J.M. Weaver🏳️‍⚧️🔥🪶

@jmweaverauthor.bsky.social

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Jubilee. 🎆 39, She/Her. Indie author. Coffee addict. No AI 🚫 Minors DNI ✨️ Writing is cheaper than therapy. ✨️ Follow my stuff: https://linktr.ee/jmweaverauthor

Through Cloth (Untitled) - by Beksinski
Outside, the sky became cloudy, the neon vines sprawled across the field, trees illuminated like lamps, every leaf a bulb. Flowers shined, mushrooms gave off a hazy glow, every blade of grass twinkled, reminding Harper of the Lite Brite she owned as a kid (and proceeded to write four-letter profanity on). She could faintly believe this place existed, any of this, the shock hadn’t quite settled in all the way. Part of her wondered if she would truly ever adjust to the Physical World again, live a normal life there in any capacity. The Mythic Realm beckoned to her, a truth so startling, wonderful, and existentially terrifying she felt addicted to it, needing to glimpse it, yearning to do so with such fervor she already lay awake at night, unable to ponder anything else. She held Madison, eyes glazed and open, thinking of it, holding it in her mind’s eye, afraid if she let it go, maybe it really would cease to be real, and the whole ordeal might switch into a brief, shared delusion.
I dropped the book. The walls seemed to crack around me; my head spun. I heard a grandfather clock’s chime. That Westminster melody odiously resounding across all of Lin J’Roe, forcing the lands to shift again, and with it, the room I stood in scrambled and contorted violently. I tumbled down an elevator shaft, which transitioned into a mineshaft, trying to grab on any of the railway lines or rocks. I saw shadowy entities with pickaxes, chipping away at coal. This place smelled of sulfur and stone. Water and rot. I kept falling, if I had a body it would have broken in a million pieces. But I did not. I landed face down in a packing plant, some sort of warehouse? Looming over me, sitting on a conveyer belt, its head turning toward me, was a giant statue shaped like a woman, a pair of sheers the length of my body across her lap.
“Mom, are you drunk?” “Mommy had a little bit to drink with Mr. Vera last night. He’s got an iron gut.” “I’ll wheel myself to school, then.” Mom leaned against the kitchen counter, rubbing her forehead. “You sure? It’s kind of far.” “Only like seven blocks.” Mom reached for the fridge’s handle, only to miss and stagger forward. “Oh chrysanthemums. Yeah. You probably shouldn’t let me drive. Mommy should get a cold shower.” I ate more cheesecake. Mom slowly exited the room, wobblier than myself without the cane. “Mom,” I said, halting her. “Yeah, baby?” I stared blankly ahead, the dull yellow of our kitchen light almost sickly this early. Without the morning sun, the room seemed drab and unwelcoming. “Boys. I think boys are starting to notice me.” “It’s those damn padded bras,” she muttered too loudly. “Darling, don’t pay boys any mind, they don’t develop common decency until their mid-twenties and even then you’re better off with a fern or a pet rock or something else that’ll actually appreciate what an amazing little human being you are.” I smirked disappointedly, wanting to actually discuss this subject for real with her. Stupid Aqua Man. “Thanks. Go . . . get some rest, Mom.” She wavered in place, eyes a tad grim. “I better not hear you cry.” “ . . . What?” “Cry over some dumb boy. You hear me?” I lifted my hands defensively. “OK. I won’t.”
Muh lock screen. Cover of Savage as You, sans text.
Savage as Them!!!
“It’s beyond my capabilities, even if the screams of mankind would comfort me like a warm quilt on a winter day. I am also uniquely incapable of harming you, Priestess, as you bear the Flame. So long as you do, we are one.”
“Now then,” Zōidiakós said, turning back to me. “Are you not thrilled, my Angel? The Flame is whatever you make it.” “What is it?” “Power. The power to reshape your Karma, to reshape Tey ’Ra ’Tah itself, however you see fit.” She frowned softly. “Ah, but you are not fully here, and can only take a small piece of this world back. A memento, at best. But even an atom of the Flame is enough to change your story, give you a new destiny, befitting the rightful Queen of Lin J’Roe.” “I’m no queen. I only want my life back.” “Take the Flame in your hands. I will help you back to your mortal prison within the Cycle. One day, I shall await your return. Do not fear what has become of you. Your mind. Your body. Reclaim yourself, no matter how broken. All destruction is merely a radical form of creation.”
Fantasy Indies August prompts by @ChesneyInfalt & @LydiaVRussell 1. Introduce yourself & WIP 2. Two truths and a lie about you or your WIP 3. Show us your book covers 4. Favourite piece of folklore or fairytale 5. Important days in WIP 6. Make a “recipe” for your WIP (tropes, media that inspired it, etc.) 7. Free Friday or your thoughts on retellings 8. Saturday Snippet 9. Do dreams feature in or inspire your writing? 10. Last, Current, & Next Reads 11. How would your characters want to spend their birthday? 12. Top reads of 2026 so far 13. Special items in WIP 14. Free Friday or WIP pitch in one sentence 15. Saturday Snippet 16. Mental health in WIP 17. Fairytale poem or Flash Fiction 18. What book-to-movie/tv show adaptations are you looking forward to seeing? 19. Author tips that have helped you 20. Superstitions in WIP 21. Free Friday or How do you choose character names? 22. Saturday Snippet 23. Favourite fandoms 24. Character names and their meanings in WIP 25. Is there anyone your MC shares their secrets with? 26. Legends in WIP 27. What have you learned recently? 28. Free Friday or Share a funny typo 29. Saturday Snippet 30. Do you prefer series or standalones? 31. Monthly Wrap-Up
Savage as You is out September First overlaid on a backdrop of flowers taken by my friend Reid. Bullet points: Transfem Protag. Race against time. A (Messy) love triangle. Unreliable (crossed out) VERY reliable narrator. Image of book cover: redheaded girl walking through beautiful flower field in other realm. Tagline: Even the most beautiful dreams can be warped into nightmares ... QR Code leading to author's link tree. The eel of approval!
Concert
Savage as You by J.M. Weaver
Olivia Taylor Dudley *Cruuuush*
Pink background bordered with flowers. #FantasyIndiesJuly 1 Introduce yourself & WIP 2 A favorite line from WIP 3 Free Friday or share your favorite book dedication 4 Saturday snippet 5 Sports or activities in WIP 6 Your writing pet peeves 7 Unlikely friendships 8 Misunderstanding in WIP 9 WIP aesthetics 10 Free Friday or show off a new-to-you author 11 Saturday snippet 12 Favorite fictional friendship 13 Marketing tips 14 Lessons in WIP 15 Share a recent success 16 Animal companions in WIP 17 Free Friday or what stage of writing are you in? 18 Saturday snippet 19 Who is your writing buddy? 20 Alliances in WIP 21 What have you researched for your WIP? 22 What types of covers draw your attention? 23 Is your MC a good friend? 24 Free Friday or do you come up with characters, setting, or plot first? 25 Saturday snippet 26 Songs that remind you of your WIP 27 Does your MC value loyalty? 28 What would you like to see more of in books? 29 How are you doing with your 2026 goals? 30 MC's comfort food 31 Monthly wrap up
The elegant estate finally came into view, striking a nice balance between countryside Welsh manor house and seventeenth-century insane asylum. A series of bumpy old cobblestone roads led to the main building and its accompanying structures: a windmill, silo, two barns, storm cellar. Crops extended far ahead, not immediately apparent what they were. The property had a chest-high stone wall surrounding it, though in several spots the wall had chipped apart. I clambered over one damaged section of wall, dusting myself off as I studied the red brick exterior of the manor. Vines seized one side of the building, sprouting lavenders, weirdly; bushes and hedges lined the property’s immediate outskirts, all fairly well groomed. Leading toward the front double doors, the cobblestone walkway encircled a fountain that depicted a crying angel, its tears pouring through its hands. A plaque lay at the base of the fountain, reading:     Helena Craven Your Fire Will Be Our Guiding Light
Greetings Ms. Hailey Stewart,   I beseech you from our rightful kingdom, that of Lin J’Roe. I am in need of your assistance on a matter of dire importance. Please be gentle with this Transit Device and its Driver. I know it is crude; the previous one has been dismantled. Insert the Driver into the Mainspring at the basin of the device. Take the path forward from the castle and do not stray. The manor at the vineyard has the answers you seek. I am counting on you—the way is finally clear. The work is done. Now we only need one pure of heart to gather the keys.     With Revitalized Enthusiasm, The Seamstress   I probably reread it a dozen times. There was a lot to unpack—my brain kept circling back to CSD. Who or what is he? This note doesn’t mention him. Why? Whoever this is must be unaware of him, maybe? Several things about this note confused me. This mirror . . . is the ‘Device’? The pearl is a ‘Driver’. What strange terminology. Mainspring. I twirled my hair in my fingers, thinking. Why mention that the previous device . . . thingy was ‘dismantled’? That’s so odd. As if I’d know if this was crude or not. All of this was too insane for me to truly grasp. One pure of heart? That’s an awfully tired cliché, what did it mean in context, though? Innocent? Dumb? An anxious train wreck? A virgin? Bleh, I’ve always hated that trope—it’s such a problematic, Bronze Age idea. As if a girl is somehow sullied or made unclean by having sex. I know a lot of girls who’ve had sex who are total angels, and a few virgins that are total vipers.
Pink background bordered with flowers. #FantasyIndiesJuly 1 Introduce yourself & WIP 2 A favorite line from WIP 3 Free Friday or share your favorite book dedication 4 Saturday snippet 5 Sports or activities in WIP 6 Your writing pet peeves 7 Unlikely friendships 8 Misunderstanding in WIP 9 WIP aesthetics 10 Free Friday or show off a new-to-you author 11 Saturday snippet 12 Favorite fictional friendship 13 Marketing tips 14 Lessons in WIP 15 Share a recent success 16 Animal companions in WIP 17 Free Friday or what stage of writing are you in? 18 Saturday snippet 19 Who is your writing buddy? 20 Alliances in WIP 21 What have you researched for your WIP? 22 What types of covers draw your attention? 23 Is your MC a good friend? 24 Free Friday or do you come up with characters, setting, or plot first? 25 Saturday snippet 26 Songs that remind you of your WIP 27 Does your MC value loyalty? 28 What would you like to see more of in books? 29 How are you doing with your 2026 goals? 30 MC's comfort food 31 Monthly wrap up
Prompt list for Fantasy Indies July. Today's prompt: songs that remind you of WIP.
The theater lobby was full of arcade cabinets, a big colorful menu depicting horrific cartoon hotdogs and drinks with arms and legs but no eyes, ears, or mouths (I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream!). Dannie and I got our tickets and bought approximately ten thousand dollars’ worth of popcorn and soda (one medium popcorn and two small diet Cokes). The theater was reasonably packed, mostly bleary-eyed parents at the mercy of their rambunctious children, hot off sugar-induced Victory Royales. Dannie and I agreed that we were starting to feel old, even around people our age, since we were so calmly going about our visit, seeing Arbor Valley students loudly cackling, carrying on into the theaters. Am I supposed to feel old at sixteen (seventeen next month, booyah!)? This boded horribly for my disposition later in life. I guess Dannie and I have never been rowdy kids. It’s not our style, even if Dannie does put on that sort of front around her other friends. Maybe that’s why she likes me so much, she doesn’t have to always try so hard.
Redheaded girl sitting with hands in front of legs, clasped, wearing overalls and a pink shirt, checkered Vans. Her cane beside her, decorated by stickers.
We entered its wooden double door, uncertain of what dangers lay within. Slowly plodding up the dark, spiral stairs within, we used (Redacted)’s staff as a source of light. Nothing greeted us. No letters from The Seamstress. No booming voice presenting riddles. No chime. No siren. No noise, other than our echoing footfalls. That was, until the bang of a gun.
Pink background bordered with flowers. #FantasyIndiesJuly 1 Introduce yourself & WIP 2 A favorite line from WIP 3 Free Friday or share your favorite book dedication 4 Saturday snippet 5 Sports or activities in WIP 6 Your writing pet peeves 7 Unlikely friendships 8 Misunderstanding in WIP 9 WIP aesthetics 10 Free Friday or show off a new-to-you author 11 Saturday snippet 12 Favorite fictional friendship 13 Marketing tips 14 Lessons in WIP 15 Share a recent success 16 Animal companions in WIP 17 Free Friday or what stage of writing are you in? 18 Saturday snippet 19 Who is your writing buddy? 20 Alliances in WIP 21 What have you researched for your WIP? 22 What types of covers draw your attention? 23 Is your MC a good friend? 24 Free Friday or do you come up with characters, setting, or plot first? 25 Saturday snippet 26 Songs that remind you of your WIP 27 Does your MC value loyalty? 28 What would you like to see more of in books? 29 How are you doing with your 2026 goals? 30 MC's comfort food 31 Monthly wrap up
Last four watched on Letterboxd by JM Weaver. Scare Me: 1 Faculty: 3 Exit 8: 4 sMOTHERd: 3
It was too late to stop his spell, however. The black clouds surged with violet tendrils of lightning, letting out a cacophony so intense you’d think the sky itself cried out in pain. The wind blew with such force nobody could stand on their feet. Chase ran to Madison and Harper, putting up a wall of steel to protect them, saying nothing as she stepped in. Sebastian held back, watching the wind, bracing, stumbling on his own, witnessing something that appeared to him like a scene out of Ragnarök. This was not a bunch of teenagers in fancy uniforms battling skeletons and ogres with magic and medieval weaponry. This was something far more dire, something apocalyptic. This resembled war.
Woman with short light brown hair and surprisingly not messed up eye makeup holding up the novel The Gerzean Blade by Scarlet Mitchell.
Pink background bordered with flowers. #FantasyIndiesJuly 1 Introduce yourself & WIP 2 A favorite line from WIP 3 Free Friday or share your favorite book dedication 4 Saturday snippet 5 Sports or activities in WIP 6 Your writing pet peeves 7 Unlikely friendships 8 Misunderstanding in WIP 9 WIP aesthetics 10 Free Friday or show off a new-to-you author 11 Saturday snippet 12 Favorite fictional friendship 13 Marketing tips 14 Lessons in WIP 15 Share a recent success 16 Animal companions in WIP 17 Free Friday or what stage of writing are you in? 18 Saturday snippet 19 Who is your writing buddy? 20 Alliances in WIP 21 What have you researched for your WIP? 22 What types of covers draw your attention? 23 Is your MC a good friend? 24 Free Friday or do you come up with characters, setting, or plot first? 25 Saturday snippet 26 Songs that remind you of your WIP 27 Does your MC value loyalty? 28 What would you like to see more of in books? 29 How are you doing with your 2026 goals? 30 MC's comfort food 31 Monthly wrap up
“Friggin’ stupid—oh, Hailey, holy crap‍—‍” She dropped her sponge and dashed to me, giving me a slightly damp hug, squeezing me until I thought I’d begin making noises like a crushed soda can. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit more over the summer. My mom pretty much demanded we take the yearly pilgrimage to Seoul.” Can we talk about Danielle for a second? She’s basically perfect. Her mother is a famous photographer from South Korea. Her father is some sort of mariner from Manaus, Brazil. He’s like six-foot-seven, and has biceps wider around than my waist. I think he might secretly be Aqua Man. The short of it is: Danielle is six feet tall, bronze, gorgeous, athletic, brilliant, speaks Portuguese, Korean, Japanese, Spanish, and French. I, on the other hand, almost speak one language correctly. She could wear a sack of onions and still look like an Amazonian Goddess. She is at once the best and worst friend an awkward trans girl could ask for.
Pink background bordered with flowers. #FantasyIndiesJuly 1 Introduce yourself & WIP 2 A favorite line from WIP 3 Free Friday or share your favorite book dedication 4 Saturday snippet 5 Sports or activities in WIP 6 Your writing pet peeves 7 Unlikely friendships 8 Misunderstanding in WIP 9 WIP aesthetics 10 Free Friday or show off a new-to-you author 11 Saturday snippet 12 Favorite fictional friendship 13 Marketing tips 14 Lessons in WIP 15 Share a recent success 16 Animal companions in WIP 17 Free Friday or what stage of writing are you in? 18 Saturday snippet 19 Who is your writing buddy? 20 Alliances in WIP 21 What have you researched for your WIP? 22 What types of covers draw your attention? 23 Is your MC a good friend? 24 Free Friday or do you come up with characters, setting, or plot first? 25 Saturday snippet 26 Songs that remind you of your WIP 27 Does your MC value loyalty? 28 What would you like to see more of in books? 29 How are you doing with your 2026 goals? 30 MC's comfort food 31 Monthly wrap up
I nodded. Well, with my Chimeric transport gone, time to storm the proverbial castle and hopefully not throw any stones. I did what any self-respecting lost person near an unfamiliar building would do and skimmed along its walls until I found a door. This took a while. A long while. Eventually, marked by an unmissable ‘Grand Opening’ sign, adorned by balloons, I reached a double-door. Pushing my way inside, Garu L’Ecea was chilly, over-air-conditioned. The floor was checkered tile sprawling onward until it became a haze to my eyes. The redolence of lavenders and honeysuckle permeated all else. There were plants everywhere—atrium, makes sense. Potted plants, vines encircling the pillars and stairs. A few vines sprouted the lavenders I smelled, coming up out of the ground through cracked tiles.
Promo for Savage as You saying the novel is out September 1st. Image of cover with redheaded girl walking using cane into a path through a lavender field. Features! Transfem Protag! Setting off into the unknown! Yapping with monsters... and cats! Forbidden magic! Will they, won't they? Unreliable (crossed out) VERY reliabliable narrator! Gods, Mayhem, Humor, Tragedy, Eels, and a universe-ending apocalypse all listed with check mark.
Upon crossing the final bridge leading to the shrine’s steps, a temple formed before their eyes, with stairways facing the four cardinal directions, leading to the Goddess's statue at its zenith, the steps lined by torches and bonfires atop pillars nestled in the corners between each staircase. Zōidiakòs watched as the stones built themselves from air, the temple materialized, shifting proportions to suit her taste, as the whole structure rose slightly off the sand, now upon a large platform of marble. A new staircase led to this divinely invented platform. The two humans up there at the Goddess's side seemed unfazed by her reshaping of the world around them. “This is what Gods do, then?” Divolka said. “Build themselves places for us to worship them at?” Nadish sneered. “It’s only slightly less pathetic than a God that forces us to build their houses of worship ourselves. The only God I know of who does that is Yah-Tzévah, the God of War. This is why we are not going south to visit him. For one, Prism Keep is gaudy as all bloody death, but second, his stone churches dot the landscape. He evidently demands his worshipers create them, then he whispers different beliefs in their ears, in hopes they fight against one another, as subsects of his faith.”
Prompt list for Fantasy Indies July. Today's prompt: who is your writing buddy?
Savage as You, nightmare pile of drafts.
“I don’t want to die,” (Redacted) sobbed. “None of us truly do. We just trick ourselves.” She smiled, caressing (Redacted)’s cheek. “My greatest mistake was leaving you. Failing you.” “(Redacted). We . . . wasted our lives.” Rather than becoming a doll, (Redacted)’s body glowed and became ash, like (Redacted).
Soon, the madness truly abated and I sat alone, staring at the fire, one of the last few awake. Even Danielle had gone to sleep. It was the dead of night, the fire smelled so full and mighty, the stars blanketed the sky, owls hooted, crickets chirped, frogs croaked by the water, things almost, at last, felt like a getaway for me. Then Danielle’s best guy-friend sat beside me, on the same log. “Hey, how’s it going, Hailey?” He was very tall, muscular, absurdly gorgeous. I know he played football, yet he was more famous at school for being something of a prankster. I could smell the Axe body spray on him even through the redolence of flame. “Hi, Isaiah,” I weakly greeted him. He nodded at the red plastic cup in my hand. “Sooo, how’s the beer?” “It’s, uh, very musky.” I didn’t like this; the beer made me feel dizzy and lightheaded, like I spun around in circles a dozen times. “I know—acquired taste, huh? Better get used to it, college is right around the corner.” “I’m not so sure I’ll be headed to very many parties.”
Prompt list for FantasyIndiesJuly. Today's prompt is 'aninals in WIP'.
Arriving at home, a mysterious, bulky package sat on our porch. I could envision very few instances where a mysterious package was a good thing. . . . Snork. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing.” I blinked expressively, hopping out of the car cane-first. I hobbled over to the package, a box taller than me. “It’s addressed to you?” Mom said, perplexed. “Did you order any furniture?” “Not that I’m aware of.” “It’s heavy,” she remarked, trying to push it. “I’ll get your uncle’s hand truck out of the garage.” “Is it really Uncle Oscar’s anymore if it’s been here ten years?” I pondered aloud, philosophically. Mom glanced up in the air for a second, dwelling on the deep questions of life. Soon, Mom wheeled the box inside and we opened it with Christmas-y enthusiasm. It was a wooden crate on the inside of the cardboard packaging. There was no return address, and whoever wrote ours had very pretty, obviously womanly handwriting. Mom pried the crate open; inside there were many feather-filled pillows used like packing peanuts, all to protect an excessively large, six-foot-high mirror. “That’s gotta be worth something,” Mom mumbled, astonished. It was a heavy, wooden piece, rustic and Victorian, though almost impractical due to its sheer girth. As Mom explored its beautifully carved details, I found a small second box in the crate. I knelt. Ow. Mom didn’t notice what I was doing, peeking in. I opened this second box, some sort of ornate jewelry box? Within it—I gasped, stuffing the box in my bookbag. The exact pearl described by CSD lay within. “What is it, baby?” “Nothing, I thought I saw a spider.” Mom shook her head. “Right.” She dusted off her jeans. “Well, it’s on the heavy side but I think I can lift it to your room, maybe with Danielle’s help? Call her up, that girl’s strong as an ox.” “Will do.”
Kamelot - The Black Halo Woman half submerged in water surrounded by rings of thorns.
I couldn’t handle it. I cried. I haven’t cried this badly since I was at the hospital, with my knee, late at night when I was all alone. Danielle in South Korea. My mom busy at work. Only the nurses—my anxiety assured me they were talking about me. Saying awful things. I cried all night, pins and brackets sticking out of my leg, holding it together, the morphine drip the only thing preventing unbearable pain. Maybe I’ll rip it out. Rip it out, just to see what happens. Watch it spill all over the floor. Watch my arm spill all over the floor. I scratched the scar on my arm. I held it.
Backdrop: illustration of a lavender field with a manor on the horizon, mushrooms as tall as the manor, and a Saturn-like planet in the sky. Text: Savage as You (Even the most beautiful dreams can be warped into nightmares) Comps: Spirited Away, American McGee's Alice, The Neverending Story, The Dark Tower, Weaveworld. Pitch: Hailey yearns for nothing more than to be a normal girl. Yet something out there knows about her, sending a gateway and letter telling her the world inside might be frightening.... but she's to be its Queen. Excerpt: I watched the water pour forth as the cracks in the sky spread, wondering how much time we really had left. What did it even mean, that the sky started to crack?
Asbury Park beach. Mobbed
Woman smirking and standing at the best salon ever in a black top with short (CUTE) hair and bangs.
The days came and went, rolling on. Camping, as much as I hate it, became a weird norm. Lapis and Rella hunted whimsical game; we ate it, trying to conserve our cache of trail mix and protein bars. Life took on a calming newness. It was all quite terrifying and overwhelming, but at the same time liberating—no careers to think of, no uncertainty about the future, about being attacked for who I am. Just us, together. The trees, the grass, the dirt, the cracking sky, and the maze of rivers. None of it cared who we are, where we came from, what our grades were or our family’s credit history looked like. We were equal to it, and it to us.
Lesbian flag gradient disco ball.
Last four watched by J.M. Weaver: Touch Me - five stars. The greatest achievement of cinema in human history. No notes. Ready or Not 2 - three and a half stars Cannibal Mukbang - four stars, lead actress is awesome In My Skin - four stars
Hailey Stewart, protagonist of Savage as You by J.M. Weaver. Redheaded girl sitting with her arms over her knees wearing overalls and Vans. Her cane beside her
Serph and Sera from SMT: Digital Devil Saga.
“Out of the question.” A woman entered into the room, eyes scalding. Similarly to Calixte, she had the appearance of somebody derived from the Middle Eastern countries of Madison’s Earth. Her skin was bronze, yet her eyes were a piercing dandelion-yellow. Her hair was cut in a bob with face-framing bangs, same yellow as her eyes. She wore an elegant, periwinkle dress of fine silk clinging loosely to her form, a violet bodice over it. Her face and body were bedecked in enchanted jewelry: rings upon every finger, a necklace of shining silver, a choker with an oval-hewn sapphire in the center, about half a dozen earrings in each ear, as well as a silver chain dotted by rubies connected from her right ear to a ring in her right nostril. A silver clip held back her hair behind the ear on the side with the chain, but not the other, emeralds and sapphires decorated the grooves of this hairclip between its teeth. Tattoos descended down her arms, across her shoulder and chest, wavy lines that climbed up her neck, to her cheeks, yellow and vaguely glowing, patterns almost etched into her skin by some ancient form of magic, like coordinated scars that came out surprisingly beautiful instead of normal, ink-based tattoos driven by a human hand. These were magical veins imparted by her rigorous training in the art of forbidden spell-craft, things only Gods can do. Or so we all believed. Her laced boots echoed across the mahogany floors in such a distinct way Djok knew—not only by the voice and its distinct combination of an accent, a speech impediment, and a lisp—it was her. That confidence. Infectious. His ex-wife, whom he sired three children with. A Goddess. Addictive as she was bad for you. The woman he thought he’d never see again. Chloé Priscilla Nightingale.
Me at work living in Box World
I tap my fingers on a table, waiting, suffused by apprehension. This diner is a nice, small-town joint. The sort of place I like to frequent at slow hours. I hate busy, noisy restaurants. This sliver of hackneyed Americana and its trays of pastries—mwah, perfection! I need to be somewhere discreet, keep my head down. Things are going well but I can tell I’m being followed. Not in the paranoid, tinfoil-hat sort of way. I mean a weird fat guy in a Hawaiian shirt who’s always talking on the phone outside of his Jeep literally teleports wherever I go. I wave to him sometimes, he waves back. I have named him Jerry. I shall have him over for tea someday and we can discuss why the government is so afraid of my bunker and all the eerily specific metal pieces, speakers, and salvaged jet parts I haul down there. Can’t a woman have some privacy?
Clicky tutorial for preserving formatting on Ellipsus.
HUMID :0
Prologue Whoever invented camping is my sworn enemy. Look, I get it, modern life can be loud, overwhelming, depressing, busy, exhausting, loud (again), and altogether something humanity might burn down their own villages over if they knew the horrific path destiny had in store for them, as a species. Fair. But are we so irritated by our advancement that we cosplay our ancestors and act like it never happened, as a recreational activity? Such that we must stew in eighty-percent-humidity summer weather pretending to have fun as we stare at trees, doing charity work for needy mosquitoes? Answer me this, oh benevolent inventor of camping, is sitting around in the woods with no toilet for miles truly superior than‍— “Hailey!” “What?” I muttered, snapping from my own mental thesis. “You seem anxious and we’re nowhere near the campsite yet,” Danielle told me, smiling a comforting smile, by my side, so worried about me. Sometimes I feel like she worries too much.
“Hillcrest Asylum,” Lysander said. An absolutely dilapidated gothic mansion loomed ahead. Its glass windows mostly cracked or shattered. Rot infested the outer walls. Even the ivy and vegetation trying to call the mansion home appeared decayed. If ever a place looked haunted. “That’s it, this dump?” Rella scoffed. “It’s beautiful,” Danielle said. We turned to her. “In a twisted way,” she grumbled, eyes averted. Lysander chuckled. “I tend to agree with the new girl.” “Shouldn’t it be, I dunno, cresting a hill?” I observed. “Ah!” Lysander said. “That’s just it—Chalan Rysp once had a goodlier title, and it was a meadow. A meadow of flowers, hills, other such optimistic tomfoolery. But! As this realm declined, all of Lin J’Roe, there came a need to quarter off the madness.” As he said this, a sinking feeling struck me. I saw them now, drifting from across the bog, finding their way under the wooden planks, inhabiting the crooks between the mangroves’ roots. Dolls. Hundreds of them.
Me after swimming. Hair is crazy.
“I swear I’ve heard your voice before.” “I’ve done some movie trailers—anywho! Just schlep that pearl into those handy runes, the one someone was kind enough to draw a big old arrow to and the words, Insert Pearl Here! It’s so remarkably straight forward even a girl with perpetually furrowed eyebrows can decipher it.” I made it a point to unfurrow my eyebrows, yet the need lingered. “Thanks. Well, guess we’re headed home?” I thought I saw the innkeeper push a doll under one bed with his foot. “Was that a dead me just now?” “Oh, heavens no!” he said. “I have a collection and it gets everywhere. When you’re inconsistently substantial as myself you find that your worldly possessions have a way of migrating on their own. Well, Lin J’Roe will be waiting and, oh, do try not to dawdle.” “Why not?” “This realm is magical, and magic is quite infectious, you see.” Rella groaned, “All right, enough riddles. Let’s go order pizza.” “Ooo, yeah!” I clapped, wheeling over to the runes. The sight of the smashed mirror was a bit worrying. Oh well, surely we weren’t strolling into a massive trap, right? The light climbed the various runes after I set the pearl. Some runes spun, others hissed musical notes, the whole thing struck me as incredibly slapdash. Yet, it worked: a gateway opened to my room. “Oh, and remember,” the man told us as Rella stepped through. “What now?” she said. “Don’t remove the driver while someone crosses the threshold.” “What do you mean?” He nodded toward the pearl. “If you take that pearl out right now, your platinum-haired friend, well, whatever pieces of her are in your realm and Lin J’Roe, will remain that way. I would hate to bother that merry Gentleman, to clean up such a mess.” Our eyes widened; chills crept up my body. “Yeah,” I said, “Let’s just hurry through, then.”
PS1 games
Occasionally I thought I heard things knocking over. An overwhelming variety of objects littered the mall, sitting on benches, by trash cans, on tables, or the various lips and shelves created by all the pots and planters. There were birthday hats next to slices of half-eaten cakes, oilcans, toolkits, boomboxes, record players, containers of pasta, seashells strewn about, bridal magazines, various candles, abandoned medical equipment, at least one tire, a cellphone (of the flip variety), computer towers, Halloween and Christmas decorations, and my personal favorite: atop one trashcan sat a bootleg version of the game Operation, featuring a clown (because red nose, I guess?), and on top of it, proud, a lone metal slinky. Just chillin’, living its own life. I dunno, I could see this place growing on me, even with the looming threat of becoming a writhing, screaming flesh beast like Mithras claimed. How’s that any different than normal? . . . Jokes.
Copy of my debut novel Savage as You basking in M O O D L I G H T I N G
As the others writhed and wept and begged their illusions for mercy, Harper catapulted herself up high, watching as Luna gracefully flew through the air, her plum scarf whipping against the wind as she dove, striking the Waira with her twin sickles once, then flying back up, striking again as plum streaks followed her weapons. The Waira swung, only for Luna to duplicate, splitting into five clones, making the Waira scream in anger and confusion as it frantically carved at the air, hitting two illusions that faded into a shadowy ripple, smiling, waving an index finger cheekily as they dispersed. Soon enough, the real Luna flew straight up against the beast’s belly, carving through it, rocketing straight up and out of the supposedly very powerful Yōkai, covered in its tar-like blood, shaking it off her arms, smiling. “Ah-hah! Serves you right, foul beast! May you belch your treacherous fog no more!” She glanced around, frowning to herself when she realized Chloé wasn’t watching.