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The banging continued, echoing from Theo's front door, joined by a voice. "Theo? Theo, are you in?" The doorknob rattled.

"Coming!" Theo set his weaving aside and rushed to the door. I hopped quickly to the most shadowed corner, a space half-hidden behind a cross beam, where I was unlikely to be spotted. Theo opened the door, ushering in a big lantern-jawed human woman in a fur—no, a selkie with her mottled skin draped over her like a raincoat.

"There's been another," she said without preamble, sweeping the hood of her skin back.

"No." Theo's head and tail drooped. "Who was it?"

"James Murphy." The selkie shook her head sharply. "Damn fool just had to go check on his boat in the storm. Little bits of him were spread all the way down the dock to shore, like chum."

"Third humans in three days." Theo covered his mouth with one hand. "How bad is it out there?"

"Well, it's not good, I'll tell you that," the selkie said. "Those McConnell boys were out drumming up fear, until the weather drove them home, and that's before they found Ol' Murphy. This plays right into their hands."

"I should be out there," Theo's voice was quiet but intense. "I should be helping."

"Weren't you going to be hunting tonight?" the selkie asked, chin jutting out combatively. "I didn't expect to find you in."

"I was." Theo growled faintly. "The Spring-heeled Jacks have taken it into their fool heads that I'm involved. They've got me pinned down."

"You!?" The selkie seemed positively affronted. "I'd give those bouncy bastards a piece of my mind!" She tugged her fur back over her head. "Well, I'm off. Someone's got to spread the warning."

"Be safe," Theo said.

The selkie barked a rough laugh, flashing a disconcertingly wide mouthful of pointy teeth, and was gone.

-- Excerpt from 'Spring-heeled Jack and the Wolfman', by me, a novella for whom I can find no publisher.

so if there’s one single trope i’m always down to fight it’s the animal bride (folklore motif 402??) which a lot of you are probably familiar with as the selkie - the fisherman either falls in love, steals her skin to trap her on land/gain power over her, or they fall in love and THEN he steals her skin to keep her from leaving, and either way she spends a lot of time gazing sadly out to sea and then she or her child finds the skin and never returns again. and that’s awful on a whole lot of levels - it’s not love, it’s control.

BUT. but the thing is. you how selkies/seal women was a pretty common variation of this? another really popular one was swans.

i just want you to think about that for a moment. swans. like…I get it, they’re pretty, graceful birds, certainly it’s easy to imagine them magically becoming pretty graceful ladies? but have you ever fought a swan. swans are awful. swans are the devil’s geese. imagine seeing a pretty magic lady and being absolutely enchanted by her, and stealing her magic feather cloak, and then you go up and say ‘hey i’m in love with you, let me make you my queen, it will be great, we’ll be so happy’ and she just looks at you for a moment and…

you know i was going to say maybe she just shouts for her sisters and suddenly you’re realizing you’ve made a terrible terrible mistake bc you’re surrounded by big fucking birds who are all hissing. but honestly if this swan lady is as aggressively down to brawl as any other generally unhappy swan, then she’d straight up fuck you up on her own. she’d just deck you roundhouse, honestly. you don’t fuck with swans. why does this trope exist

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I haven't been publishing much, recently, but I did post a whole damn tropetaculous original novel for free on AO3 so... knock yourselves out I guess.

for the want of a jewel (86,043 words) by FormlessVoidbeast Chapters: 27/27 Fandom: Original Work Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Conquering Warlord/His Right-Hand Warlock/Prince of Conquered Land, Prince & his loyal manservant Characters: it’s OC’s all the way down Additional Tags: sword and sorcery, Threesome m/m/m, Fish out of Water, Inspired by The Accidental Warlord and His Pack Series - inexplicifics, traded away to the Terrible Barbarians!, but it turns out the barbarians are ok actually?, credible fear of sexual assault, fear of execution, (neither happens), Vanity, Large Age Gap Relationship, Age Difference, Size Difference, Fealty, way too much talking, Astronomy, Friendship, accidentally catching feelings, domesticated reptiles, tea culture, Poetry, Slow Burn, Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, warrior culture vs strong pacifism, Additional Warnings in Chapter Notes, virginity as a concept makes no sense, Polyamory, Asexual Character, Explicit Consent, Oral Sex, Intercrural Sex, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Prophesies, Visions, Happy Ending, Complete

With his country fallen to the unstoppable tide of the Dread Warlord, a terrified king sends a peace offering of his own flesh and blood in the hopes of buying leniency.

When Prince Damian of Miska is accepted as the symbol of his country’s surrender and immediately wedded to the Warlord, he expects his fate to be both painful and humiliating, and his death inevitable. To his confusion, the Warlord and his terrible Warlock seem to have no interest in abusing that which they have claimed as their own. As Damian finds his feet and gains friends in a new land, he begins to question everything he once thought was true.

But some jewels were never meant to be sold, and the consequences of Damian’s sacrifice are more far-reaching than anyone expected.

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Submission opp for transfeminine people writing cyberpunk short stories!

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Call for Submissions: Erato II

Send us your most seductive flash fiction and prose poetry*!

We’re seeking super short erotica in any subgenre, featuring characters of any and every orientation and gender, so long as they’re 18+ and express their consent to all erotic activities. Whether they find pleasure through BDSM, fetish, or vanilla encounters; in long-term romances or one-night stands; with one person, a roomful of people, or just themselves, it’s all good.

Vivid writing, clever and original plots, and stylistic or structural experimentation are particularly welcome. We want stories that are sex positive, body positive, and inclusive. Usually at least half the stories in our anthologies feature characters who are LGBTQIA+, including the ace spectrum.

Writers of color, trans and nonbinary writers, disabled writers, working-class writers, and writers of other marginalized and underrepresented identities are warmly encouraged to submit. We’re thrilled to work with writers from around the world at any stage of their careers, including those who have never been published before.

*Please note, prose poetry, not verse poetry. We share some inspiring verse poetry on our blog, but don’t publish it—yet.

Payment & Length:

We’ll pay $25 for the first 500 words and 2 cents per word thereafter, up to $45 for 1,500 words.

We’re willing to look at slightly longer stories (e.g., if you’re at 1,575 words and can’t find more to trim) but payment is capped at $45.

Stories and prose poetry shorter than 500 words will receive $25.

All contributors will also receive an ebook copy of the anthology and a discount on paperback copies.

For a taste of our tastes, check out our first flash anthology, Erato – but we love to be surprised by new concepts, and we actively want to expand the range of identities and perspectives we publish with each book.

More details below the cut:

Keep reading

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Maika is the right hand and occasional lover of the notorious sand raider known only as the Dust Rider. When they raid a caravan he expects the usual bounty of food and gunpowder. He does not expect Dani, the beautiful, stubborn gardener delivering fruit trees to a prince’s pleasure garden, but he’s happy to take both plants and man back to the sand raider’s ‘castle’ carved into the red rock canyons. Though Dani seems far from happy at being a prisoner, and definitely does not want to draw the Dust Rider’s wrath by getting too close to her lover, he enjoys the challenging gardens he’s given to tend and is not indifferent when Maika comes to visit. Maika dares to hope Dani can see past the dust and demons and give Maika and the sand raiders a chance to be home.

Hey y’all! Remember when I got my very first novella published, but then my publisher went out of business? Well, now Sand Raiders is back online!

Currently just on Smashwords, but it should go out to all other major retailers within the next few days.

[clicky this link if you’re in the mood for fantasy, queer polyamory, and an ace femdom] 

<3

TS

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Hey remember that time I wrote a book, and it won the Bi Book Award for erotica, but then my publisher went out of business while I was in the process of moving across the country?

Well, I managed to self-publish it, and it’s been available for a while! but I was very distracted with the whole moving thing and never made a post here. On my writing blog. Where I post about my writing and stuff.

So to rectify that, here’s where you can buy your very own copy of Rescues and the Rhyssa:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/989769

Blurb:

Cadan is cousin to the King of Nidum star system, and his favorite weapon to needle the Imperial forces encroaching on their territory. With her combat implants and a reckless streak the size of a planet, Cadan has never failed him. Pan Sophi, Captain of the Rhyssa, is a smuggler who makes her living off the tensions. With her crew behind her, Sophi’s always on the lookout for the next deal. Anything to keep flying. They only get along when they’re falling into bed together. Otherwise the clash between Cadan’s idealism and Sophi’s harsher worldview always results in a fight. But when the King’s children are kidnapped, only Sophi has the skills to help Cadan get them back.                        

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The kind and hardworking stepdaughter tumbles down the well. It’s an old story, but all that comes after is brand new. When Ida overbalances reaching after a dropped spindle, she falls into Elfreda the Nixie’s domain. Her first wish is to escape back home. However, Elfreda treats her kindly, and the longer Ida stays the harder it is not to love the Nixie and her magical land…

The Nixie in the Well: a fairy tale retold

Once upon a time, I got this story published in a LT3 Press anthology of queer fairy tales. I’m so excited to finally bring it back into the world, and with a gorgeous cover by @hattedhedgehog, no less!

Please enjoy some sapphic sweetness,

<3

TS

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The first two hours of the Royal Drag Ball were, unfortunately, an absolute drag.

Princess Violetta (who went by Prince Frederic most days) had honestly expected better. You'd think, for the chance to marry royalty, they'd have gotten more into the spirit of the event? Though, everyone knew this was the final ball, where the choice of royal spouse had to be made if Violetta wanted to avoid an arranged marriage. Maybe they didn't think they had to try. That was a depressing thought.

After two hours of dancing with awkward girls in pushup bras and suits that were either entirely unfitted, or tailored to be as high femme as possible--and who still expected Violetta to take the lead--her heart just wasn't in it anymore. Let everyone else have their fun.

At least most of the boys (the majority of whom hadn't even made half a nod at crossdressing!) seemed to be enjoying the girls in suits. even better, some of the girls in suits were very clearly enjoying each other. Even if Violetta wasn't finding her King tonight, at least a few romances seemed to be kicking off.

Fine. Whatever. At least Violetta knew she looked damn good in her corset. The clock was striking ten, and Violetta was slugging back a flute of champagne with inadvisable swiftness (oh how their royal majesties would complain if she abandoned her own ball. again) when a sudden hush descended on the far side of the ballroom.

Violetta turned and oh.

There he was, striding down the stairs with a gold topped cane in his hand.

His long, immaculate locs were woven into a crown on his head to lend him height. Along with a subtle wedge heel, it made him look very tall. His shoulders were wide, padded jacket or just that strong? His suit shirt was unbuttoned almost down to his bellybutton, and the subtle edge of off-brown on his chest showed he was binding with tape--deliciously risque. Last and best of all, the bulge in his pants showed that this King was packing some serious heat.

Princess Violetta had drifted forward, without thinking, while others were drawing back. When the King looked down from his happy admiration of the decor and caught her eye, he smiled, big and bright and sparkling.

He bowed, and held his gloved hand out toward her. "May I have this dance?"

Princess Violetta delicately placed her hand in his, and curtseyed. "I would love that."

The King took the lead, instantly, and without hesitation. He swept Princess Violetta into the dance, and she laughed as he spun her to make her skirts flare. They were both laughing. And then they were talking, so easy the conversation just ran away with them. Then dancing again--Violetta had no idea if anyone else was having a good time, when she was on the arm of a King who both could and would dip her. Then out to the gardens they slipped to get a bit of fresh air.

"I missed your name, when you were announced," Violetta confessed. "What do I call you?"

"For tonight, I'm Prince Charming," he answered, and tucked a rose bloom behind her ear.

Violetta giggled, blushing. Before she could reiterate 'no but really I need to know your name' the clocks struck midnight.

Prince Charming jolted, like he'd been bee-stung, eyes going wide and terrified. "Midnight. Oh no!" He turned and ran for the garden gates.

"Wait, no, don't leave!" Violetta cried, running after him. She was very glad she'd gone for flats instead of heels, but wide skirts and a tight corset still weren't doing her speed any favors. Prince Charming, on the other hand, had quite a turn of speed on him.

She thought he was gone for good when he suddenly slowed, grabbing his crotch. "Shit, no, ah!" Prince Charming jiggled in place, and then from out of his pant leg something came spinning out to land sparkling on the cobbled path.

Prince Charming hesitated, looking down at the object with horrified longing, then his eyes darted up to Violetta (who was rapidly gaining) and with a wordless wail he left it behind and sprinted out the gates into the night.

By the time Violetta made it to the gates, panting like a bellows, he was long gone. She said a very unladylike word, and then several others as well, before dashing the tears from her eyes and going back to find the dropped item. A beautiful, gleaming, glass--- oh no.

...

Their Royal Majesties looked from Prince Frederick (long changed out of his Violetta clothes, with only a hint of eyeliner left) to the item on the table, to each other, and then back again. The King pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. The Queen kept giggling, attempting to compose herself, and then giggling again.

"So," the king said again, looking only at the ceiling. "You have fallen desperately in love on the last possible night before we arrange you a marriage. And the only hint you have for your paramor's identity is an enchanted glass..."

"I believe this type of object is called a 'packer', your Majesty," the Royal Adviser interjected, helpfully. His stone face was more than up to the challenge of such a ridiculous scenario.

"Yes," Frederick said, firmly. "I will have no one else but the Drag King who wore this to the ball."

The King rubbed his face with his hands, then peered through his fingers as though that would make the packer on his table into anything else beside an anatomically correct (and quite large) dick and balls made of beautiful stained glass. He sighed and looked at the ceiling again. "How do we even..." he trailed off.

"If I may suggest?" The Royal Adviser waited for the King to flap a hand at him. "Perhaps the first step would be to discreetly contact the local glassblowers to see if one of them was commissioned for such a piece?"

("blowers," the Queen snickered behind her hand)

"Oooh!" Frederick pointed at the Adviser. "That's a good plan. Let's use that plan. Much much better than my plan."

"Which was?" The King prompted, longsufferingly.

"To pass it around that I'd marry the person who could accurately describe the packer, of course."

i think i want a glass packer, it would give me an edge and add a lot of danger to my mundane life

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I wrote this poem back in ‘18, when I’d been laying in bed crying about being unable to access trans-affirming healthcare (like you do). Now in ‘22 I’m about two years in on hormones, and finally getting the very surgery I had been needing. I’m getting the thing I’ve been waiting over twenty years for.

And, just... Gods-damn am I glad that I wiped my eyes, stood up, and carried on. Because it’s not for forever. It’s just long enough to get there. <3

weep, then, for the injustice

shed tears for what you cannot have

what you so desperately need

what you will never be allowed

let the sorrow weigh

like lead in your lungs

mourn your fill

then climb out from your blankets

wipe your eyes, stand up

and carry on

you are given no other choice

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your patreon seems to be completely blank and all the links to short stories on it redirect to a profile that is yours but has no content and the basic avatar. I would like to read your stories (and maybe send you money).

So, it turns out that the demands of having a patreon do not mesh well with my particular brain weasels, so I shut it down quite a while ago. Thanks for letting me know that I missed a few posts when I was trying to delete all the links to patreon from this blog! I have taken a few more out.

I'm... probably still missing a few.

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The Captain had a plan.

Many wished for a villaging of humans to take residence upon their vessels. Few succeeded. She, however, had an advantage that her seniors lacked, and was determined to make no mistakes now that she finally had a ship of her own. She was, after all, of the first generation to be born on a vessel containing humans.

In the Captain’s youth--when she was yet small enough to be carried about in a human’s hand--she had spent as much of her time as she could in the human habitat. She had observed the villaging, and in turn been observed and even befriended. She had even been gifted a human name, Riki, and carried it close and treasured.

Captain Riki outfitted her ship very carefully. The dedicated human habitat was lavishly appointed, with optimal lighting and temperature fluctuations and a multitude of private individual nooks for familial units, as well as expansive shared spaces which could be decorated in any number of ways. The nooks were supplied with plentiful clean water and human-crafted ‘basic amenities’ that the humans could very easily change out for things they liked better on their own.

This, of course, was not much different from what trail and error had discovered to be good ways to entice humans to both take up residence and choose to remain in residence. (To try and keep a villaging of humans who wished instead to leave was to tempt fate. In the best case, they were astonishingly adept at escape. In the worst... well. It was learned that the most terrifying words in the human tongue were ‘you’re going down with me’.)

No, the human habitat was only the first step of Captain Riki’s plan. The second step was to outfit her ship with long mesh tubes traveling through all the major thoroughfares and into all the areas of the ship--creating safe passageways for the humans to explore all of it, and set with doors that they might easily open and close on their own. They were fantastically curious creatures, humans, and she wanted to offer them security as they inevitably explored. If they felt that they were a part of the ship, true members of the crew and welcome everywhere, the villaging was more likely to remain loyal.

Captain Riki set the stage, and made her preparations. The final part was the riskiest. Hers was a long-haul cargo vessel, and as she transported goods from sector to sector, she kept a channel tuned for emergency broadcasts. It was not so long, compared to how long she had taken to put her plan together, until she heard a call for help that she was close enough to answer. Captain Riki logged her change of flight plan, informed her buyers that she would be delayed, and contacted the source of the call to volunteer her vessel.

Her ship landed on the surface of a planet that was wrecked--pitted and pockmarked, smoke in the air. By far the most expensive custom alteration to her ship were shield-generators capable of withstanding even orbital bombardment, and Captain Riki raised them in a glowing arc above her ship and extending out to the damaged building she’d been told to land at. Over the external speakers she projected her message in synthesized voice that was made to sound warm and welcoming to their ears:

“This is Captain Riki of the cargo ship Obsidian-Gold 779, offering refugee transport to the Azuli system, Helios X, and Viridian Central Station.”

Even as she spoke, the humans were organizing an exodus to her ship. The great bay doors were thrown wide to welcome them, and Captain Riki flowed down the largest artery of the ship and then also in an arc over the ceiling of the landing bay. As the tiny humans scurried in below her--in their family or friend groups, with their injured carried in and tended by their medics--Captain Riki flexed her chromatophors to send slow waves of iridescent gold and inky black flowing down her body. A few of the little ones, the children, stopped and stared, pointed, smiled or laughed with faces that had only just before been frightened and grim.

Captain Riki painted new patterns across herself, flowers and starbursts and wiggles, to delight them. She could even make a simple approximation of a smiley face, and make it wink one eye. It had been a favorite of the friends of her youth, and these new children were no less entertained.

“Be welcome aboard my ship,” she said, in her synthesized voice. “Please let me know if there is anything more I can supply for your comfort.”

Soon, Captain Riki had a habitat full of humans, and returned to the black and her cargo run. They were not permanent, these humans, or at least, not all of them were. Most would be disembarking along the way, but she had set their habitat and her ship up so carefully that she hoped a few of them would remain on. A few here, and a few there, and over the course of perhaps a few dozen refugee transport missions, she hoped to have gathered enough of them to have a stable villaging of humans for her ship.

The Captain had a plan. It was not a quick or an easy plan, but she was certain of her eventual success.

Mentally combining the "bees are unionized and will leave if they don't like their working conditions" post with the various "humans stow away on alien spaceships and do the jobs that are too dangerous for more fragile species" posts

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I am very far from perfect, but I always try to make my writing a body-positive zone. I’m fairly proud of the character introductions in the Cat Murder Mystery that is such a mess it will never see the light of day. It’s got a wide array of human and supernatural characters. Might as well share a couple of my favorites!

.

Temple was coming out of the house now. She was short and stocky, graying blonde hair tied back in a simple ponytail. Her powerful werewolf muscles were softened with a comfortable layer of fat so she looked like your basic suburban mom at a glance, but she was tough and had good instincts and probably the keenest nose of anyone Lynn had ever met. She was exactly the kind of person Lynn wanted investigating Avery's murder.

.

That, and there was a flogger hung up on the wall. It was probably the prettiest one Lynn had ever seen, with pale pink leather tails attached with gold fittings to a ceramic handle whose roses perfectly matched the tea set.

The tails were buttery-soft, obviously not intended to deliver real pain, and made a very nice pattering sound falling back into place when Lynn flicked them to make them move.

"You like it?" The quiet voice behind Lynn startled him, and he spun to see the speaker. She was a short construct, with the same porcelain-pale complexion Avery favored and round pink cheeks, thick silver hair done up in a neat bun with a few amethyst pins. Her broad curves were complemented by a well-tailored pink and cream dress suit. There was a confidence in the way she held herself, how her silver-gray eyes flicked up and down Lynn's body to size him up before shifting politely just off to the side of him. Along with all the 'Mistress Prudence' talk, her perfectly manicured hand was definitely the one intended to hold the pretty flogger.

"That one's my favorite," Prudence continued. "Though of course I have many others, if you prefer something with more bite."

.

Sage was entertaining a mixed group of people in front of his seafood stall, barking his distinctive laugh at his own joke. People laughed with him, and he sold a few bags of mussels and oysters. Sage never wore glamours; the short minky fur that covered his head, the sharp teeth in his wide mouth, and his tiny nonhuman ears were on full display. He was beautiful in the way of sea lions—sleek in every line of his body, well rounded with insulating fat, his skin a deep gleaming copper. His big soft eyes brightened when he recognized Lynn.

"Lynn!" Sage threw his short powerful arms wide, inviting Lynn into a hug, and then pulling him into one regardless when Lynn didn't move away. His shoulders were wider even than Lynn's, but his very short legs meant he still fit easily under Lynn's chin. He squeezed tight around Lynn's waist, lifting him briefly off his feet and laughing again. "It's been too long, land-cat!"

.

Eddy was leaning against Temple's desk when Lynn emerged. She was a tall Black human woman, square shoulders and wide hips, her skin deep brown and her tightly curled hair trimmed close to her head, and both hands wrapped around a cup from her favorite coffee place. Her solid presence anchored the entire room, and Lynn headed toward her.

Eddy smiled when she caught sight of him, letting go of her coffee to reach one arm out. She looked tired, with bags under her eyes. Lynn leaned into her to let her rub his back. "Hey there," she said. "How you holding up? We went by your place last night, but you weren't in."

[a few paragraphs unrelated to introduction]

Eddy made a shushing sound at Lynn's growl, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck, and he let himself relax into it. Eddy was too tall for him to easily rest his chin on top of her head, so he leaned against Temple's desk and hunched down a bit to lay his cheek on her shoulder instead. She smelled like her coffee and blueberry muffins and a faint perfume she'd probably picked up from Leslie and herself. Familiar Eddy smell. Lynn let his chainsaw purr rumble through his chest, tucking his face against her neck.

"You'd better not be scent marking on me," she warned, but she didn't stop scratching. "I swear I'm breaking the squirt bottle out one of these days."

Lynn was tempted to rub the underside of his chin on her just because she said not to, but he didn't. Maybe next time. "I'm being careful," he said instead, eyes falling almost all the way closed and his arm finding its way around her solid waist as he purred. His fingers kneaded slightly, but he was careful not to let his claws come out.

.

"I see your cat has arrived to claim you," Leslie said, briefly touching Lynn's back in greeting as she joined Eddy. She was wearing a floral perfume, but faint enough not to offend sensitive noses. She probably couldn't even smell it herself, with her weak human senses.

"I fed this flea-ridden old stray one time and now I can't get rid of him," Eddy complained, leaning toward Leslie. There was a faint smack as they kissed.

"I don't know. He might make a cute fur collar..." Leslie mused, a laugh in her voice.

"Or nice cozy pair of slippers," Eddy agreed.

"No," Lynn protested. "I've got too many scars to have a good pelt." He cracked one eye open to see Leslie.

Leslie always dressed to kill. She wore fashion like battle armor, weaponized femininity sharp enough to cut. Her bright sun dress complemented her full figure and glowing brown skin perfectly, her eyeliner immaculately winged, her lipstick red as the blood of the men who underestimated her.

Lynn had the utmost respect the art of how Leslie chose to present herself, and she made Eddy happy. Lynn liked Eddy to be happy. She'd even done the thing with her hair again—crochet braids, if Lynn was remembering the name right. Leslie had a big mane of corkscrew curls, fading from black at the base to bright gold at the tips to surround her smiling face with a thousand bouncing curls.

.

The morning dawned clear and bright. Lynn woke up spooned between Carlo and a deliciously toasty ifrit named Esh. Everyone else was still asleep, strewn across Carlo's big bed and the pull-out couch. Lynn tried to slip out of bed without waking anyone, but Esh moved hir covering wings out of the way as soon as he started to move.

Lynn climbed over Carlo, who made a dissatisfied noise into his pillow until Esh shuffled over to hold him. Carlo had his face mostly buried in his pillow, but Lynn tucked a little bit of his dyed-green hair behind his ear to kiss his soft cheek goodbye. Carlo's eyes didn't open, but he did smile a little.

Carlo smelled like sleep and contentment, lovely even with his cheek crinkled from the pillowcase and his hair a fluffy mess. He didn't look anything like Avery, plump and brown where Avery was white and waifish, he didn't even smell anything like Avery; but something in his sweetness, his simple joy of life, his mockery of rigid gender roles, reminded Lynn of him. Carlo was an artist, sweet and kind, and no kind of a fighter at all.

Of any of Lynn's partners, Carlo could be hurt the most easily. And he was human. He only had one life to live.

Esh gently lay hir first wing over Carlo like a blanket, and Lynn shook his head, breathing deep through the tightness in his chest. Carlo wasn't Avery. He always had friends nearby to protect him.

"Take care of him," Lynn whispered to Esh, briefly meeting hir glowing eyes across Carlo. In answer Esh stretched out hir second wing, touching one warm pinion feather lightly to the center of Lynn's chest.

.

Challenging Fatphobic Language in Writing: Some Alternative Vocabularies

So I’m currently working on a short story for an explicitly fat-positive anthology, and it’s making me realize just how little language I have readily at hand for describing large bodies in positive terms! 

Putting aside for a moment the whole debate over HAES and fat positivity and everything else – and if you clown on this post, I’m simply going to block you, that’s not what we’re here for – sometimes you just want to write a story with a fat person in it and you need some adjectives/descriptive language that isn’t overtly gross and/or fetishistic. 

Well, I’ve got you, fam. I have compiled this handy list of descriptive terms and phrases for describing big bodies with positive connotations.

Why am I doing this? 

Because this:

And this: 

And frankly, we all deserve better. So let’s go. 

Positive (and Neutral) Adjectives for Fatness

Abundant

Ample

Big

Broad

Buxom

Considerable

Curvy

Full

Generous

Heavy

Large

Luscious

Plentiful

Plump

Replete

Robust

Round

Rubenesque

Soft

Solid

Stocky

Substantial

Thick

Voluptuous

Zaftig

Movement Verbs Evoking Fatness

Amble

Bounce

Lope

Mosey

Pad

Plod

Pound

Ramble

Scoot

Shuffle

Trundle

Some Points to Keep In Mind

A big part of challenging fatphobia in writing is inverting or subverting stereotypes. Here are a few lazy/played-out tropes and things to think about: 

Fat = Greedy I think we can all agree at this point that there are better ways to show greed – such as excessive wealth, entitlement, selfishness, and so forth. There is really no need to use fatness or gluttony as a metaphor for these concepts. Just write your greedy character doing greedy things and resist the urge to make them also be fat. If you need a strong visual metaphor, go for opulence and wealth instead. 

Fat = Gross  A ton of media, especially horror, loves making fat people slovenly, smelly, covered in food stains, farting and belching, etc. etc. So if you want a more positive representation, just presenting the character as clean, well-dressed, tidy, etc. actually goes a very long way. Consider playing against type by making your fat character dapper or fastidious about other elements of their appearance, like their hair, or wearing very nice custom-fitted clothes (or even just “dressing up” a bit more than everyone else). 

Fat = Out of Shape Yes, absolutely, many fat people are also out of shape couch potatoes. But so are a lot of skinny people. And fat people absolutely can be athletic – go google “fat athletes” for several lists of them if you don’t believe me! Sure, you probably won’t find a ton of fat long-distance runners, but you’ll definitely find plenty of hefty weight lifters, fighters, folks with physical jobs, etc. A lot of super muscular people are also carrying extra fat, and that is in fact way more common and natural than the super-defined, well-cut muscles you see on TV. Keep that in mind the next time you’re writing an army of strong hand-to-hand combatants – they’re likely to be physically big, not in a bulging muscle He-Man way but more of an “absolute unit” way. Keep in mind, too, that even regular folks packing extra pounds will often tend to be a lot stronger (on account of spending every day carrying extra weight!) You can be fat and graceful, fat and strong, fat and with endurance. Just something to keep in mind. 

Fat = Pig  Pigs have a reputation for being huge, dirty, smelly, garbage-eating slobby creatures, and “disgusting fat pig” and “porker” and their ilk have been insults against big people for a long time. Of course, in reality pigs are also super smart, highly social (and fucking terrifying) but that’s not usually waht gets invoked when people think of them! Really, avoiding animal language when talking about people is often a good idea (since animal comparisons can be dehumanizing), but if you are going to evoke an animal, go with something else. Like a seal (super cute, very graceful in its natural environment) or a bear (big and solid and intimidating) or a bull elk (thick and majestic). 

Fat = Ugly  Fat people can be beautiful. I mean, sure, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and inner beauty is a thing and all that – but that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean that fat bodies are great! They’re warm and soft and huggable. They’re big and solid and comforting. They can be strong and protective. They can be super-feminine and curvy. Cute as a button or powerful and demanding with their presence. 

Obviously dismantling fatphobia is a whole big (ha, ha) topic all on its own, and there’s a ton more to think about. But this is at least something to get you started! 

Context matters a whole lot in description – words can be positive or negative based on how they’re utilized! But these are at least some terms intended to be a bit less loaded with negative baggage than those often used in less flattering descriptions. 

Have you read a book with a fat character who had a great or interesting description? Please reblog, I’d love to see how other authors have handled it! 

[ts-porter]

"We're changing the world, Silvie." Ascelin had that same dreamy-wondrous tone he took on when he was a little drunk, either on alcohol or lack of sleep very late at night. "We're blowing the study of magic clear off it's foundations, both of us alone, and I want to do it together. I want—Gods of Stone, Bone, and Tree, I want and I want and I want and I've never met anyone else who wants magic the way I do. You're my people, and that's got nothing to do with blood and everything to do with heart. I'm holding you as close as you'll let me, for as long as you'll let me, and that's a promise!"

Ascelin Miller, in ‘Glamour and Saws’, the Rat Boys WIP

[ts-porter]

Brian's parents were semi famous loophole-exploiting trans adventurers back in the day. They're very proud that he's carrying on the family tradition.

Literally everyone where he grew up knew his parents and their famed exploits. Brian just kinda forgot that having set out to make his own name in the world, separate from his parents, people aren't automatically going to know about his family situation if he doesn't tell them.

Recently I've been having a fun time thinking about a group of adventurers going up against some sort of kingdom-threatening bad guy that nobody can stop (as one does), only when they finally reach him the bad guy starts monologuing! Yes, he is protected by a Prophecy that No Man of Woman Borne can kill him! (macbeth is a classic for a reason and if jirt can steal the line so can I. no regrets.)

Cue the party huddling up to plan like 'ok, is this man-as-in-male meaning the ladies can go Éowyn on his ass? or is it Man as in mankind as in human? Do we go get some attack dogs somewhere? An attack cow? What? Cows are way more dangerous than sharks, there's statistics about it! Whatever, we don't have time to go get an attack animal! What if it's about identifying as human? Quick, is anyone in the party a furry? C'mon, don't be shy, the kingdom is at stake!'

Meanwhile the quiet one (it's always the quiet ones) sort of hanging in the background of this panicky planning sesh goes 'huh', and then he just walks straight up to the still-chortling big bad and slays him dead.

Stunned silence.

Then of course there is a lot to do in the aftermath and everybody's busy, but later the rest of the party is like 'ok, really, how did he do that'. They are trying to figure out what's up with their bro. Let's call him Brian. Brian the Baneslayer, that's got a ring to it.

So the party's trying to figure out what's up with Brian and how he managed to kill the big bad despite the prophecy. They're like 'is Brian a trans woman, have we been misgendering Brian this whole time!? Is Brian somehow secretly not human? We definitely need to ask Brian. What, no! You can't ask directly, Brian is like the most private person ever! We've just got to make sure Brian knows we're cool and accepting no matter what so Brian can tell us how the flip the prophecy was eluded.'

Mission: We Affirm All Identities is go! Various party members, with various levels of awkwardness, 'casually' bring up stories of their own queer identities, or that of their beloved friends and family and... Brian smiles and nods and makes quietly supportive noises and that's it, no sharing of stories. They have semi-staged arguments concluding that 'people are definitely people and deserving of all support even if they were somehow not a human people' and Brian just sort of nods along and still nothing.

(the quiet ones, man, their secrets are too powerful)

Anyway, this goes on for several weeks before one of the more straighforward of the party members breaks down like 'Brian, Brian, we all love you so much no matter what your whole deal is and how you got around the prophecy. we just love you, ok?' (yes, alcohol was involved)

And Brian cracks up, as he finally puts together what the team's been trying to do. "Oh my gods, you nerds. I forgot you didn't know. I'm not trans or anything, my parents are. I wasn't borne by a woman. My dad had me!"

[ts-porter]

Recently I've been having a fun time thinking about a group of adventurers going up against some sort of kingdom-threatening bad guy that nobody can stop (as one does), only when they finally reach him the bad guy starts monologuing! Yes, he is protected by a Prophecy that No Man of Woman Borne can kill him! (macbeth is a classic for a reason and if jirt can steal the line so can I. no regrets.)

Cue the party huddling up to plan like 'ok, is this man-as-in-male meaning the ladies can go Éowyn on his ass? or is it Man as in mankind as in human? Do we go get some attack dogs somewhere? An attack cow? What? Cows are way more dangerous than sharks, there's statistics about it! Whatever, we don't have time to go get an attack animal! What if it's about identifying as human? Quick, is anyone in the party a furry? C'mon, don't be shy, the kingdom is at stake!'

Meanwhile the quiet one (it's always the quiet ones) sort of hanging in the background of this panicky planning sesh goes 'huh', and then he just walks straight up to the still-chortling big bad and slays him dead.

Stunned silence.

Then of course there is a lot to do in the aftermath and everybody's busy, but later the rest of the party is like 'ok, really, how did he do that'. They are trying to figure out what's up with their bro. Let's call him Brian. Brian the Baneslayer, that's got a ring to it.

So the party's trying to figure out what's up with Brian and how he managed to kill the big bad despite the prophecy. They're like 'is Brian a trans woman, have we been misgendering Brian this whole time!? Is Brian somehow secretly not human? We definitely need to ask Brian. What, no! You can't ask directly, Brian is like the most private person ever! We've just got to make sure Brian knows we're cool and accepting no matter what so Brian can tell us how the flip the prophecy was eluded.'

Mission: We Affirm All Identities is go! Various party members, with various levels of awkwardness, 'casually' bring up stories of their own queer identities, or that of their beloved friends and family and... Brian smiles and nods and makes quietly supportive noises and that's it, no sharing of stories. They have semi-staged arguments concluding that 'people are definitely people and deserving of all support even if they were somehow not a human people' and Brian just sort of nods along and still nothing.

(the quiet ones, man, their secrets are too powerful)

Anyway, this goes on for several weeks before one of the more straighforward of the party members breaks down like 'Brian, Brian, we all love you so much no matter what your whole deal is and how you got around the prophecy. we just love you, ok?' (yes, alcohol was involved)

And Brian cracks up, as he finally puts together what the team's been trying to do. "Oh my gods, you nerds. I forgot you didn't know. I'm not trans or anything, my parents are. I wasn't borne by a woman. My dad had me!"

[ts-porter]

From the publisher's twitter: TS Porter's "(don't you) love a singer" is a rollicking spacefaring tale about a close-knit crew of singing sailors holding their ship together through subspace with the rhythm of their voices.

I am very proud to be a part of the 'It Gets Even Better: Stories of Queer Possibility' anthology, with a very sweet and hopeful story. It's got space shanties and ace lesbians and humans singing their way through danger--all that good stuff! You can find it in print, ebook, and audiobook [here].

Image transcripts below

Image one: Purple text on a dark background, with a cartoony spaceship shooting rainbow fire and small planets colored like pride flags along the left size. "It Gets Even Better: Stories of Queer Possibility. Table of contents. The Ghosts of Liberty Street by Phoebe Barton Weave Us a Way by Nemma Wollenfang Custom Options Available by Amy Griswold The Invisible Bisexual by S.L. Huang Frequently Asked Questions About the Portals at Frank's Late-Night Starlite Drive-In by Kristen Koopman The Perseverance of Angela's Past Life by Zen Cho Sea Glass at Dawn by Leora Spitzer unchartered territories by Swetha S. Midnight Confetti by D.K. Marlowe black is a flower by R.J. Mustafa Made With Love by Tami Veldura Sphexa, Start Dinosaur by Nibedita Sen The Frequency of Compassion by Merc Fenn Wolfmoor What Pucks Love by Sonni de Soto Gold Medal, Scrap Metal by Lauren Ring Half My Heart by Rafi Kleiman Venti Mochaccino, No Whip, Double Shot of Magic by Aimee Ogden since we're here tonight by Xu Ran I'll Have You Know by Charlie Jane Anders The Cafe Under the Hill by Ziggy Schutz (don't you) love a singer by TS Porter The After Party by Ben Francisco The Mountain Will Move If You Ask by Jaxton Kimble"

Image 2: Purple text on a dark background. "Whenever they could, Kait and Maya would go down to the shipyards and watch the singers disembark from their spaceships, exulting in full-throated song. They were barrel-chested, their voices bigger and stronger than other people's, their friendships tighter. They laughed and sang and held each other close, and it made Kait's chest hurt with want to watch them." (don't you) love a singer by TS Porter

It Gets Even Better: Stories of Queer Possibility

[ts-porter]

I have sold a short story from this same universe! “(don’t you) love a singer” is sweet and hope-punky and includes ace lesbians singing their way through danger. If you like one, I think you’ll enjoy the other.

Click anywhere on this sentence to check out the It Gets Even Better: Stories of Queer Possibility anthology by Speculatively Queer

The Shanty and the Hive

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The first time the humans told us they sang their way through subspace, we thought it a translation error.

.

We-the-hive were overjoyed to meet them. Finally, finally, it was proven that we were not alone! And though we already knew that we must not be, given the vastness of time and the multiverse, we also knew that those same vastnesses were against us. Civilizations we could meet are greatly outnumbered by those who came before us and we are too late to meet, those who will come after us and we are too early for, and those so far away that we cannot find them.

A starfaring civilization, like our own, increased the chances of meeting greatly. One of our most distant scientific surveyors sensed a faint and far away disturbance, similar to the waves our own ships make when diving into and out of subspace. An exploratory team was sent to investigate, and there at the furthest reach ever taken from the hive’s center, to our everlasting joy, we found human explorers on the far edges of their own range.

Their ships were strange to us, and their selves even stranger. Translation, and the mutual communication of peaceful intentions, was difficult. Mathematics was the first understanding we were able to share, as the basic principles do not change—though their and our systems of harnessing it are different. Science followed after, as the elements and natural laws are unchanging. So it was discovered that we-the-hive and the humans share the common ground of being carbon-based heterotrophs who consume water to maintain life processes.

These commonalities were far outnumbered by our differences. Yet, the most important thing we had in common was the desire to understand each other. With earnest effort, with forgiveness for unintended insult and misunderstanding, we worked to learn each other’s languages.

Science being an early part of our understanding of each other, we asked them about the construction of their ships. They told us of their material compositions and their subspace engines, different in design but similar in purpose to our own technology—but when we asked them about the shielding and stabilization they used to make the journey survivable, they told us only that they sang their way through.

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