I Made The Community. Let Me Know If You Want An Invite!

I loved the descriptions in this chapter. The way you described the red light and the connection between Lira and Jesse was so beautiful.

Chapter 2 - Lira cried.

Over the coming days, Jesse was lost for words, unable to speak without sobs threatening to erupt from her throat. Lira stayed by her side every step of the way though, and she knew it was everything she could do for her new friend.

The world wouldn’t pause. Not for Jesse. Not for the blood that was barely scrubbed from the tiles. The corpos barely registered a blip in their record—”Resistance to lawful eviction protocol,” the called it. Case closed. Body incinerated. Debts absorbed into the void.

Jesse didn’t leave her room for three days. Nobody asked why.

She didn’t sleep, either. Just sat on the floor of the tiny apartment she now shared with Lira, eyes fixed on the door, waiting—half-hoping the lock would click open and it would all be some mistake. An error. A bad dream with cheap lighting and synthetic blood.

But the dream never ended.

Lira came by the first night and never left.

She didn’t force conversation. Instead, she took over the smaller things—cooking tasteless noodles with rusted burners, boiling the apartment water twice, digging through Jesse’s things to find her old blanket with worn-out corners. When Jesse didn’t eat, Lira ate beside her, allowing the sound of chewing to fill the dead air. When Jesse couldn’t speak, Lira read manuals and junk news aloud like they were bedtime stories.

“If the world doesn’t pause for us,” she said one night, voice quiet in the dark, “Then we make our own time. Right here. Just us.”

Lira also handled the authorities—wrote the report that Jesse couldn’t, signed the form that let the apartment stay under Jesse’s name, hacked the local tenancy records to make Jesse’s age and status blur just enough to keep inspectors from prying too close.

She never asked for thanks. Never made a show of it.

But Jesse noticed.

She noticed the way Lira angled herself between Jesse and the door, like she could ward off the world just by being there. She noticed the way Lira didn’t flinch when Jesse finally broke down, days later, crying soundlessly into her shoulder with clenched fists and shuddering lungs.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lira said simply. And Jesse believed her.

By the fourth day, Jesse got the notification.

It blinked cold and bright on the wall terminal, cutting through the half-dark of their apartment with bureaucratic precision.

A single click deep into the metadata, and she saw it—the name of the collector, buried in strings of serials. A security firm subsidized by one of the major corpos, protected under the Corporate Seld-Defense Act. It mean nothing would come of it. No investigation. No charges. No one would answer for the blood that stained her doorstep.

The system didn’t even acknowledge her as next of kin.

It treated her mother like a variable. A hiccup in a policy enforcement protocol.

And Jesse was supposed to forget.

A week later, someone from the Housing Department came by to “confirm unit compliance.” The man had silver implants where his eyes should have been and didn’t seem to notice the stack of half-eaten food or the two girls crammed over to one side of the room like survivors clinging to a lifeboat. He offered Jesse a new tenant registration card and a reeducation pamphlet on ”positive social integration after loss.”

Lira was the one who took it from him and shut the door in his face.

“They think you’re just some glitch,” she muttered, tearing the pamphlet in half. “That you’ll disappear. That we’ll forget.”

Jesse couldn’t speak. Her hands were clenched around her mother’s old mug, knuckles turning white with a flurry of emotions. That night, she stared at the terminal screen until the soft blue glow etched itself into her vision. She memorized every name listed on that damned security contract. Every ID. Every falsified timestamp.

She didn’t have a plan yet. But she would. Omnigen made sure of that.

Days turned into weeks, into months, of the same thoughts crossing her mind. The same names and IDs flashed behind her eyelids every time she attempted to close them.

Eventually, Lira had gotten sick of seeing someone who had grown to be her best friend and closest confidante hiding in the darkness of her room—only cming out for the occasional meal or because she wanted to accompany Lira on a trip to the store—and burst past the creaky door. “Jesse, I have something we’re doing.”

Jesse, eyes filled with sadness and fear, didn’t respond at first, only standing once Lira pulled her to her feet.

Lira brought Jesse to a dark alleyway in the middle of some corpo complex, much like her own, when her voice seeped from her throat, cold and even.

“Jesse, we’re going to start something. Together. We’re going to be the spark to the fires of a revolution,” Lira spoke softly, just loud enough for Jesse to hear.

Jesse didn’t have the strength to respond with her voice—that was still lost in her depression—her brows raise and she tensed slightly.

“I know it’s scary, but I found a debt collector for the same corpo assholes who—well, you know…” Lira’s voice trailed off, knowing Jesse knew what she meant.

They round another corner in what felt like a maze of twists and turns with Lira pulling Jesse close behind her by the wrist to reveal a man in a suit, tied to a chair.

The moment Jesse saw his face, something clicked into place—something that had become dislodged by the trauma of seeing her mother’s blood pooling beneath her warm body. She knew him. She had never forgotten his name.

“Vance Halroyd,” she muttered, her voice cold and calculated. “The man responsible for my mother’s death.”

That old rhythm tapped out on her thigh, subtle and steady, as she stared him down—searching for words that refused to come.

Only one memory surfaced: Vance’s sleek figure snaking around a corner as she collapsed to her knees beside her mother’s body.

The same sadness welled up in her chest, twisted now into something darker.

A disheartening laugh slipped from her lips, sickly sweet and unhinged, echoing through the alley in a way that made Lira shiver and take a step back, releasing her friend’s wrist.

Jesse stepped forward, deliberate, each footfall heavier than the last, until she stood mere centimeters from his face.

“Vance,” she sneered. “I’ve been waiting to see you properly for months. And now that I have you here, all I can think about is how sick people like you make me—how badly I want to make your kind disappear into the void of depression and anxiety.”

She paused, her voice softening just enough to send a chill through Lira and Vance’s spines.

“But I wont. I’ll leave you marked, not dead. I won’t pass my pain onto your family—if you have one that loves you—by killing you. I’ll let karma take care of that.”

With that, she turned to Lira and motioned for her gloves. “Give me those. He’s had this and more coming for as long as he’s been a debt collector corpo scum.”

Her words were dark, laced with venom—something Lira had never heard from her before. She took off the studded fingerless gloves and tossed them to Jesse, who caught them, pulled them onto her hands, and let that same sick chuckle seep from her throat again.

The sound died in her throat as quickly as it had begun. Her eyes narrowed, fixing on the man with an unsettling stillness. She inhaled deeply, a small, sharp smile curling on her lips—just a flicker before she snapped into action. In one fluid motion, her fist collided with his jaw, the sickening crack of bone slicing through the air like a promise.

For a moment, everything was still—then, without hesitation, she planted her foot on his chest and kicked with all her might. The chair he was tied to splintered beneath the force, its remnants scattering across the cold damp ground like discarded refuse.

Jesse leaned down, her voice a low whisper that cut through the dead air like a knife, “This is the part where you run, Vance.”

The moment the words left Jesse’s mouth—the sickening sound of blood dripping from her gloves echoed in the silence—a cruel smirk flickered across her lips as she watched the man scramble to his feet—pathetic, desperate—and turn to flee. She didn’t move. She didn’t need to, she had sent the message.

Satisfied, Jesse turned to face Lira, her smile soft and warm, uncharacteristic given the coldness of the moment. It was genuine, a flicker of appreciation in the wake of the violence that had just transpired. Without a word, the two stepped out onto the bustling street, the world around them completely unaware of the brutality that had just unfolded a few yards away.

A few moments of walking passed before the blare of a police drone’s siren sliced through the air, causing Jesse to flinch, the sudden noise rattling her. Instinctively, she moved to run but stumbled, her legs unsteady. Lira was quick to catch her, pulling her up with a steady grip before leading her back through the maze of alleys they used to get there in order to lose the drone.

After what felt like hours, Lira pulled Jesse into the apartment, the air filled with tension up until the moment Jesse locked the door behind her.

Before Jesse could get a word out, Lira put her hand on Jesse’s shoulder and chuckled.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Lira exclaimed, her voice hushed but laced with pride.

“That was…certainly an experience,” Jesse managed with a chuckle, her voice still trembling from the adrenaline.

Jesse leaned against the door, running her fingers through her hair. She had inadvertently smeared some blood into the dark strands by doing so, but she didn’t care. She stopped when she hit the ground, her hand still tangled in the wavy mess, a long sigh escaping her lips.

Just then, Lira giggled, pulling a safety pin from her jacket and handing it to Jesse.

“Take this,” Lira murmured, her voice laced with genuine concern. “It’ll help you stand out even more in the visual noise of the crowded streets, if we ever get separated.”

Jesse nods, fidgeting with the pin before flashing a soft, genuine smile. “Thank you, Lira…for everything you’ve done for me.” She didn’t know it yet, but Lira had quickly become her emotional anchor over the past few months.

With a fluid motion, Jesse unclasped the safety pin and jabbed it through her earlobe, carefully fastening it again once the point re-emerged on the other side of her lobe, turning it into a makeshift necklace. It became a symbol of safety—so long as Jesse believed Lira would always have her back.

Lira wined as Jesse turned the pin into an earring, but said nothing. She knew better than to question this choice. Not now.

Jesse smiled through her tears and pulled Lira into a tight embrace, letting herself cry freely for the first time in what felt like ages—even though it had only been a few hours.

Without hesitation, Lira wrapped her arms around her best friend, holding her close and gently rubbing Jesse’s back, anchoring her in the moment.

“Hey, let it all out,” she murmured, her words slipping out like a promise. “I’m not going anywhere. Not that easily.”

Months passed in a blur of small rebellions—quiet adventures, muffled laughter, and fleeting moments of peace. Jesse and Lira had made a habit of tagging corporate buildings, their own way of biting back at the companies that tried to erase them. But tonight, the air was heavier. Tense. Like the entire city was holding its breath.

Jesse glanced up at the monolithic structure they were tagging, the hum of the electric lights buzzing louder than usual. Her grin spread slowly, sharp and deliberate, as her eyes caught the neon sign glowing above them.

Omnigen Solutions.

Jesse grabbed a red can and shook it, the mixing ball rattling like a warning shot in her palm.

She doesn’t even need to think. She knows what' she’s going to paint. With steady hands and fire in her chest, she starts scrawling her mother’s case number in bold, furious strokes—EV-0481972—each character a declaration.

Lira chuckled under her breath as she watched Jesse work, sensing that deep, unshakable focus. She snatched a few cans of her own, the air around her practically buzzing as she sizes up the sterile, corporate wall. Her art is more chaotic, instinctive—expression over message.

Jesse’s lines sliced like blades. Hers isn’t art; it’s a testimony. She finishes the number, switches to black, and begins spraying a jagged, blooming rose beneath the writing—a crude, beautiful wound.

Then—a sound. A footstep, soft but wrong. Too deliberate. Jesse freezes. Her hand taps against her thigh in that familiar, comforting rhyth,—tap..tap…tap-tap…tap…

“We’ve got company,” she mutters, her voice low and razor-sharp despite the tight knot that had formed in her chest.

Lira glances at her unfinished tag and sighs, reluctant but ready to run. She nods, already stuffing her cans away.

But before they can move, shadows stretch acorss the alley.

One.

Then two. Three. Four. Five.

An entire armed patrol steps into view, scanning the darkness. Too many. Too fast. They weren’t just patrolling—they were hunting.

Jesse moves quietly without hesitation, disappearing into the night like she was born in it. Her body moves with practiced fluidity, every muscle coiled for escape.

Lira hesitated. Just for a second. Long enough.

Her boot slipped on a slick patch of red over-spray, her balance faltering just enough to send her scrambling to recover. Her breath hitches. Her pulse spikes. Then she ran—toward the chain-link fence ringing the back of the compound, boots pounding the pavement behind her like war drums.

Just as she reached the fence, Lira heard a sharp whistle to her right—Jesse’s signal. There’s a path. But she was moving too fast, too unsure, and the hesitation costed her. She slammed into the chain-link fence with a metallic thud, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs as she crumpled to the ground.

Move. She screamed inside her head, panic crackling through her chest like live wire. MOVE. She scrambled to her feet, gravel biting into her palms, and catches a flicker of light—Jesse’s safety pin glinting in the darkness, a beacon in the chaos.

There. A gap in the fence. Just big enough.

Without thinking, she dove through the opening, the edges of the wire catching her jacket as a gunshot cracks through the air.

Shit. Her legs burn as she runs, lungs aching, but it’s the sound behind her that freezes her blood.

A scream. Jesse’s scream.

Jesse had guided Lira through the fence but lingered a second too long and wound up taking a bullet meant for Lira. A sharp searing pain exploded in her shoulder blade before she even hears the shot. She stumbled, gritting her teeth and willing herself to keep moving.

Minutes stretched into eternity as they tore through alleyways and backstreets, the city around them warped into a blur of motion and panic. By the time they reached the apartment, time itself felt broken—twisted by fear, by pain. They stumbled inside and slammed the door behind them, collapsing to the ground in a tangled heap the moment the lock clicked into place.

Jesse’s breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. As the adrenaline drained from her system, the pain hit her in full. She lifted a trembling hand to her shoulder, fingers brushing over the torn fabric and seared skin. The wound was shallow and at most six inches long, but it felt like fire tearing through her body.

Before she could spiral, her eyes found Lira.

“Did…Did you get hit?” Jesse asked, voice strained, jaw clenched against the rising wave of pain.

Lira looked down at herself, hands trailing quickly over her limbs, checking. Nothing.

“No,” she whispered, almost like she didn’t believe it herself. Then her voice cracked. “But you did. God, Jesse, I’m so sorry…I shouldn’t have taken you there.”

Her gaze dropped to Jesse’s shoulder, where blood mixed with the black of burned flesh and gunpowder. The smell hit her like a punch. Tears spilled freely now, and Lira turned away with a dry gag, the bile of guilt thick in her throat.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds filling the room being Jesse’s ragged breathing and the occasional groan when the pain surged in waves.

Lira takes a shaky breath and gently lifts Jesse into a seated position against the door—a posture that’s become far too familiar over the months.

For a moment, she froze, her mind racing. Where’s the kit? What does she need first? Her hands trembled as she wiped the tears from her face, trying to push through the rising panic.

“I—I’ll get the med kit,” Lira says finally, her voice barely holding together. “You just…stay right there.”

Lira’s steps are unsteady, but her determination keeps her moving. She stumbled into the apartment’s cramped kitchen, flinging open cabinet doors, one after another.

“Where the fuck is it…”she muttered under her breath, each drawer and shelf only serving to deepen her frustration.

The room is suddenly bathed in a soft, pulsing red as a neon sign outside flickered to life through the window. Jesse lets out a breathy, half-laugh behind her—tired, pained, but still somehow amused.

Lira doesn’t laugh back.

At last, her hand closed around a dented tin box tucked behind some expired rations. Inside: half-used bandages, a rusted pair of scissors, and a tube of unopened burn cream. Not much—but hopefully enough. They’ve patched up scrapes and knife wounds before, but never a bullet.

This was new. This was real.

Lira walked back toward Jesse with renewed determination, her steps were heavier, more grounded. The flickering red light from the neon outside painted the room in a surreal glow as she knelt beside her best friend.

Jesse offered her a faint, weary smile before shifting, teeth clenched, to let the jacket fall from her shoulders with Lira’s help. The pain was sharp—etched across her face in grimaces—but she didn’t protest. Not once.

The scent hit Lira again—burnt leather, scorched flesh, and faint traces of gunpowder. She has to steel herself before meeting Jesse’s gaze.

Jesse nodded, their hands already entwined. The pressure of Jesse’s fingers around her said everything Lira needed to hear: I trust you.

That silent permission, that connection, sends a jolt of something like courage through Lira. She tightens her grip back before opening the burn gel, squeezing a trembling line of the thick, cool substance onto her fingers.

“This is gonna sting,” she whispers—not as a warning, but as an apology.

As the gel touches the wound, Jesse jerks involuntarily, a strangled gasp escaping her throat—but she didn’t pull away.

She never pulled away.

Lira’s hands trembled as she struggled to steady the bandages, her breathing shallow and uneven. Stop shaking. Stop trembling. She could feel the fabric slipping in her fingers and winced, praying it didn’t hurt Jesse too much. She’d patched her up before—bruises, cuts, scrapes—never something like this. Never a bullet wound. Never something meant for her.

Breathe. Just breathe, Jesse told herself, teeth clenched as another wave of pain rolled through her shoulder. The sting of the burn cream still lingered, sharp and hot, but nothing compared to the look on Lira’s face. She didn’t even need to look, she could feel it. She’s blaming herself. That thought alone hurt worse than the wound ever could.

Lira’s fingers were careful, trying not to shake as she looped the bandage around Jesse’s shoulder again. Her brow furrowed, her lips pressed into a tight line of focus. Jesse watched her silently. Lira always tried to be the strong one. The one who held everything together when things fell apart. She doesn’t know I see how much this is hurting her. But Jesse saw. Every time. Gods, I don’t deserve her in my life.

Lira pressed her palm gently to Jesse’s skin, feeling the heat rising from it. Too warm. Please don’t be infected… She pushed the thought away, forcing her focus back on the next wrap. Just one more, that’s all. I can’t lose her. The words struck hard and fast. Not to this city. Not to a bullet meant for me.

Jesse’s chest tightened. She wanted to speak—Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry.—but the words caught in her throat. They felt too fragile, like if she let them out they might shatter into a million pieces. So instead, she reached out and gently squeezed Lira’s hand.

Lira froze for a heartbeat, than glanced down. Jesse’s hand, still warm and shaking, held her with a quiet kind of strength. It said more than words could. She squeezed my hand. Just like before, Lira thought, and for a moment, that was enough.

With a soft exhale, Lira pressed the final edge of the bandage down, smoothing it carefully. “There,” she whispered. “All patched up.”

It wasn’t true. Not really.

But in that moment, it was beautiful.

Updated!

[ABOUT]

I’m Carter (she/him) and I’m a 20 year old Black lesbian. Writing has been my passion and favorite hobby for as long as I can remember, but when I’m not writing I’m out following my second passion in college (environmental science). My activity wanes in and out, but as of May 2025 I’m still here! My main blog is @phantomfemmes​, which is where I like and follow from as well as post about whatever my heart desires.

I am going through an obsession with horror, so if you write that, feel free to tell me about your wips. I’m also a big lover of poetry, “flowery” prose, and anything featuring wlwoc as main characters. 

[WIPS]

I have two main wips that I work on from time to time:

The Taste of Hallowed Earth (formerly All That Remains)

Twelve years ago, Sadie Copeland’s older sister, Leila, vanished from their hometown in Salvation, Mississippi and her family was never the same again. Sadie’s mother packed their things, driving until Salvation disappeared in the rearview mirror and the whole thing was nothing but a nightmare. But no matter how far they drove or how much time passed, Sadie had never been able to shake the feeling that there’s more to the story than what her mother let on. 

Following the death of her mother, nineteen year old Sadie finds herself back in Salvation, the place where it all began. Upon arriving there, it is clear that something sinister is going on—something that no one wants to talk about and that everyone hides from when the sun goes down. And while Sadie has never believed in ghost stories (at least, not in the spectral sense), she can’t help but fear what may be lurking in the darkness that surrounds Salvation.

Themes:  gothic horror, southern gothic, unreliable narrator, small towns, unreality, paranoia, death, grief, estranged familial relationships, mother/daughter relationships, paranormal, religion, trauma, ghosts, queerness, psychological horror, religious horror

In the Heart of the Ocean

In the Heart of the Ocean follows Carolina “Caro” Bell as she recounts the disappearance of her best friend Moira from their quiet coastal town as teenagers, and Moira’s subsequent reappearance three years later after emerging from the depths of the ocean with no memory of where she’d been—only to disappear forever the following year. When Caro’s niece, who she has temporary custody of, nearly drowns in that same sea twenty years later, Caro decides to finally explore the secrets contained in its dark and murky depths. But in order to do so, she must first confront the past and the truth surrounding Moira’s disappearance. 

Themes: literary fiction, queerness, magical realism, female rage

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

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.

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

i'll be real, sometimes when i'm writing my own stories and i'm trying to be poetic with my fifteenth metaphor i have to sit back and be like. actually you're doing too much when what you mean to say is "i love you." like sure, maybe the fruit rots on the vine without hands to cradle it or a mouth to press itself against, or maybe the heart is a house, half-lit, with your ghost in all the windows, but all i mean by that is i love you, i love you. what's more poetic than that

reblog to remind prev they're not a bother and their presence is wanted <3

Hey, whatever you find the most fun. I can sort of relate. For some of my stories it's more about the idea or world than the characters.

Happy storyteller saturday! What are you most looking forward to writing in your current WIP?

Honestly? No idea. I don't think like that. I don't (usually) have a scene, a specific character, or even a theme when I start a story. I have the seed of an idea and just write. Thanks for the ask.

perfectionism is a liar and a hater. write your messy little heart out.