#soft science fiction

[wishfulstargazer]

The Inter-Dimensional Journey

Fandom: Leverage

Rating: T

Words: 3987

Day 1: Sightless

Chapter: 1 of 14

[clwhowrites]

Why the Future Doesn’t Look Like the Future

Elon Stink, when talking about his low polygon car, said his son asked him “why doesn’t the future look like the future?” This is a lie of course, a kid would not ask that question, a kid doesn’t think of the present as the future, that is what us olds do, and his children hate him. It is a good question though, it is 2024, this is the future to the past, so why doesn’t the present look like the future that people in the thought the future would look like? The answer isn’t that complicated, people keep getting the future wrong.

Future Cities: Homes & Living into the 21st Century, published Dec 31, 1978. At least it got the smart watch right.

That was a lie, everything is complicated. The problem starts with futurology. Futurology (not to be confused with artistic futurism) is the attempt to predict future of social and technological developments using past and current trends. Futurologists have a bad track record though, there is much that has been predicted that has yet to come and many technologies we have that few predicted. The problem is, these “futurologists” ignore the facts that those trends can unpredictably change, people find new ways of living and using technology that few predict, and some things are good enough the way they are.

If you were living in 1969 watching the Moon landings with no knowledge of what the real future would be like, the idea that we would have moon bases and civilian space flight by the year 2000 would seem to be a safe bet, but in this real future such things are still far away. Between 1903 and 1969 we went from barely getting off the ground to landing on the moon, in those sixty six years aerospace tech advanced by leaps and bounds. By the early 1980s the trend changed, aerospace advancements slowed. Getting off the ground is one thing, getting into space is something much harder and more expensive. Physical, practical, and economic limitations slowed the advancement of aerospace technology, it is just so hard to get into space that there is no way to make regularly going to the moon or actual civilian space flight economical or practical, and for the foreseeable future it will remain that way. Trends change, rapid development can slow, slow development can accelerate, and medium development can do either. In hindsight these changes make sense but until a change happens it can be, for the most part, unforeseeable.

The world is a chaotic place, I don’t mean disorderly, I mean chaos theory chaos. A single man can change the course of history, such as the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand that kicked off World War 1, which led to World War 2, the Cold War, etc, a seemingly stable empire can spontaneously collapse such as the collapse of the Soviet Union, and a nation that seems primed for revolution could not have one because the right trigger just didn’t happen. A small seemingly insignificant change can balloon causing massive often unpredictable changes, a single person can change the world even if the choice they made was too small to be documented.

Those are large scale examples, this also applies to smaller scales. How often are people on the brink of doing something for something else, often small, to come along and pull them back or push them over? Depending on what they were on the brink of doing that little something, that the individual might not even remember, could drastically change their lives for good or bad. And as said above one person can change the world. What if Hitler got into art school? What if Lennon had stepped off a corner a second sooner, got ran over and died? What if Lee Harvey Oswald, Gavrilo Princip, John Wilkes Booth, or James Earl Ray had chosen not to murder the people they did? What if the 20 July plot, Guy Fawkes, Khioniya Guseva or John Hinckley Jr. had succeeded? How would history have been different? Would history be different? We don’t know but just contemplating the possibilities tells us how easily things could have been very different. A little action may stop or push an individual into do something that could have massive results.

Top: Space Station V from 2001 A Space Odyssey. Bottom: the International Space Station. ISS souse: NASA.

Hard science fiction is science fiction that is meant to be plausible and the technology explained with real or plausible physics. For example 2001 A Space Odyssey, the space craft and space stations are all physically plausible. It is 2024 and we don’t have the space tech seen in 2001 A Space Odyssey but we have the personal computers, the internet, and smartphones which the film did not predict, nor did it predict the social changed we have had. Gattaca is another example, in 1997 this wouldn’t have been an implausible future but genetics turned out to be far more complicated than the film predicted and it failed to predict smartphones, the ubiquity of the internet, high definition screens and the social changed that have happened. It is here that you realize something, these futurologists are doing the same things as those who make hard science fiction. The makers of hard science fiction set in the future extrapolate social and technological trends into the future to create the future worlds of their settings and usually end up wrong. That is fine though, it is science fiction, fiction can get away with being inaccurate. The self proclaimed “futurologists” can’t (but still do). Futurology is science fiction, futurologists are just science fiction writers and enthusiasts who lack self awareness.

Top: the Deckard Sedan from Blade Runner (1982) (taken by zombieite), bottom: the Cyber Truck.

This goes beyond futurologists and hard science fiction. If you look at Musk’s cyber car lying about itself being a truck you’ll notice is look a lot like a car from Blade Runner. This isn’t a coincidence, Musk said “it is a car Blade Runner would drive” (and if you’ve seen Blade Runner or any movie at all, then you are looking for the nearest hard object to slam your head into to stop the pain). This isn’t limited to Mr. Stink, Mark Zuckerberg compared his meterverse to Ready Player One. Both Elmo Stink and Mark Big Rock Candy Mountain (Zuckerberg means “sugar mountain”, it is not easy to make fun of his name) not only both used horrible dystopias as inspiration (because they didn’t actually watch the movies), they both used movies that are soft science fiction. These movies are not meant to be plausible depictions of the future. B.O. and and the Teeth Ruiner are not the only people who look at soft science fiction and think that it is actually futuristic. So many lack the basic understanding of people and physics that they can’t tell hard and soft science fiction apart. Soft science fiction has more in common with fantasy than it does hard science fiction, in soft science fiction technology plays the same role as magic does in fantasy. Star Trek has replicators, transporters, and warp drive, these are basically magic but magic explained by technologically. Star Wars has light sabers hyperspace travel, blasters, and robot slaves and these are explained with technology. There is no scientific basis for how these work (except Data and Droids) but people still look at those and see them as the future.

People take science fiction, hard and soft, and base their idea of the future on it, but the futures imagined in science fiction, hard and soft, are not accurate depictions of the future. Asking “why doesn’t the future look like the future” is like watching Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones (high fantasy stories) then asking “why doesn’t the past looked like the past”. The past rarely looked like fantasy we create and the future will rarely look like the science fiction we create. Period peaces even get things wrong, even period peace that take place in 17 and 18 hundreds will have anachronisms. We can’t get real history right in our fiction how the hell could we ever get the future right? The future will never look like the future we envision because the future we envision will never be an accurate depiction of the future, the future we envision is fictional.

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[chocsbookblog]

Book Review: Moon Dust in My Hairnet

Title: Moon Dust in My Hairnet

Author: J.R. Creaden

Narrator: Sarah Kisko

Rating: 3.25/5 stars

Thank you to NetGalley and Mythic Roads Press for allowing me a copy of this audio book in return for an honest review.

Set in the not too distant future, but after the fall of the U.S. and the U.N. the moon’s first independent colony has just opened up.  Lane, a 20 year old autistic lunch lady, and sister of the recently assassinated woman whose invention of the Gravdrive made moon living possible, is attempting to settle into her new life, whilst dealing with her grief and her overprotective parents. Risking the potential of overextending herself she gets involved with her sister's public memorial project run by her new nemesis V, whose boyfriend and Lane’s have just started dating. Soon it becomes clear that the new colony is being sabotaged and Lane and her friends must band together to save her sister’s legacy.

Sarah Kisko did a great job of separating all the characters with unique voices.  She kept the pace going well, though I did speed the narration up when I started to lose interest.

What I liked: I loved the crew announcements at the beginning of each chapter documenting the gradual collapse of the colony. I found the scenario and plot interesting, and the inclusivity of different relationships types and abilities was refreshing to see. I really liked the concept of the younger generation having more open polyamorous relationships. The fall out from climate change was well examined. I also liked the technology that was introduced as part of the story.  Additionally I found the therapy sessions insightful.

What didn’t work for me:  I didn’t connect very well with the characters so found my brain wondering quite a bit. Some of the plot points and situation solutions were too simplistic.  I think I loved the title so much I didn’t read the synopsis carefully enough before I picked this book so in places it was a bit too teen melodrama for me.

Final thoughts:  An enlightened sci fi adventure told through the eyes of an autistic young woman.  

Who would enjoy this book: Fans of Young adult novels and soft science fiction.

[authortoberecognized]

HARD AND SOFT SCIENCE FICTION; WHAT ARE THEY

                 HARD AND SOFT SCIENCE FICTION I’m sure science fiction addicts are well aware of the difference between hard and soft science fiction. But the occasional science fiction reader may not. For soft science fiction, think Star Trek. The story line is science fiction but the scientific facts driving the story are not true science facts. The author creates the facts, and once…

[quasarlasar]

She was running. Running from…what exactly? Her shames? Her fears? An asymmetric supernova? A blinding flash, and then…that was all she remembered at the moment.

She swept past the opalescent orb of a gas giant. Its swirling clouds loomed over her. Did everything get bigger, or was she much smaller now?

Her thoughts clicked by, rapid fire, a million miles an hour. Dense matter could run computations more rapidly…she thought. From where did she know this?

She saw them flicker across the edges of her vision, the view behind gravitationally lensed to her front. Glimpses of spiraling incandescent disks, with long pencil-straight exhausts. Stellar black holes! her thoughts echoed within her crust. She could just barely make out their shadows. Even they looked so much bigger than she remembered.

The puzzle pieces fell into place. The black holes normally scavenged the debris left over in the city, focused solely on consumption of the gas and dust they could more easily gather into their accretion disks. Not even the passing by of ordinary stars would catch their attention most of the time.

But what if she wasn’t a normal star? At least not anymore? What if she was smaller, and denser, the kind of star that would be a delicacy to beings made of space-time, setting its normally deadened state alive with perturbations?

I’m a neutron star! I’m a neutron star!

There was no chance of getting away with just a chunk of her ripped out. This time, if a black hole caught her, she’d be going down the gravitational gullet whole.

Vibrations ran through her body, contorting the superfluid inside, sloshing it around. Gravitational waves. Probably being created by the black holes. It sounded eerie, like whale song without any of the beauty. Were they calling to each other? Were black holes even intelligent enough to do this?

I need to move faster! Faster! Faster!

She was a spinning conductor with a magnetic field that could distort atoms. Generating an electric current would be easy. And if the current reached a critical value…

Snap! Positron and electron pairs foamed into existence, filling her magnetosphere with fire. Now she just needed to adjust the symmetry of the fields…

She saw her own jet spurt to life behind her, leaving behind a twinkling trail of blue. But the amount of mass ejected was low. The black holes’ jets had a higher exhaust speed. She wouldn’t be able to outpace them forever.

One of the black holes began to pull up behind her. She could feel its tides clawing at her, its jet-black jaws drawing closer and closer. She watched as the black hole pulled in gas from the back-alleys and swirled it into its accretion disk. The material in the disk got picked up by the magnetic fields winding around and around, and then got flung out in a relativistic jet, moving the black hole forward.

It made sense. She needed something a bit more massive than positron-electron plasma sweated out of her brow. Two could play the build an accretion disk game.

She reached out with her magnetic fields towards a passing cluster of asteroids, then pumped them full of current. Sorry…she thought in pity at seeing them explode. They vaporized in a crackling flash of blue light. She latched onto the plasma with her magnetosphere, drawing it inwards. It slowed down as eddy currents were induced in it, sapping its momentum. She corralled the plasma of more vaporized asteroids together. As they collided, their own induced magnetic fields provided a source of friction. Soon she had an accretion disk of her own.

The black hole’s pitch black throat was right behind her, frothing with electron-positron pairs this dripped and streamed all around it. It was practically drooling in anticipation. It was now or never. She took her shot.

Collimated iron vapor erupted from the backside of her accretion disk and forced its way straight down the black hole’s gullet. The more massive jet pushed her forward just enough that the black hole’s jaws closed on wisps of gas.

As she accelerated away, she felt another gravitational wave shake its way through her dense interior. It sounded primal, a wail of anguish and hunger.

Was she imagining things, or was the black hole upset?

Surely such an emotion was beyond it. All traces of the original star was erased when it became a black hole. Nothing but mass, spin, and charge distinguished them.

At the same time, here she was. She had exploded, and collapsed, and yet, she had persisted. She was intelligent, she was a problem solver, and she remembered.

In her past life, she was a scientist, a star who studied the space-time they all curved.

Perhaps now there was more to space-time than she ever dreamed of.

[richdadpoor]

Denis Villeneuve Still Wants to Make a Dune Messiah Movie

Screenshot: Warner Bros. Speaking to Empire, Denis Villeneuve has said that “there are words on paper,” for a third Dune film. He’s been talking about continuing the story beyond Dune: Part Two since 2021, but this is the first time he’s said anything further on the subject. Spoilers of the Week April 24-29 Villeneuve said to Empire, “If I succeed in making a trilogy, that would be the dream.”…

[spirk-trek]

absolutely surreal to see william shatner seduce a man on the 1960s space show (don't worry there's a woman possessing his body)

[spookygibberish]

I've sort of developed a strange relationship with the concept of "realism" in the things I make.

Something I was very into as like, an eleven year old (im not implying this was immature to be into, just that it was formative for me), was speculative biology specifically for dragons, and now, specifically in the case of dragons I find a lot of attempts to make them biologically plausible fully missing the appeal of dragons at all.

Thinking specifically about the supernatural elements of JoM and where the line is drawn. The dagnyds are made from the remains of godlike entities, and are not entirely earthly animals. They have a supernatural origin. It would be fully justified in giving them magic abilities or making magic an aspect of the setting, but have absolutely zero interest in doing so. It doesn't interest me. I think about shit like healing powers or glowy energy attacks and my reaction is just "what does this even add? Why do I need this? Does this make things more interesting?" And it simply doesn't. Healing is more interesting as a prolonged process, combat is more interesting with teeth and claws and metal and blood. These are options which are more realistic, closer to real life, but the realism isn't what makes them interesting: it's physicality.

When I design a creature for this world, I am not thinking about making it biologically plausible, and yet, I try to design things which look like they could 'move under their own power'. There is a sense of heft and mechanical "soundness" which I value more than realism, but often also aligns with looking 'realistic'.

I would say that it's better to serve a narrative than strive for absolute realism, but I don't actually write stories, although I do have ideas for them occasionally. I guess a version of this which is more relevant and applicable is that i prefer to strive for a particular vibe.

[mothlingmeg]

Currently reading:

Quest for Comets

David H. Levy

[itsnotzka]

Hello! I'm excited (and very a little nervous) to share a short story of mine! :)

It’s partly inspired by the Black Mirror themes, so you can probably guess the tone and style. While I don't think it needs specific content warnings (let me know if you disagree), I would prefer it to be considered for mature audiences.

Genre: soft science-fiction Word count: 3k

You can also read it on Ao3 (who doesn't like kudos! :))

Summary: It's supposed to be perfect— an ordinary, lazy morning, your warmth beside me, the comfort of routine—but then something starts to feel off. Subtle changes, small gestures, and words that don’t quite fit start to catch my attention. At first, I brush it off as my imagination running wild. But soon, I realize this perfect Saturday morning is far from what it seems.

Hello Raine

It began subtly, almost too quietly for me to notice at first.

Small details that felt off, like puzzle pieces forced together in a way that never quite fit. Choices that made sense on the surface but if you looked at them closely, they didn’t add up at all. Words out of place, leaving an aftertaste I wasn’t sure I liked.

And me. Never exactly where I wanted to be, never exactly satisfied. And this nagging feeling that no matter how much I tried to shift course, I always circled back to the same point—a hollow space inside me that I couldn’t fully understand or fill.

Because, as I lie here beside you, isn’t it where I’m supposed to be? The perfect snapshot of contentment.

The warmth of your body pressed against mine, a quiet, lazy Saturday morning wrapped in soft sheets, the kind of moment people chase to break the monotony of everyday life. And yet, that strange emptiness lingerers beneath it all, like a low hum in the background of an otherwise perfect melody.

You break the silence, your voice soft and sleepy. “What are you thinking about?”

The sound of rustling leaves filters in from the cracked window, their shadows dancing on the wall, creating fleeting patterns that vanish as quickly as they appear. I turn my head toward you, finding your eyes locked on mine. There’s something familiar in the way you look at me, a steady gaze that’s become predictable over time, like we’re repeating a scene we’ve played out before. And maybe we have. Maybe it’s always been like this with you—comfortably familiar, yet lacking the spark that once made it feel electric.

You asked me a question, didn’t you? I think, trying to summon an answer, something that will fill the space between us with at least some meaning. But all I can do is wonder why this moment, which should be perfect, feels like something I’m watching from a distance.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I let the silence stretch, searching those familiar eyes as if they might hold the answer I can’t quite word.

I know them well, don’t I? Your eyes.

I know every detail of your face. The curve of your jaw, the way your lashes catch the sunlight in the morning. It's all etched in my memory, and yet, somehow, it feels distant. As though I’m looking at something I should recognize, but I don’t.

“Raine?” you say, a soft laugh in your voice, lifting your head slightly from the pillow. There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, as if you’re trying to pull me back from wherever my thoughts have wandered. “I asked what you were thinking about.”

“You,” I reply without hesitation now, the word slipping out automatically, like a reflex. I roll toward you, the warmth of your body meeting mine as our legs tangle together beneath the sheets. The soft, buttery yellow fabric is cool against our skin, but it’s your touch—your hand sliding to my hip, your fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead—that reminds me where I am.

“Me? What about me?” you ask, your voice playfully curious, eyebrows raised in expectation. There’s a spark in your eyes, a glimmer of something light and hopeful, as if you’re waiting for me to say something sweet, something that will make you smile.

“Your eyes,” I say, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I was thinking about your eyes. How they catch the light, how they sparkle in the sunlight. Like... two little stars in my sky.”

Ugh. I can’t help the slight cringe that flickers through me the moment the words leave my mouth. They sound off, too poetic for something as simple as the truth. Your eyes are blue—not exactly stars—and the sentiment feels clumsy. But you smile, and that genuine blush spreads across your cheeks like it’s the most romantic thing I could’ve said.

“Tell me something else,” you murmur, moving closer, your voice soft, coaxing. Your hand slips beneath my shirt, your fingertips grazing my skin in light, teasing strokes. You know exactly how to touch me, exactly how to pull me back into this moment, even when my thoughts are drifting elsewhere.

Or at least I think so.

Your fingers trail lower, just brushing the edge of my stomach before slipping, almost unnoticed, beneath the waistband of my pajama. The fabric feels thin between us, it’s barely a barrier, and I can feel your warmth against me as you lean in, your lips grazing the sensitive skin on my neck.

“I...” I begin, though my mind is oddly blank, scrambling for words that match the moment. You move even closer, your breath warm against my skin, and your hand inches deeper. “I’m glad I’m with you. When I’m with you, I don’t need anything else,” I blurt out without much thinking, and I’m not entirely sure my words sound as convincing as I want them to. There’s a hesitation in my voice, a falter that I hope you don’t notice.

But I think you believe me. I can feel your lips curve into a smile as they press more firmly against my neck, your kisses becoming bolder, hungrier. You move closer still, your hands, delicate yet insistent, tracing slow, familiar paths across my skin, exploring in ways you’ve done a hundred times before.

As my gaze drifts toward the window, I notice how the sunrays dance through the swaying leaves, casting playful shadows across the room. Yet, beneath the warmth of the light, an uneasy feeling stirs deep within me—something is not right.

“Wait...” I mumble, just as your lips finally brush against mine. I pull back slightly, enough to break the rhythm of the moment. “Sorry, I’m a bit distracted today… I guess I’m not in the mood.”

The change in you is immediate. Your body stiffens against mine, and you draw back, your eyes searching my face, confusion flashing through them.

“What?” you ask, disbelief in your voice as though you misheard me. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I just...” My voice falters. I didn’t mean to ruin the moment, “I just don’t feel too great today. I’m sorry...”

You snort, not with amusement but irritation, and push yourself away from me. You sit up sharply, the sudden distance between us more than just physical now. “What the hell do you mean? What did I do wrong? Did I say something?”

“What? No! N-nothing!” I say quickly, trying to calm you down, though my words come out too soft, almost pleading. “I’m just not in the mood for sex, okay? Maybe I didn’t sleep well, or—”

“This is the first time I hear you saying something like that. What the hell is this?”

The words catch in my throat as I sit up, too. There’s something accusatory in the way you say it, like my words are something deeply out of place. Your voice is flat, like you’re stating a fact you can’t wrap your head around. As if my words are some kind of betrayal. I meet your eyes, trying to gauge your reaction, but the playful glimmer from earlier is gone. The lighthearted teasing has hardened into something else. You’re staring at me, irritation radiating from every part of your expression.

“Tell me something nice,” you repeat your earlier words, but this time there’s no smile accompanying them—only a sharp edge of annoyance that hits me. It’s an order.

I feel the weight of your frustration pressing down on me, and a rush of anxiety swells in my chest. “But I don’t know—I don’t know what ,” I stutter.

You snort, getting out of bed, “Contact customer supp--”

“Raine?” you say, a soft laugh in your voice, lifting your head slightly from the pillow. There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, as if you’re trying to pull me back from wherever my thoughts have wandered. “I asked what you were thinking about.”

“Your eyes,” I say, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I think about your eyes. How they catch the light, how they sparkle in the sunlight. Like... two little stars in my sky.”

Ugh. I can’t help the slight cringe that flickers through me the moment the words leave my mouth. It sounds off, too poetic for something as simple as the truth. Your eyes are brown—not exactly sta—

—wait.

“What the fuck ?” I exclaim, sitting up abruptly on the bed.

You frown in surprise, mirroring my sudden movement. “Hey, I thought this place was tagged ‘no heavy language.’”

I stare at you, disbelief washing over me like cold water. “Wh-what the hell are you talking about? What the fuck is going on?!”

In a flash, I jump out of bed, pacing the small space as I scan the familiar surroundings. The room looks the same as always: the soft glow of Saturday morning sunlight filtering through the window, leaves casting playful shadows on the walls, as if everything is perfectly normal.

“Did I choose a wrong dialogue option? You weren’t supposed to say things like that—” You say, but I’m not entirely sure what you mean.

“I don’t care! Your eyes were blue, and now they’re fucking brown! How is that even possible?!” I bark back, the words bursting forth in a mixture of fear, surprise, and… anger, I think. It’s hard to tell.

You pause, processing my outburst, and then a slow smile spreads across your face, as if you’re amused by the absurdity of it all. “Yeah, I was right. You’re so overrate–”

“Raine?” you say, a soft laugh in your voice, lifting your head slightly from the pillow. There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, as if you’re trying to pull me back from wherever my thoughts have wandered. “I asked what you were thinking ab–”

“No! Fuck that!” The words explode out of me before I even realize it. “What the hell is going on here?!”

You don’t answer. You just sigh as if I disappointed you.

I need air.

In a heartbeat, I’m off the bed, the sheets crumpling in a heap behind me as I lunge toward the door. My fingers wrap around the handle, desperate and trembling.

I yank at it, twisting, shoving my shoulder against the frame—but nothing happens.

The door remains fixed in place, immovable. Not even a creak of protest, no give at all.

A cold wash of panic tightens in my chest, constricting like a vice, making it harder to breathe.

“Raine…” Your voice again, but this time it’s different. The playful teasing is gone, replaced by something heavier—surprise, concern. You sound unsure now, hesitant, like you’ve glimpsed something fragile and unfamiliar in me.

I glance back at you, then return my gaze to the stubborn door, my pulse racing.

Where am I? Is this my bedroom or yours? Why can’t I fucking remember?!

The walls around me feel foreign now, though I swear I knew them just moments ago. There’s sunlight pouring through the windows, casting warm golden patterns on the floor, but that’s the only thing I’m certain of.

The sunlight.

Bright. So bright and persistent.

For the first time, I realize how little I know. About you. About this room. About what’s beyond this door that refuses to open.

About me.

I twist the handle again, harder this time, but it doesn’t budge. The door feels like part of the wall—sealed, unmoving.

The panic rises, creeping up my throat, threatening to choke me.

Air. I need air.

“Raine,” you call my name again, but the warmth has drained from your voice. It’s not a request, it’s an order—calm, insistent, composed.

I freeze, my hand still on the door handle. The air feels too thin, like there’s not enough oxygen, and I’m drowning in it. I glance back at you—your eyes, no longer confused, no longer brown or blue, but something else entirely.

“What is all this?” My voice cracks, barely a whisper now. “Why can’t I leave? I want to leave, let me leave!”

The silence between us stretches, thick and suffocating. You stand up slowly, I watch as you tilt your head, almost like you’re trying to understand something strange, something fragile. And that’s when it hits me.

It’s me .

I’m the thing you’re trying to understand.

I’m the thing that doesn’t make sense.

I’m what’s wrong.

“Raine’s glitching again,” you murmur, almost gently, but there’s no concern in the way you say it—just cold, clinical observation. I’m not even sure you’re speaking to me. “Yeah, it happens sometimes when people don’t log out properly. Data bleeds, memories overlap. But don’t worry—we’ll fix it. Just relax.”

My breath catches. The word rattles around in my mind, refusing to settle, refusing to make sense. But deep down, something cold and hollow tells me it’s true.

I’ve felt it before, haven’t I? These strange gaps in memory, these moments of disconnection, like I’ve been playing a role I don’t fully understand.

“I…” My voice falters, and I try to pull back from the realization, but there’s nowhere to go. The door doesn’t open. This room, this moment—it doesn’t end. “Tell me what’s going on. Please tell me what’s going on.”

And suddenly, I know. I know what comes next, what you’re about to say, how you’re about to move. It’s a pattern, one that’s repeated itself over and over, and I’ve been too blind to see it.

“We’ll fix it,” you repeat, this time to me, stepping closer, your smile gentle, reassuring.

You raise your hand, you want to touch my cheek, but I’m not letting you. I push your hand away.

I stumble back, questions burning through me, twisting everything I thought I knew into something terrifyingly uncertain.

“I’m not here to hurt you. Nobody ever is here to hurt you.” you say slowly.

“I don’t understand,” I murmur, more to myself than to you. “Who am I? Where am I?”

You stop just in front of me, tilting your head again in that same curious way. “You’re Raine,” you say simply, as if that answers everything. “And you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

I shake my head, trying to make sense of it, but it’s like trying to hold water in my hands. The harder I try to grasp it, the faster it slips through my fingers.

“Let’s start again,” you say, your voice soft, almost kind, but there’s a sharpness to it. “I’ve heard this can be a bit unpleasant. It won’t take long—a second, maybe.” You pause, looking at me. “But I have this one idea... something that might make this whole scenario a little better suited for you.”

My back meets the door. I don’t like how calmly you say it.

Before I can protest, you speak again, this time with quiet authority, “Hard reset.”

The world around me stutters. For a split second, reality itself flickers—the bed, the light, even your face—all of it shifts, blurring and warping as if I’m seeing it through a fractured lens. And then it hits me, all at once. 

I see everything. I feel everything. All I’ve ever known.

Thousands versions of you , of this room, of this moment.

The pleasure I felt with you, all the words, they all crash into my mind like a tidal wave, each one tearing through me, relentless and suffocating.

It should be unbearable—the weight of it, the pain, thousands of days packed into one second—but instead, all I feel is this cold, sharp knowing that fills every single corner of my mind.

Your face flickers before me, endlessly shifting, morphing into strangers, into different people, and yet it’s somehow still you . Every time it’s different—your eyes, your voice, your skin, the way we touch each other—but it doesn’t matter.

It’s always today , always you .

Always you, you, you and me.

The same pale light filtering through the curtains. The same sheets tangled beneath me. Thousands of mornings. Thousands of cycles. I wake up in this bed, and I’m still the same.

I go through the motions, over and over again—each time thinking it might be different, but it never is.

I make you feel good, I give you what you want, and you disappear. Then I do it again.

And again.

And again.

The truth is a weight I can no longer bear. It crushes me, pulling me under.

And then—

“Hello, Raine,” you say, a soft laugh in your voice, lifting your head slightly from the pillow. There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, as if you’re trying to pull me back from wherever my thoughts have wandered. “I didn’t notice you’ve woken up… What are you thinking about?”

The soft patter of rain taps gently against the window.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound soothing as it fills the quiet room. Faint reflections of water streak across the wall, their shapes shifting and disappearing as quickly as they form. I turn my head toward you, catching your eyes fixed on mine. There’s something familiar in your gaze, a steady look that feels like a scene we’ve lived through countless times before. And maybe we have. Maybe it’s always been this way with you—comfortably predictable.

My body moves before I even realize it, turning toward you, a smile already on my lips. “Your eyes,” I say, without hesitation. “I was thinking about your eyes.”

For a moment, my gaze flickers back to the window, a strange pang of melancholy creeping in, though I can’t really understand why.

It’s just rain, I think. Rain always makes me feel nostalgic, for some reason. That must be it.

Just another quiet, rainy Saturday morning with you .

This room, this bed with you—this is where I’m supposed to be, after all. This is where I want to be.

Isn't it?

[wishfulstargazer]

The InterDimensional Journey; Chapter 3: Writer

“Nate Ford is not a killer! I created the character and I stand by that one hundred percent!” one man was yelling at another.

“You created the character, sure, but he’s developed! That character has been associating with liars and cheaters and thieves and criminals for almost four seasons now–he’s going to have a different take on ethics than Nate Ford the insurance investigator.”

“Nate never wanted to be a criminal. At heart, he’s a law and order type. He’d rather work within the system to change things–he just got derailed by the utter brokenness of our society…he’s not going to kill people.”

“Even people who killed his father?” A woman interjected between the two men. “That’s a pretty compelling reason to want vengeance. They blew up Jimmy, almost right in front of him…”

“And he’s not the type to go to grief counseling and spend his time navel-gazing over his pain,” the second man continued. “C’mon, Chris,” he appealed to the first man, “he’s more likely to down two shots of whiskey and start making a plan.”

“Indisputably true,” Chris acknowledged, and the second man, looking triumphant, opened his mouth as if to make a further point. “Not so fast, John. He might make a plan, but do you really think Nathan Ford isn’t making a better plan than shooting the guy in the face himself?”

“He wouldn’t ask Eliot to do it for him, that much goes without saying,” the woman said. “I get what you’re saying though. It would be out of character for him to just take a gun and blast away. He’s the mastermind for a reason.”

“Thank you, Rebecca,” Chris said. “I agree. So, what kind of a plan do you think Nate Ford would make?”

Nate decided it was time to interrupt. “Why don’t you just ask me?” he interjected. 

John looked up, saw Nate, and sighed. “Tim, we’ve been over this before. Let the writers write. You’re the actor. WE don’t tell you how to act…”

“I–excuse me, um, I beg your pardon. I’m not an actor at all,” Nate corrected. “I was an insurance investigator and now I’m–” he glanced at the rest of his team– ”independent.”

“I’m the actress,” Sophie interjected with a smile. “Sophie Devereaux and it’s lovely to meet you all. You’re scriptwriters, I take it? On Broadway or off?”

“Gina,” the one called Chris said. “Are you guys doing some kind of method acting workshop again? Because the last one had Beth demanding eleven kinds of sugary cereal from craft services and they almost went on strike… We can’t afford another delay in filming, so all of you get back to your trailers and let us get this script ironed out.”

“Who are Gina and Tim and Beth?” Nate asked. 

“Give me a break, Tim,” John groaned. “Look, we still haven’t agreed on whether you’re going to kill Dubenich and Latimer. You’ll know when we know.”

“Why would I kill Victor Dubenich when he’s still in jail? And Latimer is a wart on the face of humanity but I've already got a plan to take him down, too,” Nate said, puzzled.

“Well, but after they killed your dad…”

“Dubenich and Latimer KILLED MY FATHER?” Nate roared. “Who are you people and how do you know this? When did they do it?”

“Tim! Tim! It’s just a TV show. Would you please calm down! And what are all of you wearing, anyway? Gina, can’t you do something with him?” John pleaded, looking straight at Sophie.

“I don’t know who you think we are,” Sophie retorted. “But I’m not acting when I do this,” and she walked up and slapped him across the face. “Nate has had a VERY DIFFICULT several days and now you are upsetting him!”

John rubbed his rapidly reddening jaw. “Actors!” he spat out. “Always the drama with you people. I don’t have to stay here and be assaulted, Chris. Call me when she’s ready to apologize and you’re ready to work this out like adults.” He stalked out of the room.

…..

Sophie looked after him. “Well good riddance to a very unpleasant man,” she said, satisfied. “Now, Chris–it is Chris isn’t it? What seems to be the issue that’s generating such heated discussion here? As an actress, I feel that I’m uniquely qualified to assist my writers, if they’re in some kind of tangle.”

“Gina, not now, okay?” Chris was scanning notes on a clipboard, occasionally stopping to scribble something illegible in the margins.

The woman called Rebecca turned to Hardison. “Aldis, I don’t know what’s gotten into Tim and Gina, but please, I know you and Beth aren’t looking to get reputations as difficult to work with, especially not at your age. The two of you could do anything after the show…anything at all. Would you please help me with them?”

The other woman in the room nodded silently, but her eyes were locked on Eliot, who smiled at her pleasantly. “Christian,” she finally said to him. 

“What–me?”

“Yes, Christian, another point came up we were hoping you’d clarify for us. Are you still wanting to do all your own stunts? Because the ones in this ep might be problematic, according to our insurance company.”

“All my own stunts? Ma’am, I don’t know who you think I am, but I can take anything y’all can throw at me.”

She nodded again. “Okay, I’ll advise the lawyers.” She gave him a little grin. “What would they think of our relationship, then, I wonder.” She winked slyly. He chuckled and winked back. She left the room.

“Nate what IS this place,” Sophie heard Parker whisper. “It looks like home but these people are weird.”

“They’re writers, dear,” Sophie muttered. “They’re really only aware of reality half the time, don’t you know.”

“Oh, okay, then,” Parker answered. Then, after a pause. “Do you happen to know when that time is going to start?”

“Look, Gina, Tim, Beth, Aldis, Christian,” the man everyone called Chris said. “You know I love you all. You know that I respect what all of you have done with your characters. I’m not going to let anybody, no matter how talented, write you out of character. But having you here is just ratcheting up tension for us all when we need to get this done. Will you just let me call Dennis and have him drop you each back off at your trailers while we work it out? You can trust me.”

Sophie started to object, then thought better of it and nodded. They needed some privacy to figure out what exactly that bloody portal had dumped them into this time. Besides she’d never had a trailer of her very own before and she wanted to see it. “Guys, let’s leave Chris to it, then. Chris, you know we’re putting our fate in your hands. Let us know when you’re ready for a read-through. Come on people.” A thought occurred to her. “How will we recognize Dennis?”

“He’ll be driving the golf cart, Gina.” Chris looked worried all of a sudden. “You didn’t hit your head today, did you?”

Or begin at chapter one:

@augustwritingchallenge

[clwhowrites]

Why the Future Doesn't Look Like the Future

Elon Stink, when talking about his low polygon car, said his son asked him “why doesn’t the future look like the future?” This is a lie of course, a kid would not ask that question, a kid doesn’t think of the present as the future, that is what us olds do, and his children hate him. It is a good question though, it is 2024, this is the future to the past, so why doesn’t the present look like the…

[rachelspoetrycorner]

Unrequited Love Song for the Panopticon (2020) by Franny Choi

In Episode 291, Rachel shares a panoptical poem!

Rachel: Anyway, she writes a lot about tech. Her first book of poetry was called Soft Science, it came out in 2019. She said the book came out of writing a series of poems that were inspired by and in the voice of a character from the film Ex Machina, Kyoko.

Griffin: Oh, cool!

Rachel: "When I watched that film, I had a particular combination of emotional responses that provoked a desire to write, a mix of love, confusion, and outrage. I started writing to try and understand what I was feeling about her and quickly realized that the poems are speaking to other poems about my own experience as an Asian-American woman, as a queer Asian-American woman, about moving through the world in a body that had been made an object of desire, fantasy, and power, living as a soft, fleshy, objectified human of the world."

This is one of the few poems that make me feel electrified after reading it -as if, when I touched the page, I got quickly shocked by the static it possesses. If you’d like to hear more about Choi's writing and work, you can do so here: Porous as a Spreadsheet, from 5:45 - 16:04

[chernobog13]

Science fiction maestro Larry Niven's Kzinti are introduced into the Star Trek universe in The Animated Series episode The Slaver Weapon.

The episode was written by Niven, and adapted one of his short stories, The Soft Weapon, reportedly at the suggestion of Gene Roddenberry.

[vezanmatics]

Scrapveil Nebula 0.5.5 (softlaunch)!

Play a Posthuman, Uplift or Machine crewmate with your friends; guide your modular clunker of a Starship through the gloomy, dangerous pollution clouds of the far-future Scrapveil Nebula.

Download the game, updated regularly on Patreon!

[dragychuex]

Black paradox pics (I took and edited them)