#writing speculative fiction

[novlr]

Writers have tons of creative ideas, but most of us aren’t scientists. So, how do we make sure that we get the science right in our fiction?

Even if you write speculative fiction or fantasy stories, there’s still some thought that must go into making sure there’s an internal logic to your worldbuilding. A sense of cause and effect. Readers get lost if they can’t easily follow or make sense of your big ideas, but this is especially important when discussing real-world science, and how it might affect our future, or manifest on other worlds.

In the Reading Room today, you'll find a list of books that are perfect for science-fiction and worldbuilding research, to keep you grounded, and give you a great basis for building out sci-fi, fantasy, and future worlds.

[iguanodont]

My Illustrations for an incredible short story written by a good friend of mine: a tale of two rival clans settling a debt, in a trial by blood and fire….

“The two clans gathered as the singing moon set, leaving its brother framed by the indigo of dying day. There was little discussion, only lines of tension across antennae and heads holding violent eyes. Only the occasional, nervous trill from a child broke the silence.

The clan to the southeast, those of the Tayenna river, parted to allow their matriarch forward. Like her kin, her fur was near the color of the clay riverbank they lived upon, lightly flecked. She was richly adorned with polished shells set into lattices of wood running along her chest and back, treasures many years of leadership had afforded her. She stood in front of her people, canting her head so only one red eye observed the clan opposite.

They of the Keeshor valley bristled at the arrogance. Their leader was already at the front, as bay as Tayenna’s matriarch, though his coat was solid in pattern and youth, and he wore simple paint. He took several solid strides forward to meet the matriarch, both eyes fixed on her….

If you’d like to read the rest of this short story, you can find it here! Small cw for some descriptions of violence

[hezzabeth]

There was someone singing in the greenhouse, someone with a pitch-perfect deep voice. Revati closed her eyes, pressing her ear against the glass door.

In a field where the paper daisies grow,

Underneath the sun's harsh glow,

I wander through, light and free.

Paper daisies, pink and white,

Your petals so bright.

I sing to you as the world beyond burns.

The smoke coils in the sky far above,

But your petals still dance around me.

Don’t be afraid; soon the rains will come.

Everything lost will grow again.

Paper daisies, pink and white,

Your petals so bright.

I sing to you as the world beyond burns.

The stars begin to rise,

My hands scooping your seeds.

Soon you will take flight

Towards the soft moonlight.

There was an old, prop piano in the abandoned Holly Bush Tavern. The only person who could play it properly was Mr. Gupta. During holiday festivals, he would coax melodies out of the sticky keys while Mrs. Gupta sang in a nasal voice. This was different. The singer’s voice filled Revati in a place she didn’t know was empty. The singing stopped abruptly as Revati’s weight caused the door to creak. Of course, the door creaked. The greenhouse was a wobbling claptrap box made out of welded-together old windows. Miss Grassroots, a tourist who had been dead for almost six years, had built it. Inside lay the heart of Baker Street. The heart had begun as a rose garden. Nanni was the one who began picking up the fallen red petals, drying them, and turning them into tea.

Revati only had vague memories of the first day of the invasion. Mrs. Grasston and Dusk had invaded the kitchens and gift shops. Together they managed to pool together seeds and cuttings in order to grow a small food supply. There was a wall of tomato vines, grown from several seeds found in old slices left in the bin. There were the garden beds where the potatoes and carrots grew. In fact, the potatoes were what kept Baker Street from starving to death. Next to one of the largest windows, the herb and weed boxes grew. Revati’s father was the one who ripped open gourmet tea bags in their home, discovering dried seeds inside. Bridgadeiro Bun was sitting under the lemon tree. “You’re a pretty good singer,” Revati said gruffly. “I was just trying to cheer up Deshia; she’s been feeling a bit depressed lately,” Bridgadeiro said, patting the tree's trunk. “Who’s Deshia?” Revati asked, faintly confused. “The lemon tree, of course! She said nobody's chatted with her for years,” Bridgadeiro said. Suddenly, the tree shook its branches, causing a fresh lemon to fall into Bridgadeiro’s lap. “Thank you for the gift, sweetheart,” Bridgadeiro said, patting the tree again. Revati stared at the lemon tree, not quite sure what to think. Could a tree really be depressed? It would explain why the lemons were so withered and small.

“All Buns speak plant; it's the same gene that causes our pink hair," he said. Revati glanced around, her eyes briefly falling on the giant pumpkin vine near the door.

"Are the plants talking right now?" Revati asked curiously.

"Most of them fell asleep hours ago. When they were awake, they just kept jabbering on about a golden lady," Bridgadeiro remarked.

"So, the lemon tree is depressed? I could get Aurora to come in here and read to her," Revati conceded.

"It's more than that. She misses the lady who planted her; she doesn't understand why she vanished and never came back," Bridgadeiro remarked. Revati found her hands stroking the book of fairy tales nervously.

"If she's talking about Mrs. Grassroots, she died," Revati replied flatly. Six years ago. Six years ago, there were over a hundred tourists living on Baker Street. Nanni, who had spent years living with mother, insisted on moving into an abandoned hat shop near the edge of the park.

The day the tornado hit was the same day Nanni decided to tell Revati all about her family history.

"I always carry the death stone in my handbag, along with everything else I'd ever need in an invasion," Nanni pointed out. Technically that was true; Nanni's giant handbag was filled with almost anything.

Outside, Revati could hear her father trying to roll down metal shutters. There was the sudden horrible roar, and Nanni's wall exploded in a cloud of rubble.

"A lot of people died," Revati finished, her voice trailing off. First came the tornado that caused a gap in the mirror walls. Then the trickle of automatic vegetable cleaners who decided to exploit the crack. Finally, the battle on Mansfield Park between the cleaners and a group of tourists.

"The lady that planted this tree was actually a member of the Lost Princess rebel army; she convinced a bunch of tourists to fight with her," Revati remarked, shaking her head. Then she firmly opened the book of fairy tales.

"It looks like some people survived," Bridgadeiro replied.

"I don't want to talk about it; I just want to read! Here, you can read with me; you might like this story," Revati replied.

Once long ago, in a lost village near the foot of Mount Raya, there lived a special little girl. She was known for her kindness and her deep love for nature. Everyone in the village called her Naisha. Naisha had a special gift; she could talk to plants. The villagers often saw her whispering to the flowers; they adored her magical gift.

One day, Naisha learned about a legendary tree called the Kalpavriksha. The old ladies in the village whispered that it had the ability to grant any wish. Drought, fearsome and terrible, had swept through the land. Flowers withered, no longer able to whisper. Trees forgot their songs. Naisha decided she must seek out the tree and wish for one thing alone: rain.

"Wake up," a voice screeched, and Revati's eyes snapped open, the book of fairy tales tumbling onto the ground. Aurora was standing above her, the bright morning sunlight making her hair glow.

"Morning," Revati yawned and then jumped when she realized Bridgadeiro was asleep next to her.

Bridgadeiro slowly awoke, smacking his lips together.

"Juniper said you were in here; she never mentioned the boy," Aurora remarked coldly as Revati slowly stood up.

"Anna made him sleep in here; I must have passed out while reading," Revati said.

It was then that Revati realized Aurora was holding a tray filled with fresh strawberries.

"Hmph," Aurora said, shooting Bridgadeiro a suspicious look as he also stood up, patting the tree trunk.

"Let me guess, Queen Victoria sent these with an apology?" Revati asked.

"Yes, and a request to fill her vodka order," Aurora said, placing the tray on the ground.

"If she was really sorry, she'd give us a strawberry plant," Revati pointed out.

"Oh, you don't need one of those! You have the fruit," Bridgadeiro remarked.

"You can't just shove a strawberry in the ground and hope for the best; it rots," Revati replied. Bridgadeiro merely leaned down, examining the strawberries. After a few moments of careful examination, he picked up the biggest, brightest berry.

"You can; you just need the right formula," he said. He vaguely walked towards one of the empty garden beds that was going to be turned into an onion patch. Carefully, he dug a small hole and placed the strawberry inside before covering it in earth. Then, he reached into his massive jumpsuit pocket and this time pulled out a small vial of portable perfume.

"One pump should do it," Bridgadeiro remarked before pumping a cloud of perfume onto the soil. The earth began to twitch and vibrate, and Revati gasped as greenery sprouted from the soil. The plants quivered and then twisted as white flowers bloomed. The petals then shriveled and fell off as the center of the flowers grew into green berries. A few seconds later, the berries blossomed into a deep red.

"They shouldn't be doing that! Strawberries take two weeks to grow," Aurora gasped.

"I suppose they would in the wild, but I just gave them a pump of my Gene Grow fusion serum!" Bridgadeiro said, leaning down to examine the strawberries.

"They should produce fruit every day, but only if you talk to them nicely," Bridgadeiro added as he picked a strawberry and handed it to Revati.

Revati sniffed it suspiciously before taking a tiny bite. It tasted just like a strawberry.

"Does that stuff work on all plants?" Revati asked curiously.

"It tends to go a bit haywire when you spray it on legumes; you end up with giant beans that have no nutrients," Bridgadeiro said.

"I saved your life; think it's only fair you spray all the plants in here," Revati said firmly.

"It would be better if I planted their seeds outside and created new crops; otherwise, the rapidly growing plants could burst outside the walls," Bridgadeiro replied. Revati nodded crisply.

"I'll be sending someone to check on your efforts later today; I'll be far too busy working," Revati replied with as much dignity as she could muster in a sleep shirt before marching out of the greenhouse. The book of fairy tales lay abandoned on the ground.

Revati carefully changed into her work uniform. When she was a child, her wardrobe consisted of souvenir t-shirts from the gift shop fashioned into dresses. Now that she was almost an adult, Revati had to get creative.

Most of the gift shop sweatshirts had been swiped long ago. Instead, Revati put on the top half of the cafe's old uniform. It consisted of a magenta and purple striped waistcoat with a navy blue blouse covered in tiny clocks. The bottom half should have been a matching bustle skirt. Revati switched it with the men's purple trousers. Revati then carefully redid her braid and applied some more soot lipstick. Aurora, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, was waiting for her in the kitchen.

"You're wearing your second best outfit," Aurora remarked.

"I suppose I am," Revati replied as she grabbed her coat.

"I thought you said you were done with romance after that whole mess with Little Hardi last summer," Aurora said, and Revati stopped walking.

"I am!" she protested, and Aurora pressed her thin lips into a disapproving frown.

"You were sleeping with him."

"God forbid I fall asleep next to another human being," Revati said as she marched through the cafe past Nanni, who was sewing something.

"You kept him! You gave him a job," Aurora added knowingly.

"I didn't keep him! He's not a feral child; he can leave whenever he wants," Revati snapped as they stepped outside, and she put on her sunglasses. Olde Landon was always at its worst in the morning. Like all major tourist attractions and cities, Old Landon had an atmospheric blanket high above the park's surface. It meant that nobody in the park froze to death at night, but it also meant the morning light was far too bright.

"Is that Little Hardi and Queen Victoria standing next to the fountain?" Revati sighed wearily.

"They both arrived at sunrise; I told them you were busy, so your mother made them breakfast," Aurora remarked.

"Sunrise; of course, they sacrificed sleep so they could get here first," Revati remarked, marching towards the two other leaders. Queen Victoria was wearing one of the park's costumes, a stained white lace wedding dress. Little Hardi, on the other hand, was wearing a deep blue doublet with a ruff collar and matching tights.

"Little Hardi, is your brother still unconscious?" Revati greeted him.

"We took a vote last night, and he played Macduff," Little Hardi replied.

Revati, who knew fully well what that meant, had to stop herself from flinching.

"You killed him? That's a little harsh," Revati pointed out.

"It was for the best; we need a strong leader during a time of invasion," Little Hardi remarked practically.

"Time of invasion? Isn't that a little dramatic?" Revati had to ask.

"There must be another crack in the wall; thank Jane, it's probably not too big! You two would be far too young to remember the vegetable cleaner invasion," remarked Queen Victoria.

"I was twelve," Revati said dryly.

"I was fourteen; the tornado destroyed the Hamlet's haunted castle ride, and the appliances killed the actor playing Ophelia," Little Hardi pointed out.

"You're both still tiny children as far as I'm concerned; I can't believe this is who I have to work with," Queen Victoria replied, and Revati brushed past her with annoyance, heading to the dress shop across the street.

The shelves of the dress shop had long ago been stripped bare. All that remained were the three Penny Farthing Bicycles that had been part of the shop's window display. Revati wheeled her Penny Farthing outside only to see Queen Victoria having a heated discussion with Aurora.

"What do you mean she's going to ride to the wall by herself? All representatives from all towns should go!" Queen Victoria was screeching, slapping Aurora's shoulder with her fan.

Revati parked her bicycle and marched towards Queen Victoria, grabbing her hand.

"Slap my assistant again, and I'll break your fingers; you know I can do it," Revati growled.

Little Hardi, who was now sitting by the fountain, laughed.

"I was just speaking the truth! We have a treaty; during times of crisis, we unify," Queen Victoria said, her voice tight and a little frightened.

"I don't see Lady Morganna here," Revati pointed out, referring to the ruler of Medieval faire.

"You know perfectly well Medieval faire cut us all off after the tornado hit! They probably all died off years ago," Queen Victoria snapped back. Queen Victoria was right. Medieval faire was located in the center of a massive fake castle complete with a drawbridge. After the invasion, Lady Morganna had yanked up the bridge and refused to speak to anyone. Anna and Nanni had tried to visit several times with baskets of dried lemons. They were horrified when someone from above threw the contents of their toilets onto the streets.

"My new friend said he saw naked people in the wilderness dancing around a murdered television! Sounds like Lady Morganna to me," Revati merely replied, pointing to Bridgadeiro. Bridgadeiro, who was in the middle of taking several pumpkins out of the greenhouse, waved.

"Could be a coincidence; regardless, you are not going to the wall! We need to have a proper group committee meeting first! Then a vote," Queen Victoria's.

Revati just rolled her eyes and released Queen Victoria's hand, causing her to stumble and fall onto the floor. Revati then reached into her jacket, pulling out her stun gun, shoving it into the queen's stomach. The Queen made a faint whimpering sound as her eyes rolled backward, and she collapsed again. Revati then aimed the gun at Little Hardi, who held his hands up, protesting.

"I'm not going to stop you! I came here to propose marriage," Little Hardi insisted.

"Marriage? To me?" Revati asked dubiously.

"All kings need a consort, and I'm not interested in Big Hardi's husband," Little Hardi said, slowly getting down on one knee.

Revati stared at him and shook her head.

"I'm seventeen," Revati pointed out.

"Well, the wedding wouldn't be for another couple of years," Little Hardi replied.

"I thought we agreed to keep our relationship professional after the handkerchief incident," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi held a hand to his heart.

"I told you dozens of times I had nothing to do with my brother's plot," Little Hardi insisted.

"He accused me of cheating on you using an old prop handkerchief as evidence, and you believed him despite it being the exact same plot of the play Othello," Revati pointed out. The entire incident occurred over a year ago and ended with Revati kidnapped and tied up on the stage in a white fluffy nightgown.

"I'm a very insecure person," Little Hardi pleaded. Dating while trapped in a fun park during the apocalypse was difficult. Before the feral children came along, Revati was the youngest person on Baker Street. All the teenagers in Whistleton were raised to be incredibly prissy. Most of them refused to do anything more than dance or hold hands. Little Hardi had been a fun, age-appropriate choice. Little Hardi was happy to do far more than hold hands.

"No," Revati said firmly.

"No? Really?" he asked, sounding faintly surprised.

"First of all, your legal system involves killing criminals on stage in the middle of plays, which is horrifying," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi shrugged.

"Secondly, I'm not an idiot! You just want to marry me so you can take over our greenhouse," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi gasped as if looking deeply insulted.

"That's not true! If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, but no such roses see I in her cheeks," Little Hardi pleaded as Revati climbed onto the penny farthing.

[whereserpentswalk]

You're a parasite possessing a human’s body. The hunan in question was doomed the momment they touched you. Of course, you didn't know it at the time, your species is only as intelligent as what it latches on to, and you happened to latch on to one of about a dozen truly sapient species in the known universe. You killed them, but you were no smarter than a bug when you killed them.

You exist in this weird space between humanity and inhumanity. Your body is human, your voice a human’s voice, your face a human’s face, but none of that is yourse, you're a creature that crawled in through that body’s mouth and replaced the brain. They were just someone searching around an alien forest, you barely know who they were, and now you're basically puppeting their corpse.

There are also ways you're not human. Most people who meet you assume genetic modification, cybernetic implants, or just some sort of mental illness makes you act the way you do. You useally don't admit what it actually is. Your mannerisms are off, even though you feel human emotions your voice and face rarely reflect them well. When you infected the body, your very nature changed it, you neutered it and made it soft and sexless, you made it take in the minimum amount of food making it skinny and frail. You feel more like a monster than you would if you looked more inhuman, like you're puppeting a corpse.

Still you have freinds, a steady job, a human life on a planet far away from the one you originated from. Despite everything people like you, there are humans who care about you despite you not even being one. You never told them of course, you just said it was faulty cybernetics. But you can live life, read books, enjoy the view of the rain from your apartment, listen to music faintly playing on a street corner. And it all feels stolen, like you can only enjoy all of this because you're stealing someone else's chance at it. The thought rarely crosses your mind but it does so frequently enough, perhaps once every few months, to truly upset you with what you are, to make you feel like everyone who loves you only loves you because they think you're something you're not. You remember that you're an invasive species, that you have no mother or father, that your very existence isn't meant to be.

There was a time when you met someone on the street who knew the body you once inhabited. She recognized it, ran up to you wanting to talk to you, saying she thought you were dead. When you came clean to her you expected to be horrified, to want to hurt you. She didn't. She said she understood, and that she's happy the person your inhabiting still exists in some regard. A lot of people die in the forest, how blessed your body was to birth something new.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

do you have any tips for writing speculative biology?

Speculative biology—(also referred to as "speculative zoology", though it is by no means limited to animals) is a sub-genre of science fiction which combines speculative fiction (i.e., Science Fiction, Fantasy, Alternate History and everything in between) with creature design, and deals with evolution in the future, on other worlds, or in alternate timelines, the same way that many other sci-fi works discuss technology.

This is one of the most fun sub-genres to explore. Here are just a few writing tips.

Read/watch a lot of media that plays with this sub-genre, and learn from them. Examples:

A Memoir by Lady Trent - Marie Brennan describes a low fantasy world with largely the same culture and animals as real life, but also home to very diverse dragons. The dragons are given extensive analysis through the character of Lady Trent, a naturalist dedicated to studying their taxonomy, anatomy, behaviors and ecology.

Dreamwork's How to Train Your Dragon - sometimes dabbles in this, displaying different types of Dragons as different species with a couple overlapping traits, implying that they evolved from a common ancestor. This is most prominently shown in Book of Dragons which describes at least 6 major taxonomic families of Dragons that most dragons in the franchise belong to.

Doctor Who: "The Lazarus Experiment" - has Richard Lazarus being mutated into a fearsome giant centipede/scorpion-like monster after an experiment with an anti-ageing machine goes wrong. The Doctor describes the monster as a creature of evolutionary potential — something that evolution could have turned humanity into if it hadn't gone the "two arms and legs, ten fingers and toes" route — lying dormant within Lazarus' genes.

Research a lot. Here are just a few resources that may help you in writing this sub-genre, particularly with creature design:

Here's a really good article that discusses some evolutionary rules

A brief resource on Evolution Rules

This article called, "Rules of evolution"

A Wildlife Fact Sheet

After doing all the research, and the devouring, and the hoarding of all the resources you can get your hands on, hoping they'll bleed into your story once you start writing, because admit it, you are procrastinating by asking this question—here is the writing tip that pervades all genre: let go. "Good writing is often about letting go of fear and affectation. Affectation itself, beginning with the need to define some sorts of writing as ‘good’ and other sorts as ‘bad,’ is fearful behavior." —Stephen King

So let your soul colour the pages. Particularly with this genre, allow your imagination to run free. Be as creative as you can. Because "when you write, you want to get rid of the world, don’t you? Of course you do. When you’re writing, you’re creating your own worlds." —Stephen King

Sources: 1 2

Hope this helps. Please tag me, or send me a link if it does. I would love to read your work!

More: Fantasy ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[yvesdot]

SOMETHING'S NOT RIGHT IS OUT!

“Comedic, witty and chilling by turns.” — A. R. Thompson, author of When Dealing with Wolves

The debut collection returns in a special fifth anniversary edition, repackaged with three new short stories, a new cover, and additional bonus content! A vampire is forced into a compromising situation; a father fears his child's growing plant collection; the undead go to high school; a butcher contemplates whether or not she can be loved. In a captivating debut, yves. opens the door to our world, slightly askew—where the crows work for witches and telephone booths serve as secret channels for prophecy; where a diverse cast of monsters and humans alike are forced to contend with what the world believes is right.

Thank you to everyone who made my weird uncategorizable "Lemony Snicket meets Carmen Maria Machado" speculative fiction an instant bestseller! If you’ve ever felt like a monster, this book is for you.

PRESS: KZSC interview | Santa Cruz Sentinel interview

EXCERPTED SHORT STORIES

BUY NOW!

signed paperback | paperback & ebook (amazon) | ebook (itch.io)

& at all major retailers!

Thank you so much for reading this post about my book. I hope you will share it, and this image of my beautiful black cat, Andy, widely. To queer weird fiction and indie pub! To you, Dear Reader, with love.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

She Wasn't Sure She Believed Herself

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four |

CW: Werewolf whumpee, escaped whumpee with caretakers, referenced abuse, dehumanization by captors, and captivity

-

Anaya swayed lightly as she made her way up the steps. The front door to Vanessa’s house was painted the same deep shade of blue as the underside of the porch ceiling.

Between that and the fact that the porch was painted a flat and blinding white, Anaya felt a little like she was standing upside down in the ocean, a wave breaking beneath her and the depths of the ocean over her head. 

It was deeply disorienting.

Then again, maybe that was the sleep deprivation talking.

Every other house on the block was the same basic set of shades - gray house with black shutters, white house with gray shutters, pale yellow house with black shutters, another gray, a different white, light brown that was nearly beige, actual beige… Vanessa’s house, with all its dancing blues, had stood out like a beacon as soon as they turned onto the street. 

Eden was right behind her, one arm supporting Misae and his own eyes moving over the porch swing that moved gently in the wind. A small black cat sat on the swing, watching them with intense curiosity. Its tail flicked as it took in the sight of Misae. They’d managed to find an old hoodie of Eden’s and some of Anaya’s sweatpants for Misae to wear, and the boy looked absolutely swamped in the hoodie, hood pulled up to cover his face as much as he could and sleeves long enough to completely hide his hands. They couldn’t help his lack of shoes, but Anaya had managed to get some white socks on him and had decided to just hope for the best. He could limp, with support, and Eden had kept an arm around him, taking most of his weight as he slowly struggled up the steps. 

The boy’s face was white with pain, and his eyes kept dancing wildly trying to take in everything at once, but he stayed upright and he didn’t pass out again, so… Anaya called it a win.

“Why don’t you knock?” Anaya asked, nervously picking at her fingernails with her other hand, trying to calm her nerves. “You’re better at talking to people.”

“First off, that’s a gigantic lie. Secondly, she isn’t my friend,” Eden answered easily. This wasn’t the first time they’d had some version of a conversation like this one. She had the distinct sense that if he could, he would have shrugged. As it was, he was holding nearly all of Misae’s weight by now. “She’s your friend. You should knock.”

“I mean, I may have… I may have exaggerated how well I know her, a little bit?” Anaya found a bit of skin sticking out near her cuticle on her thumb and absently picked at it, staring down. “We just talk on the internet. I don’t even know exactly how old she is. I’ve never seen her face, and now I’m showing up with my boyfriend and a werewolf.”

“Hey. Look at me, baby.” She raised her eyes and found Eden smiling at her, weary but warm. She couldn’t help but smile back. “You’ve got a good sense for people, you always have. And you said she agreed to let us crash, right?”

“Yeah, she did. She said no problem, just…” Anaya looked over at Misae. “I might have not mentioned… him.”

The boy was staring at the cat now. The cat met his gaze with slitted pupils, ears slightly back, fur slightly raised. There was a flash of what might have been sharp teeth, the subtle whisper of a warning hiss.

Misae’s lips pulled back from his own teeth in tandem. 

Anaya stared with wide eyes as she realized his canine teeth were longer than they should be. When she looked down at his hands, she saw fingernails that stretched even as she looked at them, hardening into obvious claws even as his fingers started to thicken and turn blunt.

Was he... growing paws?

The cat turned and leaped gracefully up onto the railing and then down to the ground on the other side, disappearing in a flash around the side of the house. 

Anaya's eyes jumped back to Misae's face.

His lips were closed, and his hands had gone back to normal. Maybe she was imagining it?

“Maybe,” Eden suggested, tone irritatingly mild, “Maybe we all just stay calm and don’t bring the werewolf thing right off the bat.”

"... but did you just see-"

"Mmhmm. I know what I think I saw, anyway."

"You cannot possibly still not believe-"

“I didn’t say that I don’t believe it. Just, let’s not like fling that info around willy-nilly, Naya, yeah? And you, Misae, keep a hold on those teeth. We'll keep the wolf thing to ourselves for at least a little while. Besides, I flat out cannot drive anymore until we get some sleep. So…” Eden shifted a little and then gestured at the door. “Knock.”

Anaya took a deep breath, and turned around, stepping up to the door. Beneath her feet, a pale doormat read Welcome, witches and there was a sign hanging right at Anaya’s eye level: Live laugh lobotomize.

Right.

This was Vanessa. She had nothing to worry about.

Not that having nothing to worry about had ever once stopped Anaya from worrying. Camping had always been the only time she ever felt totally calm, and even that was a little ruined now. How many secret homes with hidden people kept like animals were there in the world, and she just didn't know about them?

The thought kept spinning circles when she tried not to think at all.

The door swung open just as Anaya's knuckles touched the door and she jerked her hand back in surprise. Behind her, Misae straightened a little, leaning against Eden while trying to look like he wasn’t hurt. His eyes kept shifting, as if he was trying to look everywhere all at once. 

God, they looked like such a mess. 

The wooden sign clacked as it swung forward and back, and Anaya’s first impression was of a pair of sparkling brown eyes. “I thought I heard voices,” Vanessa smiled. She was a tall, broad woman with a deep, melodic voice, totally unlike Anaya’s mental image of her. Her eyes matched her ponytail and she looked very much like every high school art teacher Anaya had ever imagined. Right down to the paint-splattered tunic and leggings. 

She took in the three of them in a moment, and then her smile widened and she stepped back and to the side. “Well, you’re clearly Anaya,” She continued. “It’s nice to see you in person for the first time. So, if you’re Anaya, then this must be the hottie boyfriend… Evan?”

“Eden,” Anaya corrected absently, still trying to connect this warm and soft woman standing before her with the acerbic, dryly sarcastic online voice she’d been chatting with for years. 

“Oh, right. Sorry, Eden.”

“That’s okay.” Eden shrugged, a shy smile playing around his lips, flushed a little still from hearing hottie probably. He was always weak to compliments. “Evan actually was on my shortlist for names, anyway, actually.”

“Oh, was it?” Vanessa’s eyebrow quirked up. “You’re not just saying that so I feel less like I just face planted into a mud puddle in public, are you?”

Oh, okay. Now that was the Vanessa that Anaya knew so well.

“Ha, no, it really was. But then I thought of Eden, and, well, I just… liked it better than all the others.”

“Well, I like Eden better, too. It fits - you’re clearly paradise on two legs.” Vanessa winked, and Eden turned tomato-red. Anaya felt herself nearly knocked over by a wave of something between her usual full-throated adoration of her awkward boyfriend's struggle to take a compliment and relief that things were going so well when she’d been so scared they wouldn’t. Vanessa laughed, her laugh as mellow as everything else about her appearance. “Seriously, though… come, come on in, all of you.”

Anaya’s pulse jackhammered in her throat and at her wrists as she stepped forward, moving from the sunset light outdoors into the darker house. The first thing she saw was a wall painted a beautiful deep evergreen, a wall of a dozen or so pieces of framed artwork that had every rainbow shade and probably a few colors Anaya had never even heard of. Side lamps were lit everywhere, and a ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. This looked like somebody's perfect cozy escape from the world.

Anaya wondered how it would feel, to have a home like this. Somewhere that you owned outright. She and Eden had always been renters, and half the time these days they lived out of Eden's car.

“So… there’s you two, and there’s also… who is this you have with you?” Vanessa asked, voice lilting just a little in curiosity. “A brother? Cousin? What’s your name, honey?”

Misae didn’t answer. His chin had lowered, even though his eyes were locked on Vanessa now, watching her every movement. 

Anaya cleared her throat. “This is… um, this is Misae. We… met him on the trip.”

“Oh, okay. I knew you were camping this weekend in Idaho, so… oh, that’s why you texted me for somewhere to stay? Because of meeting him?” 

“Yeah.” Anaya tried to keep her voice casual, unruffled. “He just needs a safe place, he, uh… He r-ran away from home.” It was close enough to true. Really it was true, she just… left out a few minor details. He was being hunted by a man with a gun and oh, hey, he also turns into a wolf. That’s not a problem, right? “I know I didn’t mention he was with us, and I'm so sorry. We will completely understand if you don’t want to deal with-”

“Hey, I didn’t say that.” Vanessa raised her hands, as though showing she was harmless. Or thought they were. “It’s definitely not a problem. I just wasn’t thinking about you needing more than bed. Seriously, it is no problem, I can blow up the air mattress for an extra bed.” 

“Okay, okay, thank you so much, Vanessa. We’ll just get settled, and if you could tell us where the shower is-“

“Oh, honey,” Vanessa interrupted. “Are you hurt?”

Anaya opened her mouth to reply, but realized Vanessa wasn't looking at her at all. Vanessa moved towards Misae, hands out.

To Anaya's horror, Misae recoiled, snarling with lips pulled back from his teeth, before he lost his balance, trying to catch himself and accidentally putting too much weight on his injured leg.

His knee buckled, and he went down hard, losing his balance with a high-pitched cry, somehow ending up turned around and falling right off the steps onto the stone path that led up to the porch.

He desperately grabbed at Eden's arm to try and catch himself and instead pulled Eden down with him.

Eden grunted when he landed hard on his left elbow, but he had the good luck of falling a little to the side and landing in the grass. Misae smacked down into concrete, catching himself with his hands but Anaya watched his ankle twist in the process.

His whine turned to whimpers, deeply canine. He hunched his shoulders and curled up, still snarling and making a sound somewhere between whimper and growl, and Anaya wondered if everything she hadn’t said about this strange boy was about to spill out anyway, whether she liked it or not.

When Vanessa took one more step forward, Misae snapped at her from where he lay, teeth clicking together sharply. His canines were growing again.

Anaya tried to think of an explanation - something logical that didn't involve breaking the news that at least one totally mythological creature had turned out to be absolutely real - but nothing came.

She only stared with her eyes and mouth both wide.

“Oh, shit,” Vanessa whispered. She didn't seem to have noticed Misae's teeth changing, and Anaya was hit with relief that cut as sharp as any knife. “Oh. I am so fucking sorry, I didn’t-... I didn’t mean-” She moved again, and Anaya caught her by one arm. Tears welled up in her eyes as she turned. “I swear, Anaya, I didn’t mean to scare him!”

“No, I know, he’s just… really jumpy about people who move too fast,” Anaya soothed, watching as Eden moved to Misae and murmured to him. The boy's expression gradually changed and he shook his head, eyes down and hair covering as much of his face as he could manage. At least he stopped making that face. Eden nodded, murmured something not quite audible in reply, and very slowly reached out. 

Misae sat back, holding his hands palms-up, letting Eden take them in his own hands to look them over. Blood welled where skin had been scraped away by catching himself when he fell. 

Misae looked up through the curtain of his messy hair, watching Eden's face. Anaya swallowed hard as she saw a spot of red where she knew the bandage was on Misae’s leg. Was that damn wound ever going to stop bleeding?

“He got used to getting hurt where he lived before,” Anaya said in a low voice, keeping her hand on Vanessa to keep her from potentially scaring the poor kid all over again. She told herself she wasn’t lying - those scars Misae was covered with, hidden thanks to Eden’s shirt and Anaya’s sweatpants, proved that pain had definitely been something Misae understood very well indeed. Maybe the only thing he seemed to understand. “It’s made him jumpy. Let’s, um, let’s go inside and then Eden and Misae can come in after us?”

Vanessa slowly nodded, reluctantly turning away. “Okay. I really am so sorry.”

“It’s totally fine,” Anaya said. She had no idea if it was fine or not. The words just came out automatically, an instinctive reply to try and soothe the unsettled air around them. “He’ll be okay. We’re just trying to get him far enough away that he feels safer.”

“Yeah. I can… I can see why.” Vanessa seemed to remember this was her house and straightened up a little. She shot one more hesitant glance over her shoulder, and then led Anaya through a small living room stuffed with too many hand-me-down couches draped in deep brick-red covers and throw pillows and blankets, into a small hallway with four doors. “So, we have… a linen closet, towels are in there-” She pointed at the first door. Then, across the hall, the bathroom with a tiny shower-bathtub, a toilet, and a sink and mirror. “My water heater isn’t great, but if your showers are fast they can be hot. Otherwise, you might have to settle for more or less warm. And here, right here-” She opened the last door on the left. “This is the guest bed. I’m sorry there isn’t more space-”

“It’s perfect,” Anaya said, forcing her voice to brighten up. Her mind wandered back to the boys outside. “We’ll get settled and get clean and then, if you don’t mind, we might just want to like… nap for a while.”

“Not a problem. I have some work to finish up, anyway.” Vanessa smiled, even as she still looked a little worried and guilty. “Any requests for supper? I’m afraid delivery in this neighborhood isn’t happening, but I’ve got some frozen pizzas and garlic bread, or I could make pasta and sauce, or… if anybody’s low carb, uh, I could run to the store for steak or something…”

Anaya thought of Misae’s thin face, wiry arms, knobby knees, the way his stomach pulled in too much, how he swam in clothes that shouldn't have been oversized. The way his eyes seemed to sink a little into his face. “Um… No, carbs are definitely a good idea. Pizzas?”

“Okay. I’ll get the oven preheating. You three just… you get settled. Let me know if there's anything you need or you can't find.” Vanessa disappeared back out the door and Anaya stepped further into the little room.

There was a side table with a little lamp and she switched it on, absently. It gave the little room, walls painted blue, a cozy glow. She dropped her backpack onto the fluffy oversized comforter - clearly made for a king-sized mattress but laid out over the queen-sized bed - and sat down, slowly leaning over with her hands over her face.

She was so tired.

At least Vanessa had been a lot less bothered by the sudden appearance of two disheveled adults and one teenager than Anaya had expected, but the last bit had clearly thrown that initial lack of bother away. Now they not only had a teenage runaway with them, he was visibly injured and he’d reacted to Vanessa attempting to touch him in a way that made it equally clear he hadn’t come from anywhere good. Plus, the noises he'd made, the way he snarled and snapped like an animal... If Vanessa got too curious, or decided to call the fucking cops... Anaya didn't know why exactly, but she knew that would end badly.

A throat cleared in the doorway and Anaya looked up. Eden stood there, smiling a little, Misae leaning against him again. The boy’s eyes darted around, never landing on any one place for long. He’d been limping before - now he was flat out hopping on one leg, using Eden to keep himself upright. His injured leg was pulled slightly up. 

“He’s okay,” Eden said, in a tone that said he was soothing them both. “Just a little scrape on the hands. I’ll get my kit from the car, we’ll get him a good shower and then I can bandage him up again.”

“Good.” Anaya breathed the word out. Even that felt like it took more energy than she really had left. She hadn’t realized how hard she was working to hold herself together until she didn’t really have to any longer. 

She wanted to sleep for a week.

Maybe a month.

But she’d settle for patting the bed next to her. “Misae, why don’t you just come over here and lay down for a minute with me, okay?”

Misae’s eyebrows briefly furrowed. He licked at his lips - something Anaya was realizing he did almost compulsively when nervous - and then slowly shook his head. “Not allowed,” He said, voice low. He sounded a little confused.

“What? Why? Because you’re bleeding?” 

Misae stared at her for a few long seconds, then shook his head again. “No. We're... not allowed on the furniture.”

Eden’s eyes closed, tightly, for just a second. Anaya watched a vague flush of anger move over his face and be just as quickly pressed down and done away with. She knew what she was seeing, though, and knew Eden would smile soft and sweet even as he turned that over and over in his mind all night long. The same way Anaya would.

Not allowed on the furniture because he's been treated like he’s a dog.

“Well, here you are allowed on the furniture, and I’m saying you should lay down on the bed and get the weight off that leg. Okay?” She patted the bed again. This time, Misae hesitantly nodded and let Eden support his slightly absurd little bunny-hops forward until they made it close enough for him to more collapse than lay down. Misae curled himself up as tightly as he could, arms tucked against his body and only his injured leg out straight, the other one curled with his knee nearly to his chest.

"Oh," He whispered, eyes wide.

Anaya blinked at the look of surprise on his face, and tilted her own head as she looked down at him, slipping a firm pillow beneath his head only for his eyes to widen even further. She fought back a faint smile, worried he might think she was mocking him. “What’s that look for?”

Misae swallowed, those strange golden-brown eyes shifting to meet hers. He returned her smile. “I didn’t know beds were so soft,” He explained. “I’ve never been in one.”

Anaya couldn’t think of a single thing she could possibly say to that.

Eden backed away from them. “I’ll go get our things from the car and then I’m just going to get right into the shower,” He said, voice tight and hard, and turned away, closing the door a little too hard behind him as he went. 

Misae winced when the door shut with a loud thunk, shifting until the top of his head just brushed against the side of Anaya’s leg. She let her hand drift down to run fingers through his hair like she had while Eden stitched him up in the car - oh god, that was less than twelve hours ago, somehow it felt like so much more time had passed than that - and the boy breathed out in something that seemed like pure pleasure, eyes fluttering shut. 

“He’s angry,” Misae said, voice low. Just above a whisper, a little hoarse. "At me."

“He's angry, but not at you," Anaya replied, shifting until her back was against the headboard, keeping her fingers sifting through soft strands. Her own eyes closed and she could feel her exhaustion weighing down every corner of her mind. “Definitely not at you. Just at… what it seems like life has been for you. It’s not going to be like that for you anymore, okay? We’ll figure out how to find some place better for you.”

Misae didn’t reply.

Anaya knew that he was silent, this time, not because he had nothing to say in response, but because he didn’t believe her. 

She wasn’t sure she believed herself.

-

@finder-of-rings @burtlederp @deluxewhump @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings @yassifiedinformation @wildfaewhump @whatwhump @honeycollectswhump @tundra-tiger @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @there-will-always-be-blood

[thepromptfoundry]

Calling all history nerds, period piece connoisseurs, and fans of time-travel plots! Decades December is coming up here at The Prompt Foundry!

This list is being posted a little earlier than usual because historical work can take some time. The list has some reference points for you to jump off from. Show off your special interest in a particular era or event, or start a wiki walk from the the Wikipedia page for each decade to learn something new!

Have fun exploring resources like @thetimelinesofslang, the Fashion History Timelines from NYSU's Fashion Institute of Technology, or the fashion plates and historical photos from blogs like @omgthatdress or @historical-fashion-polls!

If you use this list, please tag me here @thepromptfoundry, I’d love to see your writing and art!

Feel free to combine different days' prompts with each other, or combine them with other events! Use your OCs, your favorite characters from media, your own experiences, whatever tickles your fancy.

Respond to as many prompts as you want or as interest you, don’t worry about missing or skipping any. Remember, this is supposed to be fun!

If you have any questions or musings, check our FAQ, and if you don't find your answer, shoot me an ask.

Plain text list below the cut:

1) 0010s Xin dynasty in China, Caesar Augustus in Rome

2) 1900s Edwardian era, Russo-Japanese War, release of the first feature film The Great Train Robbery

3) 300s Teotihuacan flourishing in present-day Mexico, writing of the Kama Sutra

4) 1910s World War 1, the Russian Revolution

5) 1440s Late Middle Ages/Early Renaissance in Europe, the hangul writing system is introduced in Korea

6) 1920s Prohibition in the US, rise of fascism in Europe, earliest sync-sound movies

7) 0070s Roman Epire, destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem, eruption of Mt. Vesuvius and destruction of Pompeii

8) 1930s The Great Depression, the Declaration of the Independence of India, art deco, color film

9) 1090s The First Crusade, the Liao, Xia, and Song dynasties in various parts of China

10) 1810s The Napoleonic Wars, the Regency era in England

11) 1940s World War 2, post-war rebuilding

12) 1000s BC The Iron Age, King David of the Israelites, development of the Phoenician alphabet

13) 1950s Baby Boom, Red Scare, the Korean War, rock'n'roll, zippers and television both become commonplace

14) 1340s The Black Death in Europe, decline of the Mongol Empire

15) 1590s Late Elizabethan Era in Europe, William Shakespeare, Imjin War between Japan and Korea

16) 1960s Moon landing, hippies, mod fashion, Chinese Cultural Revolution, Stonewall, Star Trek, the Civil Rights movement

17) 1770s The American Revolution, founding of the real Illuminati

18) 1860s American Civil War era, late Edo period in Japan

19) 1970s The Sexual Revolution, disco, the first video games, end of the Vietnam War

20) 2200s Whatever the future holds!

21) 1980s End of the Cold War and fall of the Berlin Wall, beginnings of the World Wide Web, the First Intifada in Gaza

22) 1660s Part of the Golden Age of Piracy, the English Restoration

23) 1990s Internet access becomes widespread, grunge, the Gulf War, the Troubles in Ireland, height of the AIDS crisis, Princess Dianna, first Pokemon games

24) 1230s University of Cambridge founded in England, beginnings of the Mali Empire in Africa, rein of Emperor Shijo in Japan

25) 2000s The “War On Terror”, rise of Big Tech, Y2K fashion, emo culture, cell phones become commonplace

26) 1880s Gilded Age, the first skyscrapers, electrification of cities, first household electrical appliances like fans and irons

27) 1640s Qing dynasty begins in China, the First English Civil War

28) 2010s Hipster culture, height of video streaming, YA lit boom

29) 500s Liang and Northern Wei dynasties in China, Heptarchy period in England, height of prosperity of the Mayan Empire

30) 2020s Present day!

31) 3130s Whatever the future holds!

[inbabylontheywept]

Someone had to go first.

In an odd first, I forgot to post this HFY story here until after it was voiced by BirbletonVA. Their channel actually did such an insanely good job that I would actually strongly recommend listening to it over reading it. Nonetheless, the text is provided below.

Please like and subscribe to their channel if you like their work.

The first ship that arrived was pretty matter of fact about its fate. The pilot introduced himself as Eric, and told us he was part of the first sublight resupply attempt in modern history. He then gave me and the ground control team his bad news.

“So,” he said. “Without real time telemetry, we weren’t even sure which half of your orbit you’d be in. That’s half a solar system’s worth of wiggle room. Decelerating enough to survive contact with your low orbit would take me two weeks, which, you know, it looks like we don’t have. That means that in order to get the second ship in before you lose orbital control to the Kresh, I’m gonna have to make a sacrificial flyby. Ten to the negative four torr is good enough for a lot of things, but at point-seven c it’s gonna be like sandblasting a soup cracker. Good news is that all the expensive toys are in the next ship, so this really ain’t costing you more than a ship and a pilot.”

“You knew,” I said. If they put the expensive toys in the second ship, they knew that the first was likely a sacrifice. No one smart enough to handle orbital physics would miss that.

“I did,” he said. “But someone had to go first.”

That was, of course, a lie. No one had to go first. No else had had, at least. When our connection to the FTL network was lost, we’d understood that as the end of our reinforcements. Doing resupplies via sublight was just too risky. It was a testament to Earth that it had accepted the risk and continued anyway.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” I asked. This man had come here to die for us. I wasn’t sure how much I could give, but what I had was his.

“I do have a few requests,” he said. “First up, I need as much high-orbital data as you got. The whole lot.”

I began directing tightbeam resources to him immediately. It was an easy resource to exchange - it wasn’t like there was anyone else out to talk to anymore. When we lost FTL, we found ourselves very, very alone.

“Second,” he said. “Right, I know I’m gonna sound like a princess right now, but I have been stuck in this stupid tin-can for almost two-years now, and I seriously overestimated how much I like synth music. If you have anything that’s analog - I don’t care what kind of string or drum or brass you play, but I’d kill to hear something without a beep in it.”

I jumped my own queue in the tightbeam, and added a short playlist that I ripped from the local web. Human Music, it was labeled. 3 Terabytes. I prayed there was something on it that he’d like.

“And third,” he said. “Third. The uh, next pilot is pretty mad at me. Turns out this will just be one of those things left unfinished. That’s all death really is, I guess - a lot of unfinished things. Let him know that he was right: He is a better pilot than me. But tell him that wouldn’t have made a difference here. Bad luck beats skill, and this luck was shit.”

I promised, and he went silent after that. We could see what data he was analyzing, and the short answer was all of it - everything from atmospheric density to troop positions and his own ship’s blueprints. He knew he had one shot at this, and that if the price wasn’t paid here, it would be paid by whoever came next.

---

Ground control didn’t get a verbal warning that he’d entered atmosphere. Just a ping. A little here-I-am, whispered in the dark.

After that, we could keep track with visuals alone.

He hit the outskirts of the exoatmosphere in his first pass, burning bright enough to be seen with the naked eye. He caught the sparse particles like a kite, trying to shed enough speed to hit actual low orbit. Automatic telemetry updates gave us the grim news for the ship: Thermals were holding up decently, but the ablative was wearing out fast.

The entire descent brought us more than two hour’s reprieve. The Kresh hadn’t expected to see a resupply, but they knew what one meant: Get it now, get it fast, or deal with a stream of new troops. They could buy themselves ten days' time by shooting this one ship down now. That was an eternity during a siege.

The first loop lowered the speed by about a twentieth of light. The pilot responded by pulling the ship in tighter, burning trying to preserve more ablative plating by trading off with thermal. Seven fighters were close enough to fire off heat seekers. I don’t think the Kresh had ever anticipated shooting down a craft coming in that hot - the missile's decoy avoidance countermeasure actually made it steer around the thing, chasing down loose pieces of shrapnel. Cooled fragments, still hotter than an engine, should be at full blast. The simple mistakes bought it enough time to enter pre-orbit, and the fighters had to stop their pursuit. They weren’t willing to die to stop the ship.

Our man, on the other hand, was already committed to that course.

A third loop followed a fourth. Ablative coating went from 65% integrity, to 30%, to 5%. Telemetry scans were exceptionally detailed - the pilot was making the flyby count. The last message we got from him was simple:

Are you EMP shielded? he asked, not even bothering to encrypt the text stream. He didn’t have time to process more than that.

Yes, we replied. We knew what he was thinking, but it was still a shock to see it. The fusion torch flared hot, burning through the nozzle and feeding directly into the craft’s dueterium supply. The reaction went super critical, and the resulting neutron pulse set off everything in the ship with a z-count higher than iron. Three continuous seconds of EM interference screamed through the comms as the hulk burned through orbit.

The explosion itself wasn’t powerful enough to kill the Kresh ships still in high orbit, but it made enough broadband radiation to blind both sides LADAR. The man must have been a hell of a pilot - half the shrapnel went down and got burned up as it entered the standard atmosphere, traded as the cost of moving the other half past lagrange. Standard evasion would’ve made the pieces easy to dodge, but with LADAR down, all the Kresh could do was sit still and cower as the wrath of a dead man riddled them full of holes. Our best ace had managed to shoot down seven ships before this before getting shot down himself. The wreckage of the freighter took down six.

---

The second ship came in stealth. One second, we were holding attrition in high orbit, the next, something the size of a small station came ripping through the atmosphere.

It did the same trick as the former - swapping between ablative and thermal loads, coming down at a speed that the Kresh fighters didn’t even try to match. Armies could be built in years, but skills like this took decades.

Telemetry connection was established almost as an afterthought. The way the ship casually ate through ablative armoring made my eyes water, but the pilot himself seemed pretty non-plussed.

“You’re down to fifteen percent coverage. You need-

“What I need,” he said, “is to see the previous ship’s telemetry. If there’s one thing you can trust, it’s that this bird is going to come down gentle.”

He cut off my chance to reply by flicking the channel off. We watched, and we wrang our hands, but sure enough he came in six minutes later with 4% of the ablative left.

I met him on the landing pad. Under normal circumstances, we’d have needed twenty-four hours for the craft to cool enough to even approach, but we’d had cryo ready just in case. Three tankers of nitrogen, and the loading area, at least, was cool enough to touch. Safety would have to take a backseat to speed here - we needed the supplies fast.

But those both would take a backseat to a promised conversation with the second pilot. He was out of the craft as soon as the air was cool enough to avoid scalding his lungs, picking through the workers to try and find who had the telemetry data.

I found him first. The drive went into his hands, but I needed to keep my promise with Eric before letting go.

“You’re better than the first pilot,” I said, and I wasn’t lying. If the previous flier had been a saint, this one was a god. “But you wouldn’t have been able to manage the landing either. There just wasn’t time.”

“Let me see,” he said, tugging on the drive. “Just let me see. I have to know I couldn’t do it either. I have to know that someone had to die.”

I let go of the drive and he stalked back into his ship. I didn’t follow. I figured I’d pushed things far enough as it was.

---

The second pilot left the ship six hours later. He looked bleary in a way that put me at ease. I’d been up the last six hours directing supplies from the ship. Everything from ground-to-orbit rails to AGI targeting systems was inside, and to say it was gamechanging would be an understatement. It was good work, but I was tired, and I didn’t want to have to pretend otherwise. Seeing the other man with bags under his eyes meant we could just be frank with each other.

“I couldn’t have managed it,” he said, half-ashamed, half-relieved.

“It just wasn’t possible,” I agreed.

We sat there a moment longer. I didn’t mind the break. This was time well spent.

“Did it hurt?” he asked finally.

“Ablative failed before heating,” I said, which was the technical way of saying no. “He overloaded the reactor before the ship actually broke up and did some kind of slingshot maneuver - hit the main body of the Kresh fleet with half a space station’s worth of shrapnel.”

“Good,” he said.

I knew the signs. The tremor in his cheek, the way his jaw clenched - it wasn’t professional, but I hugged him anyway. Let him have the dignity of choosing to weep instead of having it wrenched out of him.

It was a gift we’d all been given at some point in this war. At least now, there was the hope it could be over soon.

[monsterfangss]

Seraphim are anomalous creatures that inhabit the InBetween.

They exhibit mammalian features such as homeothermy, fur, feathers, and the ability to lactate. However, they follow a life cycle similar to insects.

When seraphim pupate, they form a cocoon around their soft bodies. Over the course of about 20 years, the muscles and soft tissue will break down and reshape. The only part of the body that does not melt are the bones, which remain mostly intact through the entire metamorphosis.

[total-convergence]

Gut symbols and organ script

This is a little brainstorm of symbols used to deliver some kind of meaning (not an actual alphabet yet) in a culture where organs are thought of as something sacred, valuable. It is a foundation for actual writing systems. This culture is dominated by a carvinorious species (the Yuo Yowa) and its practitioners believe that organs are an extention of dieties / legends / spirits / ghosts, however you wanna call them. Each organ has a different meaning and a different spirit that extends into it. For example, the intestines mean long and safe travels, if prepared correctly, and the meaning can vary depending on the animal the organs are from. Individuals can recieve blessings or curses depending on how the spiritual leader prepares the gut. If the gut isn’t prepared in a specific way by the spiritual leader, eating it yields no effects besides filling up your stomach.

The symbols are meant to be read in a linear way, and are almost always drawn “inside the body cavity” of the creature the “writing” is about. The symbols can be rotated or flipped, the only rule is that they need to be read from mouth to anus. Remember these are not letters, just symbols with meanings that when in a “sentence”, can be interpreted in many slightly different ways.

I still haven’t completely decided on the actual meaning of the organs and I’m not quite satisfied with the way I pictured the “cross section” of the creatures, I’ll definitely work more on this. Here’s my first brainstorm page:

I suck at alt text, if you have any criticism or a good tutorial on how to write those I’d appreciate it.

[theprissythumbelina]

Biography of a horse

This is a small piece of my current writing project for class. I ended up writing a Black Beauty-inspired short story from the perspective of a working horse in rural Guatemala. It is also heavily based on my research and experience working with an NGO in Guatemala this summer.

Birth Equine pregnancy lasts an average of 11 months, and nearly always results in a single offspring, called a foal. Male foals are called colts, female foals are called fillies. Foals are expected to stand and nurse within one hour after birth. My earliest memories are of my mother, and the family we belonged to. They were there when I was born. I remember those first few moments, in the shock of cold night air, my wet ears sticking to my head. My mother spoke to me in soft nickers, telling me her name, telling me that I was a horse, I was her baby, she loved me. She licked the birth waters from my coat, drying me slowly, as a family of humans peered over the fence, whispering and murmuring to each other. This is our family, she told me, licking clean my ears and face. I wobbled back and forth under her attention. This is our home. I blinked up at the sky. Family? Home? Yes, she said, our home. And I am your mother. I nickered back. The humans made soft sounds of happiness at my first nicker. I pushed my feet in front of me. They were so long. Get up, said Mother. She moved back a step. Stand up. I didn’t know how. I pushed one long front leg to the side, then a back leg. I pushed my others underneath me. Up, my instincts said. Up, Mother said. I tried. There were just too many legs. I toppled to the side. Again, she licked my wispy mane encouragingly. Try again.

for my friends to see what I've been working on during my hiatus

@thetruearchmagos @thatndginger @amaiguri @sergeantnarwhalwrites @jacqueswriteblrlibrary

[aeriona]

A standard-blend Hagsrak warrior standing before a burning Ostalyakian Village, 859 AGM (after Great Migration).

this artwork depicts an unfortunately very common occurrence during the Great War, in which Hag forces as well as their Hagsraks (genetically modified, shapeshifting super-soldiers bred by the Hags for war) would descend upon eastern settlements (mostly consisting of Frenators, at the time) and tear them to the ground.

After a few years, this major conflict ended with the Hag empire imploding upon itself rather than pressure from any external force. The enslaved Hagsraks rebelled upon their creators and drove them to total extinction, finally ending the war for good.

There are still Hagsraks around today, albeit in very low numbers. Most live quiet lives among the ancient ruins of their forefathers' empire, whereas a small few hide in plain sight, magically disguised to assimilate with the three other peoples of Khalodna. As such, we will never really now how many there are for sure.

[hezzabeth]

"For the last time, that poem isn't romantic! It's insulting," Revati yelled over her shoulder as she began to pedal.

The layout of Olde Landon had been deliberately designed to keep tourists inside for as long as possible. There was only one way to access the front gates, and that involved defeating the Queen of Hearts' hedge maze. When the park was still open, tourists would be forced to spend at least an hour in the maze, stumbling upon tiny toy shops and food stands around every corner. The same thing occurred when they left, resulting in a very rich park and bankrupt guests. Now the maze was overgrown and easy enough to navigate.

Revati pedaled past the cart that once sold her heart-shaped sunglasses. Then she turned left, almost crashing into the wall of roses. The wall of roses stared back at her, their red blooms heavy and suspicious. Thanks to Bridgadeiro, she knew they were probably secretly insulting her.

The next turn consisted of an old stardust popcorn stand. Revati skidded to a stop and inspected the inside tray, where a few ancient kernels lay. Carefully, she picked up several of them and placed them in her jacket pocket. As far as she could tell, the kernels were seeds. Someone was shifting around the corner, causing the branches to shake.

"Aurora, is that you? Did you go ahead of me?" Revati yelled.

"While conferring in the labyrinth where false preachers reeked of death, the monster began to growl," a voice called from around the corner. An unfamiliar, flat female voice. Raiders. Raiders were, of course, an occupational hazard in any post-apocalyptic settlement. Normally, they never made it further than the broken glass pit at the park's gates. Sometimes Dityaa would bring one in, insisting they were "lovely," which always led to awkward dinners.

Revati slowly walked around the maze corner. There was a screeching metallic sound, and the weapon fell from Revati's hand. An android was slumped over on the ground. Once it would have been golden, but now it was rusty and covered in mud. Someone had ripped its legs off, leaving nothing but wires and tubes spitting bright blue fluid. Instead of a torso, there was a black empty hole with a concave door swinging on its bent hinges.

"And in the forgotten twists, footsteps quicken, hearts beat, and teeth are bared," the android chirped, its voice still distorted and far away. The android's face was a beautiful mask. Still-carved eyes. Unmoving sweet lips.

Revati powered up her solar gun and slowly walked forward, aiming it at the android. The android's metal eyes scraped in their sockets, turning towards her.

“Is that you? My darling Perdita?” The android’s voice whispered, the lips unmoving. The whispering voice had a posh lilt to its accent. Revati refused to answer. It was best to never engage with AI.

“Perdita, I clawed my way in! They know about you; the spider knows,” the android whispered before collapsing completely.

Revati slowly walked forward, still holding her weapon. With one foot, she kicked the android. It didn’t move. Its power had definitely died.

“Spider? Is that some sort of gang?” Revati whispered to herself. Gangs were always given stupid names.

“The spider is us; the spider is legion,” a flat robotic voice called out, and Revati spun around.

Queen Victoria was standing behind her, scorch marks all over her dress. A faint blue glow was erupting from beneath the skin of Queen Victoria’s chest.

[whereserpentswalk]

There's a girl in your freind group who just appeared one day. Like literally. There was one day when she appeared and everybody else acted like she had always been there. Only you didn't remember that she had existed, or more accurately only you remembered that she hadn't existed the day before.

She acted normal. So very freindly. But there was something off about her. She seemed too hand crafted, her skin too pale, her hair too blond, her eyes too blue and face too pretty. She looked more like a doll then like a real person. And it was clear after asking the right probing questions that she had no hometown, no family, no ethnic group, that she just was. You were good at asking that type of question, to prove she wasn't human.

You're the only person in that freind group who knows about the supernatural. Like, you don't deal with it on a professional basis or anything, you know a few people who are more involved in it, and you've gotten the chance to see a handful of anomalies and entities and like one eldritch being. You even time traveled once. None of it was a big deal, but you thought they were cool, and it's good to know they exist. The reason it's important is because you know knowing about that stuff effects how you perceive certain things, especially when it comes to recognizing illusions and paradoxes.

You studied her for awhile. Did what you could to check her every little action, wonder if certain small things she did were what a human would do. Question her without letting on how much you know. You've studied the way she eats, the abnormalities in her dialect. The strangeness to how she got her documents. You stole a bit of hair to send to a lab and they confirmed her nonhuman. You're pretty sure from studying the way that her clothing moves on her body that she doesn't have nipples or private parts or a bellybutton, you know it's weird to speculate about that sort of thing with someone but a body like hers is different. Still, you never got full proof, never figured out what she really was, never got to show that she wasn't a real woman and expose the inhuman creature underneath.

As time went on, and you investigated her further and further you stopped being able to see her as a monster. It's clear that even if she's not human, she probably doesn't know what she is either. And more then that she seems like a nice person, all that time you spent with her trying to figure out what type of anomaly she is, you ended up actually getting to know her and she seems like a genuinely nice human being. When she told you she liked a new song and wanted to play it for you that probably was just her liking a song. When she developed a hyperfixation on birds and started being able to name local species at a glance that might have just been a legitimate interest. When she had a crush on a girl in your freind group that was actually just a crush, and not her looking to prey on someone in an alien way. You watched a TV show with her early on to try to figure her out, that might have been the first show she ever watched.

At this point you don't really think about her inhumanity when interacting with her. She's been in the group for awhile, everyone has far more real memories of her then false memories at this point. Trying to expose her for what she really is would just be mean at this point. The paradoxical nature of her existence isn't the main thing you know about her now.

You did have to come clean that you knew something was up. You didn't tell her how much you knew, or why, you just dropped the right hints and she caught on. She became so upset, so guilty, she was worried you would tell everyone else, or that you would hurt her. A few months back you would have, but not anymore. You hugged her, didn't ask any questions about what she was, and did your best to comfort her. Though her existence may have been fake, her hugs were real, those tears were real, and that was enough.

[librarycards]

Nobody would dare to boil down Ursula Le Guin’s marvelous writing—all that fantasy, all that science fiction, poetry, essays, translations—into one idea. But in a pinch I’d pick two sentences from her 2014 National Book Award speech: “Capitalism[’s] power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings.” Fantasy and science fiction never meant escapism for Ursula Le Guin. The dragons of Earthsea and the reimagined genders of The Left Hand of Darkness were always lenses, lenses she ground in order to sharpen her readers’ focus on everyday life. Indeed, for Le Guin, there was no difference between the stories she invented and everyday stories about the institutions governing our world. The dragons of Earthsea and capitalism are woven from similar material: it is imagination all the way down. James Baldwin said not everything that can be faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed without being faced. The word for facing things in Le Guin is recognition, or you might even say re-cognition. Her characters—and readers—find themselves forced to think again. When they do so, what had seemed a fundamental truth about their universe turns out to be anything but. [...] Here is what I learned from Le Guin: Imagination is a beautiful and a shadowy builder. Over the generations, it supplied language, gods, music, arts, pretty much everything we sum up as culture. But imagination’s power comes at a familiar price: all power corrupts. Looking at those delightful surfaces painted onto the world by past acts of imagination, it can become hard to catch sight of what is really there, underneath. The philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein has a wonderful phrase: “a picture held us captive.” It applied to divine right of kings at one time, and may apply now to capitalism. Ending a picture’s captivity involves cracking common sense, and that is where some of my favorite writers come in. Jane Austen’s wit helped her readers peer beneath the surface of Regency England’s marriage market; Mark Twain’s Huck Finn tore aside the racial lies of 19th century America. During the Nixon era, Le Guin’s fantasy and her science fiction did the same: she pushed aside captivating pictures and let the light shine in. Then she returned to Earthsea decades later and did it all over again.

John Plotz, Dragons Are People Too: Ursula Le Guin’s Acts of Recognition.