Ooo That Sounds So Cool! What Cybernatic Implants Are You Thinking?

Does anyone know a name for lamp shades with this texture, or how to describe that?

Source

spin this wheel

you're now this mythical creature, congrats!

to summarize: you have the moral backbone of a flatworm if your response every time harry potter comes up is to make it about your inability to give up a book

One of these days

One of these days I'm going to read all the books I want to read

One of these days I'm going to watch all the shows I want to watch

One of these days I'm going to play all the games I want to play

One of these days I'm going to get all my work done on time

One of these days I'm going to write everything I want to write

One of these days I'm going to text back everyone who texted me

One of these days I'm going to stop crying myself to sleep

One of these days I'm going to stop missing the mother that was never there

One of these days I'm going to stop being scared

One of these days I'm going to tell them what really went wrong

One of these days I'm going to stop drowning my feelings in songs

One of these days I'm going to stop being afraid of dancing

One of these days I'm going to stop being afraid of talking

One of these days I'm going to stop being afraid of thinking

One of these days I'm going to stop being afraid of feeling

One of these days

One of these days

One of these days

Which day?

There's always another day

Until there isn't

Then what?

Nothing?

I don't know

I'm scared to find out

But when I do

There won't be an endless flood of days anymore

Overwhelming days

Normal days

Overwhelmingly normal days

Every day is overwhelming

Some because they pass

Some because they don't

One of these days I'll stop being afraid of endings.

Writing update 5/8/2025

It's time for another writing update. Still working on Every Hero Needs a Villain, my object head project. I'm making my way through the character bios. I am trying to just get the basics down, then I'll go over them again and add more personality. Here's Spark's description, because I thought it was cute:

They have a gently yellow and ruffled lamp shade with a lighter and brighter light bulb on their head. They typically wear a skirt that matches paired with a lighter blouse or suit top. Their clothes typically having a shimmering or glittery component to them. They sometimes wear different lamp shades for different effects, having a particular fondness for colorful glass lamp shades for special events, or cloth dotted lamp shades when they're feeling cute. Sometimes they don't even wear a lamp shade for emphasis.

I definitely want to edit it for readability, but so far so good! I hope to have all the bios down by the end of the week, and will notify y'all on Sunday if this is the case.

Taglist: @aweirdshipp, @floofyboi57, @aralithmenathere

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.

For real. And the amount you should show versus tell will also heavily rely on the type of story you're telling and the style in which you approach it.

Someone once told me if you learn to properly show AND tell, my writing would improve dramatically and I could do it without thought. At the time, I thought they were full of shit. That it would be a struggle for the rest of my days. Lo and behold, they were correct. It does become easier.

Also, remember showing EVERYTHING is not needed. There are millions of reasons to tell something in a story. Don't let the internet convince you that you need to show everything. Even the greatest writers in history didn't show all the time.

You know, while I'm on the subject, I think a really fascinating thing about Infernal Serenade is knowledge of the soul, accuracy wise, is basically in reverse to what you'd respect. An old scholar has more accurate information on souls than any modern spiritual or religious beliefs about the soul, because there was no societal pressure to come to one conclusion, nor would it be quickly dismissed like that type of thought often is in modern times.

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.