strangelittlestories

[strangelittlestories]

When the knight kissed the princess, and the curse did not lift, it caused some consternation.

“I don’t understand,” the knight said, her brow furrowing like a deep sea trench, “I love you more than I love chivalry, more than I love honour. Being with you makes my heart sing. It makes me feel like there is an order to the heavens. In the music of your voice, I hear the truth of the cosmos reverberated through a thousand harmonious notes.”

“That’s very nice,” replied the princess wearily, her voice a song of sharp hungers, “but I still yearn to consume the hearts of the unworthy, so *something is not right*.”

“If I may interject?” The evil fairy was still lying on the floor, the knight’s cold iron blade in their chest, blood burbling from their mouth. “It sounds like the noble Knight of the Steel Harp is not so much in love with *you* as with how you make *her feel*.”

“How can that be?” the knight asked, “I know what I feel; this love is wound right through the marrow of me. I feel it in my every atom.”

The princess looked at the knight, the dark magic making deep predacious pools of her eyes.

“Sweet knight,” she annunciated carefully around her fangs, “what is it *about me* that you love?”

“I…I love the adventures we have shared. The words we shared as we unravelled the mystery of your curse. The way we went about our journey, how our every step became more and more in sync as we reached our destination. I love how steadfastly you struggled against the foul urges of the fell enchantment upon you.”

The princess gave the knight a look that was equal parts sad and ravenous.

“You love the experience. The journey. You love my *opposition* to that which was done to me.” She closed her eyes. “I will not diminish that. The road we’ve tread means more to me than I can say; it was the whole world, and us the only people in it.”

“But a quest is not a *life*.” The evil fairy smiled despite the lifeblood leaking from their fading shell.

“And though we may love it,” the princess continued, “it is not, itself, love.”

“So what do we do?”

“First, I am going to eat that fairy’s rotten heart.” replied the princess, matter-of-factly, “and then, I suppose, we work out if there’s anything about each other that we actually like?”

“They say love makes your heart beat faster.” The fairy laughed, sickly. “In this case, its absence seems to make you *eat* hearts faster.”

“Oh, shut up.” said the princess.

And everything after that was teeth.

[strangelittlestories]

*Hugo awards posting - please nominate or help spread the word if you enjoy my writing*

If any of y'all are able to nominate in the 2025 Hugo Awards, I am eligible in the following categories:

1) Interactive Best Game or Interactive Work for The Key of Dreams - an extremely rad live experience that I wrote for.

2) Best Short Story (I think the best thing I wrote last year was 'Flown'.)

3) Best Fan Writer. (Probs easiest to nominate me as 'James Webster'.)

You are eligible to nominate if you were a Worldcon 2024 member, are a Worldcon 2025 member, or are a supporting member for 2025 (you must already have bought your membership to be eligible).

How to nominate: https://seattlein2025.org/wsfs/hugo-awards/how-to-nominate/

More about Key of Dreams and how to nominate them: https://www.thekeyofdreams.co.uk/blog/hugo-nominations

Link to Flown (the story I think is my best of 2024): https://www.tumblr.com/strangelittlestories/739253467482341376/the-commander-had-stayed-on-the-shuttle?source=share

[strangelittlestories]

comic i made based on a vc conversation about "a stoner comedy where they hit buddha with their car"

[strangelittlestories]

Her name……….. is Howdy. Howdy the cowboy vampire. Howdy says say happy birthday to my girlfriend or else

[strangelittlestories]

HECK. YES.

“What entertainment do you bring before me today?” Squawked Augustine, the king of the birds. “Have the mockingbird players returned from their tour of the provinces? Or maybe that prattling parrot will reprise its human impressions?”

“Alas, milord.” Replied the king’s seneschal, a somewhat fussy flamingo. “You had the parrot killed for excessive repetitions and hesitations.”

“So I did!” The king spread his majestic tail feathers proudly, reliving the happy fuzz of murder. “Well, they knew the rules. Or, at least, *I* knew the rules and they probably should have inferred them.”

“One can never argue with your execution of the law.” Said the long-suffering seneschal, keenly aware that the wrong answer could result in his suffering moving from *long* to *short*. “Or with the law of your executions, for that matter…”

“Speaking of executions,” Said the king, whose mind was never truly far from state-sanctioned violence, “Do we have any on the docket for today?”

“Your majesty, I’m afraid the dungeons are quite empty.”

“What, no traitors left?”

“No, sire.”

“No criminals of any kind? No thieves or fraudsters or comedians who are overly reliant on props?”

“All thoroughly and legally murked, milord.”

“Well, I suppose send in my jester, then. I’m so dreadfully bored.”

At this command, the jester fluttered into the room, wearing a jaunty cap made out of a McDonald’s wrapper with a small lost key jangling from it in place of a bell.

The king and seneschal looked at the jester - the air was heavy with the potential for further royal atrocities. The seneschal crossed his talons.

“Coo.” Said the pigeon jester, hilariously.

A pause. A silence.

“Coo.” Said the pigeon jester again, making unblinking eye contact with the king.

The silence stretched on further. (Surely it could not keep on stretching or it would pull something…)

“Coo.” Said the pigeon jester, tragically.

And at this, the king finally burst into laughter. Uproarious, over-the-top, gut-busting laughter.

Which was just the distraction the seneschal needed. The elaborate flamingo costume was abandoned; the false wooden legs clattered to the floor and the fake neck - a painted length of hose pipe - flopped grotesquely back and forth.

From the costume burst forth a small army of truly tiny owls, which set about tying up the king while he was still prostrate from the laughter.

“What is the meaning of this?” Wailed the king.

“Coup.” Said the pigeon jester, accurately.

“Your reign of terror is at an end, vile tyrant!” Chirped an Elf Owl, puffing up its chest. “Revolution is here and your foul murderous regime will fall. In its place will rise a majestic and fair government! Vive la republic of feathers!”

“This is a conspiracy!” Cried the king.

“No,” Said the Elf Owl. “A conspiracy is ravens.”

“Owls are…” It donned a tiny pair of sunglasses. “...a Parliament.”

[strangelittlestories]

Meeting you reminds me of the time I found two magic mirrors.

They were in 'the vault' ... which is a glorified old storage closet, but souped up with every sick-nasty warding that my mother could think of.

I could see immediately that they were cursed; they had those blurry-but-ripped edges that mark a thing as being out of step with reality.

(How to explain? Cursed things (or people) look like they're just one jagged step to the side of our world. It's as if they try to pull you into their world - their *somewhat worse* world - if they get half the chance.)

They had your standard 'hearts desire/downward spiral' pattern. Y'know, they'll offer you everything you think you want, but getting it will inevitably just heighten all your worst instincts.

As an inveterate people-please with a history of codependency, I can relate.

But I was young and I had a sense of humour, so I just set them down facing each other. And they did what they do: they started talking in sing-song rhyme, offering to answer all each others' most toxic questions and fulfil each others' most self-destructive wants.

It was sweet, in a sad way. They just both wanted to be only what the other desired.

I think that's part of why being around you feels so magical. You know what it's like to grow up in the shadow of the indomitable. You understand what it means to be raised in wickedness. You get what it *does to you* to be caught in the phony war of evil and good.

Your parent had a cause too. A crusade. Gods, it demands so much from you, doesn't it?

And even when you step out of that shadow, everyone still sees it in you. They still want to define you - and you to define yourself - in opposition to it. Oh, look at me, aren't I struggling valiantly against my innate darkness? Please don't smite me, I'm trying *so hard*. BLEURGH.

That's the issue, isn't it? We've had a lot of practice surviving by being whatever people want from us. Not a lot of practice being ... solid. Matte. Bound.

Are we really just alike? When sparks fly, is it because our souls collide? Or is it just light off a mirror catching loose tinder?

Mirror, mirror, on the wall: whose personality is this after all?

Who knows? Perhaps it is enough - for now - to feel the sparks fly.

Perhaps, until we know better, it is still helpful just to see ourselves reflected.

[Two ADHD people are flirting with each other]

"Wait, if I'm mirroring you, and you're mirroring me..."

"...then who's flying the personality??"

---

It's a bit like you've taken two magic mirrors and put them down facing each other.

"Mirror mirror, on the wall, whose mannerisms are these after all?"

[strangelittlestories]

Look I love unconditional devotion love stories as much as the next person, but there's really something so deliciously raw about conditional devotion.

I have served you and I have loved you for decades, but I will not give up my principles for you. You cut out part of my heart and took it with you down that path that you insist on walking, but you walk it alone. Even when the bleeding, gaping hole you left in my chest kills me, I will not follow you.

[strangelittlestories]

Fascinating watching this website contort around the idea of reaching out to and converting far right leaning individuals as if the same 3-4 stances aren't having a do-si-do while all being able to coexist

[strangelittlestories]

[Two ADHD people are flirting with each other]

"Wait, if I'm mirroring you, and you're mirroring me..."

"...then who's flying the personality??"

---

It's a bit like you've taken two magic mirrors and put them down facing each other.

"Mirror mirror, on the wall, whose mannerisms are these after all?"

[strangelittlestories]

A: It's because of the rent.

B: I'm sorry?

A: I can save you some time. I know how this goes. The answer is 'because of the rent'.

B: You know that's not how this works.

A: It could be.

B: It won't be. Causality is important here. So is temporal consistency. And honesty, for that matter. Just because you remember what the answer is *going to be* doesn't mean you can avoid showing your working.

A: [beat] Fine.

B: So...You know why you're here?

A: It's the rules.

B: You're a research magician working on Reality Theory. Your whole field is about giving physics the finger. [beat] Do you care about the rules?

A: I care about some rules.

B: So you choose the rules you like and ignore the ones you don't?

A: I follow the rules that serve their purpose.

B: So you're here because it's the rules. And you only go along with rules if they're functional. So what's the function of this rule?

A: Sophian astromancy carries an aggravated existential risk. Counselling represents one of the few known existential defences.

B: So who does it 'existentially defend'? From what?

A: It protects the Institution. Risks include: paradox wave collapse, retributive third law exceptions, cosmic entities Types A, B and me.

B: Don't you mean 'A, B and C'?

A: Without loss of generality ... same difference.

B: Why do you categorise yourself as *a* risk instead of being *at* risk?

A: If I go Type C..." "Let's just say Type C's have very few risk factors.

B: But would you still be you? The person you are today?

A: The person I am today *only* exists today. Say I became a Type C tomorrow ... you could still trace the path from yesterday, to today, to tomorrow. Temporal consistency.

B: A Type C, by definition, is *not* temporally consistent. And is not, by most definitions, a person.

A: Not a *human*.

B: It is not *a singular* person. It *is* not a *present tense* person. And, yes, also not human. Do you value humanity?

A: I value humans. [beat] Some of them, at least.

B: Do you value *being* a human? Your perspective. Your community. Your, I suppose, your finite-ness.

A: That's a hard question to answer.

B: Why's that?

A: I have- Well. [beat] There is much about myself that I think has value. I am knowledgeable. I am skilled. I excel at envisioning new possibilities. However, I have never excelled when at valuing *me* in my totality.

B: That sounds challenging. Especially when losing hold of yourself has such, well, *Type C* consequences.

A: You find other reasons to hold on.

B: Such as?

A: Fear.

B: Not love?

A: Love is the outer shell. But put enough psycho-aetheric pressure on the ego and the cracks show. If you struggle to value yourself, it is easier for the aether to convince you that those you love would be better off without you. [beat] When that shell flakes away, beneath it is fear.

B: Of?

A: Change. Pain. Endings. Being an inconvenience.

B: One of these things is not like the other.

A: Yet that is the one that has never failed me.

B: How so?

A: The aether can convince me that transformation is not so bad. That agony is not so bad. That the end of my singular human self is not so bad. But it cannot elide the fact that, should I become a monster, my flatmates would have to pay my share of the rent.

B: So that's your pitch? That's why the Institute is safe from its Research Lead going full cosmic horror? It's because of the rent.

A: Yes. I know it's not what I'm supposed to say. It's not what I'm supposed to hold on to. But it's what works. It's because of the rent.

B: Well, if it works, then it works...

[strangelittlestories]

I was reading a piece of fan fiction about a girl so beautiful, all the heroes wanted to make her their wife, yet so powerful, no villain dared fighting her. Instead they sought legal action against her.

Had to lay it down, I can't stand these marry/sue characters.

I'm looking at you with very narrowed orbs right now

[strangelittlestories]

for the non-Americans who are very confused right now:

Everyone hates The Chiefs this year because it's quarterback Patrick Mahomes is low-key MAGA and the orange pestilence is in attendance in the game. And the racist ass "chop" their fans do. and that Traves Kelce said it would be "an honor" to host the orange pestilence at the game.

and now they're fucking losing and Taylor is going to DUMP him and join Kendrick in writing an absolutely devastating breakup anthem.

[strangelittlestories]

there's this well-meaning but I think quite misguided Thing where someone transmasuline whose transition has left them looking, for lack a better term, very conventionally masc - bearded, muscular, liable to be assumed cisgender - will be held up in an argument that essentially goes "lmao you dumbass terfs really want THIS GUY to use the women's bathroom???" as if it's inherently absurd that someone who looks that way would use the women's bathroom. and these tend to get passed around quite a lot to cackle at the stupid terfs who want huge hairy men in women's bathrooms.

and like, let's get one thing straight: no, of course they don't want that guy to use the women's bathroom. they want him to die or detransition; that's their actual goal. they want him to not exist as a trans person. let's just be clear on that.

but the thing that actually bothers me is that this rather steamrolls over the fact that for every transmasuline person who looks like that, there are also transfeminine, nonbinary, and intersex people who look like that and want access to women's bathrooms, and setting up their presence as some kind of absurdity really isn't doing them any favors. nor is it helping the less "passing" trans people who want to use men's bathrooms! this is in fact reinforcing the idea that public bathrooms are a space to be policed based on appearance, that you only gain access to if you can look a certain way.

which is absurd for many reasons, including that it's a fucking bathroom. people are there to piss. ideally anybody should be able to piss next to anybody and we could stop bothering with gender separated bathrooms at all, but in the meantime let's at least not take part in actively encouraging people to decide at a glance who's allowed to piss where.

[strangelittlestories]

the most annoying stage of burnout is when i want to write, and i have the urge to write, and somewhere in my skull are the words that want to be written, but they have to get through the cursed minotaur maze first and nobody remembered to bring string

[strangelittlestories]

from @delatoid on x

[strangelittlestories]

Less magic schools. More magic universities. Unlearn the simplified models of your secondary education. Discover how to reference scrolls written by a wizard possessed by a different wizard. Identify bias in the voices that whisper from beyond the veil. Have your institution be accused of promoting a Merlinist agenda. Become addicted to energy potions.

[strangelittlestories]

How come these parchment-faced wizards are always consulting the ancient grimoires?

Of course they uncover an dark and terrible prophecies. They're looking in the grimoires!

Can't they consult the ancient nice-oires?