#submitting an essay at 11:59 pm

[mudmerry]

happaoyagi birthtoya

[141shousewife]

You like movies? You wanna make one?

Minors DNI I WILL eat you.

ill make this another part if it does well

cw: nsfw, price x female reader, TA reader x Professor! Price, slight jealousy/arguing, filming, price x plus size reader

Johns voice echos inside of the linoleum lecture hall. You quietly listen to the scribbles of a red pen and the sound of his voice. Normally the sound from his auditorium during lectures is moderate, but today he is particularly chipper as his voice bleeds into the shared office you currently revise essays in.

"-Excellent! and what do you think the director is trying to convey with this wide frame shot?"

Your eyes continue to graze over the same words again and again: "Director" "Shot" "Film" "Cinematography" "Intention" "Audience"

You love your job, but reading first years' dull writing for over an hour and a half has your eyes and brain hurting.

Being John's TA had a lot of quirks; good pay, free snacks, and lots of academic validation that you will not expand on in front of your friends when questioned, and lastly the sharply dressed professor that lounges around and insists on your everlasting 'genius', and is admittedly fun to run your eyes over and imagine him slowl-

"ALRIGHT- that is going to wrap up our time for today, it's Friday so I don't want to keep you all. Remember to make good choices and turn in your makeups by 11:59 on Sunday. Okay, get outta here."

You rest your eyes and listen to the symphony of zipping backpacks, chairs being pushed in, and the different conversations of "i gotta turn in-" or "what are you doing this weekend-" quickly zip by the door of the closed office. You take a moment to settle into your rolling chair as you hear Price sending off students warmly. His brown suede dress shoes quietly grow louder as they hit the tile close and closer to the office door.

Price's office is cushy and expansive. There is enough room for more than the desk, rug, couch, and mini-fridge fill the space a subpar amount. The two desks that occupy the warmly lit, carpeted room are positioned across the room from each other. John's desk is littered with a desk lamp, books stacked on top of each other, a desk of pens and a closed cigar case.

As you hear the him begin to answer the last few questions from students while slowly opening the office door, you gather your materials and move to the couch and sit beneath the warm throw that adorns it.

The couch dips in on itself significantly and creaks under your wide bottom as you curse it for its announcement.

"Of course- and if you have any more questions feel free to email me."

The girl that you see him talking to- the sliver of her that you can see is smaller than you and blonde, she catches her hair in between two of her fingers and leans into his personal space.

"Could I come to your office for help on my essay, this Saturday, around say 6?

Not fully understanding what she is asking, he straightens out his back in concern and responds to her in a hushed tone.

"Do you not have a device in order to submit an email? If not the library is open from 9 am to 9 pm during the weekend."

She provides even less space for him and looks up with a smile.

"No Professor, I do, I just meant if I needed some... special help"

He maintains a warm demeanor but shuts her down

" I'm afraid not- My office hours are for working and if you make a comment like that again I am at liberty to report you to the dean, so I would suggest you leave now. Have a nice weekend."

He opens the door fully to enter and shuts it behind him and the blonde pads away quietly with less of her dignity than before. He rolls his eyes as he greets you.

"You can't make this stuff up. Flirting when she hasn't even turned in her essay on time. Bold."

You speak without fully thinking; wondering why Price is acting so insulted by a conventionally good looking girl shmoozing him. As he sets his laptop and other things on his desk you speak.

"She was a pretty girl John. It's not like its such a low blow."

John turns quickly quirks his head "You can't seriously be implying I would date some...kid? one of my students? She's not my type. "

You immediately jump to defend yourself with in hindsight- a bit too much gusto.

You say while sarcastically chuckling "I wasn't saying that! and come on it's just us, she- girls like her, are everyone's type."

John steps closer to where you are sat on the couch and looks down at you with his eyes furrowed and his hands in his pockets.

"Well she's not mine."

He reaches over on top of his desk a grabs a cigar, he quietly throws a "You mind?" over his shoulder and upon you responding "You're all good." he clips his cigar and lights it.

He turns around and steps closer as puffs it and he eyes you over.

His gaze is- uncomfortably intense, in a way that makes you wanna say sorry- or maybe start stripping...

He seems to catch wind of you being in thought.

"What do you care anyway?"

You look at him to respond but nothing comes out of your mouth as he sits the cigar down and steps closer to you until he's standing over you. His legs stand interlinked with yours and brushes them.

You feel something other worldly pull your body up to stand in front of him. You stare at him breathlessly and try to ignore the cinnamon, sandalwood and cigar smoke that's making you want to rub your-

John's voice pulls you out of another depraved thought

"I can't believe you think a girl like that is my type. I date women. Grown women. "

Your voice barely sounds like your own. You barely get the words out.

" I swear that wasn't what I meant. I just thought-"

John cuts you off "I know what you thought, you thought I was going to let you have a self deprecation fest, but I'm telling you that the women I want.. don't look, talk, or think like her. I don't want girls."

"I like women. Women who look, talk, and think like you." He toys with the bottom of your skirt in a way that makes your face grow warm, his hand brushing against your thick thigh.

You start to protest immediately, " You don't need to flatter me John, I'm sorry."

John starts speaking over you in frustration, "Why is it unbelievable that I would prefer you? I'm not flattering you. I'm not a liar or someone who compliments out of pity, you know what- here"

He huffs and grabs your wrist and places your hand directly over his khaki covered hard-on and whispers

"Does that feel like pity to you?"

As you stare at him dumbfounded, John's hand reaches up and holds the base of your skull with his large hand.

All of your breath re-enters your lungs like he just jump-started your entire system.

John looks at you with mischief you cannot quite place.

"How about I help you see how good you look?"

You track his gaze towards his Nikon and immediately look at him in horror.

"You wanna record me? No. Absolutely not. I look horrible on camera and you want to film my O-face and chubbiness from a side profile? You've lost it!"

"Honey, if you don't want to film because you're uncomfortable we can forget it right now, but if this is about the way your 'chubbiness' looks then I'm telling you that I wanna see this body. On me. On video."

[grayseeker]

Submit! To Supernova: A Starscream Tribute Zine

Calling all Starscream fans! Applications are now open for Supernova, a zine celebrating everyone's favorite Seeker second-in-command.

Supernova will be a digital space to explore Starscream's legacy, complexity, and nuances across all Transformers continuities. We are seeking submissions of all kinds - fic, art, comics, vids, podfic, poetry, essays, musical compositions, and more! Submissions can be serious, comedic, romantic, or analytical. If your piece celebrates your love for Starscream, it has a place in Supernova's pages. Let's give our Seeker the star treatment he deserves!

Please review our Guidelines and FAQ before applying.

Fill out the application form HERE.

Note: You will be asked to pitch 3 or more ideas you'd like to create for the zine, and link 2 examples of finished work you're proud of (your examples don't have to be TF-related).

Applications close June 30, 2024 at 11:59 PM PST (GMT-8)

Beta readers, pinch hitters, and Discord mods are also needed. If you're interested in any of those roles, please let us know in your application.

~please reblog to spread the word!~

[faaun]

my essay was due 12 pm i submitted it at 11:59:59 my hands are shaking still omg

[thehorrortree]

Deadline: December 31, 2023 Payment: $0.07 per word Theme: Character-driven fictional short stories written by Black women writers. All genres are welcome. We’re Currently Accepting Submissions! Next Deadline: December 31, 2023 at 11:59 pm ET (short fiction – all genres and narrative essays) *updated 10/1/23 CLICK HERE TO SUBMIT! short stories. essays. melanin. Whether you’re an established writer or are just starting out, we want to hear from you! midnight & indigo, a literary journal celebrating Black women writers, has issued a call for submissions to review short stories and narrative essays. We publish content on our digital platform and in our literary journals (paperback/ebook/audiobook). In 2024, we will publish our first long-form anthology! Writers are invited to share their original, fictional, or personal stories. Stories can funny, entertaining, serious, or sincere. Stories must be character-driven and leave readers with something to think about. All genres are welcome! How to Submit: Format:  All submissions should follow proper manuscript format and Microsoft Word .doc format. We will not accept submissions that do not follow our guidelines. All stories must be submitted via Submittable — we will not accept stories via email. You may submit up to three stories at any time. Our average response time is 120 days Word length:  Short stories: 1,500-8,000 words. Narrative essays: min. 1,200 words Please note:  Calls for Submissions will be held on a rolling basis with deadlines four times per year: March 31st, June 30th, September 30th, and December 31st. Submission does not guarantee that your work will be published. All submissions will be considered for our long-form anthology Genres: All genres and writing styles are welcome. It may be helpful to view our current short stories, essays, and literary journals to get a general sense of what we publish, but don’t be afraid to push the needle! Compensation: We pay for all accepted pieces. Information is available below Fiction Guidelines General Literary Fiction We are looking for previously unpublished, CHARACTER-DRIVEN fictional short stories written by Black women writers. All genres are welcome. Subject matter and plots can run the gamut, but we want emotion, grit, soul, and writing that forges an immediate connection with the reader. Word count requirement: 1,500-7,000 words We offer $0.07 per word for Short Stories accepted for publication in our literary journal (eBook, print, audiobook, and/or podcast) and online publication on midnightandindigo.com. Rates and word count based upon the final, edited piece Submissions should be submitted in proper short story manuscript format with your name, email address, and the story’s total word count on the first page. For our purposes, you do not need to include a mailing address or phone number. CLICK HERE for an example of proper short story manuscript format All submissions will be considered for publication in our upcoming print anthology (est. December 2024) We do not accept work created by AI. Any submissions not entirely created by a human author will be automatically rejected. Black Speculative Fiction We are looking for previously unpublished, character-driven, speculative short stories written by Black women writers. Speculative fiction is a broad genre encompassing fiction with certain elements that do not exist in the real world, often in the context of supernatural, futuristic, or other imaginative themes. This includes, but is not limited to, science fiction, fantasy, superhero fiction, horror, utopian and dystopian fiction, fairytale fantasy, and supernatural fiction. Word count requirement: 2,000 – 7,000 words We offer $0.07 per word for Short Stories accepted for publication in our annual Speculative issue (eBook, print, audiobook, and/or podcast) and on midnightandindigo.com. Rates and word count based upon the final, edited piece Submissions should be submitted

in proper short story manuscript format with your name, email address, and the story’s total word count on the first page. For our purposes, you do not need to include a mailing address or phone number. CLICK HERE for an example of proper short story manuscript format All submissions will be considered for publication on a rolling basis on midnightandidigo.com or in our annual Speculative fiction special issue (online and/or print – October 2024) We do not accept work created by AI. Any submissions not entirely created by a human author will be automatically rejected Essay Guidelines We are looking for previously unpublished, first-person POV fictional essays written by Black women writers. Essays can be funny, entertaining, serious, or sincere. Content must uplift, inspire, and leave readers with something to think about. We want emotion, grit, soul, and writing that forges an immediate connection with the reader around your experience. Submissions cannot include list formats or “5 Ways to…” inspirational instructionals. Word count requirement: min. 1,200 words We offer $150 for Essays accepted for publication on midnightandindigo.com Submissions should be submitted in proper manuscript format with your name, email address, and the story’s total word count on the first page. For our purposes, you do not need to include a mailing address or phone number. CLICK HERE for an example of proper manuscript format We do not accept work created by AI. Any submissions not entirely created by a human author will be automatically rejected Rights: Each author retains the sole, individual copyright on her contribution. We only ask for first North American serial rights on any story we publish. This means that the story should not have appeared anywhere else, either in print or online. (This includes publication on an author’s own website). We accept first world eBook, print, and audiobook rights, and non-exclusive anthology rights for our published anthologies. We also accept non-exclusive online rights to publish and archive your story on our website(s) or on our podcast. You will be asked to agree to our contract as part of the submission process. CLICK HERE TO SUBMIT! Via: midnight & indigo.

[lunasea]

I thought i had an essay due at 11:59 pm on the 15th but upon rereading the assignment info (at 11 pm) it said midnight at feb 15 so i was like holy SHIT i only have an hour before midnight let me do this assignment asap, i broke my back writing 1500 words in ~45 minutes (15 for skimming the huge readings) and then upon submitting i see that the prof has it due for 12:59 pm on the 15? Wtf ????

[careersstamps]

The 2025-26 application is ongoing. Campus Deadline: August 25th at 11:59 PM

The U of M Institute of International Education (IIE), on behalf of the U.S. State Department, administers the Fulbright U.S. Student Program, which offers research, study, and teaching opportunities in over 140 countries to recent graduates and graduate students. This competition is administered on campus by the International Institute.

Click here for full details and submit your Draft Essay Submission for Advisor Review by August 1, 2024

[k12academics]

The Party Headphones Scholarship offers a single $1000 award to cover educational costs such as tuition, books, computers, room and board, or any related expenses. There are no GPA requirements or application forms needed.

This scholarship program is available to both undergraduate and graduate students enrolled in accredited colleges and universities in the United States, as well as high school seniors who will be starting their college education.

Scholarship Name: Party Headphones $1000 Scholarship Program

Deadline date: April 15, 2024 11:59 PM EST

Scholarship Value: $1000

Available scholarship slots: 1

Criteria of who can apply:

Must be a legal resident of the United States or hold a valid student visa Must be currently enrolled in or accepted to a full-time undergraduate or graduate program in an accredited U.S. college or university Must be 18 years or older How to apply:

For a chance to win the scholarship, write a 500-word essay answering the questions:

How sustainable are Silent Discos The evolution of Music Festivals and Parties How Silent Discos differ from traditional Night Clubs The Economic Impact of Silent Disco Events on Local Communities Essays must be sent to scholarship@partyheadphones.com as an attached Word document with your full name, address, phone number, school name, and date of birth. Use the subject line: Party Headphones $1000 Scholarship Program | (Your Name).

How to win:

Submit your response in accordance with the provided guidelines. The top essay will be selected by our team, and the chosen winner will receive a notification via email on April 19, 2024. The recipient is required to acknowledge within 7 days; otherwise, an alternative winner will be chosen.

[sfsucw]

The Matchstick 2023 Call For Submissions Now Open!

The Matchstick will consider all work connected to justice, human rights advocacy, and the power of activism.

Literary Submissions - Poetry, Prose and vignettes, Short stories, Short dramas, Essays

If you are interested in submitting your work to The Matchstick, please read the guidelines below and fill out our submissions form before 11:59 pm, April 30th, 2023.

https://www.thematchstick.org/submissions

[worthyking]

my hands and knees are trembling so bad right now

[californiaquail]

i am. full of procrastination and writers block and not Any historical knowledge with which to write this goddamned paper

[asiancyborg]

CURRENTLY ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS FOR NEW ZINE: The Asian Cyborg And Other Othered Bodies

I’m so excited to announce that we are currently taking submissions for our new zine: “The Asian Cyborg and Other Othered Bodies”! This zine will explore the themes of technology, sci-fi, race, and queerness. Who are the othered bodies in SF? What does it mean to be “othered” as in to be queer? What are the queer futures of the past? What are the queer futures being imagined for us now? And is queerness inherently tied to the bodily experience?

We are accepting art and literary submissions from all around the world, but any text submissions not in English must be accompanied by an English translation. Any kind of submission is eligible: illustrations, paintings, comics, photography, poetry, prose, essays, even memes. Deadline for submissions is 08/31 at 11:59 PM EST. Google form link in bio.

All contributors will receive a free copy of the zine (either digital or physical) when completed as well as a small honorarium ($ compensation for their submission). Note that submitting an application is not guaranteed entry into the zine. We will notify you if your piece was selected via email.

So grateful and excited to have to the guest artists & writers I’ve reached out to join me in the creation of this zine — please check them out! (second slide)

NOTE: This zine focuses on race and queerness' relationship to the human body and technology. Therefore, we are not at this time accepting submissions from any persons who do not belong to either group of marginalized identity.

[holly-fixation]

An Astral Myth: Chapter 1

Summary: Cloud Strife is an engineering student at Midgar U, who decided to take art history as an elective because it was the only good option left. But when an assignment on an “obscure god” (nothing Shiva or he gets stabbed with an ice pick) causes repeated dreams of swirling pink clouds in a blue sky, Cloud has to find out what it means. And the best place to start: seeing the statue for himself. 

Inspired by this art by @hueyoart and the concept by @ehrenyu on Twitter.

Please Enjoy!

Junior year. Third year. Whatever it was called, Cloud could not believe he made it this far. Three years at Midgar University. Well, two and a half. He really thought he would fail by now, yet here he is, two years away from a degree in engineering design. This was a dream almost come true. He always loved to design all sorts of things. As a kid, he had this insane idea to build a sword made of smaller swords that fit together like Lego pieces. Of course, all of his attempts didn’t go well but his mother refuses to get rid of his only somewhat successful attempt made of cardboard, card stock, duct tape, and hot glue. Nowadays he designed more practical objects and helped out his various other friends in similar majors. Although Barret almost broke his arm after seeing how fantastical he made the simplest concepts. You need to chill the hell out, blondie! It’s the modern day, not the renaissance, man! Then Barret made him redesign all of his concepts for the team’s sanity. Oof, that was a bad day. 

But now he’s more than halfway there, just a few more engineering classes and...electives. Ugh. He hated electives. When they were related to his major, he cared and he tried. But these other, unrelated, useless to the real world electives...he rolled his eyes. What a waste of money. He tried, gods did he try, to take the easiest, most pointlessly simple class he could to fill the slot. And then they all got taken by the seniors, and the only class he could get into with ‘okay’ ratings was Art History: Analysis of Mythology. He was kind of interested in mythology. Who wasn’t? If it was all based off of things that aren’t real, it should be easy right?

Wrong. 

The class only had two assignments, which decided the entirety of the grade. If he failed one, he failed the class. Fairly high stakes, but it didn’t seem that bad, compared to his major classes which required multiple six-hour-assignments completed per week, until tonight. 

It was 11:45 PM, and he was smacked with the sudden realization he needed to submit his topic for the first paper. Hell, he suddenly remembered he was in this class. Gods forbid he got any rest tonight, gods forbid he hung out with his friends until 11:30 on a Sunday. Cracking his eyes open, he pulled his laptop into his lap and sat up in his bed, immediately clicking the class page. Maybe he was lucky, and this was one of the professors that made assignments due before lecture began?

Nope. Due date: Today, 11:59 PM. Fourteen minutes until submission closed.

Okay, the essay must be a research paper into an obscure or uncommonly studied god or goddess. “If any single one of you picks Ifrit for this assignment, I will fail you immediately.” His professor’s voice suddenly rang in his ears, spoken in lecture when assigning this a month ago. For extra credit, he could take a selfie with the statue of this god. Yeah right, not unless he’s desperate. Then he realized he forgot about this class, and that extra credit may keep his GPA up to standards. He sighed. So none of the Six. Got it. Maybe he’d get lucky if he checked archeology websites. He couldn’t care what this god was, as long as it was obscure enough. 

Maybe some god really was on his side. 

A month ago, archeologists discovered a shrine to a god named “Sephiroth”, supposedly some God of the Stars. Please have enough information publicly available, Cloud begged internally. 

Though the statue was recently discovered, many texts have been unearthed and translated throughout the last few years. Using a language similar to the Cetra, most of the legend of “Sephiroth and his Sacrifice” has been translated. This legend is available at this link. However, for all the information, most photos of the shrine itself were corrupted during digital rendering, and the current museum housing the main statue refuses to allow professional photos. 

Perfect, good enough. Cloud immediately wrote a response for the assignment, making sure to “paraphrase, not plagiarize, and quotes are for newspapers, not essays!” a five sentence backstory. Well, the two facts he could learn in two seconds with some nonsense about why he was interested. And now...submitted. 11:56 PM. He knocked the back of his head against the wall with a sigh of relief. 

...Shoot. Now he’s awake. The panic from his sudden realization forced his heart to race. So screw it. He decided to start his research tonight, collecting links for sources and taking sections of lore that seemed important, though he was barely skimming the passages and absorbing almost none of the words. His document was filling quickly, about a solid page and a half by the time he felt tired again. He glanced at the clock: 12:30 AM. He had his early class tomorrow. How the hell did he get stuck with an 8 AM in his junior year? 

He closed his laptop and placed it back on his desk before lifting up the covers and attempting an early sleep, tossing and turning until his subconscious finally took over.

He felt his eyes open, as if waking up from a peaceful dream, to the sight of swirling pink clouds, separated at the center and turning like the eye of a slow hurricane. 

Was he standing? Or floating?

He could almost feel a surface beneath his feet, but when he looked, there was no ground, just the ever present stirring of the pink puffs. 

Was he looking up? Or forward?

He found himself staring at the blue opening of sky, mesmerized, hypnotized, and...controlled. 

Had he made a single decision? Or was he pulled by invisible strings? 

By a red thread of fate? Or the clear strings of a puppet at every joint?

His thoughts quickly vanished, his attention captured. A tiny gold and white light shone in the center blue, tiny, like the stars in the night sky. But as he watched, it grew. It couldn’t be a star, it was too unbalanced, too many points of the spikey nature emitted from the bottom half. Then it got bigger. Grander and brighter, all consuming like the sun. Blocking out the sky and obscuring the shape. Capturing the clouds in its reaching rays. 

White. Blinding white devoured his sight. 

Suddenly he surged in pain, the seering of a blade ripping through his chest, through his back, deeper, and deeper, and Deeper, and Deeper.

Cloud jumped awake with a gasp and held his head and his heart, his breathing out of control and cold sweat dripping down the sides of his face. What the hell was that? It felt so real. He felt that blade tear through his body. What kind of nightmare was that?! He quickly grabbed at his phone and opened the screen. 4 AM. Maybe reading lore on some random god right before bed was a bad idea. Noted. Would not happen again. 

Well, he was awake, so he might as well check his messages before he passed out again. He opened his email app, deleted a few spam notifications, and saw an email from his professor. Alright, the god he picked was approved, so there was no going back now. He decided to officially start this essay tomorrow, and checked his various entertainment apps until he was tired enough to fall back asleep. 

* * * 

“You forgot you were in a class?” Barret almost slapped him in the back of the head for his stupidity. “How do you forget about an in person class?!”

Cloud scratched the back of his head and looked away as they both walked to their next class. “It only has a few deadlines, nothing popped up on the course page before the weekend, so I thought I was good,” He tried to defend. 

“You still go every week, right?!” He didn’t necessarily yell at the blonde, he was only loudly confused. 

“Yeah yeah, I do.” He adjusted his bag. “But he didn’t mention anything about it last week.”

Barret sighed, deciding to cool down the almost fatherly tone. “Look, Spiky, just don't overwork yourself. We still have a project milestone to finish!” Cloud let out a soft groan before Barret continued. “Just start it early. Twenty minutes a night should at least get you interested in this god essay.”

He sighed. “Gods I hope so. I’ll try it.”

“But you better be at the meeting tonight.”

“Of course I’ll be at the meeting tonight,” Cloud countered. “Haven't missed one yet.”

So, that was exactly what Cloud did: went to his lectures, got multiple hours of homework completed, and finished the night off with the team meeting before finally arriving back at his apartment. Once he was settled in and ate somewhat of a dinner, he was back at his desk to try to enjoy the small remainder of his night (if he planned on having a slightly okay sleep schedule). Then he remembered his conversation with Barret. Crap. 

He groaned to himself. Twenty minutes less of ‘him time’ wasted for this stupid essay. Maybe paraphrasing what he copied last night would be a good place to start. He opened his laptop with a pout, angrily opening the links he collected from the previous night and his current document. He took a breath before actively reading the text.

Sephiroth is an ancient God of the Stars, whose worshipers are currently unknown. Though, from carvings and surviving text, they clearly spoke a language similar to the Cetra. He is the son of Jenova, Goddess of the Cosmos, and is one of the few gods who remained completely loyal to their patronage. However, his father is still unknown.

So they’re space gods. Got it. He’d moogle if there was a specific difference between the cosmos and the stars later, and he noted that in his document before he continued. 

Ironically, despite their nature, there is no current mention of any constellation bearing either name. 

According to legend, Jenova came to our planet, Gaia, on a meteor dating back about 66 million years.

Oh come on, everyone knows that’s the meteor that killed the dinosaurs. And are they really claiming humans were around back then? He groaned again. He did not care about this useless parent, but every article on this god explained her origins. He guessed he didn’t have a choice. 

Translations and transcriptions differ greatly on the reason she came to Gaia. Some claim it was curiosity, stating we are one of the few planets with life in the cosmos. Others say she landed by accident, and our people accepted her as a new God, worshiping and praising as she wished. Though no written text agreed completely, they all claim she was strikingly beautiful and impossible to look away from, almost like the night sky. 

Were they really pretending humans were around to know that back then? 66 million years ago?

But Jenova’s presence or aura, carrying the weight of the cosmos, was too much for the planet to handle. Both the Lifestream and the oceans gravitated toward her like the moon. All types of plants, animals, fish, insects, and fungi suffered or completely died off as a result, even though she was not on the planet for long. 

The people of the planet, though we are unsure if they were human or some other species at the top of the food chain, asked the goddess to leave for the sake of their world. This is where conflict of translation and various sources comes up. This angered or some even just said annoyed her. She agreed to leave the planet after seven of our days. 

It’s claimed her retaliation for the disrespect were calculated diseases and mutations to plague the inhabitants, similar to how overexposure of mako happens extremely rare today. 

Good to know Shinra’s bribing them to keep things quiet. Cloud gave a quick shake of his head to remove the conspiracy theory going through his mind and return to the page before he had to re-read the entire section due to lack of focus. 

Yet other sources claim the effects were a result of her anger directly, even some claim she did not know she caused it at all.*

*This is where the language similarity to the Cetra gets difficult to translate, as we are still learning most Cetra scripts and these legend scripts are not completely identical to the Cetra language. We provide as many of the accepted translations as possible, but the most accurate translation has yet to be determined. 

Fantastic, so he either needed to copy every attempt at a translation or pick one and defend why he believed it was the most accurate, something he was not at all qualified to do.

Her reign was too large to maintain such minimal functions intentionally, her anger rarely ignited by any being to know how to handle the unconscious response. 

What was she, a robot? ‘Minimal functions’?

Every planet she visited was affected differently, so the people were not asking her to leave out of fear, but for the sake of their world. Seven days was too long. Their world was falling to her in only three. 

Then Gaia, the Goddess of our Planet, spoke to the other goddess and explained the results of her presence. Intentionally or not, Jenova was killing Gaia (both the planet and the goddess). The Planet made a deal with The Cosmos: to feed her curiosity, let her heal and then send a proxy when it was time. This proxy would be taught all the knowledge of herself and the creatures that called her being their home. Her people would be informed when the time came, and they would prepare for the proxy. Jenova agreed, on two conditions: Gaia must accept any proxy of her choice, and the people must obey her proxy unquestionably. 

Gaia agreed.

What could possibly go wrong?

With honor of their agreement, Jenova left the planet, and her virus stopped. Millenia of millenia passed before Gaia informed her people of the messenger’s title and coming arrival, with some reports dating back only 2,000 years ago. 

Oh for gods sake. Really? Were they honestly claiming this? Were humans walking around and completely ignoring this new god? Comparatively, compared to 66 million years, it was not that long ago. Oh come on.

Not once in Gaia’s billions of years of existence did she expect the cosmos to send the most cherished son: Sephiroth, God of the Stars, as the proxy of the cosmos. 

Alright, that’s enough for today. He’d finish this lore some other night. He wanted to enjoy the rest of his time, playing some games or watching some shows, or doing anything that wasn’t an assignment for once. Just to reach the page minimum faster, he looked for this statue that made this god known. He scrolled through this article: nothing. The next one: nothing. The third, fourth, and fifth: nothing. Why were there no photos? Even if the professional shots were only available through a museum pay wall, there should at least be some pictures and selfies on social media, right? 

Report: Is the new statue cursed? 

It sounded like clickbait and looked like a blog, but no other article explained this specific phenomenon, so he read on.

The original photos from the exposition were corrupted within the day, before printing or digital upload was possible. This was odd, but technically possible. However, even photos taken in the Midgar Museum of Natural History, where the statues are currently on display, are immediately ruined. Whether it’s a flash from some ancient technology or some kind of spell, every photo taken results in a bright shine from the halo, the same effect as taking a picture of the sun. 

Halo?

We should probably explain what the statue looks like.

That would be very helpful.

The most interesting and popular statue, “Reunion”, depicts Sephiroth and his Sacrifice, and is based off of one of the final scenes of the legend. Sephiroth’s upper torso and face resemble a human’s, but his legs are six perfect angel wings, and his right arm is a deformed wing holding a sword. He has two halos emitting from his center like a throne, and his long hair flows up through them. Many observers state the beauty of the statue, especially Sephiroth himself. As for his sacrifice, he’s pulled up and impaled by the sword, straight through the heart. Yet his face shows no pain, almost like sleep or acceptance. “Reunion” is supposed to refer to the promise Sephiroth made with humanity, but there are too many mistranslations for us to count so we’ll spare you the details.

Wow. Did Cloud really manage to pick the only god on the planet who cannot be photographed? There goes the extra credit. Maybe he’d look for artwork later. He wanted to enjoy his last few hours of night before it was back to the grind. He bookmarked each open tab, then closed the browser before finally enjoying part of his night. 

* * *

He woke up to the same panic, the same strings, the same searing pain through his body, for four days. Something was wrong. He never had the same dream twice, but this was identical four times in a row. The same light, the same sky, the same clouds, the same sword. Sword? Yeah, probably a sword, through his chest. And now he had a headache. Again. Wonderful. He hadn’t touched the assignment since Monday. How was this still happening?

He should tell someone about this. Who, though? It was too soon to tell Tifa, and he didn’t want to seem like a wimp around her. Barret may actually hit him in the head in an attempt to knock some sense into him. Zack… Zack’s a good plan B, but it requires, absolutely requires, playful fighting that always ends with Cloud in a headlock. Maybe Aerith?

Yeah. Aerith was good for situations like this. She always knew what to say to make people feel better. Her minor in psychology completely reflected that, even though her major was environmental science. Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and texted her. 

Cloud: Hey Aerith, is there any way we can meet up tomorrow? No big deal, just need to destress. 

Then send. Oh Gods he hit send. What time was it?!

Sent: 4:38 AM.

She might actually kill him. He didn’t know how late it was. He didn’t mean to text this late. Oh gods she’s gonna be- His phone dinged. 

Aerith: Sure, Cloud! I usually eat lunch alone on Thursdays, so come to the Chocobo Student Center at 11. I’ll be there. 

Okay, maybe he wasn’t a complete jerk or he absolutely just woke her up and she was hiding it. 

Cloud: Works for me. Thanks, Aerith. I’ll see you there. 

* * * 

Even on a Thursday morning, these restaurants were buzzing with students, everyone looking for something to eat that wasn’t the slowly degrading dining hall food. The large windows gave an effect of calm by actually allowing students to see sunlight, unlike his usual study spot, which had just the right mix of orderly chaos from tables nearby but came at the cost of no natural light.

He scanned the square tables for his friend with the pink bow. She always wore that bow. She told him once it was because the bow reminded her of home. 

“Cloud!” He heard her yell from the exact opposite direction than he was looking. He turned and saw her waving at a table she had already begun eating at with a smile.

“Over here!”

Cloud waved awkwardly before approaching and dropping his bag in one of the open seats. “Hey. How’s it going?” 

“Pretty good for now,” She answered casually. “And you?”

He shrugged as he sat. “Hangin’ in there. You know how it is with STEM majors.”

She gave him a point in agreement. “You got me there.” Then she smacked a hand to the table in order, like a judge does during court. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong while I eat? And next time, try to text me a little later. A girl’s gotta sleep, you know.”

Cloud rubbed the back of his neck and avoided her eyes. She saw right through his message to the truth. “Sorry. I didn’t know what time it was.”

She kindly waved him off. “No worries. Just imagine what would happen if you texted Tifa that late.”

His cheeks heated as he considered what their friend would think. She’d probably assume it was a drunk text, march over, question him for the truth, and kick his ass if he was  really drunk.

She gave a soft giggle. “I’m kidding! But come on, tell me what happened.”

Cloud took a breath before dropping the hand from his neck so he could cross his arms lightly. Then he explained the project of the god, the lore he could remember, the weird photo corruption, and the repeated dream that haunted his mind.

“It happene four times, I feel stupid-”

“You’re not stupid for asking for help.” That was the first time she talked during his explanation. 

His eyes dropped straight to the table at her nearly scolding tone. 

“You can’t find any pictures of the statue?” Aerith asked for confirmation, and he nodded. “Why don’t you go to the museum? Maybe if you actually see it, you’ll stop worrying about it so much?” She tilted her head softly. “It’ll at least put a face to the name.” 

He pouted and mumbled under his breath, “Would that be better, or more nightmare fuel?”

She shrugged with a genuinely caring expression on her face. “There’s only one way to tell. And it’s only a few blocks away, so it won’t kill your day to go over there.”

He stared down and paused. “Is there any way I can convince you to come with me?”

To his dismay, she shook her head. “Sorry. Zack gets off work at five, and I’m stuck in classes until then.”

He sighed, but nodded. His classes got out at 4:50, but it wouldn’t be fair to Zack to take his girlfriend on a field trip just because of some weird dreams. “I understand. Thanks, Aerith.”

“Of course!” She smiled at him, attempting to raise his spirits a little. “If you need me, call me. And if for some reason I don’t answer, leave a message and text me.”

He nodded again before standing up and grabbing his bag. “Thank you. I will. But I hope I won’t need to.”

* * * 

Well, here he was, on the marble stairs, following Aerith’s advice. He stared and read the sign on above the stone columns of the massive structure. 

Migar Museum of Natural History

He inhaled. He exhaled. Let’s do this. He adjusted his jacket, then his bag, and marched up to the entrance. He bought a ticket, security checked his bag, and finally he was off into the building of unearthed knowledge. Next step: he needed to find the exhibit. It was a new discovery, so it might be closer to the entrance. Luckily, there were QR codes on nearly every corner, which were scannable to get a pdf of the map on phones. Convenient. 

Oh of course they put it in the back so you waste more time here. He shook his head to rid himself of the negative attitude, because it certainly wasn’t helping him through this. Cloud steeled himself once again and walked through the many decorated hallways, past dozens of displays and exhibits in search of his target. Though he would be lying if he claimed he was not distracted every once in a while by a particularly interesting piece, most of which were swords or various other bladed weapons. That tiny, childish part of him still cried out in joy whenever he saw a new or interesting design, too ingrained in him to keep his heart at a steady rate, the small excitement inevitable in his chest. 

Finally, he made it to the new exhibition hall, which was far less crowded than he expected. It was a Thursday, yes, but this was a completely new discovery, correct? At least fairly new? The ceilings in the hall were three stories high, and he saw a second level balcony wrapping around the room with bronze trim. As he looked higher, he noticed a circular skylight, simulating rays of the sun which cascaded down to the largest and most detailed statue in the exhibit. The light through the window was blinding, and his only option was to move closer to see the statue at all. 

He should not have come here.

The descriptions online were accurate, the piece was stunning. “Reunion” was stunning. The god occupied most of the marble in ways that didn’t seem physically possible, like a simple gust of wind would crack the piece in two. Yet it remained strong, fighting in majesty. But he couldn’t focus on the magnificent god, because the sacrifice the god was holding was Him.

The sacrifice. Was him. To a T. The body, the face, the hair, every detail visible on this statue was Him, like looking into a mirror. 

It’s me. It’s me.

His body froze as his eyes analyzed every detail of the statue subconsciously. Every feather, every engraving, every point, every cloth, every cloud, every body, every strand of hair. Something grabbed at his chest, some kind of glow consuming him, eerie and familiar, like being wrapped in a warm blanket of feathers, with a low underlining of dread. 

He ran, no, sprinted out of the museum, not caring for anyone he rushed passed or bumped against on his way out. It was him. It was him. It was him. Down to the sword through his chest. His breath defected to panting from the exertion. Was he having a panic attack? His whole body was tight, wound like a music box, like a timer ready to blow. He was barely thinking as he pushed the doors open and barreled down the stairs, his mind racing as fast as his body for three blocks, ignoring every bystander around him. 

Aerith. He has to call Aerith, she always helped, always. He stumbled as he whipped out his phone to slow himself down. She said to call her first, so he tapped the icon and held the phone to his ear. But only after the first ring did his body seize, and he instinctively canceled the call, his phone still held to his ear. 

Across the street, there was absolutely no mistaking it, was the god from the statue, who looked like a normal man to anyone else. Long silver hair in a ponytail that stopped at his mid thigh instead of defying gravity, and the exact same face and upper body. Though this man was dressed in a formal black suit, with a button down shirt with a little too buttons attached than socially acceptable, almost like a stereotypical businessman from a movie. He stared down at his watch and took a sip of his coffee as his purposeful walk continued through the sidewalk. 

“I don’t care what it takes,” Cloud heard him in perfect clarity despite their distance, as if he was only inches away, the deep voice weaving its way through him like cold water on a summer day. “I need that report on my desk by tomorrow. Understood? …Good.” Then this walking god tapped the center of his ear, probably to stop the call and move on. 

It took everything Cloud had not to scream. His panic surged back in full force, he sprinted all the way back to his apartment. This isn’t possible. This isn’t possible. This isn’t possible.

* * * 

Damn it, he’s asleep again, because he’s back in the clouds.

But this time was different. He knew it was a dream. He knew what was happening.

Though the sky looked exactly the same, and the star still appeared in the distance, it didn’t brighten as it got closer. Cloud could finally see what this star really was. 

It was the god. His six wings moved like the fins in perfect symmetry, yet his right arm was completely black, a deformed wing that grew on the side of his shoulder, the curve of the dark wing that held the sword in the statue. 

He came closer and closer and Closer. So close Cloud could see his eyes. Snake-like, mako blue. Mako?

“Are you real…?” Cloud questioned softly, barely audible in the ever swirling sky, the first time he ever dared to speak in this place.

It was silent for what felt like an eternity as the god seemed to scan him. 

“The time is now.”

The god spoke to him, and it was the same voice as the businessmen across the street..

But immediately after, he shot awake without a stabbing pain in his chest for the first time in four days, the warm feeling from the museum returned. Yet he was at his desk, and the only pain he felt was the crick in his neck from the terrible angle and lack of support. As his sight returned, he saw his open laptop with dozens of open tabs, every one of them about the god he just talked to. There were so many different translations and interpretations of this god’s legends that Cloud was ready to bash his head through a wall. Every theory he derived was too illogical to be true, even when compared to every attempted translation on the internet. He slowly glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen. 12:03 AM. He did not eat dinner. He had not showered yet. Maybe those two tasks should be accomplished before Cloud attempted more research or passed out again. 

First he grabbed his phone and opened it subconsciously. Oh no. The call he canceled with Aerith earlier went through, and his phone was still on silent for lectures. 

He missed three texts and two calls from Aerith, and one of each from Zack. 

He’s a terrible friend. And he’s surprised they didn’t break his door down looking for him. Should he respond? Aerith was probably asleep by now. He decided a text would be better and sent it to both of them, hoping neither would respond.

Cloud: Sorry about the call. I’m okay. I’ll try to explain tomorrow. 

He sighed as he sent the message,  then flipped his phone screen face down. Don’t look, he told himself. Just let them sleep.

 * * * 

No more pain in the morning. No more dreams in those clouds either. But it came at a cost. Cloud looked up at the sky through the window in his room, and he could see a white streak, like a comet, hovering in the sky. Though the tail burned and fizzled, it was stationary in the blue mass. The timing was too perfect. He checked his phone for any reports, unconsciously ignoring the messages from Zack and Aerith, but the news showed nothing of the phenomenon, anywhere. Taking a picture, he sent the scenario to his entire friend group through a group chat and asked if they saw anything.

They all claimed the sky was perfectly normal, and talked about how good the weather was looking today.

What the hell was going on?

. 

.

.

.

Thanks for reading!

Author’s Notes: Well, this is my second attempt at a full au. I hope you enjoyed it! I’m totally willing to continue it if people are interested. Let me know what you think and thank you for reading! (Check the tags for more notes)

Update: Will be continuing. Hope you're ready!

[angel-anoetic]

hellooo ! can i request a cc!tommy x gn!reader doing breathing exercises together ?? :D maybe reader is feeling a bit overwhelmed over something and tommy’s trying his best to help them ?? ty !!

yes!! sorry this took a bit, but i hope you like this! im finding a lot of people find tommy as a comfort streamer, and i love it. enjoy <3

Don't forget to like to save, and reblog to share!

p!cc!Tommy x gn!Reader - Breathe

genre: /plat, comfort fic, content creator

warnings: anxiety, stress, upset reader

masterlist <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The assignment on the screen had been holding you, hostage, for at least four hours now. Your brain knew what the goal was: finish the essay based on details from the book and submit it by 11:59 pm. Hell, your brain even knew what you wanted to write, you had planned it out for god's sake. But when it came time to apply it all into a condensed report, you just couldn't find the energy to put your fingers to the keyboard.

You looked at the clock on your table. 8:30 in red numbers blinked back to you. You let out a groan.

Your bedroom door opened and in walked Tommy, carrying his backpack and bag from the local petrol station.

"Y/n! Alright so I've got some crisps, a few different drinks, I wasn't sure what you'd like."

"Tom, that's great, but I've really got to finish this thing, and I don't have much time, so could you maybe just chill until I get it done?"

He nodded, "Of course. I finished that the day she assigned it, you want some help?"

"Um-I think, for now, I'm okay. I'll let you know." He nodded and laid down on your bed, scrolling through his phone.

You turned back to the screen and started to force your brain to put some words onto the screen.

Eventually, you looked at the clock again, only to find that two hours had passed, and you weren't even halfway done. Now it was starting to set in, the stress and feelings you'd been able to push out of the way.

The tears began to collect in your eyes as you lower your head into your arms.

"Y/n? Are you alright?" Tommy sat up, kneeling beside you.

"No, I'm-uh, I... god I'm so stressed Tommy! I'm tired, and I want to sleep and just get this assignment done."

Your breathing became ragged as you tried to regain some kind of calm.

Then you felt his hands gently grab your arms, forcing you softly to turn and face him. Now the tears had found themselves running down your face.

"Hey, you're alright. We've got time, and I can help you, I told you that. For now, though, calm yourself. Follow me."

You nodded as Tommy took in a deep breath, held it, then breathed out. "You too now."

You followed, and after doing it two or three times the tightening in your chest seemed to disperse away, and the tears themselves stopped arriving.

"Feel better?"

"Yes. Thank you so much, Tommy."

"No problem. Now can I help with your work?"

"Be my guest."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[sho0tmcmahon]

i forgot i had to submit my revised essay by 11:59 pm tonight

[thehorrortree]

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For a more in depth explanation of the reasoning behind this policy, please click here. Basic Formatting: •12 pt Times New Roman or comparable font •Double spaced (poetry does not need to be double spaced) •Indent paragraphs, no extra space after paragraphs (also not relevant for poetry) •Please number your pages •.doc, .docx, or .pdf for text files •.jpg or .png 300+ DPI for image files Word Counts & Pay Rates: Solarpunk Magazine pays professional market rates for fiction as defined by SFWA. Dollar amounts reflect the United States dollar (USD). Our rates are as follows: Fiction: 1500-7500 words ($.08 per word, $100 minimum) Poetry: up to 5 poems or 5 pages of poems, whichever is shorter. ($40 per poem) Nonfiction: 1000-2000 words ($75 per essay or article) Cover Art: $100 for reprints, $200 for original unpublished Interior Art: $50 for reprints, $100 for original unpublished If your submission is accepted, a copy of our publishing contract will be emailed to you to read, sign, and return. Go To Moksha Full Submission Guidelines All submissions are done via Moksha. Any submissions received via email will be deleted without response. Additional guidelines for each specific submission category are available below. For fiction and nonfiction, please format your submission document as follows: double-spaced 12pt Times New Roman font indented paragraphs no extra space after paragraphs A cover letter is not required. However, we appreciate a brief paragraph telling us a little bit about yourself like where you’re from and why you love solarpunk. There is no need to include a third person bio. We will collect that and other needed info if your submission is accepted for publication. Responding to all submissions is important to us, and we do our best to respond in a timely manner. However, we receive a very large number of submissions. So if you have not received a response within 60 days of submitting, then please feel free to inquire by sending an email to the appropriate department address found at solarpunkmagazine.com/contact. Simultaneous submissions are okay. Please let us know immediately if your submission gets accepted elsewhere before you hear from us. We only accept submissions of original, unpublished work. We do not accept unsolicited reprints. Exceptions: Visual Art: We do accept art reprints. Art is considered a reprint if it has been published anywhere online including but not limited to Patreon, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Art Station, Deviant Art, personal or artist websites, etc. Translations: We accept translated works that have been previously published in languages other than English. If accepted, translated stories that have never appeared before in English will be paid $.08 per word. We do not accept submissions of work in languages other than English at this time, though we hope to in the future. We do not accept multiple submissions within a single category. However, you may enter one submission in each available category (fiction, poetry, art, and nonfiction) per open submission period. If you are submitting work in more than one category (fiction, poetry, nonfiction or art), please use each of the separate submission portals for your submission in each category. We generally don’t provide feedback on submissions. We’d love to, but we get so many submissions that it’s just not possible. Please include the following with your submission:​​​ Attach your stories, articles, or poems in .doc, .docx. or .pdf format.Use .png or .jpeg attachments for visual art with a DPI of 300 or higher.We love to amplify voices from marginalized communities that are most impacted by climate change and other global problems. In fact, it’s one of the key characteristics of solarpunk. If you are part of such a community then we strongly encourage you not only to submit your work, but also to include one or more of the following tags with your submission as part of your cover letter:

#ownvoices#indigenous#globalsouth#bipoc#lgbtqia#actuallyautistic#neurodivergent#disabled#translation We realize there are many other tags that could be included, but we have to stop at some point or the list would be dozens of pages long. If you are unsure of which tag(s) you should use, feel free to inquire at info@solarpunkmagazine.com. Themed issue submission windows: Solarpunk Myths – What myths will be important to communities in solarpunk futures? What function and role will those myths play in people’s individual lives and in community life? Please include #SolarpunkMyths in your submission cover letter. Colorful Roots – Our second all BIPOC issue will publish in July 2023, and will have a special submission window to be announced soon. *Please include #ColorfulRoots in your submission cover letter. If we accept your work, we ask that you not publish it elsewhere or post it online prior to or within six months after publication in Solarpunk Magazine. For the rights we are asking for and other conditions, please see our publishing contract. We are a professional rate paying market as defined by the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA). Our current rates are: $.08 per word for fiction ($100 minimum) $40 per poem $75 for for nonfiction $100 for reprint cover art, $200 for original unpublished cover art $50 for reprint interior art, $100 for original unpublished interior art Payments are made via PayPal. If you live in an area where PayPal is not available, then we will work with you to make other arrangements. We strive to ensure that our magazine and website is a space where everyone in our reading and broader communities feels welcome and safe. In that spirit we strictly enforce the following content guidelines: We also do not accept work that: is discriminatory or derogatory against communities that are and have historically been marginalized disparages sex workers, or that glorifies or sexualizes violence against them glorifies or sexualizes violence against people of marginalized communities reduces people from marginalized communities to objects or otherwise dehumanizes them. glorifies or sexualizes violence against children contains graphic abuse of animals We understand that stories and art may include elements of these things in service of critiquing present day society. But there is what we believe to be a clear difference between these elements being present in a work and work glorifying or advocating for these things. Solarpunk Magazine reserves the right to place content warning notices on any work that we accept for publishing if we feel it is warranted in order to ensure our magazine is a welcoming and safe space for all our readers. We will work with artists and authors as needed to determine the appropriate and correct content warnings, if any. If you are not okay with this, then we respect that and encourage you to submit work that won’t require content warnings. If your submission is accepted, a copy of our publishing contract will be emailed to you to read, sign, and return. Fiction Our fiction editors are interested in works that stir readers with themes of defiance, change, and achievement. This effect isn’t likely to come via high concept utopias alone, but rather, from vibrant characters whose struggles affect the reader. Speculative elements should be apparent but not dominating; our disbelief suspended not by necessity, but immersion. Any genre of science fiction, interstitial fiction, magic realism, or fantasy has potential as a solarpunk forum—we welcome robots and elves with equal excitement. Basics: 1500-7500 words Please use standard manuscript formatting (12 pt Times New Roman or similar font, double spacing, 1″ margins, page number at the top of each page, indented paragraphs, no extra space between paragraphs). Poetry Send up to 5 poems or 5 pages of poems, whichever is shorter. Prose poetry is fine, but if you are in doubt, submit it as fiction.

If possible, please remove all identifying information (your name, email address, etc.) from your submission file. Your submission won’t be rejected if your manuscript is not anonymous but we prefer to form our initial impressions on the work alone. What our poetry editor, J.D. Likes: Above all else, I value style and form, no matter which kind you choose. There needs to be a certain level of polish to the poetry you submit to us. Your ideas may be interesting, revelatory even, but if the quality isn’t there, then I’m afraid it’s not for me. Also, don’t worry about submitting poetry that rhymes, though I do adore that kind of poetry, and it’s always a delight to read a masterful modern one. Some classic speculative poems I enjoy: Echoes from the Outer Dark by Robert E. Howard Goblin Fruit by Christina Rossetti Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came by Robert Browning Because I could not conquer death by Emily Dickinson Recent speculative poetry I’ve enjoyed: Rochambeau by Jessica Lévai Elegy for a Poet by Herb Kauderer Field Guide To The Invasive Species of Minnestoa by Amelia Gorman Nonfiction For non-fiction submissions, we’re interested in reviews, interviews, reports, articles, essays, and general audience-aimed overviews of academic papers relevant to solarpunk. Tell us about some cool science or technology that’s going to help us rewild the world, remove carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, or clean up our agricultural act. Weave us the stories of real people who are up to amazing things or of real projects that are underway to help create the world we want to live in. Give us a critical review (of a work, a set of works, or a topic) that rises high enough for a view of the forest as well as the trees. Stake an interesting claim and then convince us that you’re onto something. The possibilities are broad. Interesting is important. Thought-provoking is encouraged. So is keeping it kind. And, again, relevance to solarpunk is key. Some basics: 1- Please don’t send us your solarpunk manifesto or ‘What is Solarpunk’ article. We aren’t interested in publishing those at this time. 2- Non-fiction submissions should be 1000-2000 words long, clearly written, and accessible to general readers. Jargon, when it is necessary at all, should be clearly defined in the text or in footnotes. 3- We prefer to read things in standard manuscript format (double spacing, 1″ margins, page number at the top of each page). Footnotes should be used sparingly, endnotes not at all. Hyperlinks are great and a handful of references for further reading are fine, but not necessary. These are not meant to be academic publications! 4- Any accompanying photos, figures, or other graphics should be the digital equivalent of camera-ready and when the manuscript author does not own the rights to the image, it is the author’s responsibility to secure permission for the publication of the image(s), with any costs to be borne by the author. 5- Submissions should be in English, but either British, Canadian, or American spellings are okay, so long as the manuscript sticks to one style or the other. Please note that our unlike our other departments, nonfiction is always open for submissions. Thanks and good luck! Art We accept art submissions for both cover art and interior magazine art. We are only interested in art that qualifies as solarpunk. If you think your work qualifies, but are unsure, submit and we’ll review your work. We are not accepting submissions of AI generated art. To be considered for cover art, work must be portrait orientation, 8.5×11 inches or a larger equivalent, and at least 300 DPI. For interior art, we also want at least 300 DPI, but orientation and size are open. We prefer work with color, but we do also accept B&W submissions. We’re particularly interested in solarpunk art that features living beings, both human and nonhuman, rather than just architecture and technology scenes. To have your art considered by our art team, please use the Art Submissions Portal to submit a link to your solarpunk art portfolio.

Your portfolio folder should indicate which works are reprints, and which are unpublished. Via: Solar Punk Magazine.