#urban fantasy roman

[amaliazeichnerin]

Mein Rezensionsexemplar von "HAEXED - Von magischen Hacktivisten und teuflischen Influencerinnen: Ein moderner, queerer Urban Fantasyroman" von Murphy Malone ist heute eingetroffen und ich bin schockverliebt in die Optik und die schöne Widmung.😍 Hier im Reel (1,5 Minuten, mit Musik) blättere ich durch das Buch. Schaut doch mal mit mir rein.😊 Das Buch erscheint am 17. September 2024 im Verlag Novel Arc. Die Verlagsseite des Buches: https://www.novelarc.de/buch/haexed-von-magischen-hacktivisten-und-teuflischen-influencerinnen-ein-moderner-queerer-urban

[thenightfolknetwork]

As a person of evident good judgement, I'm sure you're familiar with the works of the late, great Sir Terry Pratchett. He has the rare skill of mixing philosophy and politics into his comedy, it's quite delightful.

One such example is in his novel 'Going Postal'. He introduces the idea that, “A man’s not dead while his name is still spoken.” It's a beautiful sentiment. But I must confess, some of the shine has worn off it for me in recent years.

I'll cut to the chase: I died of typhoid fever in 49CE. And I mean died. I was done and gone and passed, leaving no more ripples on the surface of the world than any other Joe Nobody. My name had been long forgotten, the stone marking my grave long since worn away.

And then, to my surprise, I returned.

It started slowly, a gradual stirring of awareness. Then, in a great crashing wave, I arrived – full and real and vibrant, as alive as I had been before my sickness.

I've since learnt that there was an archaeological dig near my old home a few years ago. They discovered the stone, deciphered it despite the wear. My name returned to the world - and I returned with it.

At first I was just being mentioned in academic circles, cited here and there. Nothing dramatic.

But then hen, a writer named a character after me in a miniseries about Roman Britain. My name was on millions of lips - apparently I'm something of a fan favourite.

But I've seen the programme and it's all wrong! The character is nothing like me, for starters. And the life they've painted… Well, it is a good effort, I suppose. But it is not my life.

This is to say nothing of the fan interpretation. They barely seem to care about the text of the show at all! They extrapolate wildly, especially about my relationship with a certain centurion. The two of us share barely more than a minute or two of screen time!

I don't mind being back, per se. I enjoyed being alive, and I'm enjoying being back - especially the chance to catch up on my reading.

How can I correct the people's misinterpretations of me and my life? Or should I just let it go and enjoy my resurgence - however long it might last?

First of all, reader, congratulations on returning to this plane of existence. Unexpected as this return might be, I'm glad you're still finding ways to enjoy this new lease on… not life, exactly, but something rather like it.

I can well imagine how frustrating it might be to see people attaching your name and identity to an otherwise fictional character. But I think emphasising that difference is the first step in coming to terms with the situation.

This writer has shown a remarkable commitment to authenticity by choosing the name of a real Roman Briton to use in their screenplay. But seeking to create authentic fiction is a very different ambition than seeking to create a fully accurate representation of past events and the people who lived them.

I wish I could tell you that the viewers of this programme will understand this difference. Many will, but it is an unfortunate truth that people often take historical dramas at face value and may not fully appreciate just how much of what they see has been at most tenuously inspired by historical research, and more likely invented whole cloth by the writers themselves.

But this is a misinterpretation of a television programme, not of you. These viewers are engaging with a piece of fiction, not with you as a real, historical person. This is especially true of those viewers who “extrapolate wildly” about the relationships between fictional character. They aren't misinterpreting you – they're creating their own fictions, inspired by the fiction they've consumed.

With that said, many fans of historical fiction are also interested in actual historical research. If you really want to educate people about life in Roman Britain, the fans of this programme might be a particularly receptive audience. You could try posting on social media about your experiences, using the events in the programme as a jumping off point for your discussion of real history.

Do tread carefully, though. You need to keep a clear distinction between yourself as a real, historical figure and the character who bears your name. You aren't trying to “correct” the television programme or criticise its portrayal, but rather offering your reflections as additional insights for anyone who might be interested.

Please remember though, you are under no obligation to engage with this fan community at all. I see no reason at all why you can't simply leave them to their extrapolations, and concentrate on enjoying yourself for as long as you're with us.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[preservationofnormalcy]

ITEM FILE #2213

ITEM: "Glycon's Grove"

ITEM HISTORY: Broadcast from 1987-1996, Glycon's Grove was a children's puppet show that debuted on public television stations accessible in Nebraska, Kansas, Missouri, and Iowa. After three episodes, the anomalous properties of the show were confirmed, and access to public television wavelengths was restricted. An agreement with Glycon's Grove production team (Oddy See) and the Office was reached wherein Oddy See would receive funding and distribution through OPN-approved channels, while all scripts, dialogue, and visuals were sent to the Parafiction Department for approval and study. After a brief interruption, Glycon's Grove was then broadcast nationwide (and in Canada and Mexico through agreement with RCOE and SER) on thaumic wavelengths decryptable by "analog augury"-compatible television sets, cable TV packages catering to the extranormal community, and distributed via VHS consumer hardware.

Glycon's Grove centered around the adventures of the titular Glycon, referred to as a "snake" despite his crude sock-puppet appearance. Glycon, often the energetic but patient voice of reason, would counsel his friends during common children's show storylines of the time, teaching lessons such as manners, the importance of reading and creativity, and honesty. The idea of snakes as "important, friendly creatures" was a common recurring topic. The show took place in the Grove of Olympus, with the rest of the cast being more typically-constructed puppets of a minotaur, hydra, cyclops, aquatic creatures, and in later seasons, a large "Cerebus" requiring multiple puppeteers to operate. Every few episodes, one of "the gods" (played by one of the human puppeteers in costume) would enter the Grove and provide the cast with that episode's challenge or conundrum. "Dio" was portrayed by actor Kenneth Young as a "surfer dude" always holding a family-friendly can of grape soda. "Heff" (Baker) often cajoled the cast into trying his new inventions, while "Arty" (Brown) asked for help in locating her lost pets.

Numerous interviews and investigations conducted by the Office concluded that while each other puppet in the cast (a list in the image above) was credited to and clearly played and voiced by a human puppeteer, Glycon's puppeteer, if they existed, was never credited or seen at any point. When interviewed, other members of Oddy See insisted that Glycon was "just Glycon" and did not acknowledge any puppeteer. During studio tours, Glycon was observed to move around the studio in ways that would be challenging for a human-puppeted character, EG, in one room and suddenly another, manifesting on multiple parts of a sound stage in rapid succession, always behind a barrier that could have reasonably obscured a human puppeteer from any Office observer. Attempts to isolate all visual angles in a given room often failed, resulting in Glycon appearing from a loose ceiling panel or other improbable locations.

Glycon "himself" always agreed to interviews, providing they could be done on Oddy See studio property, citing his "bum leg" as an inability to leave the property. He was at once forthcoming and evasive, simply repeating that he was "a puppet" when asked about his state, and that he "needed a new gig" as one of the reasons he started Glycon's Grove. Interviewers commonly reported Glycon as "charming" or "funny".

Parafictional research into Glycon's Grove and similarities to a mytho-folkloric figure of the same name are ongoing to this day.

[lou-wilham]

Sometimes a family is . . .

The crew of Sanctuary of the Lost are always a lot of fun to write, and not just because they're all so different. But also because they all work together so well.

BLURB:

Of Love & Ruin is the first book in a LGBTQ+ urban fantasy novel for fans of Hailey Turner's Soulbound series, and Ashley Shuttleworth's Hollow Star Saga.

Sometimes, love comes along at exactly the wrong time.

For over a hundred years, life for Ander and Mab has been a series of parties and adventures spanning the world over. Once the two finally decide to settle in Miami to open a nightclub, the last thing Ander expects is for the love spell he cast over a century ago to come back and bite him. The Fates seem to have a sense of humor when they lead Maximus Schields, son of Ander’s nemesis, through the club doors. Max, who is beautiful. Sweet. Kind. And part of an ongoing investigation concerning missing young women that leads the Sanctum directly to Ander.

As the tangled web of Miami’s underground draws tighter, Ander will be forced to face demons from his past in order to protect what he cares for most. Will Max and the rest of the Schields family task force find the true culprit and prove Ander’s innocence? Or is he forever destined to be shackled by the one he loves?

Grab the series

[somethingcoolhopefully]

Yes. Ancient history friends - read this. It’s a book about the crazy shit in the Roman Republic… if the republic was today. And it’s a political train wreck ✨

[tss-grimmverse]

Chapter 1: Blackthorn

enter through the alleyway past the invisible door and all the way down the escher staircase in the underworld it’s not the same as before

Six months later

Stetson was small for a university. “Intimate”, the brochure called it. Roman always assumed that Virgil, had it been up to him, would have preferred a sprawling campus where his dark, brooding, emo self could get comfortably lost in a sea of students. But Logan lived in DeLand, and Logan had been Virgil’s only option for staying hidden from his former faery master, Deceit.

So, after Deceit was dead and Virgil decided to finish his art degree after all, he’d come back to the one place he already knew. He was familiar with Stetson’s campus, on good terms with his teachers, and friendly with the local solitaries.

Roman understood that. He didn’t have to like it.

He cut the engine on his motorcycle and yanked off his helmet, flicking back sweat-damp hair. The campus seemed unusually empty; most students had probably gone home for spring break already. His bike was one of only five vehicles left in the University Hall parking lot.

Roman hung the helmet from the handlebars, stretched his arms, worked out the stiffness from his legs. Maybe biking all the way from Pennsylvania wasn't such a great idea. He told himself he'd ridden the bike so he could come and go on his own terms...but truthfully, he could have taken a bus just as easily. He’d brought the bike to show off, to possibly persuade Virgil to take a ride with him while he was here…

But he was getting ahead of himself, as usual.

Roman eyed Virgil’s dormitory in the deepening twilight, scrubbing a hand through his hair again.

Maybe I should find a motel room first. He fished his phone out and slung his backpack over his back. Just so he doesn't feel like he has to offer his space. Just so it's not awkward. 

He could use a walk after all that travel, anyway.

By the time he crossed the dark campus, he'd successfully booked a room. His finger then hovered over Virgil's number. A warning would be polite, especially when it came to Mr. Doesn't Like Surprises. Roman had initially come unannounced so Virgil couldn't talk him out of it, but Roman also didn't want to ruin the progress they'd made since Logan's and Patton's engagement party.

He scuffed his foot as he walked, thoughts swirling like gnats in the streetlights.

He wanted to believe earning that art degree was the only reason Virgil left Philly and returned to a state he admittedly hated, to the one middle-of-nowhere town where a certain former crush happened to live. Sure, Virgil transferring schools in his junior year would have been a needless headache. He’d elected to live in the dorms instead of moving back into Logan’s and Patton’s apartment. He called Roman nearly every week, keeping him updated, claiming he’d been too busy to see anyone except classmates and coworkers.

At the very least, Roman knew Virgil believed his own words. And if I'm not over Virgil, after all this time, he thought bitterly. What right do I have to complain if he’s not completely over Logan?

“Changeling,” a voice murmured in wet-sounding Faery.

Roman realized his wandering had carried him to the fountain at the center of Stetson’s campus, lit up against the growing darkness. A long-limbed naiad lounged on the edge, watching him. She wore black clothes and fishnets like an ordinary human, but Roman’s changeling eyes picked out her waterfall of dripping white hair, bluish skin, and solid black Fae eyes.

Virgil had never mentioned any solitaries around the Stetson fountain. Roman casually brought his backpack around, unzipped it, and curled a hand around his sword hilt.

“What do you want?” he asked.

The naiad arched back, letting her hair spill into the water, where it undulated in the current like pale snakes. “You won’t use that.” She gestured languidly at the bag.

Roman gripped the sword harder. “Maybe I would. You don’t know.”

“Your steel has spilled our blood, but in moons long past. I can smell the difference. You brandish it now for bluster.” She sat up and grinned, showing a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth. “You do not frighten me.”

Fucking enigmatic solitaries. He hated the way they saw straight through any human lie, no matter how carefully constructed. What did it say about him, that she could tell he hadn’t had the stomach to hunt their kind for months? Roman reshouldered his bag and walked on, determined to ignore her.

“Beware pixie territory,” the naiad added as he passed.

Roman stopped but did not turn. “What?”

“Summer in the air. Death in the water.” She grinned again as he turned, eyes narrowed. “Watch your words.”

“What in the Arcadian hell are you talking about?” Roman snapped, fighting a chill.

 But the naiad slid into the fountain with an eerie lack of splash and lay underwater, ignoring him, and Roman knew he’d get no more from her. He scoffed and trudged toward the edge of campus.

Virgil maintained that the solitaries on Stetson’s campus generally liked humans—which, in faery terms, meant the pranksters were mostly harmless and the rest kept to themselves. Plus, solitaries didn’t normally pop out of the metaphorical woodwork and talk to Smile hunters, even lapsed ones.

“Summer in the air. Death in the water. Watch your words.”

She’d meant to warn him.

Pixie territory. The hair on his neck lifted. Could she mean Painter’s Pond?

He bit his lip. This sounded like a hunt.

He considered going back to Virgil’s dorm first…but Virgil wasn’t Smile, and Virgil didn’t know he was here yet. Roman didn’t want their first reunion in months marred by faery drama. No, he would investigate the park and take care of the problem liked the damned hunter he was supposed to be.

Roman walked the few blocks to Painter’s Pond, slowing as he approached, his heart heavy with memories. Logan used to bring Virgil and Roman out here with Nic, and after Patton entered the picture, it became the four of them. He remembered chasing the dog and the pixies, Virgil laughing from the sidelines—when they weren't at each other’s throats. He could almost hear Virgil's low, gravelly voice saying "idiot," could picture him shaking his head with that maddening half-smile. 

It occurred to him that Virgil might not necessarily be in his dorm; he could be at work, out prowling around downtown, or—Roman's heart skipped at the thought—right here on these familiar paths somewhere. Virgil's relationship with this park might be complicated, but surely he still visited his pixie friends from time to time.

Roman took a step onto the grass; his skin instantly prickled. The air felt…wrong, like the trembly hesitance he got before touching a staticky doorknob.

Oh, hell. That naiad did know something.

Roman had been a Smile hunter long enough to never ignore his gut. Faery magic was both insidious and nebulous; it wanted you to dismiss it as nothing, as imagination, as too much stress or not enough sleep. Arguably the most important lesson in faery hunting was learning to ignore that "reasonable" voice in your head.

The park looked empty, streetlamps spilling orange light in pools along the paths. But at the end of the park's low wall, one dark streetlight made a cradle of blackness, bordered by clusters of tiny, bone-white shrooms. A Court circle. Ambient streetlight glimmered off the white, white mushroom caps, especially when he looked out of the corner of his eye.

Roman stalked to the near end of the wall and ducked behind, letting his backpack slide off his shoulders. He opened the main flap and eased out his sword and scabbard, making as little noise as possible. He didn't draw it, yet—he didn't know what he was facing—but he did tie the scabbard to his belt loops.

He then drew in a careful breath and focused inward.

Roman’s old master, who only permitted his changelings to call him Sir, used to hang beaded curtains around his cave lair: intricate patterns picked out in thousands of minuscule beads, strings of fist-sized glass balls that bruised when one crashed into them at a run. Their clacking featured prominently in Roman’s nightmares; some of his earliest memories involved running and putting curtain after curtain between himself and his master’s cruel experiments. That Unseelie had fancied himself a scientist…if careful butchery and elaborate torture could be considered science. And Roman happened to develop the one power guaranteed to drive such a master to unhinged fury: luck.

Roman learned to slip through those beaded strings like a ghost, disturbing them as little as possible so they wouldn’t clack and betray his passage. He often wondered if that stealthy sidestep he’d cultivated led to him gaining the ability to touch something as ephemeral as possibility. Drawing on his power felt like running through Sir’s lair, each bead in each curtain representing an outcome. Every decision, every movement, even his thoughts parted the strands in different ways. The trick to manipulating luck, he discovered, was to find the beads you wanted while not disturbing the rest.

Know where you’re going.

Sidestep.

I need to know what is going on, he chanted silently.

Keep the rest quiet.

I need to see and to not be noticed by unfriendly eyes.

Pass through.

I need to know. 

The back of his neck tingled, hairs rising as the familiar warm sensation of possibility slid glassily over his skin.

“What are you doing here?” a voice chimed in his ear.

Roman startled and found himself face-to-face with a soot-skinned, flame-haired pixie, whose tiny eyes were round o’s of surprise. She landed primly on the hand he instinctively raised.

“Tourmaline?” he hissed. That was fast.

“I am not displeased to see you, Roman Princey,” she said. “But it has been some time.”

Roman hid a cringe. He knew she only called him Princey because Virgil did, but now that particular nickname reminded him a little too much of Johnny Prince.

“I got a weird warning from a weird naiad and came to investigate.” he said, gesturing at the mushrooms. “What’s with the Court ring? I thought DeLand was still unclaimed.”

Tourmaline’s face grew pinched. She had always been more polite and serious than Virgil’s favorites, Wren and Wrassey. Roman suspected that was why Logan preferred her company.

“I believe this is the work of a single Court Fae working alone, though I have not seen them. The ring grew several days ago, and of more concern, many of my clan have since gone missing.” Her chiming voice dropped to a soft echo of itself. “I cannot penetrate the mushroom barrier myself, but I suspect that is where my sisters are.”

Well, that didn’t sound good at all.

“Can I help?” Roman asked.

She cast him an appraising look, her gaze lingering on his sheathed sword. “Your appearance is auspiciously well-timed.”

“You know me,” he said with a wink.

“It so happens that my purpose in coming to the wall tonight was to seek the help of…ah.”

Her wings carried her over Roman’s head, and she buzzed hard enough for them to glow like a beacon. Roman followed the line of her gaze.

Oh, luck.

Logan Ursae, his straight-backed posture unmistakable even in the low light, crossed the grassy park and made a beeline for Tourmaline’s glowing body. Oddly, neither Patton nor Nicodemus were with him. The half-faery slowed as he noticed Roman crouched in the shadows.

“S’up, Nerdy Wolverine?” Roman shot him a jaunty salute.

Logan opened his mouth, shut it again, and sighed.

“In the interest of saving time, I will not ask the obvious question,” he said in his low, resonant voice. “Clearly your luck has carried you along as it usually does.”

“Nice to see you, too.” Roman rolled his eyes.

Just as well I hadn’t called Virgil yet.

Logan knelt, adjusting his glasses and peering over the wall. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked on his teeth.

“It’s still here?” he said to Tourmaline.

“You don’t sound surprised to see a Court ring in your stargazing park,” Roman commented.

“I have been monitoring it for several days now.” Logan scowled. “Normally, I would leave such things alone, as I try to stay clear of Court matters. But, if I have interpreted your message correctly”—he glanced at the hovering pixie— “Wren and Wrassey are now among your missing kin?”

Tourmaline nodded.

Roman’s heart sank; she’d meant “sisters” literally. “Does Virgil know? Those are his friends. Has he been here to see the ring?”

“I do not know.” Logan’s voice gave nothing away. “I have not seen him since he arrived in DeLand.”

Good, Roman’s mind supplied nastily, prompting a pang of guilt. “What are we gonna do?”

“I meant to attempt a crossing tonight,” Logan said. “Tourmaline, am I correct in assuming solitary Fae are still barred?

The pixie settled onto Logan’s shoulder and nodded.

“And any human would just walk from one side to the other like it wasn’t even there,” Roman added.

“You know how Court-laid rings work.” Logan shot Roman a contemplative look.

“May I remind you that I’m a Smile hunter, Pain in the Nexus Instrument?” Roman snarked, grinning when Logan pulled a confused face. “Earthside Courts love their little magical pockets where they can lure in unsuspecting humans, or do their dirty work unobserved.”

“Or merely live their lives, safe from humans and Arcadian kin alike,” Logan added with a frown.

Roman waved that off. “Whatever the reason, it never occurs to them that a barrier like this”—he gestured at the mushroom ring—“designed to be inaccessible to Fae and invisible to humans, might still be vulnerable to us. Most of the time, Smile changelings can slip right in.” He stood and drew his sword in one swift motion. “Which is what I’m gonna do right now.”

Blackthorn: boundaries

[sdobntheseries]

The ups and downs are unreal…come check out chapter 6,7&8 of my new series….also listen to the playlist I put together for the series

Sweet Dreams

Or

Beautiful Nightmares

[thereadingcafe]

[jolenes-book-journey]

CL Roman Clay County Florida Author

Interview Questions What’s your favorite and least favorite part of publishing? My favorite part is plotting the stories and then bringing them to life. There is so much scope and joy in the writing process for me. My least favorite part is marketing, but without it, the books don’t get discovered, so I do my best. How important was professional editing to your book’s development? A professional…

[amaliazeichnerin]

Buchcover Reveal „A Kind of Demon“ von Simon Rhys Beck, einen Urban Fantasy Roman, durfte ich testlesen und auch wenn das nicht die finale Fassung ist, kann ich schon mal so viel sagen: Ich konnte dieses Manuskript kaum aus der Hand legen, was mir mittlerweile nicht mehr so oft mit Büchern passiert. Ich mag die beiden Hauptfiguren, einen Dämon und einen Engel, sehr. Ihre Abenteuer lasen sich für mich wie eine emotionale Achterbahnfahrt. Ein sehr empfehlenswertes Buch. 🤩Die Veröffentlichung ist für den März geplant, zur Leipziger Buchmesse. Der Roman erscheint im Dead Soft Verlag. Das Buchcoverdesign ist von DaylinArt.

[whereserpentswalk]

Slowly you start seeing more and more dimensions. More and more places you could have never imagined before.

You've ended up going into the messaging networks of wizards in a dimension where wizards are a thing using your computer. It's technically an internet but entirely magical. The world they're in seems so diffrent, but they use the technology for the same things sometimes, you've seen students at magical universities speaking with the same depressed humor overworked students in your world have, and elder wizards send eachother images of their families doing cute things. And magic isn't strange to any of them at all.

You've seen worlds where things got bad but where humanity lived on. Where the type of apocalypse civilization doesn't come back from happened, and where people are still living their lives. There's a world that was once much more advanced then yourse, but something happened to fill the universe with nightmarish creatures, and the last humans are surviving mostly in space ships and space stations, and a few megacities they could fortify, and even then most of them are slowly replacing parts of their bodies with machines to survive. But still humans are alive, and you can see them talking to eachother, and making art, and worrying about their jobs and their local politics, because you can't spend your entire life thinking about how horrible the world is. You've seen someone in that world post about a fantasy series she's obsessed with, published online from a fortress city too far for her to ever likely see. And you’ve seen someone living on a distant space station in that world, post pictures of his wife and his cat and his newborn son. And you’ve listened to the music someone made while alone on a tiny spaceship in that world, and it's lovely music.

And sometimes worlds are diffrent from yourse in a way that makes them the same. There's a world where humans are all bigoically sexless, having been forced to loose primary and secondary sex characteristics, and reproduce differently. But they still have gender, and gender roles, and wierd ideas about sexuality even though their sex is barely what you would consider sex. And it feels like they should have given it up. And when you posted a picture of a human from your world there, they said it was fake because humans lost bodies like that before color pictures, and there's something insecure about the way they reacted. And it seems silly that's there's people there still arguing about gender, or falling into the same toxic rabbit holes as your world. But there's still things about that world that make you feel a bit better about it, there's still a girl there excited to show off her makeup and dresses, happy that she is a girl despite everything. And there's still a couple embracing, in an act they can find comfort in calling sex, and that means something hopefully.

And it's also weird to see worlds where things are better. Weird to see that certain things that could have made your world better. There's a world where Christianity never became a religion, where the west still largely worships the Roman gods. There's no queerphobia in that world, antisemitism and colonialism don't even exist in the same way. This world's version of Joan of Arc wasn't burnt at the stake, there was no church to burn her, she lived into her fifties. This world's Oscar Wilde didn't die alone, he never even had to hide his sexuality. There are same sex couples living their lives in that world without ever knowing what queerphobia is. And it makes you angry for some reason, that that pain isn't inevitable, that the west wasn't doomed to become what it did. You can never go there, can never see that peace and freedom people who you now can talk to have. It makes you sad in a way you didn't know you could be sad.

You visited an internet that had just been invented once. An internet that began in the late 2010s instead of the late 90s. They had most of the things that the early internet had, just decades later. You wondered if the same things that happened to your world's internet would happen there. You went to a message board debating the future of the internet and gave an answer taken from knowledge of your world. You even posted a warning on a popular site, though few listened, and you couldn't say you were from another world. Nobody would believe you. You wished you could have warned them better.

And there's freinds you have now. Freinds that you talk to from other dimensions that you'll never be able to meet, never touch. There's something that about that, though something joyful. There's a person who you've messaged with for hours, living in a city that doesn't exist in your world, in a country that doesn't exist in your world, and you can send eachother pictures of places you'll never be, because they're one of the only people who knows you're interdimensional, and see eachothers worlds. There's a few freinds who know now, there's someone from that asexual world who you've been texting with for months now, who you slowly helped get a job. There's a being from that robot world, who you've been working on an comic project with, and you can never credit eachother, even if you both pubish it in your worlds, you just never can, but you can still talk and that means something. One of the wizards tried to teach you spells, it didn't work in your world, but you loved talking. And 99.9% of people in all of these worlds will never know the other worlds exist, but in means something that that 0.0.0.1 percent does.

You talked to someone from a world where employers have much more power over their employees bodies. You're good freinds with her, even though you never told her you were from another world. Her employer put her on pills that completely chemically castrate her, and make her want to eat much less. She started off talking about it so casually, started off saying she was ok with it, not wanting anyone she knew to be concerned for her, not wanting to be asked if she's ok. Eventually she trusted you enough, from talking about other things, so that she admitted to you that she feels violated, that she misses seeing a plate of food and wanting to eat it, that she misses seeing someone cute and wanting to sleep with them. You were the one who planted the idea of a workers strike in her head, you told her the concept, and her workplace had one, the first strike to ever happen in her world.

You hope you've done good to the world's you communicate with. Even if it's just to a small slice of them.

You have a computer that can access the internet of any dimension. You don't have the ability to physically go places, just to observe them and interact with them through this one machine.

Sometimes you'll just do it for fun. Seeing other timeline's versions of sites and the content that's created there. Getting to see work from artists if they hadn't sold out or moved on. Or getting to see what YouTube is like in a world where it never become corpratized. Or get to go on Vine in a world where vine exists in 2024. You've read writing from Shakespeare if he had been sent to the new world, seen stories from Lovecraft if he had unlearned his bigotry, seen experimental films from George Lucas if star wars had floppe, heard music from Kurt Cobain if he hadn't died young.

And you've gone off to weirder places to. You've seen what political discourse is like in a world where Constantine converted to Buddhism instead of chrsitianity, where that's the dominant religion of the west. And you'll see conservatives talking about how sjws are undermining the west's Buddhist values, or YouTube videos talking about chrsitantiy as this forgotten dead religion from the crisis if the third century. And you asked someone in the comments of that video what they thought a world would be like if chrsitanity survived, and they said it was impossible, that it was doomed to die out just because it did.

And you've talked to people from a world where humanity lives underground, where an apocalypse made the surface of the world uninhabitable, and every human on earth lives in massive subterranean complexes. You talked to them about what they wanted, if they wanted to see the sun, see the forests and the birds and the creatures that they knew were above them, and most of them didn't really want it. Most of them didn't really want to see the surface, they had grown up having never seen it, it didn't bother them, they were confused why anyone would be that committed to finally go somewhere that humans weren't. And there was one person who told you they did always really want to see it, that it's their hyperfixation, but that they'd obviously go back with the other humans if they had the chance, that they couldn't live somewhere without them.

And you've seen a world where humans where dead, where only robots and ai and cyborgs were still around. And even though they couldn't touch you, you were afraid, because you thought they would hate you. But they didn't, on every site where they talked about humans they talked about how cool you were, and how much aprication they had for their culture. And when you made a post asking if they'd want to hurt humans if they saw them, everyone who replied called you weird.

You've seen the internet in a world where cryptids and monsters are real. And you ended up on a forum for vampires. And you asked a newly turned vampire how they felt, and they said it was cold, that their body felt so cold, but it was still their body, and that they still wanted to live, still wanted to find a way to enjoy their life even if they didn't like their body.

And you've seen a world where all humans are completely aroace, and don't desire sex or romance at all. And you decided to upload sexual and romantic art, and even fetish art, to one of their sites. And the people there loved it, despite not understanding its purpose, they loved the way the artist depicted the world, saw it as so unique and strange, as something weirdly beautiful, and not at all gross, because nobody ever told them such things were gross.

And you've made online freinds from other worlds. People who you can never touch, never see, but who you see through their words. You've comforted someone who doesn't exist in your world, from a country that doesn't exist in your world, but you've comforted them, and made sure they don't get hurt or hurt themself, from very far away, because despite everything you can't help but care.

Mabye the internet isn't that bad. Mabye the world isn't all horrible. Mabye people aren't that bad.

[thenightfolknetwork]

There's a bit of a taboo amongst my genus. I mean, I can't know for sure about the whole population, but certainly in my family there are rules about what is and isn't appropriate to do when we exercise temporal fluidity. And that's for good reason--I get that. You can't just go about changing the tides of war because you feel like showing off your historical foreknowledge. Fine.

Recently, though, I've been spending a lot of my time in one particular period--just about a half-decade on the other side of 0 AD. It's been great! I'm a bit of a Classicist, and a Latinist at that, so obviously there's plenty for me to do in Rome. The food is good, the literature is fascinating, and the people--well, I've certainly met some people. Specifically, there's this one guy. He's older, for sure, but we're both adults and happy with what we have. It's hardly an exclusive relationship, so we don't get bored with stagnation, and not to brag, but his achievements are nothing to scoff at. In fact, not too long ago he put down the remnants of a veritable civil war over in Hispania. My interest in this period has been primarily academic in the past, but I feel like he and I really get each other. I know how he takes his wine and his sense of humor and how he feels about his family. I care about him.

But here's the thing: I know he dies. Soon. And quite violently. I've just gotten back to the twenty-first century recently for a family reunion, so of course "soon" is relative, but back in Rome there isn't much time left. I haven't spoken about this to my family. I know what they'd say. I should just let it happen.

Although, I mean, should I really? Not to speak ill of the dead or anything, but I know for a fact Great-Grandma Margaret wasn't as rule-abiding as my mother likes to think--it's hardly a secret where (more accurately, when) she met Great-Nana Bonny. And, plus, lots of historical scholarship on the subject says, if my Roman friend hadn't died when he had, it probably would've happened sooner or later in a similar manner anyway (his approval ratings are not so high as of late). So is it really an interference if I warn him just this once? I mean, if he dies in another incident somewhere down the line--one of which I have no previous knowledge--then, fine, he dies. This isn't about preventing his death entirely. I understand that, in many ways, he is already dead. But I feel I would be a horrible companion if I didn't at least give him a heads-up. Just a nudge, you know? It's a politically unstable time back in the BC's. The line between this temporal reality and the other is so thin, and the difference is so small. Would my "interference" be so bad?

[Note: The sender later clarified that their letter ought to read "half century on the other side of 0 AD" where it here reads "half decade".]

I'm afraid I can't give you the kind of answer you seem to be seeking here, reader. While I am perfectly happy to help you talk through you moral quandaries, I must draw the line at making your decisions for you. You, and you alone, must discern for yourself whether or not such an act aligns with your own personal, moral code.

If an outside perspective will help, I will say that I'm not sure I entirely agree with your assessment of the circumstances here. I believe I have enough historical knowledge to infer which figure in history you're speaking about, which is, in itself, a concern.

It is a fact of existence that we shape the world around us. Even the quietest, most innocuous life casts its shadow. It is a fact to be embraced and celebrated – there is simply no such thing as an insignificant life. But neither is anything served by pretending that certain figures do not cast rather longer shadows than others.

It is one thing to consider fudging a timeline or two for the sake of someone whose impact reaches no further than their own village, or even their own country. It is quite another to speak of altering the timeline of a person whose existence left ripples across the surface of a significant portion of the globe!

I also don't necessarily agree with your assessment that your interference would not change anything very dramatically. Your friend's “approval rating” may not be great, but I am not at all sure it is universally accepted among historians that either his demise nor the manner in which he met his fate were inevitable.

Finally, you must consider the old paradox faced by every time traveller at some stage or another. You are an actor in this historical period, casting a shadow of your own, and you have no more idea than anyone else how that shadow may fall.

How do you know your warning might not precipitate the event itself? Alternatively, how can you be sure your warning is not already part and parcel of our historical reality? There is just such a warning made in most of the accounts I know, after all – if I am thinking of the right person, of course.

I cannot make this decision for you, reader. I cannot tell you what the right answer is, or even reassure you that there is a right answer. All I can do is to encourage you to think carefully about the risks involved, weigh them against your own moral judgement, and make sure that, whatever your choice, it's one you can live with. At the end of the day, that's all any of us can do.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[alittledrawing]

THWACK!

“Okay, so it’s some guerilla marketing for some movie?” Marcia asked.

“No, are you kidding, this is real!” Jon, the little brother, exclaimed. He thrust his hands out at her with eyebrows raised.

“It’s not, you should look up the marketing they did for the first Flash movie. It was just like this, some guy moving so fast in a convenience store that you only see some drinks disappear. Seriously, don’t fall for this crap,” she said, pushing the phone back to him.

“No no no, watch it again, come on,” Jon said, scrubbing the video back to the beginning. Marcia rolled her eyes and looked at the screen.

For the second time, she saw the two women, eating at a small table on an urban sidewalk at some fancy brunch place. A third woman was holding the camera at an angle to capture them, and as she rushed around the table to get in frame, a tall, nude man crashes to the ground with a loud thwack behind them in a comical belly flop position, leaving an impact crater in the asphalt. The women screech and then freeze. Almost as soon as he hit the pavement, the man hauls himself up while grunting, presses his hips forward to stretch his back, then says, “I do apologize,” with a flirtatious smile and jogs off into the distance. 

One of the women shouts after him, asking if he needs an ambulance. The owner of the phone glanced back at the screen, arms reaching out, and the video stops.

Marcia laughs. “It’s so fake. Probably Superman or something,” Marcia said and returned her attention to her laptop.

“They wouldn’t use a naked guy in a Superman trailer. It’s not even censored!” Jon whined. “And it was filmed here in town,” he added, scrolling through his phone, frantically locating another shred of evidence.

“Everything is filmed in town, Jon,” Marcia said, gesturing out the window. In the far distance, they could see some buildings of downtown LA emerging over trees in the distance.

Jon shook his head. “No, not like that. Just out in public. And look, there are others.”

Marcia shook her head until Jon held the screen in front of her eyes once more, with a new video playing.

This time, some kids were skateboarding at night time. The dark sky made it impossible to tell where they were, but it was somewhere with a lot of concrete. The only thing you could clearly see is the phone’s light on a curly-haired tween in a beanie. He said, “You ready?” and a voice behind the camera answered, “Yeah.” The kid slinks forward and glides on his skateboard before dropping over the edge of an abyss, revealed to be an empty pool as the light follows its subject. While the kid approaches the opposite side, the camera follows him, until the visual is interrupted by a blurry mass dropping in front of the lens and a cartoonish thwack. The camera shakes, then jolts to a body slumped in the pool. The kid has pivoted his skateboard and, upon hearing the smack of her body on the ground, skids to a stop just before her. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, dude. Is she okay?” The cameraman says, his heavy breaths distorting the audio. 

The skater leans over the body, which he clearly assumes to be lifeless, and then startles when the body yells out, “Ow! Hephaestus’ furnace!”

She struggles for a moment to get to her feet, but otherwise appears unblemished. The woman cranks her neck to one side until there is a satisfying pop, then smiles sweetly at the boys. 

“Could you tell me where I am?”

The boys glance at each other. “Uh…” the camera man starts. “Waconia?”

“Waconia… which, of course, is in…?” she prompts again.

“Uh… Minnesota?” the boy answers.

“Ah, yes. Minnesota. Thank you,” she replied with a nod, then leapt out of the pool and disappeared from sight. 

The clip ends after the boys share a few shocked expletives. 

Marcia smacked the phone out of her face. “Come on, you’re wasting my time,” she said.

Jon groaned and trodded off to his room. He periodically emerged to show Marcia some other clip, these ones even less convincing, or to show her some internet speculation on the origin of these clips. She remained unconvinced, just as when he tried to show her UFO or cryptid evidence. 

Marcia finally could not hear a single peep from Jon’s room, which usually meant he was playing videogames with his headphones on. A knock came at the front door.

She glanced at the oven clock. It was too early for the neighbor kids to be stopping by for Jon, and people rarely stopped by before Marcia’s dad got home. She crept towards the door, hoping to be able to slip away quietly if it was a salesman or the old lady who lived down the hall. The crone seldom stopped by, but when she did, Marcia couldn’t shake her for a couple hours.

On tiptoe, Marcia peeked through the peephole in the door to find a man in a robe standing on the other side. He stood straight up, shoulders thrown back with confidence, shifting from foot to foot impatiently with his hands on his hips. He reached out and knocked again, then called, “Salve, citizen! I could use some assistance!”

Just then, Jon stumbled out of his room with his headphones over his ears, nodding his head to an insufferable metal song that Marcia could hear across the room. She waved her hand at Jon frantically, gesturing to quiet down. He didn’t notice, and so she rushed to him on the balls of her feet and tackled him onto the couch. They wrestled over his phone until Jon said, “What the fuck?!”

From the other side of the door, the man said, “Aha! Yes, I know you are in there! It’s time to open up!”

Jon stared at the door, and before Marcia could grab him, he rushed and looked through the peephole. He glanced back at Marcia, eyebrows crushed together and mouth agape.

“I can hear you in there! Now, please, I see that you are a Roman by your notice on the door. I do not want to draw attention to myself, but I do believe you will be honored to host such a guest as myself, if you would let me explain.” The man was speaking in a booming, authoritative voice that was so animated, it might as well belong to a Ken doll. 

Jon looked back through the peep hole, then looked back and whispered, “Notice? Does he mean the band poster?”

Marcia shook her head. “Listen, sir, we will call the police if you don’t leave.”

“No, please, don’t. I just need a little help. I took quite the tumble out there, and I’m a little confused, is all,” the man said in a low voice.

“Then… then, I can call an ambulance for you. They’ll meet you outside.”

“No, please. I… Look, you have this Momento Mori flyer out here, so I know you are citizens. I am… well, you just won’t believe it, but I am Mars,” he said with a slight laughter in his voice. He clearly expected the pair to be impressed. They only sat in silence.

“Well, okay, Mars… What’s your last name? I’m going to call an ambulance, and they’ll be able to-”

“Oh, for Valor’s sake, this is ridiculous. I do not have a last name, but I have many names! Mars the Virile, Lord of the Land, King of the Sacred Glove, The Father of the Victorious, The Avenger,” the man rattled on, and Marcia started dialing 911. 

“Yes, hi, there is a man outside of our door, and I think he needs some help… that’s right, he’s a stranger…”

Jon continued staring out the peephole at the man, who was now pleading for Marcia to stop.

“Please, woman, do not call for the authorities. You humiliate me, woman. If they are so close as to be called out the window, do not announce my presence this way, please,” he said, then pressed his head into his hands.

“Wait,” Jon said, then turned to Marcia. “He doesn’t know what a phone is.” Before Marcia could stop him, Jon opened the door. Marcia yelled and grabbed his shirt, trying to stop him, but the man already noticed and stepped inside. Marcia scrambled to her room and locked the door shut. In Marcia’s effort to stop Jon, she dropped the phone on the floor, which Jon grabbed.

“Hi, I’m Jon. You were just talking to my sister, Marcia… Yeah, that’s our address, but we’re actually fine… It’s just a new neighbor who stopped by to introduce himself… Yeah, our dad will be home in an hour… No, we’re really okay, you don’t need to stop by… Yeah, sorry, it won’t happen again,” Jon said. He ended the call then looked at the man again. “Mars, right?”

“Yes, boy. My name is Mars, and I do need some fortifications, such as-” but Jon cut him off by holding his own phone up to his face, playing the video of the man who crashed in front of the brunching women.

Mars’ eyes expanded in amazement. “Why, yes. Yes, that is me,” he said, and he grabbed the phone from Jon’s hands. The video ended, and he turned it around, examining the outside, before asking Jon to help him operate the device. Jon replayed the video, and Mars watched intently. Mars asked for the video again, but Jon brought up the other one at the skatepark and held it up to his face.

“Recognize her?” Jon asked.

Mars snarled.

“So we all fell!”

“Who is that?” Jon asked.

“Venus!”

In that moment, the truth suddenly dawned on Jon, and he nodded his head while saying, “Ooooohh my god!” 

Mars nodded in agreement.

“So you all fell from, what, Mount Olympus?”

“Yes, my child,” Mars said.

“And now the Roman canon is just running around on earth?”

“I do believe so.”

“And you all are going to try to rule earth?” Jon asked.

Mars paused and straightened up. “Now,” he said, cradling his chin with his hand, “there’s an idea.”

Jon, oblivious to the influence he just had on the God of War in the flesh, nodded his head proudly.

“Hey, do you like metal?” Jon asked, glancing at his phone again to bring up some Momento Mori songs.

Mars tilted his head back and laughed a grand, booming, royal laugh, then said, “Oh, child, I love metal more than that old fool Hephaestus! Metal greatly improved my trade, and I owe my success to it’s refinement!”

Jon pressed play, and as a deep bass drum resounded through the small, tinny kitchen, Mars’ face beamed with delight. The bass guitar joined in with a wild rhythm, and a fantastical, melodic voice wailed through the air. Jon started nodding his head to the beat, and Mars echoed the movement and exaggerated it, still smiling

“I meant this kind of metal,” Jon said, both nodding together.

“Unbelievable! This is metal? You found a way to blacksmith music? They used to jokingly call our musicians songsmiths in the past, but I never imagined this would be possible,” Mars said.

Jon started shaking his head no, but then stopped, and said, “You know what? Yeah, we did figure it out. And it rocks!” 

Mars cocked an eyebrow in confusion, then with an insane smile declared, “It does! It rocks!” and started banging his head to the beat with joy.

[lou-wilham]

My co-author and I worked with @oblivionsdream to have her do up artwork of our characters from Sanctuary of the Lost and they are SO beautiful.

When I say Christis and I have lived with these characters rent free in our heads for probably close to a decade, I'm not joking. So to put pen to paper, and then to see an artist bring them to life in this way, means so much to both of us. And they truly did come out just how we imagined them!

Sometimes, love finds you anyway. Burned by her first love, Mab has spent the last several years content with her brother, their club, and her Miami beach front property. The last thing she wants, or needs, is for the arrow cast by Erotes—god of love—to rear its ugly head. But trouble disrupts Mab’s hard-earned peace in the form of a dead inanimi washed up on her private beach. Not wanting to disturb Ander and his newfound bliss, Mab calls the only person she can think of—Quintus Schields. Life for Quin used to be simple. Second in command to his brother Maximus, Quin has always been a hardworking and dedicated creature of few words. He wants nothing to do with the owners of Inferno or their drama. Especially with his new responsibilities as caregiver to an ignis youngling. So, when Mab Duchan asks for help, he has to decide if he wants to keep his world as is, or accept there might be more to life than he expected. As Miami’s criminal underground returns to sink its claws into them, Fate forces the four to face old demons, and question just what they’re willing to do for happiness.

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[somethingcoolhopefully]

Are you a history student looking for a political thriller with a dash of dangerous romance and endless twists? Read: