#gradi writes

[errordient]

Gradient HC:

He hates touch and only tolerates it when he is the one initiating it (unless someone else asks him to initiate it which it will have the same effect as the other person touching him without permission) otherwise he finds it disturbing and uncomfortable even if he TRIES to enjoy it.

[minecraftian1213]

Link to Part 1

Owen Grady Imagine: You're pregnant with Owen's kid and you're feeling a little under the weather.

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of nausea, fluff, kinda cuteness, no hurt/all the comfort.

"Honey?"

You hummed blearily from the floor next to the toilet. Owen stood leaning against the doorframe wearing only his grey sweatpants and a white tank top. It was terrifying how the man could wear the thick bottoms in such a humid place.

"Hmm, hey," you said, reaching up to flush. Then you picked yourself off the floor and sat on the rim. "You finally done with that little project?"

Owen had been up at night for weeks now. You didn't know what he was working on. He said it was a surprise for you and the baby, so you didn't try to peak around the area he'd cordoned off outside.

"I decided it was time to sleep. You okay?"

You hadn't been feeling well all day. From the moment you woke up and rolled out of bed your back had ached, your feet felt swollen, and your little one hadn't stopped tossing and turning and kicking and punching.

Normally, the latter few wouldn't bother you so much. Most days when the baby stretched you and Owen grabbed markers and drew where you could see imprints pressing into your skin. Most of the time you traced hands and feet but one time you'd managed to draw the entirety of the baby's butt before they'd shifted away. Owen had gotten a kick out of that one.

You smiled gently at your husband as he handed you a toothbrush. "Just a little stomach bug."

"Well I can see that. Though," an indulgent smile passed over his face, "I don't think it's small."

"Owen."

"More small melon sized, really."

"Owen."

"We should probably be concerned at the size."

"You are so not funny."

Owen threw his head back and cackled, the bastard. Your bastard but a bastard all the same. "I'm hilarious."

You sighed and hung your head. Brushing your teeth brought momentary relief from the taste of bile. Owen's laughter trailed off. For a moment it was only the sound of your miserable brushing. Then he reached out a hand and gently ran it through your mussed hair. A sigh crept up through you and you slumped into his touch.

His tone was much more sympathetic. "Hard day?" A nod. "Do you want food?" A single shake of the head. You wouldn't be able to stomach anything regardless of how good his food always was. It'd be a terrible waste. "How about cuddles?" That, at least, didn't sound too bad. "Finish here and I'll meet you."

You moaned in despair when his hand stopped moving over you. Only then did you realize you'd stopped brushing and was drooling toothpaste and spit down your brush. Feeling ever so slightly foolish, and hungry despite your protests of nourishment, you finished quickly.

You'd only taken two small steps, waddles, really, outside the bathroom when you were swept off your feet and into a pair of strong arms. Discomfort quickly settled as your weight was taken off your feet. A pleased hum left your throat as Owen carried you to the bed.

"Have I ever told you how much I love your arms?"

"I could be persuaded to hear it once more."

He gently laid you on the bed. Then he placed a kiss to your brow. Owen climbed in behind you and practically melded himself to your back. His knees came to rest behind yours as his arms wrapped around your middle. Fingers caressed your very pregnant belly as Owen pressed his face into your neck, breathing in your familiar scent.

You sighed in content when he shuffled just a little to place a small kiss to your temple.

He murmured, "I love you."

You laced one of your hands with his that were resting on your stomach. "I love you too."

[buryme-makeoutcreek]

How can I forgive myself for growing up before I was ready?

Fatima Aamer Bilal //Nickie Zimov //Cameron Awkward-Rich// Mitski// Fortesa Latifi// Mad Men// Succession// Grady Hendrix// Sylvia Plath// @twofigs// Shanice Bloodbloom// Jenny Slate// Simon & Garfunkel// Raven Leilani// Carrie Fisher

[swans-chirping-in-the-distance]

Have we all collectively forgotten that Grady doesn't hate Keefe anymore?

It started in at least Nightfall, when he "looked at Keefe like he'd never seen him before." He finally started to see the soft side of Keefe. He started to see what Sophie saw in him.

You'll notice in Stellarlune that he was totally chill with Keefe living at Havenfield and even offered to train him.

He doesn't call him That Boy now, either.

I honestly think when ue finds out about Sokeefe Sophie is gonna expect some blow up and he's just like "Sophie you have a strong head on your shoulders and I trust you" and "I don't hate you Keefe"

I could see him being a father figure for Keefe, honestly, and I feel like no one notices his character development.

[clonedchaos]

Random Handler Thought

For some reason I had a thought about a scenario over if The Handler from JWCT ever met Owen Grady and how would they react with one another. That’s something I always kinda wanted to see in Dominion between Owen and Santos given their sort of parallel relationships with dinosaurs. The Handler seems kind of in the middle between them in that she seems to genuinely care for her pack like Owen but she still uses them for malicious purposes like Santos.

I also hope we get a backstory or name drop or just ANYTHING else about her because her character has grown on me a lot.

A part of me thinks if her and Owen met, they probably would not get along in the slightest. But the other half of my brain is just “Okay, but what if they talked about their raptor kids for a moment with just a hint of bonding?”

I don’t know if anyone has come up with a name for her or if the community is just collectively calling her ���The Handler”.

Also why do I have a thought that she might die at the end of the series? If this is set pre-Dominion, she’d either give up control of the raptors to Santos for whatever reason, dies, or maybe gets redeemed? Possibly? Idk, just random food for thought.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: October Wrap-Up.

Gr8 news: I am no longer very far behind on my NaNo prep reading!! I had to drop JUST LIKE HOME (reread) and HOUSE OF LEAVES, but I got through the rest of my Haunted House and/or Aliens and/or Parasite/Fungus TBR. Here they all are!

Photos and/or reviews linked:

SHRIEK - ★★★★ I think SHRIEK Is my favorite volume of the Ambergris trilogy, taken as a whole--the one-way conversation Duncan was having with Janice was a really neat narrative choice, and then the reveal in the Afterword's Afterword was, in true VanderMeer fashion, mind-blowing.

FINCH - ★★★★ I was actually surprised by how much I liked this one. It helped me figure out a LOT about what kinds of power dynamics I enjoy in borderline-dystopian fiction, and what intrigues me most about limited agency. It wrapped the story up almost too neatly, for a VanderMeer, but I did still have a good time and blitzed through it quickly. Given this one and SHRIEK, I'm counting the Whole Series as a Four-Star read--I'd like to reread it someday, now that I know what's going on.

LEECH - ★★★★★ (reread) STILL ONE OF MY ALL-TIME FAVES, OFFICIALLY!! It's very gothic and heavy and fucked up, but it does FASCINATING things with POV, and worldbuilding, and storytelling frameworks. PLEASE check the content warnings, but if none of those are hard no's for you, definitely pick this one up. I suspect anyone for whom Animorphs was a Formative Influence will adore this (but so far my sample size is really only 1)--please prove me right.

A HOUSE WITH GOOD BONES - ★★★½ This was fun! Not my favorite Kingfisher (that award still goes to HOLLOW PLACES), but I had a good time--I laughed, I squealed over vultures, I blasted through pages to get to the end.

STARLING HOUSE - ★★★★ Alix E. Harrow always manages to write exactly my catnip, somehow. Maybe it's the ADHD, but I'm constantly finding connections to my own writing projects in her work, and STARLING HOUSE was no exception! I liked that this one was more modern, and the sibling dynamic was precious, and I love weird sentient houses where space is more of a suggestion than a hard and fast rule. I'll probably reread this one for Driscoll purposes!

WOODWORM - ★★★½ So much rage in such a tiny volume, and I was Absolutely Here For It. I don't tend to read much lit fic, but I do try to read a lot in translation, and I thought this one did very cool stuff with Spanish--the prose felt natural in English, but I loved the linguistic details the translators left in Spanish and how much depth that added. I feel like this one might be a good fit for Carmen Maria Machado fans, too.

HOW TO SELL A HAUNTED HOUSE - ★★★ Call this a low 3, from me. It was Fine, I guess. I liked what he did with the act structure (labeling parts as stages of grief was very cool), and I liked the family dynamics and history, but a lot of the humor didn't land for me (I got a few sensible chuckles, but a bunch of it wasn't funny), and the "oh this author is A Man, huh" moments made me roll my eyes (seriously: Who thinks about their ~breasts~ when an angry taxidermied squirrel is clawing down your shirt?? No One With Breasts, Mr. Dude). This book did at least teach me that I'm not really interested in gore (it's just boring, unlike body horror, my beloved). I might still pick up HORRORSTOR, but I probably won't look into most of his other stuff, if this one is indicative of his general style. Meh.

THE ART OF EXCESS - No rating (didn't read the whole thing). At the end of ALWAYS COMING HOME, Richard Powers mentioned this book as the reason he finally committed to ALWAYS, so I was curious what this Tom Leclair dude had to say about it back in 1989. I had a heck of a time tracking down a copy (it's very out of print, and my local library had to source it from the Library of Congress for me), but I didn't want to buy it to read just the preface/intro/epilogue, because I haven't read any of the other texts he analyzes. Leclair's style was very readable, and I was intrigued by his framework, but I found some of his conclusions eye-rolly, given his sample size. I posted this one because I think Library of Congress books are fun, but I didn't add it to my Goodreads.

BLACK TIDE - ★★★½ This one had me rolling my eyes in the first couple chapters, and I was afraid I wasn't going to like it, but once Fucked Up Shit Started Happening, the momentum really picked up and didn't stop--I blitzed through it way past my bedtime on a school night. It was fucked up and weird and tense and bloody pull-no-punches horror, but it ALSO made me laugh, and I loved our two fuck-ups surviving the apocalypse together. NOTE: Dogs (and Gulls) Are Not Safe, and the cast is small enough that it matters a lot :( if you can't stomach animal harm/death, skip this.

A HALF-BUILT GARDEN - 81/338 pages read; will report back. Enjoying it so far! Glad I put it on my NaNo prep reading list, though not quite for the reasons I planned--the reflections on motherhood as well as parenting outside the binary have been interesting, so far (and that's relevant for my own haunted house endeavors!). A much gentler ride than BLACK TIDE, and the immersive tech reminds me of Murderbot's world, just Earthbound.

Overall! Fabulous month for reading! Anytime I think "wow I need A Break™ from writing or life," this is the type of reading I mean--where I can spend a couple weeks annihilating books within a day to Refill the Words Reservoir.

Under the Cut: A Note About ~*★Stars★*~

Historically, I have been Very Bad™ about assigning things Star Ratings, because it's so Vibes Heavy for me and therefore Contingent Upon my Whims. I am refining this as I figure out my wrap up posts (epiphany of last month: I don't like that stars are Odd, because that makes three the midpoint and things are rarely so truly mid for me)(I have hacked my way around this with a ½). Here is, generally, how I conceptualize stars:

★ - This was Bad. I would actively recommend that you do NOT read this one, no redeeming qualities whatsoever, not worth the slog. Save Yourself, It's Too Late For Me. Book goes in the garbage (donate bin).

★★ - This was Not Good. I would not recommend it, but it wasn't a total waste or wash--something in here held my interest/kept my attention/sparked some joy. I will not be rereading this ever. Save Yourself (Or Join Me In Suffering, That Seems Like A Cool Bonding Activity).

★★★ - This was Good/Fine/Okay/Meh. I don't care about this enough to recommend it one way or another. Perfectly serviceable book, held my interest, I probably enjoyed myself (or at least didn't actively loathe the reading). I don't have especially strong feelings. You probably don't need to save yourself from this one--if it sounds like your jam, give it a shot! Just didn't resonate with me particularly powerfully. I probably won't reread this unless I'm after something in particular.

★★★½ - I liked this! I'll probably recommend it if I know it matches someone's vibes or specific requests, but I didn't commit to a star rating on Goodreads. More likely to reread, but not guaranteed.

★★★★ - I really enjoyed this!! I would recommend it (sometimes with caveats about content warnings or such--I tend to like weird fucked up funny shit, and I don't have many hard readerly NO's). Not a perfect book for me by any means, but Very Good. This is something I would reread! Join me!!

★★★★★ - I LOVED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS, IT REWIRED MY BRAIN, WILL RECOMMEND TO ANYONE AND EVERYONE AT THE SLIGHTEST PROVOCATION (content warning caveats still apply--see 4-star disclaimer). Excellent book, I'll reread it regularly, I'll buy copies for all my friends, I'll try to convince all of Booklr to read it, PLEASE join me!!

[allfleetingdreams]

'familiarity' - a Silent Hill fanfic

SUMMARY:

Travis Grady encounters a familiar face in the same, familiar place. It's been a long while, but their demons haven't quite let go of them yet. Maybe they never will.

ADDITIONAL TAGS / WARNINGS:

Rating: Mature Character: Travis Grady, Alex Shepherd Relationship: Travis Grady/Alex Shepherd Word Count: 5,878 (completed) Tags / Warnings: PTSD, Mental Health Issues, Referenced Child Abuse, Referenced suicide, Older Man/Younger Man, Strong Language, altered canon timeline, Good ending Travis, War veteran Alex, Canon Divergence

PREVIEW:

Faraway houses wink at him in the distance, roofs glimmering under the gentle morning glow, getting ready to face yet another day with its tenants who will be waking up a few hours later than him. For the first time after an hour he bothers to look at where the sun attempts to greet him; and not for the first and last time, he wonders what it is like to be at home—permanently at home, and not driving a giant monstrosity delivering cargo from one state line to another every damn week. Gently, like the unhurried rise of the sleepy sun, his thoughts start drifting to the what-ifs, but he never lingers too long to the point that these what-ifs start making sense. He turns away, back to the task at hand, listening to the loud roar-purring of the engine and the staticky quality of radio music. Not another lonely fucking country song. …But when did all country songs ever get happy? Seven miles. There’s only seven miles left before Brahms. He’d already passed through other quiet little towns, and whenever the outline of houses do not find him on the road, the shiny faraway waters of the massive Toluca Lake do. It waits for him like it always had, wondering when he’ll be dropping by again; and like the sun, he tries not to take notice of it too much. It’s too pretty; too inviting; too distracting; and last time he got distracted it had gotten him into a bit of trouble. All he has to do is drive, go through Brahms, then after Brahms, there’s another quaint little town to pass through. And this quaint, nice, quiet little town… Well. Shouldn’t be new to him anymore. It’s only a passageway: a bridge to get him to his point B. After that, it’ll be over, and he’ll be circling all the way back to where he’d come from, which should take him another week. He’d be waiting for new-not-so-new instructions by then, sending him back on the road once more after a couple days’ rest in his not-really-permanent home. It’ll be like nothing happened. Said quaint little town had been lenient on him for the last seventeen years, and even though he could sense its anger because he got out safe and sound, it never dared pull him back. He’s always around, anyway, observing. Like he never got away. Did he ever get away?

READ THE FULL PIECE HERE:

[ratxbones]

hello gradley community i love them dearly, take some android thingy designs

edit: here's some lazy doodles of them since you seem to like them so much <3

[errordient]

☆ MASTERPOST / INTRO THINGY ☆

✧ About me!! ✧

Hey I’m Gradi!

I will mostly post utmv art since that’s my special interest. Although, most of it will be centered around the combo club. Also, I do drop off the face of the earth for months on end so don’t expect consistent posting.

✮ Fun facts about me! ✮

✶ My pronouns are They/She (surprising right?)

✶ I’m a Gradient fictkin (he’s so me)

✶ I love all things Mario related including: Mario Kart, Mario Party, Smg4, (Mario) The music box!!

✶ I don’t condone harassment of any sort so go away if u do… Only the true weirdos may stay!! 🫵

𖤐 My tags 𖤐

#gradi’s art for my art/work/edits

#gradi rambles for my rants/random stuff

#gradi writes for my writing/drabbles

#gradient fictkin for my sona

#gradi’s rb for my reblogs on my alt

[thereadingmoon]

youre telling me that the person who wrote a book about the horrors of rape culture, misogyny, and puritanism in the 80s through a story about a young girl being possessed by a demon is a MAN?

a story that's centered on female friendships and pop culture and "girly girl" interests? that talks about the anxieties of conforming to societal standards and letting "boys be boys" in all its most gut-wrenching and terrifying glory?? that lets girls be girls and enjoy music and movies and makeup?????

that book??

[clumsiestgiantess]

Another short story for y’all, enjoy!

No one intended for this to happen.  Some people warned others of the dangers, some people even refused to support the cause.  Whatever the case may be, no one was prepared for another world.  The government had this whole fancy plan to save our dying civilization from itself.  We'd used up all the natural resources our planet had to offer, and nearly killed it in doing so.  For centuries people searched for a suitable planet elsewhere in the vastness of space, but most planets just aren't livable.  The few planets that are are too far away to escape to.  Humanity was trapped in a cage they'd been slowly building for generations.  However, this all changed with the discovery of a new technology: Inter-reality Travel.  Apparently the government had found the perfect new world not out in space, but rather in another parallel place.  An Earth exactly like our own, only bigger.  More land to provide for our bloated population, more resources to grow a new empire.  According to scientists and theorists, it was the perfect escape.

There's only one problem with our new world – the cause of all the heated debates over the government's actions.  There were already people living there.  According to documentaries and news articles, scientists had found human life when they'd scanned for the habitability of the new Earth.  The more military-minded and desperate thought to wipe them out completely, to conquer the land and build new nations like in the old days.  Pacifists and the elite thought it was best to sign some sort of treaty with the parallel humans, or appeal to them as refugees of a dying planet.  We tried the passive way first.  Multiple teams of explorers set out to form relations with the other Earth, but none of them ever came back.  No one knows why; all communications go dead when you cross over, so there's really no way to know what happened, or what's out there.  Time was wearing thin and people started to grow impatient.  Humankind had to abandon their dying planet before they perished along with it.

In the end, the idea of a peaceful solution was chalked up to wishful thinking.  Humanity waged war on a population of people we knew next to nothing about.  It was extremely stupid, but we didn't have much of a choice.  We either die fighting to get to a new world, die in our real one, or, hopefully, live in a parallel Earth taken from the other humans.  Nothing could really prepare us for what we found beyond the strange rift opening, though.  Giants.  Humans that stood at an average of 60 feet tall.  In hindsight, this shouldn't have been too much of a shock.  The parallel Earth had been massive, it only made sense that its flora and fauna were massive too.  The fight didn't last nearly as long as we'd hoped.  The giants had terrifying weapons – explosives large enough to permanently dissolve our atmosphere, bullets the size of your head in guns that were twice as long as you were tall.  

It all came down to the simple fact that the giants were willing to drag our entire world into ruin.  They didn't care what happened to us; we attacked them with plans for their mass extinction, after all.  Humanity, on the other hand, didn't have the same advantage.  We couldn't fight an all-out war.  We needed to keep the giant's world intact if we wanted to live in it, but the giants were happy to obliterate ours.  Once spies from the parallel world informed us that the giants would be throwing our world into nuclear extinction, people fled by the thousands.  Lucky portal spawns, those in places the giants hadn't settled, became camps, set up for those of us who managed to escape our dying Earth.  Over time these places became full fledged towns, though there were few of these, they were safehavens.  Others had hunkered down in small parks or undeveloped land, hoping that they wouldn't be stumbled upon by a stray giant.  However, many of us – most of us, were lost to the nuclear fallout brought by the giants.

Humankind had been a dying species for centuries, but we were used to being at the top of the food chain.  Here, we were nearly extinct.  Our numbers still declined rapidly as more and more camps were found and destroyed.  Thus is the world I live in.  A bleak existence to say the least.  My name's Hannah Davis.  Before the neuclear holocaust that we call 'The Escape', I was a soldier in our fight-or-die army.  I didn't want to be a soldier.  In fact, I wanted nothing to do with the parallel world, but the Draft said otherwise.  My squadron was in the middle of a battle when we got the news that our world was gone.  The sudden and severe loss of morale almost cost everyone's lives.  I barely escaped along with a few others I hardly knew.  We'd hid in the woods nearby for months, but winter was coming fast, and we were rapidly running out of supplies.  Slowly but surely, people began freezing and starving to death.  

I knew we weren't going to make it if we stayed there.  Some of us had heard talk of an actual town somewhere to the west over a half-dead radio, but no one had the courage or the strength to go there.  Me?  I have the courage, just not the strength.  Lack of food and extreme cold can kill a person quicker than you'd think.  Just because someone's alive doesn't mean they're actually living.  I tried to convince the others to lend me enough provisions to trek over to the town, as I was the youngest and most likely to make the trip.  However, they stubbornly refused to give up the little food they had.  I don't blame them, but I was still angry with them.  So angry, and so desperate, that I tried to make the journey anyway.  What I didn't realize was that there was a giant subdivision between our camp and the town.  After a day of traveling, and a terrifying run across a major roadway, I made camp at its edge.  Unfortunately, luck was not on my side.  I'd sprained my ankle tripping on the edge of the roadway as I ran across, and right before the sun set, it started to snow.  With worst coming to worst, I lay down and hoped that I might be peacefully put out of my misery in sleep.

~ POV Swap ~

The invasion caught everyone off guard.  It was like something out of a bad science fiction novel.  All over the world, crackling portals split the open air, linking our world to a strange new one.  Humanity held its breath in fear of what would come out of these horrifying tears in the world.  As it turns out, we had nothing and everything to fear.  Another race of people, apparently from a world similar to ours, came barreling through the openings, immediately declaring war on all of humanity.  The funny thing was, they were all incredibly small.  The average person stood at about a foot tall.  Apparently, their sudden attack had been a last ditch attempt to take our Earth for themselves.  Some people even speculate that they might not have even known how out-numbered and out-gunned they were until they'd crossed through.  Whatever the reason, they were fighting a losing battle.  With one swift atom bomb we'd effectively wiped their planet from existence.

I didn't think that was very fair, but they had been trying to take over our world.  After that calamity, Earth was never the same.  Governments the world over began making defenses from potential threats coming from other worlds.  From time to time, someone would claim they saw a wild parallel human, which most people dubbed 'the small survivors', or just 'survivors'.  I'd only ever seen dead ones before.  There was carnage all around after the brief and bloody war.  Just last week I'd seen one dead on the side of the road, presumably hit by a car.  It was strange to say the least.  They had another language entirely, which made it a bit easier to consider them animals like the government told us they were.  My name's Grady Solman.  For the most part, I don't really care what happens to the new breed of tiny humans. That was until I met a live one.

Winter was here, and it had just started to snow.  Dad asked me to take the dog out before the snow got too deep and she refused to go outside.  I remember it so clearly.  I'd been standing near the back door, waiting for Frizzie to do her thing.  The crisp air stung my skin with the bitter wind that swept through, blowing snowflakes every which way.  I kept my head down most of the time to keep from getting blasted in the face with below-freezing wind.  Looking up from my downcast gaze, I noticed Frizzie was digging at the edge of our yard.  "Hey!" I called out, rushing over to her, "Frizzie, don't dig in the yard!  You know Mom doesn't like that."  She dashed away, knowing she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to, while I stopped dead in my tracks.

Frizzie had been digging at some weird thing that I'd definitely never seen in our yard before.  It almost looked like a small tent, but you couldn't even fit a little kid in there.  However, it would fit someone about a foot tall.  Sure enough, when I lifted the flap of the tent, a little survivor was lying curled up in a tight ball on the floor.  I sucked in a shocked breath of air.  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I turned on the flashlight with numb hands.  The survivor's skin was pale, and its body looked awfully thin.  I was so sure it was dead that I almost left it out there.  Thankfully, when I moved my phone over to turn off the flashlight, it glared into the survivor's eyes, causing it to groan in pain.  It's still alive!  Quickly, I tore off the top of the tent so I could see it.  The survivor looked wearily up at me and tried to run away, but it barely got up before it collapsed again.  

This time, it went limp as it hit the ground.  Pity swept through me as I watched the little creature; it looked so human-like it was almost eerie.  Carefully, I swept the survivor into my hands, and carried it back inside, calling Frizzie in as well.  Once I was in the warmth of my own home, I raced up to my room with the little creature.  I immediately reached for a blanket before remembering that you were only supposed to warm up someone who'd frozen bit by bit, letting their skin thaw as naturally as possible.  As I stared down at the little survivor that I'd placed on my desk, I noticed a few things.  Firstly, it wasn't an it, but rather a she.  Her raven black hair was cut at the shoulders, and she wore military-style clothing.  She looked a bit young to be in the army, or whatever the survivors had.  Had she fought against us in the war, or did she steal these clothes off someone else?  She was also extremely thin.  I'd lifted the bottom of her shirt just slightly to see if she was injured, and noticed her ribcage practically sticking through her skin.  I also noticed that she was a bit warmer, so I gently wrapped her in a blanket which I held between my hands to try and warm her up.  

Finally warm enough to function, it wasn't long before the survivor came back to life.  Her tiny limbs twitched as though she were dreaming, then she tiredly opened her eyes.  She slowly sat up, taking in her surroundings, but the moment her gaze settled on me, she shot into motion.  Scrambling backwards out of the blankets I’d placed her in, the survivor raced to the far end of my desk in a panic, eyes wide in fear.  "Hey, it's ok," I said gently, trying to calm her down, "You don't have to be scared."  "T'nod hcuot em!"  It was the first time I'd heard their language before.  I was momentarily shocked.  She looked so human that I half expected her to speak perfect english.  "Tahw od uoy tnaw htiw em?" she cried, pressing herself to the wall behind my desk.  Her voice ended in an uptone that usually indicated a question.  My guess was that she wanted to know what happened.  "I found your tent at the edge of my yard," I explained, "You were freezing to death out there, so I brought you in here."

My words were met with a confused stare.  Just as I didn't understand her language, she didn't understand mine.  The survivor shuddered and rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to warm up after abandoning the blanket.  I tried to offer it to her, but the moment I moved closer she yelped like I'd hurt her and cowered behind her arms.  "Alright, it's ok.  I'll back off if you want."  Keeping my voice as calm as I could, and my movements as slow as possible, I stepped away from my desk and sat on my bedside a bit further away.  Before I backed off, I nudged the blanket closer to her so she'd know I wanted her to take it.  Cautiously, the survivor stepped forward and pointed at the blanket.  "Era uoy.. gnivig siht ot em?"  I had no clue what she said, other than the fact that it was another question.  However, I had a guess that she was asking if she could have the blanket I'd left for her.  I nodded and watched as her eyes went wide.  "Uoy deddon.." she responded hesitantly, pointing to the blanket, then to herself, then nodding.

"Yes," I told her, "The blanket's yours."  It was only after she picked it up and dragged it back to her spot by the wall that I noticed her limp.  I gasped, "You're hurt!"  Immediately, she yelped and dropped the blanket, backing away from it.  She'd taken my exclamation as a cry of anger.  I could only guess that she assumed she'd misunderstood what I'd said.  "No, no.  I.. you can have that.  I was just upset about your leg," I explained, pointing at her swollen ankle.  The survivor looked down at her injury, then back at me.  Slowly, she reached for her blanket, and I made no move to stop her.  With a huff, she sat down on it and pulled another part of it over herself, all without taking her eyes off me.  We stared at each other for a while, both of us hesitantly curious of the other.  Eventually, I remembered the more urgent things I needed to take care of.  The survivor's ankle needed ice to keep the swelling down, and she also desperately needed food by the looks of her.

I stood carefully, holding up my hands to show her I meant no harm.  Hopefully her kind even understands that gesture.  She seemed to, though.  She'd sat straight up, but hadn't raced away in fear or cowered behind anything.  "I'm just going to get some things for you.  I'll be right back."  I knew she couldn't understand, but I felt the need to explain myself regardless.  Inching out the door, I let it fall closed behind me and dashed off to the kitchen.  Gathering up a few items like bread, water, and some ice cubes should've been an easy task, but Mom was in the kitchen, and I couldn't get bread, or especially a random ice cube, without her asking me why I needed it.  I could always lie, but I waited for her to leave instead.  A few minutes later, she walked off and I grabbed what I needed.  Back in my room, I made sure to lock the door before anything else.  Either of my parents would make me throw the little survivor back outside if they saw her.

When I turned to my desk, I was greeted by an empty blanket.  "What the..?  Little survivor?  Where'd you go?"  Of course she ran away, I realized after searching the desktop.  She was terrified of me.  Once I left, she had the perfect opportunity to make a run for it.  However, she couldn't have gotten very far.  The door to my room was closed the whole time, and at her height, there was no way for her to open it.  I rummaged through everything I thought she could get into.  My bookshelf, my drawers, my old toy bin.  Finally, I began frantically pulling things out of my awfully messy closet.  I'd just yanked out an old pair of jeans that had fallen to the bottom when I found the survivor.  After grabbing another pair of shorts to cast them aside, I felt something writhe beneath them and let go with a gasp.  She had been cowering in a tight ball underneath them, but now scrambled out and away, slipping through the opening between myself and the closet door.  I watched with slight remorse as she looked wildly around my room for another place to hide before dashing underneath my bed.

Sighing in relief, I brought over the plate of tiny pieces of food and poured out some water into a small shot glass I'd taken for her to drink out of.  "Little survivor?" I called, peering beneath my bed.  She was shaking all over, this time from fear rather than the cold, and her eyes glistened with tears.  I really wish I hadn't frightened her.  I'd just begun trying to get her to trust me with the whole blanket thing.  Now we were back to square one, or maybe even further.  "Poor little thing," I whispered, scooting backwards to give her some space.  "I didn't mean to grab you, I promise."  Again I held my hands up in a harmless gesture.  Her tears slowly dried as she peered out at me from underneath my bed.  "I brought you some things you might want," I offered, gesturing to the plate, "There's also a little bag of crushed ice here for your leg."  She remained fully beneath her hiding spot, but inched closer as though she wanted to take it.  "I tnaw siht," she said shakily, "Uoy wonk I tnaw siht, dna I wonk er'uoy gnivig ti ot em.  Si siht a part?"  

A few sentences followed by yet another question.  The best I could do was try and guess what she'd said and asked.  "If you're wondering whether these are for you, they are.  Look, I'll even put them under here so you can get to them without coming out."  As slowly as I could, I slid the paper plate I'd put everything on underneath the bed beside the survivor.  At first she'd backed away, but as I left the plate sitting there, she edged closer.  I couldn't help but smile as she hesitantly reached out and took a piece of bread off the plate.  She scarfed it down and immediately went back for another helping.  For a brief moment she seemed to forget that I was here entirely, and feverishly ate and drank until she was full.  Once she finished, she peered over at me again.  "S'tahw siht eci rof?  Ho, tiaw.  S'ti rof ym gel, t'nsi ti?  S'taht.. ecin fo uoy I sseug."  A guy could only dream of understanding that.  "Yllautca," she continued, "lla fo siht sah neeb ecin.  I naem, uoy did barg em, tub I kniht taht saw na tnedicca.  Osla, m'I ylriaf erus uoy devas ym efil thginot, yb gnitteg em tuo fo taht mrotswons.  A wef erom setunim dna ti ev'thgim neeb oot etal rof enoyna ot evas em, hcum ssel a tnaig ekil uoy."

Content to listen to her unintelligible ramblings, I sat back and waited for her to continue.  I had to admit, for a being whose kind had waged war on mine, she was awfully cute.  If I could understand her, I imagine she was going on about her life and how she got to be in the deadly predicament I'd found her in.  "Uoy ees, ereht erew sromur fo stnaig gnitaert su ylecin.  D'i demussa, ekil tsom elpoep did, taht yeht erew llat sliat ro spart tes yb ruoy dnik.  Won m'I ton os erus…  Ebyam yeht erew eurt.  Ro ebyam siht si a part.  I t'nod kniht ti si, hguoht."  To my suprise, the survivor cautiously stepped out from beneath my bed.  There was a quiet moment where we looked each other over, similar to the one we shared while she sat on my desk.  

Everything about her was unreal.  Even standing at her full height, she barely came up to my chest, and I was kneeling down.  "Tnaig, nac I tsurt uoy?"  A question, obviously aimed at me.  It sounded important, but she could've said anything from 'can I have more bread' to 'why did you, my people's sworn enemy, save my life'.  She recognized the confused look I gave her and backed down a ways, likely realizing I hadn't understood a word of what she just told me.  "Thgir, uoy t'nac dnatsrednu em," the survivor muttered, "Woh tuoba ew trats htiw gnihtemos reisae, neht?"  Looking up at me, she pointed a finger at herself.  "Ym s'eman Hannah Sivad.  Hannah.  S'taht em.  Dnatsrednu?"  Was that her name?  Hannah?  "You're name's.. Hannah?" I asked questioningly, pointing my own finger at her, though not too close.  She perked up and nodded fervently, which was slightly shocking.  Nodding is the universal sign for yes; I just didn't think that would cross over to other parallel universes too.  Then again, she also understood the gesture that ment I wouldn't hurt her.

"So, you're Hannah?"  She nodded again then pointed at me.  "Sey, ym s'eman Hannah.  Dna uoy era..?"  For once I could easily tell what her question was.  "I'm Grady," I answered, pleased that I could somewhat communicate with her.  "Grady?"  My heart did a leap of excitement when I heard her say my name.  "Yeah, that's it!" I nodded my head happily.  This little understanding is nice, but how can I get her to understand the rest of what I say?  I thought through some ideas as I looked around my room for anything useful, while Hannah sat down to ice her swollen ankle.  Glancing at my desk, I suddenly had an idea.  "Wait right here," I said, gesturing for Hannah to stay put.  She tensed as I stood up, but stayed where she was.  I dug through some papers until I found a blank one, grabbing a mechanical pencil and a clipboard from my desk as well.  Soon, I'd returned to my seat on the floor and fastened the paper in place on the clipboard.  "Even if we write down our languages, they'll probably be too different to understand, but we can draw things to help each other understand what we mean," I explained.

Hannah looked at me curiously and inched a bit closer to see the paper.  "Here, I'll show you."  What did I even want to tell her?  Firstly, I should probably make it clear I'm not going to hurt her, I thought, remembering when she'd hidden from me.  After thinking for a moment, I drew a little stick figure with a broken arm, and looked over at Hannah to make sure she'd seen it.  Once I knew she had, I drew a big X over it and pointed to myself as I shook my head.  "I am not going to do this to you," I said, gesturing to myself and the drawing again.  She glanced confusedly between me and the drawing for a moment, before her eyes slowly widened in understanding.  "Uoy.. Er'uoy ton gniog ot truh em?" she guessed, making all the same gestures I had.  I couldn't tell if her guess was right, but I hoped it was.  "I'm not going to hurt you, alright?" I said again, a bit softer.  "I know I scare you, but I won't hurt you."  Hannah nodded, seemingly understanding what I was saying.  The drawings worked after all.

The next big question I had for her was how she ended up in a tent in my yard.  I'd never seen any signs of survivors out there before.  Were there more of them hiding somewhere, freezing and starving to death like she was?  "Here, let me ask you something."  I began with a crude sketch of Hannah's tent outside, and added little snowflakes around it to try and make the triangle shape I drew look a bit more like the tent.  Then, I drew a little question mark beside it and pointed first up at her, then down at the tent.  Finally, I added an arrow coming from some sketchy trees behind the tent with another question mark beside them.  "Do you understand?" I asked her, "How did you get here?  Where did you come from?"  Hannah stared at my drawings for a long time, then stood up decisively, shaking her head.  "Grady, nac I tsurt uoy ro ton?  Yhw era uoy gniksa erehw I emac morf?  Era uoy gnikcirt em otni gnillet uoy erehw ym pmac si os uoy nac erutpac erom fo su?"  I was stunned by the sudden tone of hostility in her voice.  

"Why are you yelling at me?" I asked confusedly, "I just want to help."  Hannah pointed to the pencil in my hand, then at herself.  She wanted to take a turn drawing so I could understand her.  I put the pencil down and she snatched it right back up, gripping it between both hands.  Holding it up diagonally, Hannah managed to put the pencil tip down to the paper, but she couldn't keep it steady enough to draw anything recognizable.  It was just too big for her to use.  "Wait, let me see it," I said, holding out my hand for the pencil.  Shocked at my hand being so close, Hannah backed away looking almost frightened before she realized what I wanted.  She slowly stepped up to me and placed the pencil in my outstretched hand.  Taking out a piece of lead, I snapped a bit off the top and handed it back to her.  "There, now you can write with something your own size."  Hannah cautiously took the lead from me and started drawing.  

And I thought my drawings were bad.  I honestly had no clue what she'd drawn for me.  When I gave her a confused look instead of an understanding one, she grumbled frustratedly and tried again.  Still, I couldn't make out what she drew.  In frustration, Hannah drew an arrow pointing to some lines and added the caption 'egac' to it.  This was pointless considering I couldn't understand her language.  She seemed to realize this immediately afterwards and started to scratch it out when something clicked in my mind.  "Wait!" I called, reaching out to stop her.  Hannah drew back with a yelp, and I quickly apologized.  It wasn't the drawing that clicked, but rather the word and drawing combined.  The lines she drew over her picture were supposed to be a cage.  She'd labeled it 'egac', but from my upside-down view, it looked like the English word 'cage'.  I sat shocked for so long that Hannah had to snap me out of it.  "Did uoy erugif ti tuo?"  I blinked.  "Write something else," I told her.  She didn't understand, so I drew more arrows to other parts of her drawing and made blanks above them.  "Fill in the rest.  I- I think I might've just cracked your parallel universe language."  

Hannah still seemed confused, but she filled in the blanks and everything clicked.  Backwards words like 'tnet' and 'egarots' appeared on the paper.  "That's it!" I cried, "Your language is backwards!"  Yet, 'Hannah' was still normal.. Are their names not reversed?  I quickly wrote it down and realized why.  Hannah spelled backwards is still Hannah.  Now she was thoroughly perplexed.  "Tahw era uoy gniod?" she asked me, pointing to the paper.  Instead of answering, I wrote a message and quickly reversed the letters.  'your language backwards is my language' became ''ruoy egaugnal sdrawkcab si ym egaugnal'.  Hannah gasped when she saw my translation.  "Uoy.. Siht t'nsi elbissop.." she whispered, looking it over.  "Os tahw fi I.."  Writing her own message in her language, she reversed the letters and waited for my reaction.  The gibberish of 'nac uoy daer siht' became 'can you read this' before my eyes.  "I can!" I exclaimed, nodding happily.  "I can read it!  I can understand you!"

We each celebrated our victory.  Hannah started bouncing on her toes in excitement before painfully remembering her swollen ankle.  She sank back to the floor and threw some ice over it.  'Are you alright?' I asked over the paper.  Hannah nodded, and reached out to respond before realizing she sat a bit too far away to reach.  I scooted both myself and the paper closer.  She gave me a wary look, but didn't back off.  'You did say you wouldn't hurt me, right?' she asked.  Her handwriting was a bit wobbly; she was shaking as she wrote.  I nodded, 'I promise I won't hurt you.'  Letting out a large sigh of relief, Hannah lay down on the floor, exhausted.  A moment later, she shot back up and started urgently writing something down.  'What I was trying to tell you,' she explained, 'is that I wasn't sure if I could trust you.  You wanted to know where my camp was; I thought you were tricking me into telling you by befriending me.  Then you would go out and capture the rest of us.'  Thankfully I'd figured this writing thing out.  I never would've guessed that otherwise.  

'I wasn't asking that because I wanted to capture your people,' I wrote earnestly, 'I wanted to know if there were more of you out there starving and freezing to death.  I thought I could send you back with a bunch of supplies to keep everyone alive.'  Hannah looked up at me in shock.  'You're going to let me go?' she wrote.  'Of course I am,' I replied immediately, 'I'm not holding you captive here.  I only brought you in to keep you from freezing to death.  Besides,' I added, 'there must be people there who are missing you.  I wouldn't tear you away from your own kind like that.'  Hannah sat staring at the paper for a while, eyes starting to water.  'Don't worry,' she wrote in a shaky scrawl, 'there's no one left who will miss me.'

This was one of my favorite shorts I did for writing prompts last year.  I had to code a whole translator to make Hannah’s text easier to type out, but I was very happy with how it looked in the end.

[swiftzeldas]

i would love to know how come grady hendrix can keep getting away with writing horror novels about women's experiences. i don't think men should be precluded from writing the POV of women but i do think if you're going to write about women and attempt to do so in a Feminist Way then you should like, do it well.

[junuve]

i love Grady Aperture Desk Job. that is all.

[ratty9boy]

Drawing Grady in my cowboy!au because yes and because I can

[chocolate-mallowmelt]

would people be interested in a marellinh discworld/city watch/ankh-morpork au (basically steampunk medieval fantasy knights)???? 👀👀👀

i may have plotted like three quarters of one…..

[devilsskettle]

tbh i found nightbitch to be overwritten and underdeveloped but there do need to be some mediocre cathartic fantasy fulfillment books about female rage out there that are interesting and easy to get through and i do think this book fills that niche