbled, nearly trampling one another in their rush to escape.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” Lira shouted, eyes darting across the windows of the far buildings as she searched for the source.

Then—another shot. This one shattered the side of the car near her landing point.

Before Jesse could react, Lira grabbed her hand and yanked her toward a nearby pillar. She’d seen it: the telltale flash of glass. A scope. They weren’t aiming to kill yet. Just playing with them. But they knew where they were.

A third shot slammed into the pillar with a sharp thud.

Then silence.

Too quiet.

Where had the protestors gone? Were they hiding? Watching? Had they scattered completely?

Questions raced through Lira’s mind, but she pushed them down. No time. Can’t look. That sniper’s still watching.

A soft crack—a new gunshot, muffled this time. Silenced. A warning. Either the sniper had changed tactics, or there were two.

Jesse’s fingers began to tap a quiet rhythm on her thigh, the one she always fell into when the fear crept too close. Her eyes scanned the nearby doors, the pillars, the shadows. Can’t go down the street. Shots were too low. They’ll have it covered. Need an alley. Something tight.

Lira stayed still, her breathing shallow, eyes flicking between possible exits.

Then her thoughts turned, as they always did, toward Jesse.

If I give myself up… would they let her go?

She clenched her jaw. No. No, don’t think like that. We get out. Together.

Jesse tore one glove off and lobbed it around the corner of the pillar. Two shots rang out—simultaneous. The glove shredded mid-air.

Shit. Two of them. Her thoughts raced, calculating.

Bolt action? Maybe. Could give us a second to run for an alley. But I can’t keep tossing things and hoping they reload.

Her rhythm picked up—fingers tapping frantically now—as her eyes met Lira’s.

Without hesitation, Lira pulled Jesse into her chest, shielding her. Every muscle in her body coiled. Then she moved—scooping Jesse up like she weighed nothing and sprinting toward the next concrete cover.

They almost made it.

Two more shots ripped through either side of Jesse’s jacket, far too close for comfort—too precise.

Lira’s instincts screamed. She pivoted sharply, the sunlight catching a puddle in the alley just ahead. She veered toward it, taking a hard turn just as two more bullets slammed into the corner where they’d been just milliseconds before.

Don’t stop. Not yet. Too close. Her legs burned, lungs heaving, but she pushed through it all—darting between shadows, diving behind dumpsters, weaving through tight alleyways.

Only once they broke into a crowded market, loud and alive, did she slow. She set Jesse down in front of her, breath ragged.

“You okay?” she asked, scanning her friend for blood.

Jesse winced, taking a deep breath to calm the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “No more hurt than I was this morning…unless you count sentimental damage.”

Lira let out an exasperated sigh and wrapped her arms around Jesse, holding her tightly, as if sheer force could keep her safe. “Thank god… I don’t know what I’d do if I let you get hurt again.”

Jesse smiled softly at her words, unspoken words and emotion curling at the corners of her lips.

The market buzzed around them—a wash of voices, bartering, footsteps, and laughter. After the gunfire and hollow silence, the sound of normal life was almost surreal. Comforting in its chaos.

“Was it a setup?” Jesse asked, her voice low.

Lira’s stomach tightened. It was the only thing that made sense. “We can’t be sure just yet.” She knew she was lying, but it was better than facing the truth.

Jesse nodded, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah…but if it was a setup, they gave us a way out. Almost like they didn’t want us dead. Like it was a test.”

They began moving, weaving through the crowd. Lira leaned in closer, her voice almost drowned in the noise. “And if they wanted us there, who knows how many of those protestors were agents?”

Jesse went quiet, her shoulders tensing slightly beneath the ripped jacket.

Just as they were relaxing slightly, a voice cut through the noise of the merchants behind them.

“You two made quite the mess back there.”

They spun around. A woman stood half-shadowed beneath the canopy of a market stall, fingers tucked into her coat pockets. She looked calm—too calm for someone who’d supposedly just walked out of a sniper ambush.

Jesse instinctively stepped back, her body still wired from adrenaline. Lira moved in front of her without thinking.

“We don’t know you,” Lira said flatly.

“You don’t need to.” The woman glanced up, letting them catch a brief glimpse of her face. She looked vaguely familiar. Maybe someone who’d been part of the protest. Or the building. “But I know you.”

Jesse tensed.

The woman continued, her voice just above the murmur of the crowd. “You weren’t the only ones painting last night. But you were the loudest. Most visible. And now? People are listening.”

She paused, looking at Lira. “They’ll come again. Louder next time. You need to be somewhere safe.”

“And let me guess,” Lira said with a bitter smirk, “you just so happen to know a place?”

“I know the place.”

The woman turned and started walking away without another word. Lira hesitated. Jesse touched her arm.

“I think we should hear her out.” Jesse’s voice was soft and meek, like a mouse.

Lira didn’t move, eyes narrowed. “It could be a trap.”

Jesse exhaled. “Maybe. But we’re running out of alleys and markets to hide in.”

Lira hesitantly nodded, knowing their safety was limited if they stayed on the run.

With that, the two women followed this new anomaly of a woman.

AH THEY'RE SO CUTE! It's also cool to learn more about their shared apartment. Like the characterization that Jesse is good at tinkering with things, which would make sense considering what we know about her mother. I literally cheered at the TV broadcast. The plot thickens and I'm pumped to see where it goes!

Chapter 3 - Jesse Slept.

As the bandage was applied, Jesse let out a soft sigh of relief. The sharp pain had gradually begun to find into a dull, persistent ache as the burn gel worked its magic.

Lira, still processing what just happened, sat with Jesse, her hands trembling slightly. Tears threated to spill over, but she fought them back. She couldn’t let this happen. Not to Jesse. Not like this.

The silence of the apartment was suffocating, a stark reminder of their isolation. The two were together, but in this moment, they were still alone. The distant wail of sirens cut through the quiet like butter, but inside, the only sound was the low hum of the air conditioning unit, a mechanical reminder of the world that kept turning outside even while they were trapped in this small, quiet space.

“I’m like a little medical doll,” Jesse choked out through tears, her voice shaking like a leaf behind the mask of confidence she attempted to wear.

Lira let out a soft chuckle before giving Jesse’s thigh a gentle, playful punch. “Just focus on staying alive…” Her voice wavered slightly, then dropped to a whisper just loud enough to hear. “…for me. Please.”

“You think I’m giving up that easy? That I’d throw away everything we’ve built together just because some bullet nicked me?”

“Well—I—no,” Lira stammered. “I-I guess I don’t think you would. But I worry you might not get much of a choice.”

Jesse gave a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet. Just like you.”

Tears welled up even further in the corners of Lira’s eyes. Her voice trembled. “Good. I’m just…I’m so sorry you had to take that bullet. I should’ve—”

“Don’t even start,” Jesse cut her off gently. “I stood in the way. You didn’t push me into it.”

“Jesse, we…we can’t do this forever. You know that, right?” Lira’s voice broke while tears began to stream down her cheeks. “I mean…what if that hadn’t been a glancing blow? What if the guard had better aim?”

“I’m not letting you stop me from doing what I can to avenge my mom.” Jesse’s voice was calm—uncharacteristically so. Measured. Controlled. Like she was holding something back.

“I wasn’t planning to stop you, I just—” Lira faltered, her words falling apart as she leaned into her friend, crying—actually crying—for the first time in what felt like forever.

Jesse said nothing at first. She simply wrapped her good arm around Lira and held her close, breathing in the silence between them. Then, gently—unsure why—she pressed a soft kiss to the top of Lira’s head. She didn’t think she felt that way about Lira…at least, not yet. Yet somehow, in that moment, it felt right.

Lira melted into Jesse, clinging tighter until their bodies felt indistinguishable, her cheeks flushed with heat from the kiss. “I’m gonna do better,” she whispered. “I promise you that much.”

Jesse smiled softly and turned on the TV, flipping it to a news channel. Right there on the screen is her completed tag, splashed across a corporate tower like a scar in the skyline. It’s being shown on every news network their basic cable can show.

Jesse let out a soft sigh, the pain ebbing further under the thick bandages and burn gel. The news broadcast played in the background, her tag glowing on screen beneath grainy footage of the high-rise wall. She stares, silent.

It’s done. One step closer.

But that old memory flooded through her again—her mother’s eyes, glassy and unmoving. The sound cut out around her.

Beside her, Lira felt the tension coil in Jesse’s shoulders again. She reached out and flicked Jesse on the forehead.

“Don’t go back to then,” she says, voice quiet but steady. “We can’t change what happened, only what we’re going to do to return the favor.”

Jesse’s laugh is small and dry. “Yeah…I guess you’re right.”

She’s still spiraling, Lira thinks, watching Jesse place a hand over where Lira had flicked moments ago. Every time she sees that tag, she drifts. Every time she hurts, she hides.

Jesse leans her head back against the wall. She always pulls me back. Always. I don’t know how she does it.

Lira shifts closer, brushing her hand along Jesse’s arm. She’s still bleeding for me, even now. And I don’t know if I can keep watching that happen.

Jesse catches the movement and reaches over to squeeze Lira’s hand. Neither of them says anything.

We’re both doing this for the other, she thinks. But only one of us might walk away from it. I want it to be her.

A flicker of pain washes over Jesse’s face as she shifts to lay down on the floor, settling in front of the door. The movement is slow, deliberate, as she tried to make herself more comfortable.

Lira sighed softly and scooted a few inches away, giving Jesse the space she needed, though her eyes never leave her friend. She pulled her knees to her chest, a silent watchful presence.

“Good night, Lira…and thank you,” Jesse murmurs, her voice barely a whisper, still heavy with exhaustion. She closed her eyes, pretending to drift off to sleep, hoping it will give Lira some semblance of peace.

Lira knows better. She knows Jesse isn’t actually asleep—not yet, at least.

The clock on the wall, an old analog piece Jesse fixed up with her own hands, chimed softly. The bells rung out the hour. Ring. Ring.

The familiar melody of the clock echoed in the room, providing an odd kind of comfort in the dim red light.

“I love you, Jesse…” Lira whispered, her voice so soft it barely broke the silence between them.

Jesse fought the urge to smile, her heart skipping a beat at the quiet confession. She wasn’t sure the extent of Lira’s love, but she knew she felt the same. The feeling is foreign, but powerful. After years of pushing away every emotion, this one hit harder than she expected. I love you too, Lira. She thinks, but didn’t dare speak the words. The magic of the moment was too fragile to break.

The pain in Jesse’s shoulder came back in waves, making it feel as if hours had passed. She didn’t move a muscle, desperate to maintain the fragile peace that hung in the air.

Lira counted the seconds every time Jesse’s breath hitched even slightly, keeping track, making she she knew exactly how often it happened—and whether she needed to step in. Whether that meant dragging her to a hospital like she knows she should have done from the start, or springing into action like she always had. This was too much compared to her usual patch jobs. Too different. Too dangerous for her to be the only one working on it.

On the other hand, she knew that if she tried to take Jesse to the hospital now—not even three hours after their little adventure at the Omnigen building—she’d be risking the cops getting to Jesse first.

Jesse shifted slightly, the slight rustle of clothing catching Lira’s attention.

The fragile stillness shattered, replaced by a wave of nerves as Lira watched Jesse like a hawk, heart racing, ready to act if she had to.

Jesse assumed by now that Lira would be asleep. She mumbled, “Fuck, this hurts…Mom, I hope you’re proud of me…”

“You kidding?” Lira’s voice is soft, laced with concern. “Of course she’d be proud of you, Jesse…You went and tagged the main building of the corporation that took both your home and her life.”

Jesse froze, realizing she wasn’t as alone as she initially thought. “Y-Yeah…Right…I guess I did do that…”

Lira let a soft giggle escape her lips and nodded, “Damn right you did. You even beat me to it.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Jesse’s voice floated out, a bit more monotone, drained, forced. “Do you think…tomorrow’s pain is going to be worse..?”

“Whatever happens, we’re still here. That’s what matters.”

Jesse turns her head to look at Lira, lost for words, and offered a small, soft smile.

Lira reached out, brushing her hand along Jesse’s face and rubbing her thumb across Jesse’s cheek.

The moment hung between them—fleeting, but feeling like it could last forever. Both of them were smiling quietly, wordlessly, grateful just for the chance to exist together in this shattered world.

After what felt like hours of unspoken words and emotions, Jesse finally surrendered to sleep, letting it take her into the night.

Lira sighed softly, watching her, before finally nestling her chin between her knees and closing her eyes.

If you ever make a taglist, feel free to add me to it!

Master Post of Neon Ash

Chapter 1 - Jesse Survived.

Chapter 2 - Lira Cried.

Chapter 3 - Jesse Slept.

Chapter 4 - The Protest.

Chapter 5 - Mysteries.

Chapter 6 - Hope.

Btw, player of dating games or not, if you have a type in fictional characters, you can absolutely take the survey.

Hey, I made a survey for the recent writing project I am working on. If you want, feel free to fill it out. The questions may feel a bit random at times, but I promise they are relevant. And may have something to do with kissable object head people.

Google Docs

Dating Game Satisfaction Survey

For a writing project of mine, I was curious how people felt about the dating options in games that let you romance the characters. Let me b

Minors please do not interact

Hey, I made a survey for the recent writing project I am working on. If you want, feel free to fill it out. The questions may feel a bit random at times, but I promise they are relevant. And may have something to do with kissable object head people.

Google Docs

Dating Game Satisfaction Survey

For a writing project of mine, I was curious how people felt about the dating options in games that let you romance the characters. Let me b

Minors please do not interact

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

Speaking of, tempted to make a community myself, but since I have a variety of unconnected works, I have no idea what that would be a community for. Kind of reminds me of the idea I had to try and get myself posting again, mainly making like, a sort of dating sim kind of group of characters to play around with.

Y'all want me to make object head people for you to kiss? SFUIHSFU

New WIP Posted On AO3

Teenage Wasteland (3711 words) by afrostedlemoncoward Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Original Work Rating: Mature (For bad language, drug usage, and mild sexual scenes) Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Tegan Raines, Samantha Corino Additional Tags: Original Fiction, Young Love, Teenagers, 1990s, Original Character(s), Original Story - Freeform Summary: In the spring of 1997 close to summer break, fourteen-year-old Tegan Raines. A former orphan and foster child, now living with her grandparents. Meets the new girl across the street who, unbeknownst to both, have their lives changed for both the better and the worse.

Tag List:

@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

Want to join my tag list? Click here and interact with the post, or send me a message!

Kinsbane

(Where you can find my Aelarias story in order, will be updated as the story is! This will eventually be replaced by an actual intro and master post)

Prologue-https://www.tumblr.com/paleoartt/781755173952487424/this-is-the-prologue-to-a-story-i-need-to-write?source=share

Chapter 1-https://www.tumblr.com/paleoartt/781840106421157888/chapter-1?source=share

Chapter 2-https://www.tumblr.com/paleoartt/782117864389885952/chapter-2?source=share

Chapter 3-https://www.tumblr.com/paleoartt/782199363887841280/chapter-3?source=share

Intro Post

About Me

My name is Eric. I'm 39. I don't have much to say about me. I am working on an unnamed WIP right now.

Stories

My AO3 account for anyone curious.

An Unnamed Western WIP

Set in the late 1880s where the Union lost the American Civil War, where the Confederacy crumbled within five years and now North America is covered with a bunch of feuding warring states. A 24-year-old woman, unusual in many ways, works as a bounty hunter until a chance encounter with a slightly older woman and with the notorious James Rogers Gang.

For now, I will only share one chapter as I want to try and trad-publish or self-publish it once it is done. :3

Chapter One - Five Dead In Two Minutes

Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp - Kind of on Hiatus

A girl the age of 12 moves with her family to Mount Desert Island, Maine from Oregon. Where she meets an odd but friendly girl named Rowan, who declares there's old magic in the woods, and what's with the door underneath the stairs?

Chapter One - A New, Weird Home

Chapter Two - Once Upon A Cat

Chapter Three - A Bully This Way Comes

Chapter Four - An Unfamiliar, Familiar Place

Chapter Five - What's In The Woods?

Short Stories

The Act

WRITING COMMISSIONS from a self-published author:

I am a self-published author, with many more books in the works, and I am now taking original writing commissions!

If you want a prompt fulfilled, any writing about original characters, or anything to do with an original story, I'm the one for you!

I will write original stories that can be adult, but will not have explicit sexual content. I will talk to you through the whole process, to ensure the writing is perfect!

INFO

any genre

no smut

original fiction

regular communication when planning

timeframe: 2-4 weeks

PRICE

£5 per 250 words

MIN: 500 words

MAX: 5000 words

MESSAGE TO ASK & WE CAN MOVE TO DISCORD IF REQUESTED

PAYMENT THROUGH PAYPAL

Chapter 4 - The Protest.

The next morning, Jesse woke with a groan, the dull ache in her shoulder a solemn reminder of the danger she put herself into last night.

She looked over at Lira, who was still sitting with her knees to her chest. A wave of emotions washed over her. Guilt? Sadness? Love? Right now it was all too hard to parse over the pain.

“Hey, you wake yet?” Jesse asked, her voice hoarse from the ragged breaths she took.

“Yeah…” Lira yawned out, her gaze slowly lifting from the single tile on the floor she had been looking at all night, her eyelids drooping.

“…You didn’t sleep, huh?” Jesse’s voice was oozing for concern with her friend.

“Is it that obvious?” Lira whispered, a soft chuckle escaping her lips momentarily.

“Well…normally you look like a flame roaring to life when you wake up, but now you look like a raccoon,” Jesse said, a small smirk playing across her lips as she gestured toward her own eyes.

Suddenly, something on the TV caught their attention.

“Last night in Serath, protests broke out regarding…”

They both tuned out the broadcast, locking eyes.

Jesse spoke first, voice quiet with disbelief. “We… We started something, didn’t we? With our art?”

Lira nodded, her voice a hushed whisper. “Yeah… we did. Wish I’d finished mine, though.” She chuckled softly, her hands sliding from her knees to the floor as she pushed herself upright.

Jesse tried to stand too, wincing with every movement.

Lira laughed and smirked, stepping over to catch her before she could fall. “Careful, soldier. Don’t go hurting yourself now.”

Jesse couldn’t help but giggle, rolling her eyes.

The TV faded back into their awareness. “For those of you looking to stay safe, we recommend avoiding Duskline Avenue…”

“Let me guess… you wanna go there today, huh?” Jesse smiled, stretching out her stiff limbs. “Safety’s never been your thing.”

Lira huffed, smirking. “Guess you can read me like a book.”

“Not hard to do when I’m used to tagging along on all your little missions, Lira.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Lira chuckled, brushing off the tease. “C’mon, let’s get you ready.”

As Lira helped Jesse pull on her jacket from the night before, she couldn’t help but notice something. Jesse was still wearing the gloves from their run-in with Vance.

“You really like those gloves, huh?” Lira teased.

Jesse did her best to hide the blush rising in her cheeks. “So what if I do? They’re comfy!”

Lira chuckled, shaking her head. “Nothing wrong with liking the gloves you used to beat your first debt collector.”

The heat on Jesse’s face grew, and she quickly turned away, tugging the jacket on the rest of the way. For once, she was completely speechless — not from the hollow ache she knew too well, but from the sudden, fragile warmth blooming in her chest.

Satisfied, Lira smirked and tapped Jesse’s shoulder. “Time to go, soldier.”

Jesse took a deep breath, nodded, and smiled softly before leading the way out.

They wound their way through the maze of backstreets and alleyways, careful to avoid prying eyes. Eventually, they found themselves at the center of an enormous protest—voices bounced off the monolithic buildings towering over Duskline Avenue.

One message cut through the chaos, sharp as a blade: “RELEASE THE FILES. SHOW THE TRUTH.”

The chant thundered across the avenue, a living, breathing thing.

Lira joined in first, shouting with her whole chest. Jesse quickly followed, her voice softer but no less determined. “RELEASE THE FILES. SHOW THE TRUTH.”

Lira climbed onto the roof of a battered car, raising her firsts and leading the chant, fully caught in the moment. Jesse stayed close, feet on the ground, her presence quieter but no less vital.

The sight of it all—the passion, the sheer mass of people—moved Jesse in ways she hadn’t thought possible. Her simple little tag had helped spark this. It felt unreal, overwhelming…but she couldn’t stop herself from chanting alongside the crowd.

Their voices grew hoarse, lost in the sound and the safety of the numbers around them—the unwitting masses never realizing their two ghost leaders stood right there among them.

Eventually, the crowd began to die down—until a single gunshot cracked through the air, slicing past a wall of bodies and slamming into the hood of the car Lira was standing on with a sickening crunch.

Screams erupted in an instant. Panic spread like a wildfire. Lira leapt from the car just as another shot hit the metal frame behind her, sending the crowd into full-blown chaos. People pushed and stumbled, nearly trampling one another in their rush to escape.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” Lira shouted, eyes darting across the windows of the far buildings as she searched for the source.

Then—another shot. This one shattered the side of the car near her landing point.

Before Jesse could react, Lira grabbed her hand and yanked her toward a nearby pillar. She’d seen it: the telltale flash of glass. A scope. They weren’t aiming to kill yet. Just playing with them. But they knew where they were.

A third shot slammed into the pillar with a sharp thud.

Then silence.

Too quiet.

Where had the protestors gone? Were they hiding? Watching? Had they scattered completely?

Questions raced through Lira’s mind, but she pushed them down. No time. Can’t look. That sniper’s still watching.

A soft crack—a new gunshot, muffled this time. Silenced. A warning. Either the sniper had changed tactics, or there were two.

Jesse’s fingers began to tap a quiet rhythm on her thigh, the one she always fell into when the fear crept too close. Her eyes scanned the nearby doors, the pillars, the shadows. Can’t go down the street. Shots were too low. They’ll have it covered. Need an alley. Something tight.

Lira stayed still, her breathing shallow, eyes flicking between possible exits.

Then her thoughts turned, as they always did, toward Jesse.

If I give myself up… would they let her go?

She clenched her jaw. No. No, don’t think like that. We get out. Together.

Jesse tore one glove off and lobbed it around the corner of the pillar. Two shots rang out—simultaneous. The glove shredded mid-air.

Shit. Two of them. Her thoughts raced, calculating.

Bolt action? Maybe. Could give us a second to run for an alley. But I can’t keep tossing things and hoping they reload.

Her rhythm picked up—fingers tapping frantically now—as her eyes met Lira’s.

Without hesitation, Lira pulled Jesse into her chest, shielding her. Every muscle in her body coiled. Then she moved—scooping Jesse up like she weighed nothing and sprinting toward the next concrete cover.

They almost made it.

Two more shots ripped through either side of Jesse’s jacket, far too close for comfort—too precise.

Lira’s instincts screamed. She pivoted sharply, the sunlight catching a puddle in the alley just ahead. She veered toward it, taking a hard turn just as two more bullets slammed into the corner where they’d been just milliseconds before.

Don’t stop. Not yet. Too close. Her legs burned, lungs heaving, but she pushed through it all—darting between shadows, diving behind dumpsters, weaving through tight alleyways.

Only once they broke into a crowded market, loud and alive, did she slow. She set Jesse down in front of her, breath ragged.

“You okay?” she asked, scanning her friend for blood.

Jesse winced, taking a deep breath to calm the adrenaline coursing through her veins. “No more hurt than I was this morning…unless you count sentimental damage.”

Lira let out an exasperated sigh and wrapped her arms around Jesse, holding her tightly, as if sheer force could keep her safe. “Thank god… I don’t know what I’d do if I let you get hurt again.”

Jesse smiled softly at her words, unspoken words and emotion curling at the corners of her lips.

The market buzzed around them—a wash of voices, bartering, footsteps, and laughter. After the gunfire and hollow silence, the sound of normal life was almost surreal. Comforting in its chaos.

“Was it a setup?” Jesse asked, her voice low.

Lira’s stomach tightened. It was the only thing that made sense. “We can’t be sure just yet.” She knew she was lying, but it was better than facing the truth.

Jesse nodded, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah…but if it was a setup, they gave us a way out. Almost like they didn’t want us dead. Like it was a test.”

They began moving, weaving through the crowd. Lira leaned in closer, her voice almost drowned in the noise. “And if they wanted us there, who knows how many of those protestors were agents?”

Jesse went quiet, her shoulders tensing slightly beneath the ripped jacket.

Just as they were relaxing slightly, a voice cut through the noise of the merchants behind them.

“You two made quite the mess back there.”

They spun around. A woman stood half-shadowed beneath the canopy of a market stall, fingers tucked into her coat pockets. She looked calm—too calm for someone who’d supposedly just walked out of a sniper ambush.

Jesse instinctively stepped back, her body still wired from adrenaline. Lira moved in front of her without thinking.

“We don’t know you,” Lira said flatly.

“You don’t need to.” The woman glanced up, letting them catch a brief glimpse of her face. She looked vaguely familiar. Maybe someone who’d been part of the protest. Or the building. “But I know you.”

Jesse tensed.

The woman continued, her voice just above the murmur of the crowd. “You weren’t the only ones painting last night. But you were the loudest. Most visible. And now? People are listening.”

She paused, looking at Lira. “They’ll come again. Louder next time. You need to be somewhere safe.”

“And let me guess,” Lira said with a bitter smirk, “you just so happen to know a place?”

“I know the place.”

The woman turned and started walking away without another word. Lira hesitated. Jesse touched her arm.

“I think we should hear her out.” Jesse’s voice was soft and meek, like a mouse.

Lira didn’t move, eyes narrowed. “It could be a trap.”

Jesse exhaled. “Maybe. But we’re running out of alleys and markets to hide in.”

Lira hesitantly nodded, knowing their safety was limited if they stayed on the run.

With that, the two women followed this new anomaly of a woman.

Humans are weird: Tormenting Friends

You know that saying, only I can be mean to my brother/sister. The same thing goes for friends, and I kind of think it's hilarious that the people we trust the most in the world are the kind of people that will torture us the most. I can only imagine what another race would think...

Alien: what are they doing?

Human *looks over to where two girls are giggling as they walk along the edge of the roof, keeping one guy trapped between them*: So, Caiden's afraid of heights.

Alien *nods*: that is a logical reaction to a height that could kill you if you fall. Your body has evolved correctly.

Human *shakes his head*: Well, Wren and Jess found out and now they are torturing him. They won't let him off the edge until he walks the entire side.

Alien: Is this an intimidation tactic?

*both girls giggle loudly*

Human: believe it or not, it's a sign of friendship.

Alien: ...to force one's body to react in a fight or flight response?

Human *shrugs*: to make your friends miserable at your expense.

Alien *takes step away*: we are not friends. To be clear.

---

You can get this scene in my book, Humans Are Weird, available now! The whole series is pinned on my page.

☆⭐︎ The official Who Goes There? chapter hub ⭐︎☆

This is where I will catalog every chapter and chunk of my book that I post here on Tumblr in case you want to read everything in order. For more information about this project, such as its premise, content warnings and where else to find it, click here.

DISCLAIMER: This list will be modified as I go, so if you don’t see any updates or links for a while, just know I’m trying to format the new stuff in a way that looks somewhat appealing.

☂︎ Chapter one umbrella: ☂︎

Chunk 1.

signed hardcover giveaway!

my queer cozy fantasy THE KEEPER OF LONELY SPIRITS has been out for one month. to celebrate, I'll be giving away one (1) signed hardcover

the giveaway is open internationally to countries that can receive USPS packages. it'll run across platforms, but there will only be one (1) winner

enter by 5p.m. EST on Friday, May 2, by...

following me

reblogging this post

bonus entry: tag a friend

BOOK DESCRIPTION

Find an angry spirit. Send it on its way before it causes trouble. Leave before anyone learns his name.

After over two hundred years, Peter Shaughnessy is ready to die and end this cycle. But thanks to a youthful encounter with one o’ them folk in his native Ireland, he can’t. Instead, he’s cursed to wander eternally far from home, with the ability to see ghosts and talk to plants.

Immortality means Peter has lost everyone he’s ever loved. And so he centers his life on the dead—until his wandering brings him to Harrington, Ohio. As he searches for a vengeful spirit, Peter’s drawn into the townsfolk’s lives, homes and troubles. For the first time in over a century, he wants something other than death.

But the people of Harrington will die someday. And he won’t.

As Harrington buckles under the weight of the supernatural, the ghost hunt pits Peter’s well-being against that of his new friends and the man he’s falling for. If he stays, he risks heartbreak. If he leaves, he risks their lives.

click here to add the book on TheStoryGraph: link to The Keeper of Lonely Spirits on TheStoryGraph

Beta Reader Call!

I am currently polishing up the third draft of my portal fantasy novel, A Song in the Wilderness, which means it's finally time for one of my favorite parts of the writing process: beta reading! I have already reached out to a couple of regular readers, but I am in search of two or three more beta readers to give me some fresh eyes on this story.

Have you always wanted to try beta reading but don’t want too much pressure? Do you need more reading material to while away the sweet summer hours (or cold winter nights, for my Southern Hemisphere friends)? Are you eager for a chance to take a red pen (literal or otherwise) to someone else's writing? Do you want a quiet, character-driven story about faith, duty, and sacrifice? This might be the project for you!

Note: Responses must be submitted by May 12th.

*If you are interested in reading this story but don't want the pressure of formal beta-reading or if the deadline doesn't work for you, please see my note near the bottom.*

A bit about the story:

More than ten years ago, Paige tripped through a portal and ended up in a different world—with no way to get back. She arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back, a kitten in her pocket, and strange new powers that nearly destroyed her before she learned how to deal with them. The people of this world taught Paige to survive. Like her, they have had to eke out a living on the far side of their own apocalypse, carving out a tenuous peace in a world ravaged by war and disease. Over the years, many of those people have become her friends, and one of them hopes for something more. But Paige doesn't want more. All she has to live for is the hope that one day she will find the answers she seeks. All she wants is to go home. And then everything Paige has come to know about this world changes in a moment. The high king of the northern clans is dead. War is brewing across the desert. Paige's friends are looking to her, with her strange Traveler's gifts, to help them survive. Paige has no desire to be drawn into this conflict. Instead, deciding she has nothing to lose, she makes a desperate gamble. That gamble takes her into the wilderness, where she finally learns just how much she must give up in order to gain the one thing she wants most. A Song in the Wilderness is a portal fantasy about learning to live on the other side of your own apocalypse. "This story broke me. I am completely at its mercy." - My sister

Estimated word count: 85,000 words (roughly 330 pages in standard book format; around the same length as Persuasion, The Secret Garden, Sabriel, The King of Attolia, and Cinder)

Note: This is not (in my opinion) the kind of story I typically write. There is very little action. The plot is character-driven and is heavily introspective, examining faith, responsibility, and relationships of all sorts. Outside of events that cover three or four chapters, there's no clear antagonist. Where it does align with my usual writing is in themes of grief, sense of place, and hope.

Project tag on tumblr (mostly spoiler-free)

What I need from my readers:

Open, honest feedback about:

Plot/story structure: Does it make sense? Is it compelling?

Characters: Are they consistent and realistic, with clear motives, believable choices and actions, and distinct personalities?

World-building and writing style: Is it concise, or is it simply swimming in exposition? How is the pacing? Also, exactly how much attention should I put on transitions from one scene to the next?

With this being a third draft story, my main concern right now is the overall structure of the story. I need to know what works, what doesn't, and what needs more attention in the next round of revisions. Whether you prefer to leave editorial or reactionary comments, line-by-line or in summary, so long as you can point out the story and writing issues that stand out to you, we’ll get along just fine. You do not need to have prior beta reading experience, just a willingness to read critically and offer honest feedback.

Note: If at any time you decide, for any reason at all, that you won't be able to complete this beta reading project, you only have to shoot me a message to let me know. There are absolutely no hard feelings. I've been there.

Dates and things:

This project will run from May 17th to June 30th. You can read the story at your own pace any time within that time frame, but I do ask that you have the project completed and your notes submitted by June 30th.

I will have a questionnaire for you to fill out at the end of your reading. Additional notes can be in-line comments in the document itself or in a summary either emailed or messaged to me--whichever and however much works for you. I am open for messages if you randomly decide you want to discuss details with me. (PLEASE talk to me about my writing! It's my favorite thing!)

Most of my readers prefer to work in Google Docs for the convenient comments feature, but we can look at other options if necessary.

If interested:

Complete the reader request form here by Monday, May 12th! Note that there is a link on the first page to the prologue and first chapter, so you can get an idea of my style and make sure it works for you.

If I get enough readers before the 12th, I will consider closing requests for now.

*If you are interested in reading this story but don't want the pressure of beta-reading or the deadline, please feel free to still contact me! Either I can still add you to my list, but for a more casual reading of this third draft, or I can put your name on the list for the fourth draft (date TBD, hopefully around August or September).*

A bit about the writer:

I'm a 30-something office admin by day, spec-fic writer by night, and hapless backyard gardener when the mood strikes me. Most of my stories start out as a "what if?", with characters piling into the clown car as soon as I have a vague setting worked out in which to answer the pivotal question. My least favorite step of any writing project is the rough draft. In writing, I try to follow Jane Austen’s philosophy: “My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.” Most of the time I manage it.

My writing trademarks according to my writing group are: forehead kisses, protagonists with a martyr complex, way too many side characters, good dialogue, “repressed Victorian romance plots”, keen examinations of grief, and just a pinch of MelodramaTM.

You can find samples of my writing right here on tumblr:

Zenith Station (sci-fi short story collection, always ongoing)

Or on Dreamwidth:

The Tides That Bind (low fantasy, last completed novel)

COPPER HOME RELEASED

itch.io

Copper Home by Summer Kid

Illustrated, Metaphorical And Interpretative, Short Story.

Itch.io Exclusive. Minimum Price: $1.00 | Suggested: $2.00 *All sales will be reinvested both in my University Tax and into my Self-Publishing Fund. Huge thanks in advance for viewing or buying and downloading the Copper Home PDF file!

IF YOU RUN INTO ANY ISSUES, PLEASE NOTIFY ME, PLEASE.

And here's a Funfact on this project:

substack.com

'COPPER HOME' Release

Illustrated, Metaphorical And Interpretative, Short Story.

Only Text Version At My KO-FI Shop, Priced: $0.22

Ko-fi

Copper Home [Text Only] - S.K Elena's Ko-fi Shop

"Something else moved: a bird. A dove with pale orange highlights landed on the fountain's head. Her head twitched from left to right, inspe

Also! If the price page gives you trouble changing the suggested price to the minimum: delete until it shows $0.00, write $0.001000 and backspace, then enter to move on to the next page /or/:

tagging a bunch of folks (no pressure to interact): @moremysteriesthantragedies , @pluttskutt , @druidx , @cheerfulmelancholies , @talesofsorrowandofruin , @ettawritesnstudies , @faelanvance , @dustylovelyrun ,

@deerwright , @aalinaaaaaa , @chauceryfairytales , @surroundedbypearls , @soupy8lowfish , @misswriteress

Dear friends

🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸❤🤍💚🖤

thanks to your donations and participation, we are approaching the halfway point of the goal, with only less than €950 left.

I hope to reach it today with your participation and donations.

🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸❤🤍💚🖤

Help them achieve their goal!!!!