#Steampunk Short Stories

[alpaca-clouds]

Solarpunk Storytelling - And People Who Have Never Read A Book (apparently)

And once more I am back at the topic that maybe annoyes me the most of all when it comes to "white people having bad opinions about solarpunk". (And yes, let's face it, most of the people are white.)

And that is people that argue like this:

"Uhm, actually, how are we supposed to bring in a conflict if it is not about the utopian solarpunk world hiding a dark secret?!"

To which I will always have to assume that these people are not in fact familiar with the concept of books, movies, series, or stories in general, and have not consciously ever consumed a story at all. Because otherwise I cannot fathom how one could come to this conclusion.

Because here is the thing: Most stories out there have a conflict that does not involve a government having a dark secret.

Unbelievable, right?

Escuse my sarcasm in this, but I really just find this argument so silly. I mean, Lord of the Rings most certainly does not draw its conflict out of any government hiding a dark secret. Nor does any of the Sherlock Holmes stories. Titanic is a very popular movie not building around the concept of a dark government secret. And... Ugh, I don't know. Forrest Gump and Fight Club are two very popular movies, that I don't like, but in fact do not work around a dark government secret as a conflict. Nor do my favorite Fantasy books: The Magic Castle trilogy (that includes Howl's Moving Castle) and The Witcher series.

You will find there are a ton of stories out there not focused on a dark government conspiracy. In fact those conspiracies tend to be a feature of only certain subsections of genre fiction: thrillers and dystopian fiction. And obviously especially dystopian thrillers. Which is why it is so common in the original punkpunk genre Cyberpunk: Most Cyberpunk stories are dystopian thrillers.

But Solarpunk is not Cyberpunk. And you can tell a lot of different stories that do not feature those kinds of conspiracies.

What those people do not really seem to grasp is that at the very core fantasy, science fiction, and all the punkpunk genre actually do not quite describe the sort of story you tell, but just the setting. Think about it: High Fantasy does not say anything about what kind of story you can expect. Sure, a lot of High Fantasy is either a war story, or an adventure story, but I have read high fantasy thrillers before, just as I have read one really cool indie mystery story that was high fantasy. Same with Urban Fantasy. Are most Urban Fantasy novels some sort of detective novel often with a strong romantic/erotic subplot? Sure. But I have read Urban Fantasy horror, pure Urban Fantasy romance, and Urban Fantasy adventure stories. (In fact I wrote an Urban Fantasy pirate adventure myself.)

Same with the other punkpunk genres. Yes, most Cyberpunk is in fact some sort of dystopian thriller. Some are more action heavy, others are more mystery heavy. But I have seen Cyberpunk erotica, Cyberpunk adventure, and Cyberpunk drama novels. Sure, they always tend to have dystopian subtext, because Cyberpunk worlds are dystopian - but... It is not the central theme in those stories.

Steampunk is maybe even stronger in this. Because I have seen I think any genre in Steampunk before. Romance, adventure, mystery, action thriller... I have seen it all. And I do not even like Steampunk particularly!

So, I really have to wonder: Why in the world can those people think of telling only one type of story with the Solarpunk-setting? And why is it the kind of story that is literally the polar opposite of Solarpunk as a setting-idea?

Because I can guarantee you: Every single genre is very much still possible even within an utopian Solarpunk setting, where the utopia is not a sort of conspiracy hiding a darker secret.

Mystery? Well, even in an utopian world people will go missing. Even in an utopian world, someone will commit murder. The world being utopian will not just fix humanity from its darkest instincts.

Romance? Duh, people will still fall in love in an utopian world. And people will still be complicated about it.

Adventure? Within a Solarpunk world there will still be people looking for lost treasure. Hell, there will probably still be some asshole private collectors who want it for themselves. Or you can even do it fitting with the theme: Instead of a lost treasure people are having an adventure looking for a supposedly extinct species!

Action? You do not need a government conspiracy for someone to come up with guns and do bad things with it, forcing good guys with guns to stop them and have cool fights while doing so!

Thriller? Again, it does not need to be a government conspiracy for that to happen. (Heck, I might write a different blog about that tomorrow.)

Horror? You can have both serial killers/slashers in a Solarpunk world, abusive people for psychological horror, and ghosts/demons if you wanna go supernatural. Literally neither of those care much about the setting they are in.

So, yeah. Really. If you think you cannot write an interesting story within a Solarpunk novel that does not involve the government hiding something and the world being build on a lie, that is very much a skill issue. Or to put it different: Maybe writing is not for you.

[sabastory]

Home

“GIVE IT BAAAAACK!”

A brown kobold stands unmoving and holds a toy dragon high above his head. His brother, a little green kobold, continuously shouts and jumps up and down, waving his thin arms trying to snatch it back.

“Not until ya grow taller ya little runt!”

The brown kobold playfully retorts, as he grabs his kid brother's head and pushes him out of the way. He tosses the toy up and down a few times.

“BARIIIIIIIII!”

The boy's shrieks finally get the attention of the blue kobold in the next room. She emerges wearing a flour-coated apron.

“Bari, please, just give it back to him.”

Baritone simply rolls his eyes and tosses the toy back to the green kobold, who responds with a stuck out tongue and a splattery “PTTTHHBB”, then scampers out the back door.

“Honestly, you don’t have to torment him so much…” 

Soprano brushes her hands together as a powdery mist dances around in the evening sun.

“You ain’t mom.” Bari responds bluntly.

She exhales, and shrugs. “You’re right. I’m not. But please just treat him a lil’ nicer, alright?”

She begins to rub her temples and mumbles. “His screaming gave me quite the headache…”

Bari begins to turn around and walk out, before being stopped again.

“I have a late shift at the tavern, so look after the others tonight. I’ll be back early in the mornin’ ”.

He whips around.

“Seriously!? Why is it always me?”

“Because I told you to. Please, Bari, it really helps a lot..."

With a grumble, he reluctantly agrees.

“Fine, whatever.”

Soprano gives a warm, relieving smile and pats him on the shoulder, before hanging up her apron. She heads upstairs to freshen up and get dressed.

Bari shoves his hands in the pockets of his dirty trousers and meanders into the living room. He sees his baby brother on the rug, playing with a couple of toy tanks and an assortment of other little trinkets. He happily coos and makes gentle chirping noises, as if lost in his own little world.

The bruises, blisters, and black eyes from all the fights Bari's gotten into around town mask a deeply sensitive kid, one who hides his protectiveness and sense of justice behind a thick layer of gruff and grit.

The world has felt a lot bigger and scarier lately, and someone has to fight for them.

[jackkilligrew]

The ungainly monitors were hardly taken seriously, and undergraduates had been known to kidnap them, reprogram them, and have them performing tricks at parties. Curious about Blackspire’s mysteries? Check out my full world-building journey on my blog!

[knightleon64]

The Last Craft Chapter 1: The Decline of an Era

Elias Berwick stood solitary in his workshop, the faint light of dusk filtering through the grimy window. The familiar scent of oak and walnut filled the air, yet it no longer afforded him comfort. The chair before him, half-carved, was a reminder of the work in which he once took such pride, but now it seemed to mock him. The shop, inherited from his father, had ever been a place of solace, where every chisel stroke had been purposeful. Yet now, orders came but seldom.

The door creaked open, and a man stepped within, sharply attired. His coat was immaculate, his hat placed with precision atop his head, and his gaze swept the room with an air of indifferent disinterest.

"You must be Mr. Berwick," said the man, his tone stiff and businesslike.

Elias nodded. "I am. How may I be of service?"

"I am here on behalf of Mr. Harding. He no longer requires your services," the man declared with finality.

A heavy silence ensued. Elias felt his chest tighten. Mr. Harding had been a loyal patron for many years. "Why?" he inquired, though he already feared the answer.

"The factory on Steel Street," the man explained. "They have begun employing machines. It is cheaper, swifter, and yields the same quality."

Elias’s hand trembled about his chisel. "Machines?" he echoed, disbelief in his voice. "But they cannot replicate the care that handcrafting affords."

The man was blunt. "They need not. The machines produce identical results, and the customers favour the lower prices."

The words struck Elias as a physical blow. His craftsmanship, honed through a lifetime of dedication, seemed now irrelevant in this new world. The chair before him, once a symbol of his skill, now appeared trifling.

"I fear your kind of work is no longer valued," the man added before turning to leave.

Elias watched him depart, the door closing with a cold finality. His father’s legacy was slipping away, fading into the past. The world outside, with its unforgiving efficiency and ceaseless march of machinery, was moving forward, leaving him behind.

[belle-steampunk-epoque]

Sketches from the land of Stilmeland

All from the land of Stilmeland

[bethanyannart]

So many years later and I still love this steampunk Snow White. She made 7 Dwarves from scrap metal to keep her company on the run.

[worlds-of-imaginations]

Endless journey (2)

[the-lektric-tinker]

It occurs to me that maybe not everyone in this fandom knows about the two official short stories from the League of Seven universe that you can read online for free:

Alternatively, these stories would be a great place for a non-fan to start, because they’re like a little taste-test of whether you like the world and writing style, without spoiling anything that happens in the actual trilogy.

[bookmothic-dyke]

Plan: Cosplay as my own short story’s main character.

Location: Celebration event for the college publication it’s in.

Reason: Because I’m gay. So why not?

Note:

- This will be my first cosplay.

[moonfeatherblue]

Of Gods and Cogs

“… Ben.”

I stand below the gazebo and say his name.

His name is all I say. Never been much for confrontation, I suppose—goddamn, it had to be me who stumbled upon Ben’s trespass. A dim lamp strapped to his forehead, he crouches over the Elders’ contraption, all brass and gears and pressure gauges. The frantic clicks and pops of Ben’s tinkering through the cool, clear night keep discordant time with our misted breaths: his shallow and agitated; mine quick and afraid.

My lips tremble on calling for help. Something pointy and cruel digs into the pit of my stomach, telling me that would be the worst idea I’ve ever had. And I’ve had some pretty God-awful ideas—I wound up here, didn’t I?

No, it’s Ben and me.

… God help us.

I say his name again. “Ben… please…”

One extra word croaks out of me.

“Don’t move!”

My entire body jolts as Ben spins to face me. Half-tangled in copper coils and silhouetted in my quivering pool of lantern light, he clenches one jittery hand over his head. A bundle of wires snakes from his fist into the unknown innards of the contraption.

Horror spills up my spine.

Oh, no…

“What will this achieve?” I try, my eyes an anxious hummingbird flicker up and down the wires that connect Ben to the Elders’ contraption. “What could you possibly hope to—”

Ben’s molten glare tightens around my throat, stealing my speech, the very idea of language spooling away in meaning as I—predictably—freeze.

“I thought Ellious and Martha were pathetic. But you?”

Ben sneers, his disdain laced with venom. I lurch backwards—not only at his expression, but as something shatters by my feet. My lantern, it seems, has escaped my grip. Its oily flames snuff out on impact with the gazebo step, plunging the garden into darkness. Now the only light remaining, besides the quiet glitter of stars through tree limbs, is Ben’s head lamp. Its beam glares directly at me. My blinking eyes prickle with bewildered spots, blotting the traitor into a smear of shadow.

“You’re the worst of the lot,” Ben says, panting. “You *adore* them, don’t you?”

“Adore who?” I squint at him, the cogs barely creaking in my stressed head. Glass crunches beneath my shifting boots. “The Elders?”

“Of course the Elders—sycophant!”

He spits on the pristine lawn at my feet, adding his own fluids to the galaxy of dew clinging to the blades. “You call this a sanctuary? A place of healing?”

Ben’s laugh is terrible, pure aural poison.

“They’ve bound us to them—don’t you see? Every last stray they’ve collected! We’re theirs, now! You think they’ll just let us leave here?”

“S-stop…”

I gasp as Ben’s wild gestures jerk the deadly bundle in his fist. Behind him, the contraption makes an unnerving fizzing sound. “Ben, you can still s-stop this!”

“I’m ending this.”

Turning his back, Ben again hunkers before the contraption like a worshiper at an altar, his fisted threat still held overhead. “You stay the hell away from me! Get out of here—get out! While you still can.”

Panic froths and bubbles up through my digestive tract. I stand by, as good as vacant, my body stiff and lips sealed shut. “S-stop…”

*For God’s sake…*

I grind my teeth so hard my jaw moans—forget this! If the entire garden’s going to burn, it won’t be because I can’t hold my fucking nerve when it counts!

I gather resolve around me like an armoured cloak and step forward. Ben doesn’t notice, too hellbent on sabotage and too convinced I wouldn’t dare.

Another step.

“Ben.”

No, *this* is the worst idea I’ve ever had.

Somehow, I don’t care. I’ve never felt more certain in my life and—holy hell—confidence is crack.

Give me more.

I seize Ben’s wrist, feeling the hectic tick of his pulse and whir of machinery through his papery skin.

“I… said… STOP.”

From mountaintops with fire-streaked skies to bathwater predicting the end of days, relax for a minute or two with your beverage of choice and dip into some fantasy flash fiction with Blue.

Listen to the audiobook version on YouTube @moonfeatherblue

Also available on Wattpad, Inkitt, and Scribble Hub. Eventually also on Tapas (once I figure out why the site doesn't like me) and my yet-to-exist website (when I eventually get on top of that) ~

[sabastory]

Veni, Vidi, Vixi

A “Closed” sign, haphazardly slapped on to the outside of the front door. Even after hours, life at the Liberalia Lounge remains colorful and lively. Muffled laughter and cheers can be heard from within. Clinks of glasses, squeaks of chairs, the stomps of feet as figures of various sizes dance their troubles away in a flurry of boisterous jubilation. 

“...and we will NOT lay down and die!...”

The warm glow of candles bathe the room in a deep saffron. The flicker of which reflects off the watery eyes of a tall Dragonborn with rich blue scales. His face is youthful, kind yet defiant.

“...in DEATH, we show COMPLIANCE…”

One foot up on a chair, his size makes him easily visible among the diverse crowd of like-minded youths.  

“...Nothin’ changes, and the cycle continues…”

A kenku girl, cowl concealing her sullen green eyes, sits entranced by the speech. Her tea has gotten cold.

“...Now, lads. Tomorrow, we break that cycle!”

Tankards of beer, fists, hats, and more are thrust into the air as a chorus of cheers ring throughout the room. The Dragonborn triumphantly looks around the space and steps down off the chair. A skinny young man shoves a tankard into his hands.

“I daresay your first rousing speech was one for the ages, Milo”.

The Dragonborn takes the drink and looks up at the man. Early 20s, pointed ears poking out from locks of vibrant, golden hair.

“You sure it wasn’t too much? I’m not the best with words”

The man shakes his head with a smile.

“You did a wonderful job, mate. Really riled everyone up. Right, chief?”

He turns to look beyond the mingling crowd at a small figure sitting cross legged on the edge of the bar. They’re gently tuning a guitar, plucking the strings and twisting the pegs with eagle-eyed intent. The figure looks up. A kobold, brown scales and a piercing gaze. They give a tender smile, nodding in approval.

Milo calms down a bit and bashfully looks to the side. 

“Well, I’m just glad he let me. Usually he’s the one who does all the speakin’ and whatnot.”

There’s a pause.

“We’re really doin’ this?”

“The plans are all set up, it’s now or never.”

Another pause.

“Ya know, I never once expected to be a part of somethin’ like this.”

“I don’t think any of us did, but you said it yourself up there. The cycle can’t be broken if nothing is done.”

A cackle of laughter reverberates across the still lively room.

“Besides, you saw what happened at the Degraide. The blueballs are going to be spread thin looking for that little fella. That's why we have to take the chance now.”

Milo looks down at the floor, a million thoughts go through his head, all pounding at the walls of his skull like a troupe of tiny miners.

“I just hope he's okay…”

The man gently puts a hand on Milo’s arm.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to bring the little troublemaker down.”

He playfully pats Milo’s face a few times before grabbing his drink and disappearing into the crowd.

Left alone with his thoughts, Milo takes a big swig from the tankard he’s been fiddling with. 

Heir to an estate that no longer exists. The last surviving member of the prestigious Vanderburg family.

Funny where life can take you, he muses to himself.

[remnantglow]

Hey, I really like all the books you've recomended so far (got me into the murderbot series thanks for that one <3) was wondering if you had any recs for steampunk? Was trying some scifi sub-genres lately and this one really interest me

it's definitely a genre i need to dive deeper into bc i haven't read that much either, but! two i absolutely adore:

the leviathan trilogy by scott westerfeld - YA alternate history ww1 where the central powers use steampunk machinery and the allies use bioengineered beasts, following an austro-hungarian princeling and a scottish girl who enlists pretending to be a boy. i loved this series as a kid and i just reread it recently and it STILL kicks ass. also, some absolutely gorgeous illustrations!

the dead djinn series by p. djeli clark - lesbian magic detective solving murders in steampunk 1910s egypt! literally one of my all time fav series in recent years 🥰 u can start with the (free) short story a dead djinn in cairo - and if you like it, there's the companion novella "the haunting of tram car 015" (same world, diff charas) or you can skip directly to the short story's more direct sequel, the novel "a master of djinn"!

[jackkilligrew]

Welcome to Blackspire, a reimagined Victorian city where steampunk meets magic. Dive into the sci-fi fantasy world of my upcoming series! Curious about Blackspire’s mysteries? Check out my full world-building journey on my blog!

[knightleon64]

Beneath the Steaming Sky Chapter I: A Harvest Lost

The fields, once abundant with golden wheat, now lay barren, as empty as the hopes of those who had worked them. The soil, once rich and warm, had been scarred by the relentless steam-driven ploughs, their iron treads leaving only cold, mechanical imprints. Where life had once thrived, now only emptiness prevailed, a reminder of progress that had no room for men like Kyle Hopkins.

Kyle stood in the midst of his ruined land, his broad shoulders slumped in despair. The weight of loss bore down on him, a crushing burden that seemed to drain every ounce of strength. His hands, once calloused from years of labour, now trembled as they clasped together in helplessness. The air around him was cold, biting with the sharp scent of winter. It clung to him like a cruel reminder of all that had been taken.

His eyes, bloodshot and weary, moved over the desolate fields. The earth that had once yielded to his care now lay lifeless, the rich brown replaced by a dull grey. The distant hum of steam engines filled the air, their relentless noise a stark contrast to the natural quiet of the land he had known. The wind tugged at the ragged edges of his coat, offering no comfort, no relief.

Far off, the silhouette of Jeremy Coston’s manor stood tall, a silent witness to Kyle’s ruin. The lord of these lands, untouched by hardship, continued to thrive while men like Kyle were left behind, victims of a new world that valued machines more than human hands.

Kyle’s plough lay abandoned in the corner of the field, its handle warped from disuse. The horse, once strong, now stood motionless, its hollow eyes mirroring the hopelessness that had taken root in Kyle’s heart.

“It’s no use,” Kyle muttered, his voice breaking as the wind howled around him. The machines had taken everything, and there was no returning to the life he had known.

[atthequillsmercy]

Pride Sale!

  In honor of Pride Month and the delightful person who sent me a middle finger when I put my books on sale in June last year, I’ve put my books featuring LGBTQ+ characters on sale once again for the entire month! Click any of the links below to check them out. Make sure the sale price is there since I don’t count on a bug free experience… Dahlia One, Two, Three, and Complete…

[dark-bear-productions]

Don't give up on an idea you love

I'd like to tell you how I started Hunting Darkness, the transmedia project I'm working on. You might find a cool new piece of media, you might find a bit of personal motivation, and you might find a fun new blog to follow, but you'll certainly find an insight into the creation of the project I am dedicating my life to.

First: if you're unfamiliar with the term transmedia and are hoping it's media by and for trans people, I'm sorry to disappoint you: that's trans media. No, transmedia is when you combine stories told through different media to create a larger whole. (Although I'm happy to say Hunting Darkness features characters who are trans, non-binary, gay, bi, ace, and more, as well as many characters whose gender identity or sexual orientation never comes up and can be freely interpreted).

With that bit clear, let's get this story going.

It began in 2016, after I played The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt and -- inspired by my parents' love for Victorian and SteamPunk aesthetics during a visit to their house -- wrote a rain-sodden, blood-soaked, action-packed story about a team of five slightly SteamPunk Victorian Monster Hunters fighting a massive pseudo-vampire that had mysteriously appeared in a warehouse.

I intended to expand the story into a debut novel called Hunting Darkness -- yes, the name stuck -- but ultmately failed to turn it into something that satisfied me and tried moving on. Unfortunately for my mental health, I kept coming back to that idea of Victorian Monster Hunters, my beating Bloodborne in 2019 adding fuel to the growing fire.

From time to time, some story idea would excite me and I'd begin writing once more only to inevitably think "This would be great for Hunting Darkness." I'd then open my old files, go over my notes and ideas, and try once more to get something out of it. I'd rearrange concepts, tweak my ideas, adjust my themes, and eventually realise it was a much too big and unwieldy a project, I'd never fit it into a novel, and I had better give up.

On it went. I wrote thousands of words and never finishing a story. Eventually, I pretty much gave up and stopped writing altogether.

Then, in late 2022, I listened to The Magnus Archives while doing some (very dull) data management at my new job. I had never really listened to an audio drama before -- unless you count the time I accidentally listened to an old radio drama on shuffle while temporarily blind -- but I really liked this format of stand-alone stories lasting about 20 minutes each. Of course, I then thought of some scene I had cooked up for my Monster Hunters and wondered at how much fun it would be to write a series of stand-alone monster hunts for my very own audio drama.

And then it finally clicked.

My partner Luca studied transmedia storytelling in college and had excitedly told me about it many times, but I'd never considered that Hunting Darkness might be a prime subject for it. Now, however, I wondered if it wouldn't be nice to create an audio drama solely for the writing of monster hunts.

I began working on From the Bay of Fangs, playing on the idea of reports written by Hunters being used as advertising for their services. When I fleshed out my world building and it became clear the Hunters would be government agents, I decided to change the tone from advertorial to propagandistic.

This then sparked the idea that not everyone would just accept this propaganda, leading to The Dark Truth, a series of in-world posters objecting to the stories told in From the Bay of Fangs, accompanied by a story about a government agent trying to find the people behind those posters in order to save her career.

At this point my creativity went into full swing. I officially created a (one-person) company called Dark Bear Productions, created a website, shared some of my worldbuilding, and am now publishing both From the Bay of Fangs and The Dark Truth independently while writing more Hunting Darkness stories and coming up with more still.

It's been stressful, I won't lie. I quit my job in order to work on this and I'm hoping I can find those people who'll find Hunting Darkness as cool as I do -- although I'm sure they're out there.

But it's also been fun and exhilarating and inspiring and it just feels like what I should be doing. So if you have something you really want to write but can't figure out how: consider transmedia! Or just explore some more stories when you can and see if anything clicks. If you share the results with me, I'll check it out. I can't promise I'll like it, but I can promise I'll like you for having created what you had to create, no matter the self-doubt along the way.

Take care!

Daan