#mythpunk — Public Fediverse posts

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 130, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Tall #TimeTravelAuthors 09/5. Plant Grow

The fairy dance ended as suddenly as it had started. One flute cut off mid-verse, and the other trailed off right afterwards. No one seemed alarmed or surprised. Most stopped in their tracks, while a few continued prancing for a few moments more before joining the rest and slipped away.

Weena tugged on my arm and gestured at the building behind the trees. “Coome. Hoomee. Eeat.”

I nodded, and we started toward the woods.

The whole way, my new friend held my hand and babbled to me in a mixture of melodic syllables and fractured English. After asking a few questions, I realized I wouldn’t learn anything useful. She either didn’t know the answers, couldn’t communicate them, or I failed to make myself understood. As such, I retreated into my thoughts.

I considered what I’d learned. I knew a fair amount about this world, or at least H.G. Wells’s theories. Meeting the fairies, for that is what I still thought of them as, had been fortunate. If I had followed the path, I might have run into the Morlocks. But about myself, I remained ignorant except for what short flashbacks had shown me.

It was beyond frustrating that I remembered a “fictional” book more clearly than my own history.

The woods soon ended, and we emerged into a wide glen with an enormous ruined mansion in the center. Lichen grew thick on its walls, and time had shattered its #tall stained-glass windows. The remaining geometric panes had slumped like wax candles left in the sun. I doubted the fairies had built it. Instead, some forgotten civilization must have done so.

That thought offered a glimmer of hope. Remnants of that race could still exist. If I found them, I might learn more.

Returning to my survey, I noted #plants heavy with berries, small fruits, and pea-like pods growing throughout the glen. There was no sense of their being planted by the fairy folk. The herbage sprouted in random swatches or alone, just as the wind had scattered their seeds. Amidst this lush abundance, a wide variety of melon vines snaked along the ground. Here too was an untended bounty of yellow, green, and dappled gourds. At the forest's edge grew trees laden with red, purple, and topaz globes. It was no surprise that the protagonist of H.G. Wells’s story had mistaken this for a utopia at first.

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 130, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Tall #TimeTravelAuthors 09/5. Plant Grow

The fairy dance ended as suddenly as it had started. One flute cut off mid-verse, and the other trailed off right afterwards. No one seemed alarmed or surprised. Most stopped in their tracks, while a few continued prancing for a few moments more before joining the rest and slipped away.

Weena tugged on my arm and gestured at the building behind the trees. “Coome. Hoomee. Eeat.”

I nodded, and we started toward the woods.

The whole way, my new friend held my hand and babbled to me in a mixture of melodic syllables and fractured English. After asking a few questions, I realized I wouldn’t learn anything useful. She either didn’t know the answers, couldn’t communicate them, or I failed to make myself understood. As such, I retreated into my thoughts.

I considered what I’d learned. I knew a fair amount about this world, or at least H.G. Wells’s theories. Meeting the fairies, for that is what I still thought of them as, had been fortunate. If I had followed the path, I might have run into the Morlocks. But about myself, I remained ignorant except for what short flashbacks had shown me.

It was beyond frustrating that I remembered a “fictional” book more clearly than my own history.

The woods soon ended, and we emerged into a wide glen with an enormous ruined mansion in the center. Lichen grew thick on its walls, and time had shattered its #tall stained-glass windows. The remaining geometric panes had slumped like wax candles left in the sun. I doubted the fairies had built it. Instead, some forgotten civilization must have done so.

That thought offered a glimmer of hope. Remnants of that race could still exist. If I found them, I might learn more.

Returning to my survey, I noted #plants heavy with berries, small fruits, and pea-like pods growing throughout the glen. There was no sense of their being planted by the fairy folk. The herbage sprouted in random swatches or alone, just as the wind had scattered their seeds. Amidst this lush abundance, a wide variety of melon vines snaked along the ground. Here too was an untended bounty of yellow, green, and dappled gourds. At the forest's edge grew trees laden with red, purple, and topaz globes. It was no surprise that the protagonist of H.G. Wells’s story had mistaken this for a utopia at first.

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 130, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Tall #TimeTravelAuthors 09/5. Plant Grow

The fairy dance ended as suddenly as it had started. One flute cut off mid-verse, and the other trailed off right afterwards. No one seemed alarmed or surprised. Most stopped in their tracks, while a few continued prancing for a few moments more before joining the rest and slipped away.

Weena tugged on my arm and gestured at the building behind the trees. “Coome. Hoomee. Eeat.”

I nodded, and we started toward the woods.

The whole way, my new friend held my hand and babbled to me in a mixture of melodic syllables and fractured English. After asking a few questions, I realized I wouldn’t learn anything useful. She either didn’t know the answers, couldn’t communicate them, or I failed to make myself understood. As such, I retreated into my thoughts.

I considered what I’d learned. I knew a fair amount about this world, or at least H.G. Wells’s theories. Meeting the fairies, for that is what I still thought of them as, had been fortunate. If I had followed the path, I might have run into the Morlocks. But about myself, I remained ignorant except for what short flashbacks had shown me.

It was beyond frustrating that I remembered a “fictional” book more clearly than my own history.

The woods soon ended, and we emerged into a wide glen with an enormous ruined mansion in the center. Lichen grew thick on its walls, and time had shattered its #tall stained-glass windows. The remaining geometric panes had slumped like wax candles left in the sun. I doubted the fairies had built it. Instead, some forgotten civilization must have done so.

That thought offered a glimmer of hope. Remnants of that race could still exist. If I found them, I might learn more.

Returning to my survey, I noted #plants heavy with berries, small fruits, and pea-like pods growing throughout the glen. There was no sense of their being planted by the fairy folk. The herbage sprouted in random swatches or alone, just as the wind had scattered their seeds. Amidst this lush abundance, a wide variety of melon vines snaked along the ground. Here too was an untended bounty of yellow, green, and dappled gourds. At the forest's edge grew trees laden with red, purple, and topaz globes. It was no surprise that the protagonist of H.G. Wells’s story had mistaken this for a utopia at first.

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 130, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Tall #TimeTravelAuthors 09/5. Plant Grow

The fairy dance ended as suddenly as it had started. One flute cut off mid-verse, and the other trailed off right afterwards. No one seemed alarmed or surprised. Most stopped in their tracks, while a few continued prancing for a few moments more before joining the rest and slipped away.

Weena tugged on my arm and gestured at the building behind the trees. “Coome. Hoomee. Eeat.”

I nodded, and we started toward the woods.

The whole way, my new friend held my hand and babbled to me in a mixture of melodic syllables and fractured English. After asking a few questions, I realized I wouldn’t learn anything useful. She either didn’t know the answers, couldn’t communicate them, or I failed to make myself understood. As such, I retreated into my thoughts.

I considered what I’d learned. I knew a fair amount about this world, or at least H.G. Wells’s theories. Meeting the fairies, for that is what I still thought of them as, had been fortunate. If I had followed the path, I might have run into the Morlocks. But about myself, I remained ignorant except for what short flashbacks had shown me.

It was beyond frustrating that I remembered a “fictional” book more clearly than my own history.

The woods soon ended, and we emerged into a wide glen with an enormous ruined mansion in the center. Lichen grew thick on its walls, and time had shattered its #tall stained-glass windows. The remaining geometric panes had slumped like wax candles left in the sun. I doubted the fairies had built it. Instead, some forgotten civilization must have done so.

That thought offered a glimmer of hope. Remnants of that race could still exist. If I found them, I might learn more.

Returning to my survey, I noted #plants heavy with berries, small fruits, and pea-like pods growing throughout the glen. There was no sense of their being planted by the fairy folk. The herbage sprouted in random swatches or alone, just as the wind had scattered their seeds. Amidst this lush abundance, a wide variety of melon vines snaked along the ground. Here too was an untended bounty of yellow, green, and dappled gourds. At the forest's edge grew trees laden with red, purple, and topaz globes. It was no surprise that the protagonist of H.G. Wells’s story had mistaken this for a utopia at first.

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 130, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK

#Wss366 Tall #TimeTravelAuthors 09/5. Plant Grow

The fairy dance ended as suddenly as it had started. One flute cut off mid-verse, and the other trailed off right afterwards. No one seemed alarmed or surprised. Most stopped in their tracks, while a few continued prancing for a few moments more before joining the rest and slipped away.

Weena tugged on my arm and gestured at the building behind the trees. “Coome. Hoomee. Eeat.”

I nodded, and we started toward the woods.

The whole way, my new friend held my hand and babbled to me in a mixture of melodic syllables and fractured English. After asking a few questions, I realized I wouldn’t learn anything useful. She either didn’t know the answers, couldn’t communicate them, or I failed to make myself understood. As such, I retreated into my thoughts.

I considered what I’d learned. I knew a fair amount about this world, or at least H.G. Wells’s theories. Meeting the fairies, for that is what I still thought of them as, had been fortunate. If I had followed the path, I might have run into the Morlocks. But about myself, I remained ignorant except for what short flashbacks had shown me.

It was beyond frustrating that I remembered a “fictional” book more clearly than my own history.

The woods soon ended, and we emerged into a wide glen with an enormous ruined mansion in the center. Lichen grew thick on its walls, and time had shattered its #tall stained-glass windows. The remaining geometric panes had slumped like wax candles left in the sun. I doubted the fairies had built it. Instead, some forgotten civilization must have done so.

That thought offered a glimmer of hope. Remnants of that race could still exist. If I found them, I might learn more.

Returning to my survey, I noted #plants heavy with berries, small fruits, and pea-like pods growing throughout the glen. There was no sense of their being planted by the fairy folk. The herbage sprouted in random swatches or alone, just as the wind had scattered their seeds. Amidst this lush abundance, a wide variety of melon vines snaked along the ground. Here too was an untended bounty of yellow, green, and dappled gourds. At the forest's edge grew trees laden with red, purple, and topaz globes. It was no surprise that the protagonist of H.G. Wells’s story had mistaken this for a utopia at first.

#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn

#TimeTravelingGhost EP 8: Post 82: 2025 Arkham

#Wss366 Irish & #StPatricksDay #TimeTravelAuthors 03/17. Patient or patience in your story

Rather than leave the way we had come, I decided to time-trip out. The less information we gave our foes, the better. Apparently, they knew we could time-travel, but we could hold dematerialization as a trump card.

I took Emily’s hand and thought about our next destination. “Take us to my university office on the day the pink rat arrives from the future.”

The familiar sensations of time-tripping took over, and we appeared in a small academic office. Green streamers hung from the window, and a mega plushy papillon wearing an emerald top hat sat in the guest chair. A small plastic Buddha rested on the desk next to a picture of a young woman and me. Behind them stood the brick wall of an #Irish pub. The picture triggered a sense of profound sadness, but no memories.

Emily burst out laughing when she saw the clothes I’d manifested. “Nice duds. Is that what the daring avant-garde wear in your time? Absurd, but it’s charming in its own way.”

I pulled the floppy hat down and the N95 mask up higher, hoping they might hide how red my cheeks were. They probably matched the large cherry-red sunglasses I was sporting. I’d considered wearing a hijab but was unsure about the cultural implications of a nonbeliever wearing one. “I told you I don’t want people to see two Professor Henrietta Dubois’s.”

“Professor Tweedledee and Dum,” Emily joked.

I tipped up my glasses and rolled my eyes. She laughed.

“And this must be a young Tweedle-dumb,” she said, looking at the picture. “You look happy.

She stopped, tapped a signature, and said, “Who's Sarah Lockwell?” The amusement on her face had faded.

“I don’t remember.” My response wasn’t an evasion. I truly didn’t remember.

“Shame,” she said, but it didn’t sound as if she meant it.

Next, she walked around the desk, materialized her hand, and opened the bottom drawer. “Brandy. You were a bit of a lush, weren’t you, Professor Dumb?”

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m a spy, sleuthing.”

“Well, be careful. You’ll get caught snooping.”

“You’re the only one who can see me.”

“Right, I forgot.”

After that, I sat #patiently on the edge of the guest chair while Emily continued to investigate. “Faustus Pakt, Liber Juratus, Pompilius’ Spiegel,” she read as she browsed the books on a shelf. “You had quite an interest in Faust and medieval grimoires.”

Having no memory of my prior reading, I didn’t comment.

Emily had moved back to the desk when the door opened, interrupting her investigation. In the corridor stood an outraged Professor Dubois, carrying a pink rat in a cage.

Medieval Grimoires:

#TootFic #MicroFiction #NMFic #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #Series #SaintPatricksDay

#Goldilocks and Three Grim Fates: This On is too Hot: Part 1

#Mythpunk #Horror
#Wss633 #Mastoprompt

Rebecca closed the cabin door, shutting out the winter wind and snow that blew in. Our breath hung in clouds in the still, cold air of the room. We might be trespassing, but it was better than sitting in our stalled car.

I called out again, “Anyone home? Sorry for intruding, but our car broke down, and it’s freezing.”

Again, there was no response. The owners had probably gone to town to avoid the blizzard that was in the forecast.

We really shouldn’t have been on the road, but Grandma had grown tired of us and had hinted, “Thanksgiving is over. Wouldn’t you prefer sleeping in your own beds?”

My girlfriend moved past me to the fireplace. “I’ll light a fire. Why don’t you see if there’s food? We can leave money on the table when we leave to pay for any inconvenience.”

Clair had already begun exploring and called from the door at the far side of the room. “It’s a bedroom with three beds: one big, one small, and one in between. This one is too…”

“Don’t say it,” Rebecca called to her. I wasn’t sure why the joke bothered her so much, but it did. Rebecca had always been the stricter of the two of us and got peeved if I interfered, so I kept silent.

While the two did their thing, I began looking for food. The can on the table proved to be red bean soup made by a Japanese company. I’d always thought a sweet bean drink was weird, but I guessed it was popular. It was funny finding it here in the middle of the Bitterroot Mountains, and I wondered if the owners were Japanese.

A cupboard next to the stove proved more fruitful. There was some cup ramen, tins of diced tomatoes, a package of sun-dried #prunes, and a couple of kilos of rice.

Part 2 in the next post

#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #NMFic #NMV366 #NMSAM #Ivanhoe

#Goldilocks and Three Grim Fates

#Mythpunk #Horror
#Wss366 #Mastoprompt #ScribesAndMakers 11/22

“...But I did not shoot the #deputy…” Bob Marley’s wail trailed off as our car stalled.

“I told you to get the car checked,” Rebecca said.

“I did. The mechanic said it was in A1 shape, just some minor gremlins in the electrical system.”

From the back, Claire added, "Or a plot to get two lovely ladies alone on a lonely country road." I could picture her shaking her golden, sausage-curls as she said it, a sly grin on her face.

“Cute,” I replied. I could always count on my daughter to say something clever. But she was right; it was a lonely road. Trees hemmed us in, and large fluffy flakes drifted down between them.

To our left was a yellow steel gate with a “No Trespassing” sign. Beyond, the occasional moon #illuminated a rustic cabin. Weeds poked through the snow casting shadows like claws. The only welcoming thing in the scene was a path where someone had trampled the snow, leading to the building.

“I know it says no trespassing, but I’m going to see if someone is home,” I said, opening the car door.

A blast of arctic air met me, smelling of an upcoming storm. I shivered and pulled my coat tighter.

My girlfriend and her daughter joined me. The younger one explained, “No way we’re letting you leave us. Everyone knows ‘Jack the Gripper’ preys on beauties left alone in stalled cars.”

“It’s ‘Jack the Ripper,’” Rebecca corrected.

“Nya ayh, it’s ‘Jack the Gripper.’ He’s from the game ‘Seven Maidens House.’”

It was too cold for this debate, so I walked over to the gate, which was fortunately unlocked.

The snow on the path crunched underfoot, leaving footprints. The dark, empty windows of the cabin didn’t encourage me. Still, a phone line running to it tempted me onward.

Silence met the door’s rattle when I knocked. I knocked louder, thinking perhaps the owner was asleep. This was also met with silence.

“That's weird,” I heard Rebecca say. “Three mailboxes.”

“This one is too big. And this one is too dented. But this one is just right!”

“Don’t say #cursed things,” Rebecca reprimanded Claire.

“I’m going to see if it’s unlocked,” I called over my shoulder, interrupting their squabbling.
To my surprise, the door opened easily, and flicking a switch produced a warm electric light.

The building’s interior was cozy. Three rocking chairs stood in front of a fireplace with wood stacked next to it. A handleless hatchet rested against the pile. To one side, there was a wood stove with more wood. A single frying pan rested on it. In the center of the room was a table with a cheery, red-checkered tablecloth, three place settings, and a mystery soup can. I guessed the door in the back led to a bedroom.

The room's most surprising feature was a ceiling-high bookshelf crammed with leather-bound books. They weren't the collector's type with gold trim and fancy titles, but old volumes weathered by time.

(1/4)

#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #NMFic