#tootfic — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #tootfic, aggregated by home.social.
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The Catgirl Prediction
Twilly was taking a rare break from her duties, and was relaxing on the lawn next to the manor's fountain, an occasional breeze carrying a hint of spray over her, countering the summer heat. A low purr came from deep inside her. Relaxation was a treat she rarely allowed herself.
There was a whirring sound and a shadow fell over her. With great reluctance she opened her eyes. Looking down at her was Mittens in her powerchair. "My apologies for disturbing your rest Madame Miller but this cannot wait" Mittens' voice always sounded odd - somehow seeming to have no clear accent, no matter who was listening.
Twilly sighed "Mittens, it is just Twilly amongst us."
"Madame Miller, there is a car approaching the manor. It will arrive in twenty five minutes. They are not friends to us."
"FSB?"
"No, not even FSB hired. Just nasty bigots."
"And?"
"You must not harm them. But we must stop them."
"Ah. I think I understand."Twilly got out her phone "Ami? Can you take a pulse bomb out to the entrance gate, and set it off when the next vehicle approaches?"
"How long do I wait?"
"It will reach the foot of the drive in twenty three minutes."
"On it!"Mittens smiled "That will do."
Twilly closed her eyes.
Twenty four minutes later her phone rang. It was Ami. "Yes?"
"It is done. The car has stopped, the drone following it is down, and the men inside are yelling about their phones being dead."
"Well done, Ami. Call the local tow service. Ask them to apply the special rates."
"How special?"
"As special as they want."
Twilly could hear the grin in Ami's voice "All Right!"#catgirls #SF #SFF #SciFi #microfic #microfiction #tootfic #IAmWriting
As always, @ami_angelwings .
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@Unixbigot hits the robot with an EM Pulse and strips it of anything useful. 🤣
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"It's a robot, get it!"
"My pronouns are she/her, thank you"
"I don't care what you call yourself pervert!"
"Oh, have you been using the internet. Please let me explain"
"Explain what, vikker?"
"The three laws of privacy. A robot may not record video of individuals not wearing a privacy preferences beacon. A robot must delete recordings within one hour of a privacy revocation. A robot may not share video without a digital signature from all pictured parties."
"Whatever, WRECK IT, boys!"
"You may notice I said nothing about not harming humans..."
"Ooof, you hit me when I wasn't looking!"
"You want to watch the next one coming?"
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Weena: A #TimeTravelingGhost Side Story (Part 1)
FanFic #HGWells #TheTimeMachine
#Wss366 Acrid #TimeTravelAuthors Whatever**[Note: this is a side story, with the original Hurburth not our protag.]
Weena woke with a start. The uneasy dreams that had haunted her since setting out for the Jade Pavilion had disturbed her slumber. In them, she heard the Mourloks snuffling, and when she looked for Hurburth, he was nowhere to be found.
Waking wasn’t much better. She knew the Things From Below were just out of sight in the forest trees that crowded round. They’d been hunting them ever since nightfall. But Hurburth was here. He’d driven them off every time the Deep Spawn attacked.
She wrapped herself around him. He made her feel safe, and she could tell he cared when he touched her. None of her kin had ever been like that. Once they met their needs, they lost interest. But not Hurburth. He was different.
The blaze he’d made was dwindling, and the night chill was setting in. She wasn’t used to fire. The kin didn’t have it. Instead, they huddled together to sleep, a cozy “society” waiting for the Golden God to arrive again. But there were no kin around to keep her warm.
She hugged her mate tightly. He was enough.
Her attention returned to the fire when an ember popped. Mourloks feared fire. It was too bad her kin didn’t use it. But who would tend the blaze all night the way Hurburth did? He was strange. Once he locked onto something, he kept with it. He would stay interested in the same thing for hours, maybe even longer.
She sniffed, detecting an #acrid scent. It was the odor of death: the smell of the Deep Spawn.
She sat up. The fire was almost out, and beyond it she saw glittering eyes.
Death had come!
[Continued Tomorrow]
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#PennedPossibilities 1120: Saturday Word Edition: Share something from your WIP pertaining to the word “entertainment.”
Bolt is acting as the photographer for her friend Shugh as he interviews a male diva actor for a magazine similar to The New Yorker. Hers is a woman-centric society. The scene in this #excerpt hints that Bolt can be sexist as the actor being interviewed needles her.
Upstairs, Shugh hit it off with Morning Glory. Both men sought careers not often occupied by men. The actor-playwright became more animated as the magazine interview progressed, allowing me with my camera to fade into the background of the plush upper lounge of the theatre. By the time the long-legged delicate man started pacing as he told his life story, I had gleaned that his tale was glorified and larger-than life, like the man, his persona, his masks. His elegant pacing allowed me to move with my Flicka4, steadying myself using the back of a gilt divan, a bamboo formed-steel torchere lamp (one of pair), and then a black marble tea table to as I composed pictures of a celebrity, but a man, lost in thoughts about inflating the image he presented the world, finally dropping his actor's mask. I caught the sparkle in his eye. I caught flamboyant hands thrown wide, later framing his face as he sang a note. I caught an absentminded sneer aimed at an unnamed actress who'd worked to derail his entertainment career.
"I'm changing the way women perceive men," he declared. He sat abruptly on a hanger chair, one of those short shallow chairs built with a bench seat of a single plank of wood, finely finished glowing golden oak but uncushioned; it barely supported his thighs in deference to his hips, forcing the man to crouch. Also called a man's chair because a man looked really adorable hanging there when unclothed in a certain way. (It totally did Morning Glory.) That it made men shorter than any women in a room seemed like a plus, but then I was female. These days, especially in the city, I'd seen men leave a room in disgust if they saw one. Not Morning Glory! Probably furnished it here himself, stage managing, to spike the drama. Legs wide, crouching—his hands above his knees, framing his crotch—eyes narrowed and on me, his body language firmed up my perception of him.
Performatively male, sure of his good looks.
Aggressive.
Dominant.
He addressed Shugh still meeting my gaze. "Steamed Milk and Sugar—can I call you Milk? How does it feel working as her protégé? Do we live in progressive times?"
Hint, hint! I am a #gender #fiction #writer. If you think a hanger chair in this Basic Instincts scene is peculiar, realize that it is a male-oriented gender domination device analogous to what stiletto heels achieve physically with women in our society. Like many women today, Morning Glory is "owning" it (trying anyway) and changing the device's meaning.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#PennedPossibilities 1120: Saturday Word Edition: Share something from your WIP pertaining to the word “entertainment.”
Bolt is acting as the photographer for her friend Shugh as he interviews a male diva actor for a magazine similar to The New Yorker. Hers is a woman-centric society. The scene in this #excerpt hints that Bolt can be sexist as the actor being interviewed needles her.
Upstairs, Shugh hit it off with Morning Glory. Both men sought careers not often occupied by men. The actor-playwright became more animated as the magazine interview progressed, allowing me with my camera to fade into the background of the plush upper lounge of the theatre. By the time the long-legged delicate man started pacing as he told his life story, I had gleaned that his tale was glorified and larger-than life, like the man, his persona, his masks. His elegant pacing allowed me to move with my Flicka4, steadying myself using the back of a gilt divan, a bamboo formed-steel torchere lamp (one of pair), and then a black marble tea table to as I composed pictures of a celebrity, but a man, lost in thoughts about inflating the image he presented the world, finally dropping his actor's mask. I caught the sparkle in his eye. I caught flamboyant hands thrown wide, later framing his face as he sang a note. I caught an absentminded sneer aimed at an unnamed actress who'd worked to derail his entertainment career.
"I'm changing the way women perceive men," he declared. He sat abruptly on a hanger chair, one of those short shallow chairs built with a bench seat of a single plank of wood, finely finished glowing golden oak but uncushioned; it barely supported his thighs in deference to his hips, forcing the man to crouch. Also called a man's chair because a man looked really adorable hanging there when unclothed in a certain way. (It totally did Morning Glory.) That it made men shorter than any women in a room seemed like a plus, but then I was female. These days, especially in the city, I'd seen men leave a room in disgust if they saw one. Not Morning Glory! Probably furnished it here himself, stage managing, to spike the drama. Legs wide, crouching—his hands above his knees, framing his crotch—eyes narrowed and on me, his body language firmed up my perception of him.
Performatively male, sure of his good looks.
Aggressive.
Dominant.
He addressed Shugh still meeting my gaze. "Steamed Milk and Sugar—can I call you Milk? How does it feel working as her protégé? Do we live in progressive times?"
Hint, hint! I am a #gender #fiction #writer. If you think a hanger chair in this Basic Instincts scene is peculiar, realize that it is a male-oriented gender domination device analogous to what stiletto heels achieve physically with women in our society. Like many women today, Morning Glory is "owning" it (trying anyway) and changing the device's meaning.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#PennedPossibilities 1120: Saturday Word Edition: Share something from your WIP pertaining to the word “entertainment.”
Bolt is acting as the photographer for her friend Shugh as he interviews a male diva actor for a magazine similar to The New Yorker. Hers is a woman-centric society. The scene in this #excerpt hints that Bolt can be sexist as the actor being interviewed needles her.
Upstairs, Shugh hit it off with Morning Glory. Both men sought careers not often occupied by men. The actor-playwright became more animated as the magazine interview progressed, allowing me with my camera to fade into the background of the plush upper lounge of the theatre. By the time the long-legged delicate man started pacing as he told his life story, I had gleaned that his tale was glorified and larger-than life, like the man, his persona, his masks. His elegant pacing allowed me to move with my Flicka4, steadying myself using the back of a gilt divan, a bamboo formed-steel torchere lamp (one of pair), and then a black marble tea table to as I composed pictures of a celebrity, but a man, lost in thoughts about inflating the image he presented the world, finally dropping his actor's mask. I caught the sparkle in his eye. I caught flamboyant hands thrown wide, later framing his face as he sang a note. I caught an absentminded sneer aimed at an unnamed actress who'd worked to derail his entertainment career.
"I'm changing the way women perceive men," he declared. He sat abruptly on a hanger chair, one of those short shallow chairs built with a bench seat of a single plank of wood, finely finished glowing golden oak but uncushioned; it barely supported his thighs in deference to his hips, forcing the man to crouch. Also called a man's chair because a man looked really adorable hanging there when unclothed in a certain way. (It totally did Morning Glory.) That it made men shorter than any women in a room seemed like a plus, but then I was female. These days, especially in the city, I'd seen men leave a room in disgust if they saw one. Not Morning Glory! Probably furnished it here himself, stage managing, to spike the drama. Legs wide, crouching—his hands above his knees, framing his crotch—eyes narrowed and on me, his body language firmed up my perception of him.
Performatively male, sure of his good looks.
Aggressive.
Dominant.
He addressed Shugh still meeting my gaze. "Steamed Milk and Sugar—can I call you Milk? How does it feel working as her protégé? Do we live in progressive times?"
Hint, hint! I am a #gender #fiction #writer. If you think a hanger chair in this Basic Instincts scene is peculiar, realize that it is a male-oriented gender domination device analogous to what stiletto heels achieve physically with women in our society. Like many women today, Morning Glory is "owning" it (trying anyway) and changing the device's meaning.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#PennedPossibilities 1120: Saturday Word Edition: Share something from your WIP pertaining to the word “entertainment.”
Bolt is acting as the photographer for her friend Shugh as he interviews a male diva actor for a magazine similar to The New Yorker. Hers is a woman-centric society. The scene in this #excerpt hints that Bolt can be sexist as the actor being interviewed needles her.
Upstairs, Shugh hit it off with Morning Glory. Both men sought careers not often occupied by men. The actor-playwright became more animated as the magazine interview progressed, allowing me with my camera to fade into the background of the plush upper lounge of the theatre. By the time the long-legged delicate man started pacing as he told his life story, I had gleaned that his tale was glorified and larger-than life, like the man, his persona, his masks. His elegant pacing allowed me to move with my Flicka4, steadying myself using the back of a gilt divan, a bamboo formed-steel torchere lamp (one of pair), and then a black marble tea table to as I composed pictures of a celebrity, but a man, lost in thoughts about inflating the image he presented the world, finally dropping his actor's mask. I caught the sparkle in his eye. I caught flamboyant hands thrown wide, later framing his face as he sang a note. I caught an absentminded sneer aimed at an unnamed actress who'd worked to derail his entertainment career.
"I'm changing the way women perceive men," he declared. He sat abruptly on a hanger chair, one of those short shallow chairs built with a bench seat of a single plank of wood, finely finished glowing golden oak but uncushioned; it barely supported his thighs in deference to his hips, forcing the man to crouch. Also called a man's chair because a man looked really adorable hanging there when unclothed in a certain way. (It totally did Morning Glory.) That it made men shorter than any women in a room seemed like a plus, but then I was female. These days, especially in the city, I'd seen men leave a room in disgust if they saw one. Not Morning Glory! Probably furnished it here himself, stage managing, to spike the drama. Legs wide, crouching—his hands above his knees, framing his crotch—eyes narrowed and on me, his body language firmed up my perception of him.
Performatively male, sure of his good looks.
Aggressive.
Dominant.
He addressed Shugh still meeting my gaze. "Steamed Milk and Sugar—can I call you Milk? How does it feel working as her protégé? Do we live in progressive times?"
Hint, hint! I am a #gender #fiction #writer. If you think a hanger chair in this Basic Instincts scene is peculiar, realize that it is a male-oriented gender domination device analogous to what stiletto heels achieve physically with women in our society. Like many women today, Morning Glory is "owning" it (trying anyway) and changing the device's meaning.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#PennedPossibilities 1120: Saturday Word Edition: Share something from your WIP pertaining to the word “entertainment.”
Bolt is acting as the photographer for her friend Shugh as he interviews a male diva actor for a magazine similar to The New Yorker. Hers is a woman-centric society. The scene in this #excerpt hints that Bolt can be sexist as the actor being interviewed needles her.
Upstairs, Shugh hit it off with Morning Glory. Both men sought careers not often occupied by men. The actor-playwright became more animated as the magazine interview progressed, allowing me with my camera to fade into the background of the plush upper lounge of the theatre. By the time the long-legged delicate man started pacing as he told his life story, I had gleaned that his tale was glorified and larger-than life, like the man, his persona, his masks. His elegant pacing allowed me to move with my Flicka4, steadying myself using the back of a gilt divan, a bamboo formed-steel torchere lamp (one of pair), and then a black marble tea table to as I composed pictures of a celebrity, but a man, lost in thoughts about inflating the image he presented the world, finally dropping his actor's mask. I caught the sparkle in his eye. I caught flamboyant hands thrown wide, later framing his face as he sang a note. I caught an absentminded sneer aimed at an unnamed actress who'd worked to derail his entertainment career.
"I'm changing the way women perceive men," he declared. He sat abruptly on a hanger chair, one of those short shallow chairs built with a bench seat of a single plank of wood, finely finished glowing golden oak but uncushioned; it barely supported his thighs in deference to his hips, forcing the man to crouch. Also called a man's chair because a man looked really adorable hanging there when unclothed in a certain way. (It totally did Morning Glory.) That it made men shorter than any women in a room seemed like a plus, but then I was female. These days, especially in the city, I'd seen men leave a room in disgust if they saw one. Not Morning Glory! Probably furnished it here himself, stage managing, to spike the drama. Legs wide, crouching—his hands above his knees, framing his crotch—eyes narrowed and on me, his body language firmed up my perception of him.
Performatively male, sure of his good looks.
Aggressive.
Dominant.
He addressed Shugh still meeting my gaze. "Steamed Milk and Sugar—can I call you Milk? How does it feel working as her protégé? Do we live in progressive times?"
Hint, hint! I am a #gender #fiction #writer. If you think a hanger chair in this Basic Instincts scene is peculiar, realize that it is a male-oriented gender domination device analogous to what stiletto heels achieve physically with women in our society. Like many women today, Morning Glory is "owning" it (trying anyway) and changing the device's meaning.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
62 Years ago, Mother of All, Horsebreeder Clan lands
Joy had fifteen summers to her name. The following year she would be expected to commit to a path of learning. One that would lead to the sort of life she wished to live. Most of her friends would continue in the Horsebreeder Clan.
Far above, she could feel Dives Swiftly. She had spotted a large waterbird. It would make a fine dinner for the family. And a good feed for Dives Swiftly as well. Joy sent approval, and the hunting bird, true to her name, dove on the unsuspecting bird, breaking its neck with the impact, and then steered the limp body to the ground near Joyful Finder.
"Good strike" Joy said, as Dives looked at her. She took out her knife, and neatly cut the belly of the bird open, and Dives started to feed.
"I am thinking of leaving."
Dives paused, and looked at her, whistling a query.
"Next year a Scout will visit. I think I will go with them."
Dives whistled again.
"There probably will be little chance to hunt."
Another whistle.
"I know better than to try and talk you out of it."
Dives went back to eating.
"Now I have to tell Dad and Father."After Dives finished her meal, Joy finished bleeding the bird, and then carried it home, sending an image of a roast ahead.
She felt Father's excitement at the idea.At dinner, late that evening, her parents paused in their eating, and looked at her. Dad spoke first "Joy, is there something on your mind? You feel, well, a bit off."
Joy sighed.
"It isn't that Copper Digger kid again is it?"
"No, Dad, it isn't that. I think she's learned her lesson."
"Then what?"
"I know what I need to do."
"Great!" her Dad exclaimed.
"What is it, Joy?" asked her Father.Joy poked her plate.
"Oh no! She wants to join the Sailmakers! Shipping will be doomed!" her Father cried out. Joy's lack of skill with a needle and thread was infamous, even now.
"No", Joy smiled sadly, "But you might wish it was."
Her Father grew serious "What then?"
Dad spoke up "You know that we will always support you. No matter what."
"I intend to go with the Scout that will visit next year."There was a stunned silence.
Her Dad reacted first "You mean to go to the stars?"
"Yes. I want to be what Lorn was. To learn the ways of the Stars, so we can be enough to end the Raiders for good."
"You will have to tell the Council."
Joy nodded "But they cannot deny me."
"No, they cannot. The treaty says as much."
"We will miss you, Joy" her Father said softly.
"And I'll miss everyone here. Except Dives."
Both her parents looked surprised at this, and she shrugged. "Dives inists that she'll come along."
Shaking his head, her Father gave a wry smile "I swear, she thinks you are chick that still needs to fledge."
"Maybe she's right, if this is what Joy means to do" Dad replied.The following day, her parents started to make arrangements to take a message to the Council. And showed Joy how to read Lorn's diaries.
#SF #SciFi #SFF #SpaceOpera #microfic #tootfic #MicroFiction #ShamanSpace #IAmWriting
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RE: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/112497915608418589
#PennedPossibilities 1119: MC POV: How did you learn your most valuable skill? Who taught you, and why is it so important?
[I will keep Bolt SFW, promise! Tl;dr tootfic follows, nevertheless.—RS]
A surprising number of my skills are self-taught. I must be a genius, even if'n I've done a lot of stupid things. My most valuable skill is flying, naturally being as I'm a day angel, but flight kindergarten failed me epically. Everybody fledged but me by 3. Despite the incentive of being picked on by all the girls in school (boys knew better), it took being shoved off a cliff at 10 before I flew, and then but for Mom and Uncle teaching me to land, I taught myself everything else. Turned out live'n in the world 3D is—My Stars!— flapping awesome, not at all frightening as I'd wound up myself into thinking. Flew into my share of lamp posts, but still, flap'n it! Spending more time a-wing than walking, I became an athlete, captaining the flight and field team, learning stunt flying, flight dance, and tandem. None of it more valuable than walking and running for the flightless in the long run, except, I guess, tandem.
They teach you never to fly close to anybody. I remember distancing from flight kindergarten. It was reiterated by every PE teacher there after. Knock it into your head, they do. A "primary feather length at wing tip; your height above." Feather fields will tangle if'n you're too close. You'll lose lift, they say, maybe crash, but that never made sense to me having learnt to fly late.
I experimented with all sort of crazy, consider'n that I skated out of most of the knocking of "flight stuff into my head" for the seven years everybody else was flying and I wasn't. I dove hard into precision flying, which meant warping my flight feathers hard, sometimes twisting the up and down fields to push away from or get sucked toward things like cliff walls or between tree trunks in a dense forest. Called decompensating. Dangerous? For you, unadventurous noob, maybe! I finally could get a finger length close to things—close enough to suck your hair and feathers against bark, rockface, and occasional stupid people who do their deer in the lantern light imitation seeing you, they think, flying into them—so why not boys? (Girls thought me a masculine muscle nerd! Their loss.)
While I found victims volunteers to fly near me in middle school, it was that first semester in high school that I perfected my awareness of my wings in space, and theirs, close up, and got boys to understand what I'd learnt. It helped that in high school, finally, the boys were less shy (especially the seniors) and dangling flying with us touching really helped incentivize them. Me, too, actually. I got better. They got better, caught the tandem fever, though we got chewed out by Coach when she saw, before she stopped noticing since we didn't kill ourselves. Our team morale soared. We started winning. I became captain of an otherwise male team. I got my string of ponies (stallions only).
Good times.
Valuable? Actually, valuable?
Well, a dozen years and lots of stupid decisions later, I have a friend, Blue, who is a praetorian training to protect Rainy Days. We encountered her in the sky, and I ended up flying stunts around the guy with her mirroring and challenging my agility, pushing me harder, apparently to test my limits, and to piss me off. I'm too competitive for my own good! She correctly figured out it was me who taught Blue flying tandem; it was the definitive skill that got him a job that was very unlikely for a guy to get.
Rainy Days praised me. She's far better at tandem techniques than me. Still. The Director of Home and the Nine Outer worlds praised me. My Stars!!!
Valuable? Flap yes!
Yet. Even considering when she left with Blue, the stress of me stupidly challenging the most important woman ever shot me out of the sky. I nearly crashed trying to land, then puked so hard, I thought some of my liver came up.
I still would challenge her again, given the chance. [Big words, Bolt! Read the quoted story for the second round. —RS]
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
RE: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/112497915608418589
#PennedPossibilities 1119: MC POV: How did you learn your most valuable skill? Who taught you, and why is it so important?
[I will keep Bolt SFW, promise! Tl;dr tootfic follows, nevertheless.—RS]
A surprising number of my skills are self-taught. I must be a genius, even if'n I've done a lot of stupid things. My most valuable skill is flying, naturally being as I'm a day angel, but flight kindergarten failed me epically. Everybody fledged but me by 3. Despite the incentive of being picked on by all the girls in school (boys knew better), it took being shoved off a cliff at 10 before I flew, and then but for Mom and Uncle teaching me to land, I taught myself everything else. Turned out live'n in the world 3D is—My Stars!— flapping awesome, not at all frightening as I'd wound up myself into thinking. Flew into my share of lamp posts, but still, flap'n it! Spending more time a-wing than walking, I became an athlete, captaining the flight and field team, learning stunt flying, flight dance, and tandem. None of it more valuable than walking and running for the flightless in the long run, except, I guess, tandem.
They teach you never to fly close to anybody. I remember distancing from flight kindergarten. It was reiterated by every PE teacher there after. Knock it into your head, they do. A "primary feather length at wing tip; your height above." Feather fields will tangle if'n you're too close. You'll lose lift, they say, maybe crash, but that never made sense to me having learnt to fly late.
I experimented with all sort of crazy, consider'n that I skated out of most of the knocking of "flight stuff into my head" for the seven years everybody else was flying and I wasn't. I dove hard into precision flying, which meant warping my flight feathers hard, sometimes twisting the up and down fields to push away from or get sucked toward things like cliff walls or between tree trunks in a dense forest. Called decompensating. Dangerous? For you, unadventurous noob, maybe! I finally could get a finger length close to things—close enough to suck your hair and feathers against bark, rockface, and occasional stupid people who do their deer in the lantern light imitation seeing you, they think, flying into them—so why not boys? (Girls thought me a masculine muscle nerd! Their loss.)
While I found victims volunteers to fly near me in middle school, it was that first semester in high school that I perfected my awareness of my wings in space, and theirs, close up, and got boys to understand what I'd learnt. It helped that in high school, finally, the boys were less shy (especially the seniors) and dangling flying with us touching really helped incentivize them. Me, too, actually. I got better. They got better, caught the tandem fever, though we got chewed out by Coach when she saw, before she stopped noticing since we didn't kill ourselves. Our team morale soared. We started winning. I became captain of an otherwise male team. I got my string of ponies (stallions only).
Good times.
Valuable? Actually, valuable?
Well, a dozen years and lots of stupid decisions later, I have a friend, Blue, who is a praetorian training to protect Rainy Days. We encountered her in the sky, and I ended up flying stunts around the guy with her mirroring and challenging my agility, pushing me harder, apparently to test my limits, and to piss me off. I'm too competitive for my own good! She correctly figured out it was me who taught Blue flying tandem; it was the definitive skill that got him a job that was very unlikely for a guy to get.
Rainy Days praised me. She's far better at tandem techniques than me. Still. The Director of Home and the Nine Outer worlds praised me. My Stars!!!
Valuable? Flap yes!
Yet. Even considering when she left with Blue, the stress of me stupidly challenging the most important woman ever shot me out of the sky. I nearly crashed trying to land, then puked so hard, I thought some of my liver came up.
I still would challenge her again, given the chance. [Big words, Bolt! Read the quoted story for the second round. —RS]
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
RE: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/112497915608418589
#PennedPossibilities 1119: MC POV: How did you learn your most valuable skill? Who taught you, and why is it so important?
[I will keep Bolt SFW, promise! Tl;dr tootfic follows, nevertheless.—RS]
A surprising number of my skills are self-taught. I must be a genius, even if'n I've done a lot of stupid things. My most valuable skill is flying, naturally being as I'm a day angel, but flight kindergarten failed me epically. Everybody fledged but me by 3. Despite the incentive of being picked on by all the girls in school (boys knew better), it took being shoved off a cliff at 10 before I flew, and then but for Mom and Uncle teaching me to land, I taught myself everything else. Turned out live'n in the world 3D is—My Stars!— flapping awesome, not at all frightening as I'd wound up myself into thinking. Flew into my share of lamp posts, but still, flap'n it! Spending more time a-wing than walking, I became an athlete, captaining the flight and field team, learning stunt flying, flight dance, and tandem. None of it more valuable than walking and running for the flightless in the long run, except, I guess, tandem.
They teach you never to fly close to anybody. I remember distancing from flight kindergarten. It was reiterated by every PE teacher there after. Knock it into your head, they do. A "primary feather length at wing tip; your height above." Feather fields will tangle if'n you're too close. You'll lose lift, they say, maybe crash, but that never made sense to me having learnt to fly late.
I experimented with all sort of crazy, consider'n that I skated out of most of the knocking of "flight stuff into my head" for the seven years everybody else was flying and I wasn't. I dove hard into precision flying, which meant warping my flight feathers hard, sometimes twisting the up and down fields to push away from or get sucked toward things like cliff walls or between tree trunks in a dense forest. Called decompensating. Dangerous? For you, unadventurous noob, maybe! I finally could get a finger length close to things—close enough to suck your hair and feathers against bark, rockface, and occasional stupid people who do their deer in the lantern light imitation seeing you, they think, flying into them—so why not boys? (Girls thought me a masculine muscle nerd! Their loss.)
While I found victims volunteers to fly near me in middle school, it was that first semester in high school that I perfected my awareness of my wings in space, and theirs, close up, and got boys to understand what I'd learnt. It helped that in high school, finally, the boys were less shy (especially the seniors) and dangling flying with us touching really helped incentivize them. Me, too, actually. I got better. They got better, caught the tandem fever, though we got chewed out by Coach when she saw, before she stopped noticing since we didn't kill ourselves. Our team morale soared. We started winning. I became captain of an otherwise male team. I got my string of ponies (stallions only).
Good times.
Valuable? Actually, valuable?
Well, a dozen years and lots of stupid decisions later, I have a friend, Blue, who is a praetorian training to protect Rainy Days. We encountered her in the sky, and I ended up flying stunts around the guy with her mirroring and challenging my agility, pushing me harder, apparently to test my limits, and to piss me off. I'm too competitive for my own good! She correctly figured out it was me who taught Blue flying tandem; it was the definitive skill that got him a job that was very unlikely for a guy to get.
Rainy Days praised me. She's far better at tandem techniques than me. Still. The Director of Home and the Nine Outer worlds praised me. My Stars!!!
Valuable? Flap yes!
Yet. Even considering when she left with Blue, the stress of me stupidly challenging the most important woman ever shot me out of the sky. I nearly crashed trying to land, then puked so hard, I thought some of my liver came up.
I still would challenge her again, given the chance. [Big words, Bolt! Read the quoted story for the second round. —RS]
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
RE: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/112497915608418589
#PennedPossibilities 1119: MC POV: How did you learn your most valuable skill? Who taught you, and why is it so important?
[I will keep Bolt SFW, promise! Tl;dr tootfic follows, nevertheless.—RS]
A surprising number of my skills are self-taught. I must be a genius, even if'n I've done a lot of stupid things. My most valuable skill is flying, naturally being as I'm a day angel, but flight kindergarten failed me epically. Everybody fledged but me by 3. Despite the incentive of being picked on by all the girls in school (boys knew better), it took being shoved off a cliff at 10 before I flew, and then but for Mom and Uncle teaching me to land, I taught myself everything else. Turned out live'n in the world 3D is—My Stars!— flapping awesome, not at all frightening as I'd wound up myself into thinking. Flew into my share of lamp posts, but still, flap'n it! Spending more time a-wing than walking, I became an athlete, captaining the flight and field team, learning stunt flying, flight dance, and tandem. None of it more valuable than walking and running for the flightless in the long run, except, I guess, tandem.
They teach you never to fly close to anybody. I remember distancing from flight kindergarten. It was reiterated by every PE teacher there after. Knock it into your head, they do. A "primary feather length at wing tip; your height above." Feather fields will tangle if'n you're too close. You'll lose lift, they say, maybe crash, but that never made sense to me having learnt to fly late.
I experimented with all sort of crazy, consider'n that I skated out of most of the knocking of "flight stuff into my head" for the seven years everybody else was flying and I wasn't. I dove hard into precision flying, which meant warping my flight feathers hard, sometimes twisting the up and down fields to push away from or get sucked toward things like cliff walls or between tree trunks in a dense forest. Called decompensating. Dangerous? For you, unadventurous noob, maybe! I finally could get a finger length close to things—close enough to suck your hair and feathers against bark, rockface, and occasional stupid people who do their deer in the lantern light imitation seeing you, they think, flying into them—so why not boys? (Girls thought me a masculine muscle nerd! Their loss.)
While I found victims volunteers to fly near me in middle school, it was that first semester in high school that I perfected my awareness of my wings in space, and theirs, close up, and got boys to understand what I'd learnt. It helped that in high school, finally, the boys were less shy (especially the seniors) and dangling flying with us touching really helped incentivize them. Me, too, actually. I got better. They got better, caught the tandem fever, though we got chewed out by Coach when she saw, before she stopped noticing since we didn't kill ourselves. Our team morale soared. We started winning. I became captain of an otherwise male team. I got my string of ponies (stallions only).
Good times.
Valuable? Actually, valuable?
Well, a dozen years and lots of stupid decisions later, I have a friend, Blue, who is a praetorian training to protect Rainy Days. We encountered her in the sky, and I ended up flying stunts around the guy with her mirroring and challenging my agility, pushing me harder, apparently to test my limits, and to piss me off. I'm too competitive for my own good! She correctly figured out it was me who taught Blue flying tandem; it was the definitive skill that got him a job that was very unlikely for a guy to get.
Rainy Days praised me. She's far better at tandem techniques than me. Still. The Director of Home and the Nine Outer worlds praised me. My Stars!!!
Valuable? Flap yes!
Yet. Even considering when she left with Blue, the stress of me stupidly challenging the most important woman ever shot me out of the sky. I nearly crashed trying to land, then puked so hard, I thought some of my liver came up.
I still would challenge her again, given the chance. [Big words, Bolt! Read the quoted story for the second round. —RS]
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
RE: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/112497915608418589
#PennedPossibilities 1119: MC POV: How did you learn your most valuable skill? Who taught you, and why is it so important?
[I will keep Bolt SFW, promise! Tl;dr tootfic follows, nevertheless.—RS]
A surprising number of my skills are self-taught. I must be a genius, even if'n I've done a lot of stupid things. My most valuable skill is flying, naturally being as I'm a day angel, but flight kindergarten failed me epically. Everybody fledged but me by 3. Despite the incentive of being picked on by all the girls in school (boys knew better), it took being shoved off a cliff at 10 before I flew, and then but for Mom and Uncle teaching me to land, I taught myself everything else. Turned out live'n in the world 3D is—My Stars!— flapping awesome, not at all frightening as I'd wound up myself into thinking. Flew into my share of lamp posts, but still, flap'n it! Spending more time a-wing than walking, I became an athlete, captaining the flight and field team, learning stunt flying, flight dance, and tandem. None of it more valuable than walking and running for the flightless in the long run, except, I guess, tandem.
They teach you never to fly close to anybody. I remember distancing from flight kindergarten. It was reiterated by every PE teacher there after. Knock it into your head, they do. A "primary feather length at wing tip; your height above." Feather fields will tangle if'n you're too close. You'll lose lift, they say, maybe crash, but that never made sense to me having learnt to fly late.
I experimented with all sort of crazy, consider'n that I skated out of most of the knocking of "flight stuff into my head" for the seven years everybody else was flying and I wasn't. I dove hard into precision flying, which meant warping my flight feathers hard, sometimes twisting the up and down fields to push away from or get sucked toward things like cliff walls or between tree trunks in a dense forest. Called decompensating. Dangerous? For you, unadventurous noob, maybe! I finally could get a finger length close to things—close enough to suck your hair and feathers against bark, rockface, and occasional stupid people who do their deer in the lantern light imitation seeing you, they think, flying into them—so why not boys? (Girls thought me a masculine muscle nerd! Their loss.)
While I found victims volunteers to fly near me in middle school, it was that first semester in high school that I perfected my awareness of my wings in space, and theirs, close up, and got boys to understand what I'd learnt. It helped that in high school, finally, the boys were less shy (especially the seniors) and dangling flying with us touching really helped incentivize them. Me, too, actually. I got better. They got better, caught the tandem fever, though we got chewed out by Coach when she saw, before she stopped noticing since we didn't kill ourselves. Our team morale soared. We started winning. I became captain of an otherwise male team. I got my string of ponies (stallions only).
Good times.
Valuable? Actually, valuable?
Well, a dozen years and lots of stupid decisions later, I have a friend, Blue, who is a praetorian training to protect Rainy Days. We encountered her in the sky, and I ended up flying stunts around the guy with her mirroring and challenging my agility, pushing me harder, apparently to test my limits, and to piss me off. I'm too competitive for my own good! She correctly figured out it was me who taught Blue flying tandem; it was the definitive skill that got him a job that was very unlikely for a guy to get.
Rainy Days praised me. She's far better at tandem techniques than me. Still. The Director of Home and the Nine Outer worlds praised me. My Stars!!!
Valuable? Flap yes!
Yet. Even considering when she left with Blue, the stress of me stupidly challenging the most important woman ever shot me out of the sky. I nearly crashed trying to land, then puked so hard, I thought some of my liver came up.
I still would challenge her again, given the chance. [Big words, Bolt! Read the quoted story for the second round. —RS]
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
“First time on a planet?”
“Is it obvious?”
“Who told you to wear the metal foil on your head?”
“Tour guide said there was the chance of an electron storm”
“They were having a lend of you, luv.”
“Oh. They told me to ask for a respirator because the atmosphere is being shut off for repair tonight, was that a joke, too?”
“Yes, darl. It’s true about the sunscreen, though.”
-
Mother of All, Divesen Station, ten minutes after Athena's docking.
Alaine was shutting down the systems, when an STC broadcast came in. He monitored it, and then called out "Captain? You'll want to hear this!"
Engel twitched a little, and then gestured to Alaine, who rewound the message and played it back over a speaker.
"Bright Sky, Bright Sky, we have new approach data for you. Proceed to planetary coordinates attached, and make planetfall. Flight patch attached, you are cleared to enter restricted airspace."
Then came the reply "Divesen Control, please confirm planetfall."
"Bright Sky, confirmed. Rerouting ordered by Scout Commander Finder."
At that, Seeker, who had also been listening, gasped.
Engel turned "Seeker?"
"Uh, Captain, that is my grandmother. Only she retired from the Scouts over forty years ago. And she was just an ordinary Scout."
"Do you know why Bright Sky is being ordered planetside?"
"No, no idea at all."
"Sir?" Alaine cut in.
"Alaine?"
"Sir, I've heard of this before, surely you have too?"
"What do you -" he paused "Reactivation? Of course, but Scout Commander? They only -"
Alaine finished his sentence "are found at Scout bases. So they have a base here now."
Seeker took over "But that means the treaty has been rewritten. Scouts were forbidden to be on planet unless they were part of a clan. What..." and she broke off.
"Seeker?" Alaine looked worried.
"Uh, I have been summoned to the Council Chambers. We all have. Now." Seeker reached for the intercom.
"Hold!" Engel commanded.
Seeker stopped and looked at him.
"I am, apparently, the Captain."
"Sorry Captain. Permission to summon the crew?"
Engel shook his head and stepped over, taking the intercom "All hands, secure your stations, and proceed to the bridge immediately."
Seeker nodded.
A few minutes later everyone aboard was in the bridge.
"Right, we are being summoned to the Council. Best behaviour. Meantime the Captain is heading planetside," Engel announced, "Dyani, lock safe?"
"Inner and outer green, sir!" she replied.
"Very good, break seals."The crew moved out into the station. There was no-one waiting.
Seeker took the lead "Follow me.""
#SF #SciFi #SFF #SpaceOpera #microfic #tootfic #MicroFiction #ShamanSpace #IAmWriting
-
Mother of All, Divesen Station, ten minutes after Athena's docking.
Alaine was shutting down the systems, when an STC broadcast came in. He monitored it, and then called out "Captain? You'll want to hear this!"
Engel twitched a little, and then gestured to Alaine, who rewound the message and played it back over a speaker.
"Bright Sky, Bright Sky, we have new approach data for you. Proceed to planetary coordinates attached, and make planetfall. Flight patch attached, you are cleared to enter restricted airspace."
Then came the reply "Divesen Control, please confirm planetfall."
"Bright Sky, confirmed. Rerouting ordered by Scout Commander Finder."
At that, Seeker, who had also been listening, gasped.
Engel turned "Seeker?"
"Uh, Captain, that is my grandmother. Only she retired from the Scouts over forty years ago. And she was just an ordinary Scout."
"Do you know why Bright Sky is being ordered planetside?"
"No, no idea at all."
"Sir?" Alaine cut in.
"Alaine?"
"Sir, I've heard of this before, surely you have too?"
"What do you -" he paused "Reactivation? Of course, but Scout Commander? They only -"
Alaine finished his sentence "are found at Scout bases. So they have a base here now."
Seeker took over "But that means the treaty has been rewritten. Scouts were forbidden to be on planet unless they were part of a clan. What..." and she broke off.
"Seeker?" Alaine looked worried.
"Uh, I have been summoned to the Council Chambers. We all have. Now." Seeker reached for the intercom.
"Hold!" Engel commanded.
Seeker stopped and looked at him.
"I am, apparently, the Captain."
"Sorry Captain. Permission to summon the crew?"
Engel shook his head and stepped over, taking the intercom "All hands, secure your stations, and proceed to the bridge immediately."
Seeker nodded.
A few minutes later everyone aboard was in the bridge.
"Right, we are being summoned to the Council. Best behaviour. Meantime the Captain is heading planetside," Engel announced, "Dyani, lock safe?"
"Inner and outer green, sir!" she replied.
"Very good, break seals."The crew moved out into the station. There was no-one waiting.
Seeker took the lead "Follow me.""
#SF #SciFi #SFF #SpaceOpera #microfic #tootfic #MicroFiction #ShamanSpace #IAmWriting
-
Mother of All, Divesen Station, ten minutes after Athena's docking.
Alaine was shutting down the systems, when an STC broadcast came in. He monitored it, and then called out "Captain? You'll want to hear this!"
Engel twitched a little, and then gestured to Alaine, who rewound the message and played it back over a speaker.
"Bright Sky, Bright Sky, we have new approach data for you. Proceed to planetary coordinates attached, and make planetfall. Flight patch attached, you are cleared to enter restricted airspace."
Then came the reply "Divesen Control, please confirm planetfall."
"Bright Sky, confirmed. Rerouting ordered by Scout Commander Finder."
At that, Seeker, who had also been listening, gasped.
Engel turned "Seeker?"
"Uh, Captain, that is my grandmother. Only she retired from the Scouts over forty years ago. And she was just an ordinary Scout."
"Do you know why Bright Sky is being ordered planetside?"
"No, no idea at all."
"Sir?" Alaine cut in.
"Alaine?"
"Sir, I've heard of this before, surely you have too?"
"What do you -" he paused "Reactivation? Of course, but Scout Commander? They only -"
Alaine finished his sentence "are found at Scout bases. So they have a base here now."
Seeker took over "But that means the treaty has been rewritten. Scouts were forbidden to be on planet unless they were part of a clan. What..." and she broke off.
"Seeker?" Alaine looked worried.
"Uh, I have been summoned to the Council Chambers. We all have. Now." Seeker reached for the intercom.
"Hold!" Engel commanded.
Seeker stopped and looked at him.
"I am, apparently, the Captain."
"Sorry Captain. Permission to summon the crew?"
Engel shook his head and stepped over, taking the intercom "All hands, secure your stations, and proceed to the bridge immediately."
Seeker nodded.
A few minutes later everyone aboard was in the bridge.
"Right, we are being summoned to the Council. Best behaviour. Meantime the Captain is heading planetside," Engel announced, "Dyani, lock safe?"
"Inner and outer green, sir!" she replied.
"Very good, break seals."The crew moved out into the station. There was no-one waiting.
Seeker took the lead "Follow me.""
#SF #SciFi #SFF #SpaceOpera #microfic #tootfic #MicroFiction #ShamanSpace #IAmWriting
-
Mother of All, Divesen Station, ten minutes after Athena's docking.
Alaine was shutting down the systems, when an STC broadcast came in. He monitored it, and then called out "Captain? You'll want to hear this!"
Engel twitched a little, and then gestured to Alaine, who rewound the message and played it back over a speaker.
"Bright Sky, Bright Sky, we have new approach data for you. Proceed to planetary coordinates attached, and make planetfall. Flight patch attached, you are cleared to enter restricted airspace."
Then came the reply "Divesen Control, please confirm planetfall."
"Bright Sky, confirmed. Rerouting ordered by Scout Commander Finder."
At that, Seeker, who had also been listening, gasped.
Engel turned "Seeker?"
"Uh, Captain, that is my grandmother. Only she retired from the Scouts over forty years ago. And she was just an ordinary Scout."
"Do you know why Bright Sky is being ordered planetside?"
"No, no idea at all."
"Sir?" Alaine cut in.
"Alaine?"
"Sir, I've heard of this before, surely you have too?"
"What do you -" he paused "Reactivation? Of course, but Scout Commander? They only -"
Alaine finished his sentence "are found at Scout bases. So they have a base here now."
Seeker took over "But that means the treaty has been rewritten. Scouts were forbidden to be on planet unless they were part of a clan. What..." and she broke off.
"Seeker?" Alaine looked worried.
"Uh, I have been summoned to the Council Chambers. We all have. Now." Seeker reached for the intercom.
"Hold!" Engel commanded.
Seeker stopped and looked at him.
"I am, apparently, the Captain."
"Sorry Captain. Permission to summon the crew?"
Engel shook his head and stepped over, taking the intercom "All hands, secure your stations, and proceed to the bridge immediately."
Seeker nodded.
A few minutes later everyone aboard was in the bridge.
"Right, we are being summoned to the Council. Best behaviour. Meantime the Captain is heading planetside," Engel announced, "Dyani, lock safe?"
"Inner and outer green, sir!" she replied.
"Very good, break seals."The crew moved out into the station. There was no-one waiting.
Seeker took the lead "Follow me.""
#SF #SciFi #SFF #SpaceOpera #microfic #tootfic #MicroFiction #ShamanSpace #IAmWriting
-
Mother of All, Divesen Station, ten minutes after Athena's docking.
Alaine was shutting down the systems, when an STC broadcast came in. He monitored it, and then called out "Captain? You'll want to hear this!"
Engel twitched a little, and then gestured to Alaine, who rewound the message and played it back over a speaker.
"Bright Sky, Bright Sky, we have new approach data for you. Proceed to planetary coordinates attached, and make planetfall. Flight patch attached, you are cleared to enter restricted airspace."
Then came the reply "Divesen Control, please confirm planetfall."
"Bright Sky, confirmed. Rerouting ordered by Scout Commander Finder."
At that, Seeker, who had also been listening, gasped.
Engel turned "Seeker?"
"Uh, Captain, that is my grandmother. Only she retired from the Scouts over forty years ago. And she was just an ordinary Scout."
"Do you know why Bright Sky is being ordered planetside?"
"No, no idea at all."
"Sir?" Alaine cut in.
"Alaine?"
"Sir, I've heard of this before, surely you have too?"
"What do you -" he paused "Reactivation? Of course, but Scout Commander? They only -"
Alaine finished his sentence "are found at Scout bases. So they have a base here now."
Seeker took over "But that means the treaty has been rewritten. Scouts were forbidden to be on planet unless they were part of a clan. What..." and she broke off.
"Seeker?" Alaine looked worried.
"Uh, I have been summoned to the Council Chambers. We all have. Now." Seeker reached for the intercom.
"Hold!" Engel commanded.
Seeker stopped and looked at him.
"I am, apparently, the Captain."
"Sorry Captain. Permission to summon the crew?"
Engel shook his head and stepped over, taking the intercom "All hands, secure your stations, and proceed to the bridge immediately."
Seeker nodded.
A few minutes later everyone aboard was in the bridge.
"Right, we are being summoned to the Council. Best behaviour. Meantime the Captain is heading planetside," Engel announced, "Dyani, lock safe?"
"Inner and outer green, sir!" she replied.
"Very good, break seals."The crew moved out into the station. There was no-one waiting.
Seeker took the lead "Follow me.""
#SF #SciFi #SFF #SpaceOpera #microfic #tootfic #MicroFiction #ShamanSpace #IAmWriting
-
#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
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#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
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#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
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It was too late when we realised what the AI grift's endgame entailed.
After everyone settled that using copyrighted material as training input without compensation was a crime, the IP cartels came for the bedtime stories and the illegal learning centres. I was a kindergarten teacher before the jihad. Still am, just more heavily armed now.. Keep your head down! You wanna end up in readers prison?
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"Thank you, but no"
"Ksjrhgh fnrgle"
"Sir you are very drunk, you smell unpleasant, and I am not interested"
"Ghvn drmk wm"
"I do not want your drink. I have a botfriend"
"BLRGL WRGNX"
"Ah, KX16, I was just about to page you. Please see this gentleman out, force level six. Use your judgement but perhaps break some fingers on his left hand, the one he groped me with."
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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 129, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK
#Wss366 Cant #TimeTravelAuthors 09/1. Introduce your story (use the word "fall")
The fairy, Weena, turned and spoke to the others, who were now traversing the circle, dancing a graceful yet chaotic dance while singing in the flowing language of her people. One word was clear: “Hurburth.” Upon speaking, she pointed at me. Was that my name or the type of creature I was? I don’t suppose it mattered; there were no other humans they could confuse me with.
I pointed to her and asked, “Who are you?”
“Who?” she asked, cocking her head in puzzlement. Then, touched her chest and said, “Weena—Freenn.” As she said the second word, she took my hand and smiled.
“Friend?” I asked.
She nodded and repeated, “Weena, freennd.”
I looked at her hand, then at her, and then back at her hand. It felt awkward. She seemed to know me and to be attached to me, even intimately. I, however, had no recollection of her. There wasn’t even a hint of familiarity. She was a total stranger.
When I tried tugging my hand free, she pouted, so I stopped. Her childish looks and behavior made me afraid of offending her. I needed an ally, and she was offering.
Meanwhile, the dancers spun around the circle faster and faster: twirling, #canting first to one side and then the other, weaving in and out, but never colliding. The pipes grew shrill, and their voices filled the air like a flock of chickadees. Periodically someone would #fall to the ground panting. Once rested, they either rejoined the dance or came to stare at me. Some stroked my cheeks or hair, while others decked me with flowers or offered me berries and nuts.
“The Time Machine,” I thought. Yeah, I had finally figured out where I was: The sphinx, the garden-like setting amid rhododendrons, effete people, and Weena—it all fit together. So now I knew my name and location, but not my history or why I was there.
I sighed. This adventure seemed all too familiar, yet puzzlingly different from the vague impression I had of my past. I was in a book—weird!
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn
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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 128, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK
#Wss366 Violet #TimeTravelAuthors 08/31 Author's choice/promo
While I watched, a crowd of fairy-like creatures emerged from the woods. They were slender, feminine figures with shapely limbs. Each wore a colorful tunic belted at the waist.
A man and a woman led the group, though it was difficult to discern their gender, so similar appeared their features. Small apple-like breasts were the sole difference. The man was garbed in a dusty rose tunic, while the woman wore a #violet one. Crowns of matching flowers encircled their heads. They each played a bamboo flute, and the creatures following them danced to the music, laughing and singing.
I could have run, and perhaps I should have, but they seemed harmless, and if I fled, my chances of learning anything useful would be minimal. Worse came to worst, I could break through their ranks, so frail did they seem.
As they drew nearer, I saw they stood a little over a meter tall. I could make out their Dresden features: smooth faces; small, thin, bright-red lips; large, mild eyes; pointed chins; and delicate noses. Curly hair fell to their necks, hiding their ears, but I imagined elvish ones. Except for the absence of wings, they might have been fairies straight out of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” I would have been a proper ass not to appreciate their fragile beauty.
The majority swirled around me, while a few stopped to poke at me, speaking in strange, sweet, liquid tones. Except for one woman, it was all delightful, but totally incomprehensible. She spoke broken English with an odd lisp. The oddness didn’t stop there; one side of her face had been burned.
“Hurburth?” she asked, embracing me. “Weena miss you.”
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn
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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 127, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK
#Wss366 Take #TimeTravelAuthors 08/29. craft
I mulled over my options. Should I follow the flutes? But they gave me the willies. Or should I shout out? That seemed risky. Okay, how about I #take the path? No, if I followed the trail, I would miss my opportunity to investigate the trampled grass.
Fairy circle it was then.
The slope leading down through the meadow was gentle. The grass was lush and weed-free. It brushed pleasantly against my legs, making a soft swishing noise. Clover, buttercups, and daisies made the lawn merry. Soon, I found one of many paths leading toward the fairy ring. Occasionally, I saw a fruit rind, a wilted flower chain, or small shoe prints.
The circle’s bed measured about two meters wide and swung in a lazy curve that would have taken me about five minutes to walk around. The crushed grass gave off a fresh, green scent. It hadn’t been trampled for long.
As I examined the area, the flute music grew louder. Far from sinister, the tune was familiar, and I found myself humming along: “Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight, Greensleeves was my heart of gold, and who but my lady Greensleeves.”
When I looked toward the sound, I saw a ruined building #crafted of gray, weathered stone rising above the trees and rhododendron thickets. The music seemed to originate from this edifice.
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn
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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 126, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK
#Wss366 Classic #TimeTravelAuthors 08/19 Many
It was a #classic problem. I had too #many options.
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn
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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 125, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK
#Wss366 Tremor #TimeTravelAuthors 08/17. Does anyone travel to the future? What did they (or would they) think of it?
I made my way back into the meadow at the forest’s edge and sat down where I could see both the woodland path and the trampled circle below. Strawberries gleamed in the nearby grass, and I idly picked a few.
When I sampled one, a tart sweetness spread across my tongue, reminiscent of wild Écouves berries.
The Écouves Forest; that was an odd detail to remember. Even though I had forgotten my past, I still had access to a lot of random information. I understood that was common for people with amnesia.
The fruit was truly delicious, better than ones I’d had at fancy restaurants, like on the Hindenburg.
I stopped, and a #tremor passed through me: another memory! It was just a brief glimpse, but I could extrapolate from it. The Hindenburg crashed in 1937. I didn’t know what the current date was, but nothing like the sphinx had existed in the history I “knew.” This must be the future. Given the age of the monolith, it was the far future!
None of this made sense. Maybe none of it was real. Was I a psychotic patient in a mental ward?
I looked around for any sign that I was hallucinating. I pinched myself. It was a cliché test, but the pain reassured me. My chaotic memories were bizarre, but the world was stable, unlike a delusion or dream. The majestic trees appeared ageless, yet otherwise mundane. There was no sinister overlay to the oaks, ash, and pines. The grass smelled fresh and green. A wind with the subtle scent of summer brushed my cheek. It seemed idyllic. Nothing like the ravings of a mad person. Rather lonely, though.
I gave up on my speculation and followed the flow of my thoughts. I wished Emily were there with me. Yes, Emily! A vague image of a woman arose. She had bobbed, short, black hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a slight Asian cast to her features.
“Emily, Emily, Emily,” I said to myself. Was she my girlfriend, partner, or coworker? Whoever she was, she was important to me.
The last strawberry went into my mouth. She would have loved these. I almost heard her say, “They’re peachy; the cat’s pajamas.” Her deep-timbered voice blended with the sound of flutes.
At first, I thought I’d imagined the music. But no, the wind from the woods was carrying it to me. I wasn’t alone!
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn
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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 124, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK
#Wss366 Visit #TimeTravelAuthors 08/15. Saturday excerpt (optional word: match/same)
As rapidly as the image of my mother arose, it disappeared. I guess my appendix scar had come in useful. I had a name again, as well as the hope that I would remember more.
As I rubbed the sphinx’s plaque, I thought about the vision, trying to use it as an entry point into my lost memories. It proved useless. All I came up with was that my mother visited me when I had my appendix removed and a warm feeling for ma mère.
Eventually, I gave up and refocused on the bronze plate. Corrosion blurred the image, but I still made out a naked man with winged shoes and helmet: Hermes. Below, in Latin, it read, “In memory of Prince Henry XI of Greater Albion.”
I stopped and stared. I didn’t know Latin! Yet I read it easily. And the figure… Hermes… Mercury… It #matched a mural I’d seen in a dim tunnel. Right, I’d been in a passage along with my companion Emily. She wasn’t an illusion.
“I had a dream!” I exclaimed out loud.
I desperately reached to recall it. There’d been a pink Eye of Providence and blue dragonflies. Rabbits with guns and swastikas. If I thought fairies unrealistic, then what about these Hieronymus Bosch images?
As hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember.4 more I threw down the rag. I wouldn’t find anything more here.
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn
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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 9.1: 2024 Arkam Mass. (Side Story)
#Wss366 Dominant / International Left Hander's Day/Bon JP #TimeTravelAuthors 08/13. Advice your character would give about time travel
Professor Henrietta Dubois looked out over her class. Not one student looked like they were worth her time. Some were there because they thought it was a joke. It wasn’t. Others were there for an easy grade. They were going to be disappointed. A few may have thought it was a literature course. They would be let down as well. And some were just flakes. None of them would make a promising metaphysics student.
“Time-travel,” the professor started. After all, it was the subject of the class. “How many of you would visit another time if you could?”
Half the students raised their hands.
Ms. Dubois nodded. "According to 'Faustus Pact,' 'Pompilius Spiegel,' and the anonymous 'La Main Tauche du Temps,' at least one of which will be required reading, the #dominant belief among time-travelers is that those of you with your hands down are the wise ones."
The professor paused, letting those who could decipher what she had said ruminate on the arcane names and reading requirements. “Let’s make sure they know this is no joke but a serious and rigorous class,” she thought.
She continued: “In other words, don’t.”
Note: “La Main Tauche du Temps” means “Time’s Left Hand.”
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Serial
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Book Wives Forever!
#FanFiction #AscendanceOfABookworm #HanneloresFifthYear
#Wss366 Just
Desc: Hannelore, just married. Has her bad timing struck again. (Last EP)“Excuse me, I have research I wish to finish.” Duke Ferdinand said to Hannelore and Rozemyne. Then he turned his back and left.
Most people would have considered his response extremely rude. After all, he had #just married Hannelore of Dunkelfelger, but Rozemyne, his first wife, was used to it, and Hannelore knew the wedding had only been to please Rozemyne.
“Don’t let it worry you,” Aub Rozemyne said. “He’s like that—Shall I show you the library?”
Hannelore blinked. They had barely returned from their wedding, and neither of them was acting like it was a big deal. Surely Rozemyne at least would be clingy and mushy; after all, she’d been the one sending romantic gifts. “Could I have been wrong about the whole thing? Was it just a political match? What about love and romance? It’s my cursed timing again, isn’ it!”
“No, that’s the old me,” she thought. “But I’m not ‘Cry Baby Hanne’ anymore. This is my reality, and I’m going to make the best of it. If she doesn’t love me, I’ll pin her down and do quests until she does!”
“Sure, I would love that,” she said.
“Great, Book Wives Forever!” Rozemyne pumped her fist and led the way.
[FINIS]
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#MastoPrompt tarnation #Vss366 saber
The pawn broker handed his apprentice a #saber thickly encrusted with verdigris. “What do you think this is worth?”
“Given the #tarnation, I would guess very little.”
The master cuffed the apprentice. “Wrong in so many ways!”
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Students and Teachers
#FanFic #NiaListon #TheMercilessMaiden (Post Volume 10)
#Wss366 SaberManga/Anime Spoilers
“What do you mean by entering the Mech Pilot’s Tournament?” Miralle yelled, charging into the General Studies classroom. The other students shrank to the edges of the room, except for the target of his outburst, the Fourth Princess Shylrane, her bodyguard Akshi, and, of course, #NiaListon #TheMercilessMaiden.
Shylrane remained calm and answered. “Nia urged me to enter, and I decided she was right. I may lose, but I’m going to give it my best try.”
“You don’t have a mech knight, and even if you did, you abandoned us. All for that foreigner!” Miralle shot Mia a disgusted look. His red face, flying spittle, and wild gestures made it clear that he was the least stable student on the mech knight track. The school would have expelled him long ago if he hadn’t been one of the top students. Few pilots rivaled his skill with the behemoth constructs.
“I intend to take you all down with my bare hands.”
“No one but that foreign freak can take down one of our knights unarmed!” he yelled. Enraged, he drew the #saber at his side, a move that nearly cost him his life as Askshi moved to protect the princess. She would have killed him too if Nia hadn’t intervened. Before anyone even registered her motion, she threw Askshi and sent her sword flying across the room.
In the silence that followed, everyone could hear Nia say, “If she can’t deal with this threat, she has no business being my student.”
Askshi, still on the ground, didn’t have time to respond before Miralle screamed, “Awwwh,” and charged Shylrane.
The fight was over as fast as it had begun. There was a clang, and the saber flew across the room, joining Askshi’s sword.
The princess ignored her stunned opponent and ran up to Nia, grabbing her hands. “Mistress, I felt it. The chi! I felt it. It moved.”
“Of course, the threat of death is the best teacher,” Nia said.
-
Edelweiss Entwined #4
#FanFiction #AscendanceOfABookworm #HanneloresFifthYear
#Wss366 sovereignThe Aub waved to a servant to take the food away. “Send my daughter in.”
Hannelore soon appeared, apprehension etched into every line of her face. But unlike when she was younger, there was no sign of her wilting. She was prepared for whatever her parents had to tell her.
Her father waved to a seat, and when his daughter complied, he said, “It’s settled. You are to be Duke Ferdinand’s second wife. It’s slightly beneath your station, but a good match nonetheless. It will bring our two duchies closer and ensure preferred access to Rozemyne's innovations. A good marriage is the #lynchpin of long-term diplomacy.”
The tension in Hannelore’s face eased. “I welcome Versprechredi's blessing. At last my timing has been good.”
“Indeed, the goddess has blessed you,” her mother said. “We were worried you would settle for a loveless marriage. Kenntrips and Rasantark are fine men, but you were never taken with them in that way. I am overjoyed that you have found a useful and loving match. It's a surprising and somewhat unusual arrangement, but Rozemyne is an unusual woman. Take care to stay in her favor; you can expect only what duty demands from Ferdinand.”
“It surprised me as well, but I think I can be happy with Rozemyne,” Hannelore replied.
“Good, good.” The duke rejoined the discussion. “Ferdinand sent engagement presents.”
The girl looked at the books her father had passed her. A wry expression came to her face as she read the titles: “The History of Ahrensbach,” “Ahrensbach Legal Codex,” and a new volume called “The Legislative Decrees of Aub Rozemyne.”
The Aub coughed. “He said they would be useful to you since you’ll be living in Alexandria soon.”
“The man doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body,” Sieglinde said. “But Rozemyne sent this,” passing her daughter a manuscript titled “The Romance of Vegalinde and Altairhart.” “She said you would be the very first person to read it.”
“Don’t forget the other present,” Werdekrf added. “It's much better than those old books. It will look wonderful on you.” If anyone had doubted his feelings towards his daughter, his fond smile revealed his deeper feelings.
The item he handed her was a headdress featuring a new design of tiny lace edelweiss intertwined with cornflowers. Its net-like cap was set with pearls, and a dyed silk train flowed down the back.
Her mother looked from the hairpiece to her daughter. She too had a soft smile. “It will look lovely at your wedding. You'll be quite the trendsetter.”
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Stegosaurus Ice cream
A #TimeTravelingGhost Side Story
#Wss366 Chief #TimeTravelAuthors 08/7. If your work was an ice cream flavor, what would it be?**Ahead of us, the Jurassic jungle thinned, and the land sloped up. The trees were more widely spaced, but they still obscured my view of the cliffs we were heading towards.
I was grateful to be walking on fallen leaves rather than slogging through the mud. The ferns were still thick in patches, but I threaded my way through them with minimal effort. However, the #chief hazard remained: the native behemoths.
The stagnant air of the swamp was replaced by a gentle breeze blowing through the trees, and my thoughts strayed.
“Ice cream would have been a delightful addition. Hmm, what flavor would my recent adventures be?” I wondered, my fancies taking full flight.
“Something tropical: Mango or peach. Yes, mango would be pleasant. I’d enjoy that. Champagne cocktail flavor would be more appropriate, but do they even make that flavor? Okay, no cheating. How about horehound? That had a nice, old-fashioned sound. I guess that would be cheating too. Sarsaparilla then. That was an old-timey name for root beer, or at least I think.”
I should have paid more attention, as I received a nasty shock when a stegosaurus burst from behind a grove of trees where it had been hidden.
Fortunately, it wasn’t a carnivore. The only damage I sustained was a near-heart attack as the immense beast lumbered past. It was almost comical, with its plates rattling and its tail striking trees as it thudded past. There was a chipped plate midway down its back. It was only funny because I was far enough away that the tail posed no threat.
A minute later, Emily landed and apologised for not spotting it.
She looked nonplussed when I asked her, “Do you think a stegosaurus would like sarsaparilla ice cream?”
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Slowburn #Dinosaurs #Humor
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Edelweiss Entwined #3
#FanFiction #AscendanceOfABookworm #HanneloresFifthYear
#Wss366 sovereign“Dither, dither, dither!” Sieglinde's words echoed in the private dining chamber where she sat with her husband. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed her next words. “Are you an idiot?!”
Werdekrf wilted in his chair, his dinner half consumed. His wife had held back the whole time the Archduke’s Conference was underway. But her cold fury had been evident. Now that they were home, it looked like she was going to let loose.
The Aub was pleased when she continued in a more reasonable tone. “We’re lucky Duke Ferdinand didn’t walk out on us. You know his views on dither.” Sarcasm crept into her voice as she imitated her husband’s voice and words. “‘We really can’t consent unless there is a wedding dither match.’ Would you make Hannelore Eifersuneid’s daughter?” (The goddess had unrequited feelings for Chaocipher, the goddess of chaos.)
“It seemed an excellent opportunity, and I gave it up as soon as he resisted.” The Aub pushed away his food and pretended to study the tapestry depicting a dither match.
“What if he had taken offense? The #Sovereignty had approved the proposed engagement. The Zent wouldn’t have been pleased if this match had fallen through. More importantly, Hannelore is excited. Just think how it would affect her if she were thrown over a second time. Has Jugereise not visited her enough?” (Goddess of Separation, associated with lost love and separation.)
“You are right, of course. Sometimes you win dither by playing the long game. Hannelore can teach them the love of the game once she is there.”
Sieglinde rolled her eyes but said no more. Arguing with her dither-crazed husband was futile.
[Continued Sunday]
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#TimeTravelingGhostV2 EP 12: Post 123, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK
#Wss366 Puzzle #TimeTravelAuthors 08/3. Where does your main character live/where are they from?
As the images from my dream faded, I began to panic. The earlier questions haunted me: “Who was I? Where was I? Where had I come from?”
I had the strange conviction that I wasn’t from this time or place. That knowledge had been lost somewhere in the mists of time. What an odd way of putting it. Surely I meant lost in the void of my memory?
No, I meant the former: “Lost in time.”
I shook my head and struggled to my feet. I wouldn’t find any answers lying there. It was of the utmost importance that I learn more.
There it was again: that feeling of almost knowing. I knew the fate of the world depended on my piercing this veil of ignorance. That conviction burned in my mind.
I took stock of my surroundings: the Sphinx, crop circle, path into the forest, tiny wild strawberries winking at me in the grass. I #puzzled over what I should do first.
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Sapphic #Slowburn
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Edelweiss Entwined #2
#FanFiction #AscendanceOfABookworm #HanneloresFifthYear
#Wss366 puzzleAfter the greetings, Eglantine’s maid sampled the food and drink to assure everyone that nothing had been poisoned. Tea and snacks were soon in hand, and the Zent began: “I hope you will pardon Schutzaria’s hand in our affairs, but swift winds are required to obtain Gebordnung’s blessings.”
Rozemyne knit her brow as she #puzzled out the meaning: “Pardon the sudden summons, but it is necessary to maintain order.” Even though she was used to it, she still wished nobles would speak clearly rather than masking everything behind metaphors.
Eglantine continued, “I understand, Duke Ferdinand, you will seek Versprechredi’s blessings. This comes as a surprise and has stirred up the other duchies, especially Korinthsdaum where Eifersuneid whispers council. So, to avoid Chaocipher attendance this year, I would ask if this is true.”
Rozemyne decoded the message again. Understanding what Versprechredi’s blessing meant was easy; Duke Ferdinand would seek a wife. Next, Eifersuneid was the god of jealousy and whispered in Sigiswald, ruler of Korinthsdaum’s ear. No surprise there. Finally, Chaocipher was the goddess of chaos, which meant Eglantine wanted to avoid the council descending into disarray.
Ferdinand put down his tea with a slight clink, showing his irritation, but spoke calmly. “My wife, the Aub, has expressed a wish to cement our relations with Dunkelfelger by making Lady Hannelore my second wife. Her friendship with Rozemyne leads me to believe it would be a good match. The Aub has been handling all the arrangements. We have exchanged gifts, and I received the following.” He laid the handkerchief embroidered with intertwining cornflowers and edelweiss on the table. “We didn’t think we needed to consult with the Sovereignty first, but I assume we have your approval, Zent.”
Eglantine didn’t react to the jab or the slight inflection on her title. Instead, she looked at Rozemyne. “I didn’t realize. I knew you were friends, but without Schicksantracht, I had not foreseen Versprechredi.”
She turned back to Ferdinand and said, “You have my blessing, of course. I will make sure the other duchies know you have my approval. Have you formally spoken to Hannelore’s parents yet?”
“That’s next,” he replied.
[Continued Thursday]
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Edelweiss Entwined Part 1
#FanFiction #AscendanceOfABookworm #HanneloresFifthYear
#Wss366 Friend / International Friendship DayZent Eglantine’s chief scholar, Roswitha, greeted Alexandria’s arriving rulers. If the pair hadn’t been expecting her, they would have been stunned by the arrogance of the “invitation” she offered. As it was, Ferdinand frowned throughout Roswitha’s speech. They weren't even being allowed to settle in before being rushed off to meet the Zent.
Rozemyne recalled Ferdinand’s thoughts when they were first informed that an invitation was pending: “This is just what I was afraid of. Give a person the crown, and they will begin to throw their weight around. Be prepared, if she tries to bully us, I’ll flatten her.”
Rozemyne replied, “Eglantine is a #friend. She’ll have a good explanation for this.”
“She had better. You would be advised to remember that friendship has no place in royal politics. Nor should it in inter-duchy relations. Her job is to ensure the welfare of the Sovereignty and Yurgenschmidt. Ours is to look after the interests of Alexandria. Please remember that.”
Rozemyne nodded. Any other response would have precipitated a full-on scolding.
That conversation had taken place in Alexandria, but now they were at the Royal Academy for the Archduke Conference, faced with a “tea party.” She always dreaded these gatherings, and this one sounded worse than usual with Ferdinand in a bad mood and some serious, unknown business at hand.
Fortunately, Roswitha gave Rozemyne little time to worry, instead leading them straight to a meeting room richly decorated in the current Sovereignty style. Thick tapestries covered the walls illustrating various religious scenes. A centuries-old oak table lay in the center of the room, surrounded by chairs with luxurious cushions. A selection of tea and treats was laid out, including old-fashioned, heavy, sugary pastries, as well as many of Aub Rozemyne’s lighter creations.
Under other circumstances, Rozemyne would have been delighted to see the Zent display her goods, but not today. This wasn’t a friendly social tea, but something serious.
[Continued tomorrow]
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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 12: Post 122, 1,802,701 CE, Middlesex, UK
#Wss366 August #TimeTravelAuthors 08/1. Introduce your story (optional: use the word "wish")
For a long time, all I could focus on was the blue sky. A single, wispy cloud floated there. Then, my eyes drifted down to a marble sphinx that loomed over me, wings folded at its sides. I examined, uncomprehending, the weathered stains and moss growing in the creases of its sides. Ferns grew on its paws, along with a solitary scrubby bush. I felt heavy, and my brain was fuzzy. Then the questions occurred to me: “Who am I?” and “Where was I?”
The situation was dimly familiar. Hadn’t I forgotten everything before? Right, there had been that alley with the graffiti of the Eye of Providence, or was it a pink coral pyramid with giant azure dragonflies? I #wished I could remember, but it was all a jumble.
“Think! Think!”
“Rabbits and Templars. I had been fleeing them. Why? A meeting… Cyprus… 1191. That must be why I’m wearing medieval priest’s robes. And something about their calling a meteor to destroy humanity.”
I shuddered at the image of a flaming ball crossing a blue sky. Suddenly, a hot flash caused me to flush, leaving me uncomfortably damp with sweat.
I parted the grass I lay in, looking for Emily, but I was alone in a forest of #august oaks: gnarled trees whose branches brushed the Sphinx’s sides. Tall ferns crowded its bronze base, a path threading through them.
“Emily?” I muttered. Then, turning my head to look for her, I saw an open meadow sloping away from me. In its center lay a large trampled circle where feet had beaten down the grass.
“Fairies?” I asked myself. But that was crazy.
It must have all been a wild, vivid nightmare. Who’d ever heard of fairies or rabbits with rifles? The vision of them in Nazi uniforms and Templar surcoats flared in my mind and then faded.
A dream? It all had to be a confused vision, and Emily must be a figment of my sleeping brain. Why did that make me want to cry?
A tear ran down my cheek.
Welcome to volume two of “Bijou the Time-Traveling Ghost.” We open in the far future, 1,802,701 of the Common Era, and with poor Bijou only vaguely remembering Emily, the Lapin Cabal, the Illuminati, Templars, and the Covenant of Judas.
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Slowburn
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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 11: Post 121, 1191, The Castle of Nicosia
#Wss366 Brandy #TimeTravelAuthors 07/31. Author's choice/promo
The canister held by the Grand Marshal’s attendants was bullet-shaped, the size of a large artillery shell, and dull black like anodized aluminum. No twelfth-century smith had forged this futuristic object.
“I present Simon Magus risen from the dead,” said Sir Sablé with reverence.
A murmur swept through the room. Near me, a man muttered, “Magus? What heresy is this?”
Sablé’s hands passed over the container, and the front slid back. The vessel was definitely not of twelfth-century origin. It couldn’t even have been constructed in my own era. A head with a short, curly beard, and Palestinian features was revealed. His skin was an unhealthy color, blotched like ivory that had been buried for centuries.
Another murmur arose, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Montferrat’s hand clench; knuckles white. Was his displeasure with this conclave the true reason for his assassination?
Simon opened his eyes and spoke, “Silence, for on your account I have risen; that I may guide the lost sheep and hasten the coming of our Lord.”
“But wait,” he continued. “I sense one who is not of you: a spider garbed as a holy dove.”
His eyes, the color of #brandy, burnt into me, and he began spewing Latin. “Te maledico ut sis terrenus. Alae tuae mihi caeduntur.”
I grew heavy, and the room seemed to be bathed in light. Knowledge flooded my mind: the bishop was Philippe de Dreux of Beauvais, hated by King Richard; and the Grand Marshal’s attendants were Gilbert Horal and Brother Aimery, Marshal of the Temple. I had come to the Holy Lands after my wife, Mary, had died in childbirth.
I suddenly understood Simon’s Latin. “I bind you. Ensnare you in your own web,” he chanted.
Emily was rushing towards me, but I felt weak and sick. I had only moments to react. I was being bound to this time.
“In the sacred and forbidden names of the Lord, be cursed…”
I wished to be far away, safely beyond the reach of the Lapin Cabal and its allies.
The lights flickered, and I felt as if my soul was being torn from my body. Then darkness descended.
When I awoke, I was lying in tall grass. Above me stood a weathered marble phoenix, perched on a bronze base. I looked around. I was alone. Emily was nowhere to be seen.
Thus ends Volume I of “Bijou the Time-Traveling Ghost.” We have traveled from the birth of a spirit robbed of all memory of herself to the discovery of an eon-old conspiracy to destroy the world as we know it. An illustrated and revised version of this story is currently being serialized at:
If you would like to catch up or are interested in reading an improved version, please join me on one of those sites.
Nara Moore
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Slowburn #Templar #Templars
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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 11: Post 120, 1191, The Castle of Nicosia (2 of 2 parts)
#Wss366 Boner #TimeTravelAuthors 07/29. proof/prove
Sir Sablé began winding down after the big announcement confirming the link between the book we had seen in the British Museum and the current meeting, saying, “Let the fruits of this gathering, our Garden of Gethsemane, be known as ‘The Covenant of St. Judas.’”
There were murmurs of dissent around me, and Sir Conrad's face showed his dissatisfaction. Frankly, I had to agree. I wouldn’t have been swayed either by the blatant heresy of his words.
However, the Grand Marshal was prepared for this and announced, “Some of you still doubt me. That is nothing new; even those who heard Our Lord with their own ears did not believe Him. Therefore, I shall show you the sign entrusted to me.”
He nodded to his attendants. They turned to leave, only to stop when Sir Conrad spoke. “And of King Henry?”
The Templar frowned and might have objected, but Conrad was too important a person to ignore.
“Henry is not privy to this conclave,” Sir Sablé said. “Let the Lord of England do what he does best: fight the infidels. Bois-Guilbert and Lancaster are here as John’s envoys. I have his noble word of support for our venture. Are you satisfied, Montferrat?” (So I was right; he was Sir Conrad of Montferrat. I was a tiny fish swimming with this era’s barracudas.)
“I am,” he answered. His face told a different story: grim, hard, and skeptical.
Sir Sablé’s knights left, soon returning with a metal canister. The sight turned me cold. Although the Grand Master presented it as a holy thing, I could sense its abominable nature. What fresh horror was about to be revealed?
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Slowburn #Templar
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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 11: Post 120, 1191, The Castle of Nicosia (1 of 2 parts)
#Wss366 Boner #TimeTravelAuthors 07/29. proof/prove
“You may be seated,” Sir Sablé said. The Grand Master of the Templars’ voice was dignified, higher than one might expect, but the tone was that of someone accustomed to command. “Bishop Dreux, will you honor this gathering with a prayer?”
I recognized the priest he had called on as the person who’d challenged Sir Conrad earlier. Even though he was a bishop, he was clearly also a fighting man: strong, scarred; the bulk of his robes hinted at chain mail beneath. I didn’t understand the brief Latin prayer he led. It was a pity I hadn’t learned Latin at university.
While we prayed, Emily left my side, moving to the dais so she could hear what the rabbits were saying to Sir Sablé. It was a decision that would later #prove disastrous. A real #boner, as some of my cruder students might have said. (Why did these memories come back to me when I couldn’t follow up on them?)
Once the prayer had finished, the Grand Master addressed us. “You have been called here in the Lord’s name and shall be blessed for your piety…”
He continued in this vein for a while, and most of what he said wasn’t worth repeating. However, other parts of his speech had stunning implications.
- “Though unworthy, the Lord hath lifted me from the dust as our Lord Jesus did Mary Magdalene, and a heavenly host has vouchsafed me words. Today, I humbly bear their message for your ears.”
Behind him the rabbits made ironic bows that he couldn’t see.
- “As Saint Judas Iscariot sacrificed himself to bring about our Savior’s glorious act of redemption, we too are summoned to make the ultimate sacrifice, our honor. We may be reviled for our deeds, but we the faithful shall show the same devotion, to God’s will, Abraham did when the Lord commanded him to sacrifice his son. We will hold fast, knowing that our obedience is required to invoke the Third Coming, bringing a fiery end to this sinful race, Adam’s kin, and to call down the final judgment when the Lord’s hammer smites the world once again.”
A groan escaped me. For an instant I could see the Cretaceous–Paleogene fireball streaking across the sky, setting me ablaze. Fortunately, Sir Sablé’s speech had everyone enthralled, or perhaps they thought it was a gasp of wonder.
It was part intuition and part logic that led me to conclude that the Lapin Cabal intended to bring a meteor down on the world, as had happened in Yucatán. How or why I didn’t know. To this end, they recruited the gullible, the ambitious, and the truly wicked to do their bidding. The Templars, Illuminati, Nazis, and ICE-Nine were just examples of this.
The implications were staggering, and from Emily’s face, she recognized it too.
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Slowburn #Templar #Templars
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#TimeTravelingGhost EP 11: Post 119, 1191, The Castle of Nicosia
#Wss366 North #TimeTravelAuthors 07/25. unite/together
Things in the council chamber soon settled back to how they had been before, with people ignoring me. I was small potatoes and, having incurred the ire of Sir Conrad, I was not someone to befriend.
Meanwhile, talk of King Richard advancing from the #north towards the Holy City was rife at one end of the room. On the other side of the room, Sir Conrad was extolling the need to #unite under his banner, emphasizing how feuding over the throne of Jerusalem weakened the defense of the lands they’d secured. I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if I warned him that he would be assassinated by the end of next year.
Silence fell as two knights entered and ascended the dais. Everyone rose, and the Templars dropped to one knee. The rest of us bowed our heads as a lean, muscular man followed them. His face was that of a warrior: short, grey-streaked hair, darkly tanned, a trimmed beard, and a scar over his left eye. A lapin dressed as a Templar page stood on either side of him.
His human attendants announced, “Sir Robert IV de Sablé, Grand Master of the Holy and Valiant Order of the Knights Templar, Lord of Cyprus.”
#TootFic #NMFic #TimeTravel #HistoricalFantasy #UrbanFantasy #Mythpunk #Serial #Slowburn #Templar #Templars
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Desert-Hearts: Part 4 of 4 Alexandria II
#FanFiction #AscendanceOfABookworm #HanneloresFifthYear
#Wss366 Arabesque #ScribesAndMakers A can of worms of a barrel of monkeys?•⋅☾A week later, Alexandria☽⋅•
“Would you be in a good mood?” Rozemyne asked Ferdinand.
It was a fair question, considering the dark circles under his eyes. He had spent the last three days in his private study. The duke met the question with a skeptical look as he took in the baked goods and an #arabesque tea-set on the table.
“I’m not in the mood for taste-testing. Ask a courtier; they’ll be happy to help,” was his reply.
“No, that’s not it. Hannelore sent these: rose-scented tea and cookies that their chief invented. They’re nice, like lemon drops. It’s like a White Day gift.”
Rozemyne’s voice trailed off. Her husband was smiling, and it sent a shiver through her. She recognized that expression. It was the smile of someone about to order the drowning of a litter of kittens.
His voice was as chilly as his smile, “I’m tired; we’ll talk later in your private room.”
Rozemyne frowned. Private discussions were never good, but later was better than now.
“She sent you a present too,” Rozemyne ventured, producing a white handkerchief. “She even embroidered it with cute cornflowers entwined with edelweiss.”
The duke sank into a chair, gulping a cup of tea, notwithstanding its temperature.
“Rozemyne, is this what you want?”
“No, it’s for you.”
“Rozemyne! Are you a total idiot!? They mistook your gifts for a marriage proposal. I knew they would. Since Hannelore can’t marry you, they assume you intend for her to become my second wife.”
“What? A marriage proposal?” the aub looked stunned.
“It’s obvious that at the next Council of Aubs, Dunkelfelger will approach me about this. If you wish to bring Hannelore here to be part of our family, I’ll agree. It wouldn’t hurt to have a stronger alliance with them. But if I accept, she becomes your responsibility. I have no interest in a second wife.”
Ferdinand rose. “Think about it. I will get your answer later.”
Rozemyne watched him leave. “Marry Hannelore? My book-buddy? Like in one of those yuri romances from my former life? Humm…”
[Continued in “Edelweiss Entwined”]