This Description Is So Gorgeous, Oh My Goodness. /gen

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

Mood lol.

rereading old wip concepts like damn this is good i wish someone would write this

Me going to tell my fandom (my Tumblr followers) lore about my oc that will shatter their hearts (I will get 2 notes)

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.

"what do you do to contribute to society" i post my ocs to tumblr dot com lol.... 5 people on there like them.......

Writing Update 5/22/2025

I am continuing to work on Every Hero Needs a Villain and I am super happy to announce that I'm actually making great progress when it comes to both hero and villain descriptions. Each category has six, with each hero having a villain and vice versa. I hope I've gotten a good spattering of personalities for people to enjoy this way.

Here's a snippet from Straight Shooter's, a cowboy object head:

He can inspire a state of restfulness depending on the color of his scarf. Red is for physical restfulness, purple is mental restfulness, blue is emotional restfulness, green is spiritual restfulness, yellow is instinct restfulness, and sometimes he has a rare rainbow of all these colors. Yet, to do so, he too must also achieve this restfulness for himself.

Tag list: @aweirdshipp, @floofyboi57, @aralithmenathere

Oooo this was beautiful!

Here is the first lesson we can learn from the wandering druids: every grove is a sacred grove.

It does not matter if it is an ancient copse nestled in the heart of the forest, or a handful of shrubs sprouting anaemic from the oil-clogged veins of a city.

A garden that springs up on the rooftop of a building by mistake is still needful and worthy of our veneration. It will also need a little more help, since its connection to wider nature is much more tenuous.

An ecosystem cannot exist in isolation after all, so it is the work of those mortals who fractured it to kintsugi the fragments together. It is the work of the leafwalker to *show* the grove how to be sacred.

We see this in the roadside orchards planted by the druid Richmond Crabapple. Turning the highways into snaking green creatures, her trees offer shade to travellers and fruit to the needy. It is easy to remember a thing is sacred, after all, when it so obviously gives you life.

Here is the second lesson: everyone and everything is nature.

We are animals. Our towns and cities are animal habitats. The separation of the urban and the rural is as much a mental one as a physical. It is a mind game we play to give us the illusion of mastery, and to excuse the damage we do.

A good earthspeaker will tell you to listen to those who have stayed in conversation with the world. Those people who know the give and take of blood and bough and mulch. Those peoples who, so often, we have called savage. Those who we looked down on from our towers made of bones.

Listen. Listen and follow, if they will have you and if they will teach you.

We see this in the truce the druid Cambridge Ironweed made with the Skullcluster. This spirit takes the form of a pack of skeletal cats, and was thought to be a genus of demon predator. When Ironweed planted his feet in the dirt offered them his throat, he made himself a conversation between two worlds that should always have been one.

Now everyone in its domain lives with a skeletal cat. They know that, one day, they will die and it will eat the flesh from their bones. This is how their flesh and spirit will return to the earth.

Remember Ironwood's dying words: “Oh, you think we are special because we have souls? Here, let me show you how widely the river of the anima flows…”

Here is the third lesson: we tend that which we would see flourish.

If you would see people fed, grow food. If you would see forests thrive, tend trees. If you would see the a community safe from predators, grow thorns.

But never forget that anything that cures can also kill. Crops can choke a landscape and a sick landscape kills its creatures. A forest grown thick is fuel for wildfires. A town that is safe can forget it is part of a wider world and turn thorns into spears.

We see this in the work of the druid and rootweaver Devonport Blackwood.

The many buildings created by Blackwood are things of beauty not because of their aesthetic, but due to their function. In the towns and cities Blackwood traveled, they planted webs of needroot beneath the foundations. Needroot is weed-like in its dormant form, a wispy white root happy to live in pavement cracks and kiss the boots of commuters.

But if you need shelter? If you are desperate and vulnerable and cry your needs out like burnt offerings to the heavens? Well, if the heavens don't need you, the needroot will.

The structures it builds are strange things, bulbous and pale. They use whatever materials are to hand. They claim whatever space is unused (though not necessarily unowned). They look like nests built out of discarded tarmac, copper and mycelial strands - a mix of turnip-pale rubbery organic matter and urban detritus. As if someone had reconstructed the mythic roc from mushrooms and given it a building permit.

Everyone who needs a home in these places has one. This is the need Blackwood sought to tend.

But, because local landlords were rarely happy about this, they also left a twist in the tale.

So the needroot also provides every settlement with a communal poison garden. They are lush, lovely and deadly.

After all, many natural things need teeth to flourish.

---

This particular story was inspired by this post about druids, which y'all should read.

Enjoy my stories and want to support my work? I'm currently fundraising for my live show. Check it out here: https://igg.me/at/poorlifechoices/x/8175219

hello !! take this as a free token to ramble about your wips. what are you LOVING writing rn? who are your favourite characters? favourite pairings?

My current project is kind of difficult to describe. It was inspired by dating games often not having options that my friends and I like. It's set in the dream world where there's entities made out of the world's hopes and dreams, but also entities made out of the world's nightmares and fears. It's basically gonna be an OC x reader type blog with heroes and villains for readers to swoon over. I do plan to write a story that connects with it though, which lets readers see the complex relationships between some of the heroes and villains up close and personal. My favorite is Nurse Sanguine and Mrs Robust. Think the crazed doctor trope meets the overly fake/polite business person trope. It's fun because writing hero culture and their world lets me connect to my favorite parts of fantasy stories. Writing villain culture and their world lets me connect to my favorite parts of horror stories.

The other project I am trying to get back into is Sleep Laughing. I want to develop the main character more, who is considered a villain within his sci-fi universe, and has a sort of forbidden romance with one of the hero's friends. I really need to get their dynamic down, because I think it could be super interesting and complex if I focused the vibes I have for them.

Thank you so much for asking! I love talking about my writing. /gen

It irks me unreasonably when people will baselessly argue that the absence of something is automatically the opposite of the thing. That logic would apply to everything, and render it null. The opposite of a thing can't just lack the features of the said thing, but have the opposite features. Why would darkness be the opposite of sunlight? Sunlight is natural, comes from space, enables the existence of life, and feels so nice that both people and animals go out of their way to bask in it when they have the chance. Darkness is also natural, does not come from any particular source, does not harm living things, and even though some people are afraid of the dark, being in darkness isn't physically painful.

The opposite of sunlight would have to be someting that is unnatural, comes from planet Earth, actively kills living things, is painful to experience, and people seek to avoid exposure to it at all costs. The opposite of sunlight is weaponised nuclear radiation.