#tootfic — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #tootfic, aggregated by home.social.
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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
-
#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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#Airisu: The Crow and the Witch
Himeji Castle (Airisu POV): Post 63
#Wss366 Treble #TimeTravelAuthors 9/4 WhateverInside the passage hung a feline odor, strong enough to wilt feathers, and paw prints littered the dusty floor. We turned left in the direction most of them led.
“It’s walking on its hind feet,” Sumika said after a few meters and pointed to where the marks of the forepaws ceased, leaving only the rear ones.
“Indeed, that’s because it’s a nekomata. Be glad this passage is wood, not stone,” I replied.
“Why?”
“Because your ‘cute’ kitty can spit fireballs. I doubt it wants to burn its mistress’s home down.”
“Oh!”
“It could be worse. We might have run into a gotokuneko. They’re about #treble the strength.”
“Treble? What kind of word is that? Just say three times.”
“It’s a perfectly good word.”
“Whatever. And what about ‘gotokuneko?’ You’re not making that stuff up, are you?” Mistress asked.
“Moi? Me? Make stuff up? I’m wounded. No, I studied this kind of thing when I was a woman.”
“You know you’re a lot more human-like than when we first met. You almost talk normally, barring words like ‘treble.’”
“Awk, chicka, cawa! Pay attention, there are lights ahead,” I cawed, irratated.
“How could Glinda-chan say such a thing? Hmph! Just when I was thinking she had more than one brain cell, she says utter rubbish. But no, she’s nothing more than a three-toed sloth.”
#TootFic #NMFic #Crows #Otherkin #Fantasy #UrbanFantasy #TimeTravel #Serial #SlowBurn #Sapphic #Folklore
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#Airisu: The Crow and the Witch
Himeji Castle (Airisu POV): Post 63
#Wss366 Treble #TimeTravelAuthors 9/4 WhateverInside the passage hung a feline odor, strong enough to wilt feathers, and paw prints littered the dusty floor. We turned left in the direction most of them led.
“It’s walking on its hind feet,” Sumika said after a few meters and pointed to where the marks of the forepaws ceased, leaving only the rear ones.
“Indeed, that’s because it’s a nekomata. Be glad this passage is wood, not stone,” I replied.
“Why?”
“Because your ‘cute’ kitty can spit fireballs. I doubt it wants to burn its mistress’s home down.”
“Oh!”
“It could be worse. We might have run into a gotokuneko. They’re about #treble the strength.”
“Treble? What kind of word is that? Just say three times.”
“It’s a perfectly good word.”
“Whatever. And what about ‘gotokuneko?’ You’re not making that stuff up, are you?” Mistress asked.
“Moi? Me? Make stuff up? I’m wounded. No, I studied this kind of thing when I was a woman.”
“You know you’re a lot more human-like than when we first met. You almost talk normally, barring words like ‘treble.’”
“Awk, chicka, cawa! Pay attention, there are lights ahead,” I cawed, irratated.
“How could Glinda-chan say such a thing? Hmph! Just when I was thinking she had more than one brain cell, she says utter rubbish. But no, she’s nothing more than a three-toed sloth.”
#TootFic #NMFic #Crows #Otherkin #Fantasy #UrbanFantasy #TimeTravel #Serial #SlowBurn #Sapphic #Folklore
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#Airisu: The Crow and the Witch
Himeji Castle (Airisu POV): Post 63
#Wss366 Treble #TimeTravelAuthors 9/4 WhateverInside the passage hung a feline odor, strong enough to wilt feathers, and paw prints littered the dusty floor. We turned left in the direction most of them led.
“It’s walking on its hind feet,” Sumika said after a few meters and pointed to where the marks of the forepaws ceased, leaving only the rear ones.
“Indeed, that’s because it’s a nekomata. Be glad this passage is wood, not stone,” I replied.
“Why?”
“Because your ‘cute’ kitty can spit fireballs. I doubt it wants to burn its mistress’s home down.”
“Oh!”
“It could be worse. We might have run into a gotokuneko. They’re about #treble the strength.”
“Treble? What kind of word is that? Just say three times.”
“It’s a perfectly good word.”
“Whatever. And what about ‘gotokuneko?’ You’re not making that stuff up, are you?” Mistress asked.
“Moi? Me? Make stuff up? I’m wounded. No, I studied this kind of thing when I was a woman.”
“You know you’re a lot more human-like than when we first met. You almost talk normally, barring words like ‘treble.’”
“Awk, chicka, cawa! Pay attention, there are lights ahead,” I cawed, irratated.
“How could Glinda-chan say such a thing? Hmph! Just when I was thinking she had more than one brain cell, she says utter rubbish. But no, she’s nothing more than a three-toed sloth.”
#TootFic #NMFic #Crows #Otherkin #Fantasy #UrbanFantasy #TimeTravel #Serial #SlowBurn #Sapphic #Folklore
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#Airisu: The Crow and the Witch
Himeji Castle (Airisu POV): Post 63
#Wss366 Treble #TimeTravelAuthors 9/4 WhateverInside the passage hung a feline odor, strong enough to wilt feathers, and paw prints littered the dusty floor. We turned left in the direction most of them led.
“It’s walking on its hind feet,” Sumika said after a few meters and pointed to where the marks of the forepaws ceased, leaving only the rear ones.
“Indeed, that’s because it’s a nekomata. Be glad this passage is wood, not stone,” I replied.
“Why?”
“Because your ‘cute’ kitty can spit fireballs. I doubt it wants to burn its mistress’s home down.”
“Oh!”
“It could be worse. We might have run into a gotokuneko. They’re about #treble the strength.”
“Treble? What kind of word is that? Just say three times.”
“It’s a perfectly good word.”
“Whatever. And what about ‘gotokuneko?’ You’re not making that stuff up, are you?” Mistress asked.
“Moi? Me? Make stuff up? I’m wounded. No, I studied this kind of thing when I was a woman.”
“You know you’re a lot more human-like than when we first met. You almost talk normally, barring words like ‘treble.’”
“Awk, chicka, cawa! Pay attention, there are lights ahead,” I cawed, irratated.
“How could Glinda-chan say such a thing? Hmph! Just when I was thinking she had more than one brain cell, she says utter rubbish. But no, she’s nothing more than a three-toed sloth.”
#TootFic #NMFic #Crows #Otherkin #Fantasy #UrbanFantasy #TimeTravel #Serial #SlowBurn #Sapphic #Folklore
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#Airisu: The Crow and the Witch
Himeji Castle (Airisu POV): Post 63
#Wss366 Treble #TimeTravelAuthors 9/4 WhateverInside the passage hung a feline odor, strong enough to wilt feathers, and paw prints littered the dusty floor. We turned left in the direction most of them led.
“It’s walking on its hind feet,” Sumika said after a few meters and pointed to where the marks of the forepaws ceased, leaving only the rear ones.
“Indeed, that’s because it’s a nekomata. Be glad this passage is wood, not stone,” I replied.
“Why?”
“Because your ‘cute’ kitty can spit fireballs. I doubt it wants to burn its mistress’s home down.”
“Oh!”
“It could be worse. We might have run into a gotokuneko. They’re about #treble the strength.”
“Treble? What kind of word is that? Just say three times.”
“It’s a perfectly good word.”
“Whatever. And what about ‘gotokuneko?’ You’re not making that stuff up, are you?” Mistress asked.
“Moi? Me? Make stuff up? I’m wounded. No, I studied this kind of thing when I was a woman.”
“You know you’re a lot more human-like than when we first met. You almost talk normally, barring words like ‘treble.’”
“Awk, chicka, cawa! Pay attention, there are lights ahead,” I cawed, irratated.
“How could Glinda-chan say such a thing? Hmph! Just when I was thinking she had more than one brain cell, she says utter rubbish. But no, she’s nothing more than a three-toed sloth.”
#TootFic #NMFic #Crows #Otherkin #Fantasy #UrbanFantasy #TimeTravel #Serial #SlowBurn #Sapphic #Folklore
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Least Kan Lakan be Forgotten: April Fools Edition 1 of 3
#FanFic #TheApothecaryDiaries
#Wss366 Fool / #AprilFools #MastoPrompt Cruel #WordWeavers April Fools.As soon as Mao and her party were out of the madam's earshot, Mao said, "I need to stop by the apothecary for a moment. There's something I need."
Onsou raised an eyebrow, so Mao hurried on. "If I am to play Go with that goblin, I need every advantage. I wish to fetch a 'Scholar's Tonic.'”
Onsou nodded.
“And I need fruit juice, not wine. We’ll need to stop by the kitchen.”
“I’ll see to it,” Onsou said, summoning a girl to fetch it.
Once in the apothecary, Mao announced what she was getting, making sure Onsou heard.
“Scholar’s tonic: sweet flag to clear the mind and polygala to open it. And a vial of ginseng tincture for clarity.”
“And juice,” Mao said as a girl entered with it. “Not wine, which would cloud the mind.”
She took the bottle, added the Scholar’s Tonic and the ginseng tincture, then said to En’en. “Give this to me when I ask for it.”
En’en glared but took it. Ignoring the look, Mao said, “It’s a mental stimulant. If the Freak complains, just tell him that.”
She turned to Onsou. “Since I'm forced to, I’ll play Go with the Freak, but I won’t talk to him.”
He nodded, looking troubled, but turned and led the way to the main guest room where Kan Lakan waited. No one heard him mutter, “#Cruel, cruel woman.”
#MicroFiction #TootFic #ApothecaryDiaries #NMFic #SliceOfLife #FathersDay
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It’s Pelican, Captain
#Fanfiction #KaigaiIdol #PonRanger
#MastoPrompt #Pelican“Reporting for duty, Captain.” The creature snapped a salute as crisp as its white, green, and orange uniform.
“Very good, Lieutenant Yeast,” Captain Pon said. Their eyes stayed glued to the console displaying a terrible, multi-segmented thing crawling in the starless black sky. Its tentacles sprawled, blocky abominations.
“Is that a life form that defies the laws of physics?” Yeast asked.
“No, it's today’s New Pork’s Slimes crossworld puzzle. What seven-letter word means ‘soup bowl face?’”
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Paper Cranes Part 3 (Good Fortune Cranes)
#FanFiction #IsTheOrderARabbit (#GochiUsa)
#Wss366The street was gorgeous, with each shop and stall adorned with strings of colorful cranes.
“Look!” Chiya showed off a unique crane-shaped taiyaki [Note 1] that she had bought. “I have to learn to make these. Customers would love them: cranes, capybaras, cats, tanuki, and…”
“Usagi, rabbits,” the other girls chimed in.
Chiya nodded enthusiastically. “An Anko taiyaki with bean paste; cranes with custard…” She continued until she had exhausted all the possible animals.
The other girls had stopped listening and ran to a temple booth.
“I got a ‘Good Fortune,’” Rize said, unfolding the yellow crane he had bought at the temple.
“Mine is a ‘Tremendous Fortune,’” Syaro said, showing her blue crane to the others.
“It’s a ‘Bad Fortune,’” Chino said, holding out the red crane she had bought.
The girl selling them leaned over the edge of the stall, showing Chino a paper boat. “You’re so lucky. What you have is better than good luck. You can rid yourself of ill fortune by setting your crane sailing across the lake. All your bad luck will float away with it. Then come back and get a new fortune. Isn’t that wonderful—to exchange bad luck for good?”
“Yes, please,” Chino said, taking the boat from the woman.
Armed with the boat, they ran to the lake.
“Wow,” Megu said. The others just stared, mouths agape.
Before them, the lake spread out in an indigo-blue sheet. Light clouds floated above in an azure sky. A few paper boats floated lazily on the water’s #surface, amid dozens of cranes that had gathered there.
“Quadrillion,” Maya said in awe.
Chino placed her boat in the water, while Cocoa held her so she wouldn’t fall in. Then, carefully, she pushed the boat out into the lake.
“Oh, look,” Rize said as the boat sailed out among the cranes and then stopped where a gray crane examined it curiously.
Midori patted Chino’s head. “Looks like good fortune found you.”
Conclusion
[Note 1]Taiyaki
#ごちうさ #ご注文はうさぎですか?
#Wholesome #SliceOfLife #Yuri #FanFic
#MicroFiction #TootFic #Serial #NMPrompts #NMV366 #NMMP -
Imber Befogged (Part 2 of 2)
Better forward than back, she thought, and passed through the arch, where she stopped. The fog had disappeared, replaced by an unrelenting whiteness that was neither close nor far away but at an undefined distance.
The road continued, but a line of waist-high pillars ran down the center. She couldn’t tell how far they stretched. Their alabaster shade blended into the surroundings.
On each pillar was a globe resembling a soap bubble. Rainbow colors danced on their surfaces, contrasting with the stark whiteness of everything else. Common sense urged her to leave them alone. Everything here was strange and potentially dangerous. But her curiosity prompted her to take a closer look. Which would it be?
The latter won out as she #ditched caution. “Why in the name of the twin gods was I brought here if not to look?” she said, excusing her recklessness.
The colors swirled hypnotically, drawing her closer and closer until she could make out dim shapes in the bubbles. Her light touch caused the colors to riot, then coalesce into a blue sheen. The surface was smooth and hard under her fingertips, but tingled like a healer’s touch.
When she drew her hand away, the globe cleared. An Inacar woman stood in the center of the sphere. She was holding a bundle wrapped in cloth. Her faded shawl of Shaw design and simple, unadorned gold jewelry marked her as a commoner. A wave of sadness, longing, and grief swept over “The Imber.” The feeling dwarfed any she had felt before. The only thing that came close was when she lost her kitten, but that had been a mere shadow compared to this. It ran deeper, much deeper.
The woman held out the bundle to another woman wearing cornflower-colored robes indicating a lowly priestess.
“My child, its name is…” The woman began.
The priestess cut her off. “Names are unimportant. She is just a runner, no more.”
The vision ended, and “The Imber” touched her damp face. She was crying. The woman’s heartbreak lingered. It was like the rain seeping through the roof of one of the Runner’s towers, pooling at the bottom, soaking into the ground.
Though humble, the scene touched her deeply.
When she looked up, she saw stairs where the road had been. The pillars and spheres were gone. Tales whispered in the dark about the stairs’ safety were divided. Some said they led to the burning lands of the ancients, from which no one returned. Others said they would take you back to wherever you’d gotten lost. She favored the latter stories. After all, if no one returned, there would be no one to say where the stairs led.
She’d chosen correctly and didn’t have far to climb before she was on the proper road. She hurried along it. If she were too late, people might suspect she’d explored too deeply into the Wandering-Worlds.
By the time she reached Vas, she had already begun burying the memory of what had happened. It was a dangerous memory to have.
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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 47: EP 4: 1937 Amelia Earhart.
#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 9/29. Author's choice/promo
“At last! I thought no one would find us,” Amelia said. “Fred went to find water; we have none. He’s been gone a long time.” She waved toward a row of coconut shells on the clearing's edge. Her rambling speech gave no hint of what our eyes could plainly see: a rotting skeleton and the jungle visible through the aviator’s translucent body.
I whispered to Emily so that the apparition couldn’t hear. “In 1937, Amelia Earhart and her navigator, Fred Noonan, disappeared while crossing the Pacific. I don’t think she knows she’s dead. We need to break it to her slowly.”
“I didn’t hear a plane,” Amelia resumed. “Did you come from Howland Island? We missed it. Thank goodness we spotted Gardner.” [Note 5]
Note 5 Gardner/Nikumaroro
[Note 6] It is a #cardinal sin to omit the prompt word, so I cheated.
#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP -
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 46: EP 4: 1937 Amelia Earhart.
#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 9/27 Saturday excerpt (optional word: pleasant)
The ocean mist that was drifting in was #pleasant after the night's muggy warmth. The beach had been fairly straight until this point, but with the limited visibility, we almost fell into what I guessed was an inlet to a lagoon. Soggy, burnt wood was mixed with the sand, and its faint odor perfumed the air. We still hadn’t seen Amelia, and I was more convinced than ever that I knew where we were. It was the #worst option, the one place I’d prayed we wouldn’t find ourselves.
“I think I hear something,” Emily said, pointing inland.
When I listened, I thought I heard crying, but it could have been the wind. “That way is as good as any,” I said.
The sound faded as we walked along the beach. No matter how hard I listened, all I could hear was the wind, the surf, and the scuttling of crabs, some of which were as big as a cat or small dog.
The memory of a pretty papillon named "Rindy" floated up into my consciousness, and I wondered if he had been mine.
“There it is again,” Emily said.
This time, I could plainly hear a woman weeping. The sound came from in front of us, off to the right.
“Amelia, Amelia Earhart!” I yelled, and the weeping stopped.
“There’s a path,” Emily said, pointing to a rough trail leading inland through the trees.
“I’m here! Thank God at last,” came a shout from the direction the path led.
We followed the voice and soon found a clearing. In the center were the ashes of a fire, scattered coconut, and crab shells. The scent of the jungle and sea mingled with the sour-sweet stench of death. On the far side of the fire lay a rotting corpse. Crabs that had nearly picked the skeleton clean scurried away from our light. The word “#gross” almost escaped my lips.
Just beyond stood a woman dressed in aviator clothes. We had found Amelia Earhart.
#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP #historicalfiction
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17: Burning down the Heavens
#FanFiction #OthersidePicnic #FateGear #EdgarRiceBurroughs
#wss366 #MastoPromptAfter that, things moved swiftly. A balloon ferried Captain Napier to the Fate Gear.
“You capitalist swine! How long have you been leading these running-dog lackeys?” Mina hailed Napier, embracing him. “Never mind. Wait till you hear what I’ve planned! We’re going after the ultimate tyrant. We’ll be burning down the heavens. My cabin, MiLord; the wind has ears. More importantly, I have a 100-year-old brandy looted from Emperor Muskrat’s yacht. Tiss sweet, like poetry, and smooth as silk.”
"#Better than yer rotgut grog and I'll hear yer plan. If it doesn't sound good after that bottle, we'll know it's Tommy rot," Napier said.
The two departed, leaving a scowling Nana with the Otherside pair.
“And what might you two be thinking, lollygagging in the rigging? You may be gunner’s mates to the Captain, but yer nothing but lumps of tar. Get ta polishing the brass or you’ll be wishing you were #home with the fishes.”
Soon, the two were polishing brass and whispering together.
“I don’t like how things look,” Sorawo said. “Mina’s plans to attacking a god.”
“Not just any god,” Toriko said. “The one they worship in Canada—well, actually all the West. He’s one mean hombre sending plagues, turning people into salt, and telling them to sacrifice their sons. His own son had to sacrifice himself to make God back off.”
“So you’re worried too?”
“A little,” Toriko said, putting her arms around Sorawo’s neck, burying Sorawo's face in her bosom. “Protect me.”
“Stop it, you perv,” Sorawo said, pushing Toriko away. “This is serious.”
“You’d better take my tits seriously.” Toriko pretended to pout.
“Whatever! Come on. I need you to stop messing around and listen.”
“Alright.” This time her pout was real.
“When I was looking for the mergaunt’s mother, I spotted a remnant of the portal the sorceress used. If things get bad, you can pull it open.”
“Not without Benimori”
Sorawo, about to protest, stopped. Caring about people was new to her. “You’re right, with Benimori.”
As they spoke, Napier and Mina left the cabin. Whether from the brandy or bravado, they both swaggered across the deck. Napier slapped Mina on the back, causing her to stagger. “I haven't heard anything so audacious in years. Here’s to burning down the heavens.” He raised the nearly empty brandy bottle and drained it dry. “Who’s the eunuch now!” he bellowed out, laughing as he slapped Mina on the back again.
“There she is!” someone shouted as the Fate Gear, Venus Falcon, and the two biremes raced away from Mercury.
Sorawo and Toriko looked up. Undulating in the sky was a black amoebic hole. The monstrous maw sucked everything around it into itself.
”I’ll get Beni!” Toriko said, heading for the galley.
Grand Conclusion Next Week.
#MicroFiction #TootFic #Serial #NMPrompts #NMV366 #NMMP #NMRTTFG
#UraPi #Steampunk #Pirates #Satire #PoliticalSatire -
Imber Befogged (Part 1)
#Wss366 9/25 #MastoPrompt 7-9/25
#Fog obscured the Wandering-Worlds. [Note 1] Though rare, it was not an unknown occurrence. Imbers [Note 2] who had found themselves befogged, reported finding their way back only by luck. Sometimes, Blades [Note 3] came for them later. It was best to keep quiet about what one saw in that #mist-shrouded landscape.
[Note 1] Wandering-Worlds: A liminal space affected by the imagination of wanderers. It serves as a shortcut between the floating continents.
[Note 2] Imbers: Individuals born with the power to walk the “Wandering-Worlds.”
[Note 3] Blades: Individuals tasked with hunting down and executing Imbers who break the law. They can suppress an Imber’s ability to walk the Wandering-Worlds.
“The Imber” only knew these things through rumors and stories told late at night. That was also forbidden, but when it was dark and no one could see the teller, stories would pass from speaker to listener. It was difficult to tell how distorted the stories had become as they passed from one Imber to another. “The Imber” doubted the stories of silver cities and feral undead monsters. But the fog was a thread that wound through all of them.
Now, “The Imber” knew that the fog was real because she was lost in it. The road she followed dipped downward rather than ascending. No matter how hard she tried to envision the road differently, it soon slipped back into its descent.
The road took a sharp turn, and she stood before a stone arch. Engraved words adorned its smooth white surface. The writing used an archaic form of the Shaw alphabet. “The Imber” studied the arabesque runes. Most of them were indecipherable. But scattered among the #sprays of flowers, she made out the words “History,” “Clay,” and a few common words.
Rather than enter the arch, she turned, looking to see if she could return the way she had come. However, the fog #snaked in heavy coils through the tumbled blocks that had once paved the road. Stories of undead monstrosities returned to her.
To be Continued
[Note 4] #FanFiction for a yet-to-be-published book, “Soul Fire” by Jesse Sprague.
#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #Fantasy #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP
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#TimeTravelAuthors 25. How do you picture your story world 50 years in the future?
I will leave this one for when people decide to explore the future, which is one of the options below.
Where will we go next?
#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP
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Paper Cranes Part 3 (A Googolplex of Cranes)
#FanFiction #IsTheOrderARabbit (#GochiUsa)
#Wss366By the time the adults caught up with the girls, Maya was bursting with excitement. “There are thousands of them—thousands upon thousands of paper cranes! A googolplex worth.”
“What’s a googolplex?” Syaro asked Rize.
Fortunately or unfortunately, Cocoa overheard, “Ten times a googol, which is ten to the hundredth power.”
At the same time, Maya offered a simpler explanation. She swept her arms wide and said, “That’s a googolplex and a bazillion #gay-colored cranes.”
Midori’s explanation was even simpler: “It’s a lot.”
“So many definitions,” Takahiro said, looking at Midori. “I wonder what would happen if I asked for the definition of love.”
The kids hadn’t heard, having dashed ahead, and Midori missed his glance.
#ごちうさ #ご注文はうさぎですか?
#Wholesome #SliceOfLife #Yuri #FanFic
#MicroFiction #TootFic #Serial #NMPrompts #NMV366 #NMMP -
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 45: EP 4: 1937 Amelia Earhart 2 of 2
#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 9/23 Anger in your story
“I suppose it’s time I told you a little about myself. I’m told I take after my grandmother, a strong-willed woman. She was Chinese and met a dashing American officer. They later married. As you’d imagine, that caused quite a scandal. Not that anyone in the family talks about it.”
“I avoided marriage by becoming a stringer for the Arkham Daily Star. I think Grandma would have approved. My family didn’t.”
“It sounds like you admire her. Did you ever meet her?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I wish I had.”
Emily picked up a shell and tossed it into the water. “Anyway, about me. In 1927, I was in Shanghai when Chiang Kai-shek purged the Communists. It was the right time and place for me, though not for the thousands who were slaughtered. The streets literally ran red. I survived and sent dispatches home. That’s when the service recruited me.”
Her voice grew quieter. “I also witnessed what happened to the Bonus Army when we fired on our own veterans. I’ve seen it all and have no love for it.” [Note 2] [Note 3]
She finished simply: “I love my country, but not war and violence.”
“Thank you,” I said, starting down the beach again. I wondered how we matched up. She was a tough lady. From what I could tell, I’d been a professor who enjoyed food, alcohol, and esoteric studies. The image I had of myself was a soft spinster type. She wanted to save the universe, and I just wanted to gadfly around.
I wasn’t one for self-flagellation, so I set those thoughts aside. “Let’s look for Amelia,” I said.
“I agree.” If I read Emily’s tone correctly, she was glad to leave the subject behind.
[Note 2] The Bonus Army
[Note 3] Shanghai Massacre (1927)#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP #history
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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 45: EP 4: 1937 Amelia Earhart 1 of 2
#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 9/23 Anger in your story
Emily was facing me now. Her eyes shone under the newly risen tropical moon. For the first time, I noticed the slight Asian cast to them, which made sense given her last name, Pang. A #mist had drifted in from the sea, casting a romantic halo around her face. “She isn’t bad-looking,” I thought, “if only there were fewer sharp edges to her personality.”
“Those lyrics sound angry,” Emily said. “But I think I understand. Like when we opened fire on the veterans in the Hoovervilles.” [Note 1]
“Yeah, it was like that. The National Guard shot students protesting a war. I have a question for you. Don’t answer if it’s none of my business, but as someone in military intelligence who’s also anti-communist, I wouldn’t expect you to be anti-militaristic.”
“That wasn’t a question,” she #pronounced, “but I’ll answer the one you meant to ask. Have you seen innocent people get shot? Or what an artillery shell can do to someone? I have.”
“Oh,” I said.
[Note 1] Hoovervilles
Continued in next post
#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP #History
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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 43: EP 4: 1937 Amelia Earhart. 3 of 3
#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 9/21. How sincere are your characters?
I finished the song as we rounded a shallow point. Emily took my hand, and we stopped to look out over the water. The night was peaceful. The surf, the scuttling of crabs, and the wind in the nearby brush sang a mournful refrain to the lyrics: “When will they ever learn?”
“That’s a sad song. I’ve never heard it before,” Emily said and sang a snatch, “‘Covered with flowers every one.’” Then she added, “Flanders Fields goes, ‘Loved and were loved, and now we lie, in Flanders fields.’ I hate the rest of the poem.”
A fish splashed out in the water.
Emily continued. “I used to believe that at least they were at peace. The guns were silent, and treaties were inked. I thought, ‘We’re done with war, and they can rest.’ But here we are, ghosts. You’re from the future, singing another sad song about the needless dying. The guns don’t stay silent long, do they?”
“No, they don’t,” I said. “Nor the sound of jackboots. ‘Gotta get down to it. Soldiers are gunning us down.’ That’s from another song—the rabbits scare me.” [Note 3]
Note 3: Ohio - Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP
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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 43: EP 4: 1937 Amelia Earhart. 2 of 3
#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 9/21. Characters’ sincerity?
In front of us rose a dense wall of low, tangled scrub, and beyond that, the jagged silhouette of tall trees loomed against the night sky. I could identify palm trees among them. A cool breeze blew off the ocean, along with the steady drum of the surf. Out of the wind, the night was warm and humid. The air smelled of salt, leaf mold, and something faintly acrid.
“Heinr… Henrietta—Bijou?” She faltered and then asked, “What should I call you? That professor called you Henrietta something-or-other, but that’s not the name you gave me.”
“Mademoiselle Henrietta Dubois is dead, and I don’t even remember what her life was like. But Henrietta is easier than Luminelle. So, Henrietta Bijou will do.”
“Should I call you Hetty or Retta? What would you like?”
“Bijou. It’s easy, and what you’ve been calling me.”
“Okay, Bijou… Do you think there are timeparticles where there was no Great War and another war with Germany fizzles out?”
“It’s possible. If there are other time-travelers, it’s something they might want to do. Then again, maybe not. I’m guessing there’re forces working against that. Someone or something ransacked my office and murdered me.”
“Rabbits?”
“That seems like a good guess.”
“It never stops, does it, Bijou? We just keep doing it over and over.”
I changed the subject. Not to be a #jerk, but the conversation stirred up the shadows of uncomfortable memories and feelings. “I think I know where we are. Not the name, but the historical event. Let’s go find Amelia.”
I turned and walked down the beach. I found myself singing.
Where have all the flowers gone?
Long time passing.
…
Gone for soldiers, every one.
…
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn? [Note 2]Note 2: Where have all the flowers gone -The Kingston Trio
Part 3 continues in the next post.
#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP
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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 43: EP 4: 1937 Amelia Earhart. 1 of 3
#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 9/21. Characters’ sincerity? (Judge for yourself)
First came the shock of water lapping around my knees, followed by the roar of the surf filling my ears. Only later did I notice the briny odor and the bright, clear stars overhead.
“Where are we?” Emily asked as we waded up onto a beach of coral sand.
“Meeting Amelia Earhart. I’m not sure where or when. I didn’t have time to consider our destination. Sorry for not consulting you.”
“It’s all right. I have to reflect on your conversation back there. There doesn’t seem much point in changing history if it only affects…” Her voice trailed off as she searched for a word.
“A timeparticle,” I supplied.
“Right. What’s the point if it only affects a single timeparticle?”
“Guess it’s like being a doctor. You can only save one life at a time.” I wondered why I was arguing. I hadn’t been keen on changing time to begin with.
“Like a combat surgeon. As the poem says, ‘In Flanders fields the poppies blow.’” [Note 1]
“I suppose,” I said, looking around.
Part 2 continues in the next post.
#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP
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3. The Hind Most Wound
#FanFiction #TheApothecaryDiaries
#wss366 #MastoPromptThe Moon Prince lay under thick blankets, head #cushioned on a rolled-up cloak. Even from afar, Mao could make out his sickly green pallor, his labored breathing, and his slack skin. A lone woman was watching him silently from the corner.
“I’ll need hot water,” she said. The room was now her territory. Short of a high noble, no one would question her here. “Be sure it’s boiled, and have someone with clean hands do it. Not ‘Filthy Hands’ out there. Also, bring the finest clean cloth you can, and plenty of it. I can use coarse cloth or cotton batting for some of it. I have alcohol, but I may need more. Get the strongest you can find. No one’s private stash is exempt.”
“I’ll get right to it,” Basen said, but instead of leaving, he #snapped his fingers at the young woman in the corner. Mao frowned. The girl had been watching, sharp-eyed despite her silence. Snapping was wasteful noise, like shouting orders at a wall. Still, the woman neither flinched nor looked away. That steadiness was more interesting to Mao than Basen’s brusqueness.
“Meiling (美玲),” Basen continued. “You’ll help Maomao. Do whatever she asks! Anything!” He turned to Mao. “You can trust her. She’s reliable and knows about the Moon’s lotus mark. There’s just one thing: she can’t talk. It was deemed most suitable for someone who would serve the Moon Prince so closely.”
Meiling, “Beautiful Tinkling Jade,” Mao thought, an ironic name for a mute. Then, she turned to Jinshi.
The first thing she noticed when she removed the blankets was the bandage on the prince’s flank. Seepage stained the freshly applied cloth greenish-yellow.
As she removed the bandage, she asked, “Did you apply this?”
She glanced back and saw the girl nod.
Mao pointed to the stains. “Any change?”
The girl motioned, indicating less.
“Is he more or less active? Moaning? Rolling? Anything?”
Again, Meiling slowly brought her hands together.
“Less? That’s serious,” Mao said.
Mao returned her attention to the patient. The flesh around the wound was white. When she pressed on the tissue, she found it hard. Thin, yellowish-green fluid oozed from the wound. Mao sniffed it and wrinkled her nose. She pressed again harder noting the lack of reaction by the Prince. As she had suspected, the poisoning was quite advanced.
“Dispose of this bandage where no one will find it,” Mao ordered the woman. “Then get Basen. I have more questions. You can take his place in gathering my items. I’ll send for you as soon as I can.”
Continued next week in Detective MoaMoon 探偵猫月
#MicroFiction #TootFic #Serial #NMPrompts #NMV366 #NMMP
#ApothecaryDiaries -
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 42f: EP 3: 2025 Miskatonic University
#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 9/19. Any references to other time travel works in your story? — No
Still puzzled, Skully opened the drawer and pulled out a local newspaper. The front cover announced, “The Pendulum Murder,” and underneath, “Another Spooky U Mystery.”
He rapidly closed the drawer. “From the day after you were discovered. Nothing futuristic about it.”
“About time-travel?” I nudged.
“Right, let’s see. You said, ‘Most people picture time as a single immutable line. My theory—and by that I mean your theory—is that time is closer to a high-pressure stream of water. All of time exists at once, and time-pressure keeps each contemporary timeparticle identical.’”
He took a breath, and I thought, “He has an excellent memory.”
He continued quoting me verbatim. “A small deviation in a timeline is easily corrected. For example, the rat I brought you. When I put it back into its cage, our timeline will be virtually identical to one where the rat wasn’t sent back in time. Even major changes may be smoothed over. If a large change remains uncorrected, that timeparticle flies out of the timestream, like a water droplet or minor spray.”
“Frankly,” he finished. “I thought all your drinking had #fried your brains.”
Emily called from the door, “Someone is coming.”
“Thank you, Professor Skully,” I said. “I suggest you forget this conversation, or you may wind up dead. There appear to be other time-travelers, and they don’t want to share their secret. Oh, and also, I was just a confused student and have left.”
“Wait,” he began, but I had already taken Emily’s hand.
“Best if I’m not seen here.” I didn’t add, “Especially if they’re #enamored with our rabbits.”
Judging by the loud voices down the hall, we would soon have visitors. We had to go now, and Amelia Earhart was who I thought of first.
#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP
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Confession of a Yandere (ヤンデレ彼女の 白状)
Love’s Paper Crane 愛の折り鶴
#RegardingSaekiSayaka #FanFiction (#BloomIntoYou)
The four women sat in silence, pondering what had happened. Arisu and Touko seemed to have finally found a place of mutual acceptance, while Yuu and Saeki were trying to follow their logic. Even if the encounter between Arisu and Touko had been #unplanned, it had been an unforeseen boon.
Sarasa-san arrived with their order. “I hope it’s not cold,” she said, setting the tray down. “You were all having such an intense conversation, I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“You see those two girls over there?” Arisu nodded toward Haru and her date. “Take this,” she said, handing Sarasa-san some money. “Bring them a pastry and cover their bill. If they ask who it’s from, say, ‘Someone who wishes to make amends quietly.’” She thought for a moment and then #called after Sarasa. “Oh, and give the athletic one this.” Arisu handed her a paper crane. “Tell her it's for luck in love.”
“I can do that. Enjoy your tea. And if you’re planning on watching the fireworks, there’s a little shrine at the end of the mall. Not many people know about it, but the view’s amazing.”
Conclusion
#MicroFiction #TootFic #Serial #NMPrompts #NMV366 #NMMP #Yuri #Yandere #Manga #Anime #LightNovel #Romance #Romancelandia #FanFic