P.J. Acacia Ashberry
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pj.writes.fyi
P.J. Acacia Ashberry
@pj.writes.fyi
930 followers 3.6K following 74 posts
pj. 24 yr old disabled plural creativething from the midwest. thinks & writes about aliens a lot. she/it
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pj.writes.fyi
Announcing my #HotWetQueerSummer project: MINDBELLY! A dissociative horror novella about falling in love with your alter after being swallowed by a monster. And also the monster's belly isn't a belly at all; it's a dimension of eternal summer.

@monstermanorbooks.bsky.social
a picture of a brain overlayed on top of a pool. it reads i'm participating in the wet hot queer summer jam A BOOK cover that is an image of a brain overlayed over the top of a pool. the title is mindbelly by pj acacia ashberry. the tagline is "we're only safe in the water". the info listed above the cover says "f/f alter romance", "dissociative identity disorder representation", "psychological horror", and "eternal summers"
May 27, 2025 at 1:41 AM
pj.writes.fyi
BABYLON 5 X THE ORVILLE

HEMERA II

An alien hybrid becomes the commander of the largest research-resort station in the galaxy and finds herself in a galactic conflict that transcends time.

🛸F/F, coworkers to lovers, adult age gap
🛸Clairvoyance & bodily autonomy themes

#questpit #w #s #a
image 1: a bead curtain illuminated in pink and green image 2: a green planet in a circle image 3: leaves image 4: green 3d spheres image 5: the corner of a woman's face overlayed in red image 6: poolside lounges image 7: a grassy pathway image 8: green lines in a circular spiral image 9: a mirror
May 8, 2025 at 3:15 AM
pj.writes.fyi
#writesky #writingcommunity #shortstory #selfpublished #itchio #indieauthor

A short dissociative horror story about lucid dreaming & "monsters", Circles of Dreams invites you to join the inner world. 3.4k words, pay what you want on itch.io.

acaciaquest.itch.io/circles-of-d...
a book cover with a forest and a circular kaleidoscope image. it says circles of dreams / pj acacia ashberry. An excerpt of the story. it reads: I watched time move in different directions all around me, like inverted waterfalls created by the shredding of physical law. I saw existence itself melting into puddles of potential and tragedy, and I put on my too-tight rainboots and splashed around in them, mixing the concepts until they were indistinguishable from one another. I saw birth and death with nothing in between. I saw the in-between without birth and death, things that existed before the universe sobbed itself into being and things that will remain in existence even after every form of life has flickered out. I saw beauty and I saw what remained of beauty when no one was left to witness it. More than anything, I saw the creatures. They were watching me through a monitor, as if they lived in a pocket of space that only they could access or understand. I couldn't see them but I saw them. My mind turned into the periscope of a submarine and I watched them watch me like I was an experiment, a candied volcano at an elementary school science fair, a poor dissected rabbit on the table. I had become becoming and everyone that I knew was beneath me only physically; in every other way they had risen above me to witness the ultimate outcome, the place I always knew I'd end up at-being absorbed by the graveyard dirt itself. I was thrashing against the mental windows, trying to reach the creatures to beg or to interrogate, like a misguided moth hallucinating a light that had left it long ago.
May 7, 2025 at 7:26 AM
pj.writes.fyi
🌹 ROSE BORN WILTED BY P.J. ACACIA ASHBERRY, THE FINAL VERSION 🥀

Rose Born Wilted is a collection of 24 poems about dying before you get to live. CW for childhood sexual abuse, domestic abuse, animal death, body horror.

It is pay what you want on Itch: acaciaquest.itch.io/rose-born-wi....
a rose with a galaxy overlayed on top of it. it reads, in 3D text, "rose born wilted"
May 6, 2025 at 11:01 PM
pj.writes.fyi
TW: Suicidal Ideation, Anti-vax

More from my memoir. #writesky #writingcommunity
a screenshot of google docs. it reads: I used to read so much as a kid but then I started wanting to kill myself. When I started wanting to kill myself, I stopped reading and melted into the sickly hands of poetry, unable to consider the needs of those around me. I stopped being [insert my birth name here] and I became a decrepit, shriveled-up sac of words, spilling the air of prose into my bloodstream, the fountain pen I was forced to carve as the alveoli pumping it all through. I fell in love when I was eight, with a boy we’ll call Adrian (of course, not his real name), or so I told everyone else, wearing my little boy crush like an earned badge over my chest. I fell in love again when I was eleven—a fifteen year old boy named Cam, and I’m still not sure what happened there. I fell in love with my best friend when I was thirteen, but I never wanted to speak its name; it was clear she thought I was some sort of abomination for my existence—if your parents hadn’t vaccinated you, you’d be normal——but I nipped at her heels regardless, following tight behind—playfully defiant but ultimately low in servitude. That’s the problem I’ve always had: I’m willing to put up with anything, as long as I can write about it later.
April 6, 2025 at 4:44 PM
pj.writes.fyi
TW: body horror. From the draft of my memoir.

#writesky
a screenshot of a text that reads "I thought of myself as not dissimilar to the plankton and shark and turtle, the sentient but never sapient, every unopened eye. Each innocent, naive creature that hunts and eats and gets eaten because that is its sole nature, no aggression or fear embedded. I was each thing swimming, content to move forward until death with no choice but to go where the waters take it. I was each gill expansion and each fish egg and each discarded shell. I was the anglerfish and the light and the bite and the worst part of it all is that I was never grateful for that naivety when I had it—I was still living under the belief that one day I would be stable enough to work, that I would be stable at all. I think of myself as too much. I think of myself too much. I wanted to be all of it, but really I was all of it and nothing at all, my animated violet corpse sinking down past the light to decompress into a massive thing of flesh. Whatever! Circle of life, hm? The marine life I so desperately wanted to save chews down on my skin to suck the dead parts off. My skin becomes very clean and soft until they start in on the muscle, and then I’m tainted, then the places I’ve gone bad in the middle at are on display for the marine life to see, and I still want to impress, I don’t want them to see me like this. I still want to count as some unsettling imitation of beautiful."
April 5, 2025 at 1:19 PM