Speculative Fiction - Tumblr Posts

Anyway let's add a regular post on the mole stars

Here is the one from the new ref.

There are some updates from the last time you saw them. Their skin is full red and their "tentacles" are gone. Their teeth are inside their skin and not always visible.

They manipulate surroundings with very flexible arm endings that create slight suction between the frill layers. The frills are surprisingly energetic and have the most touchy nerves and many small muscles. The teeth can go very far back into the arm, leaving the mouth flexible (the teeth themselves are flexible-ish).

Star eyesight sucks. On each arm is 4 (sometimes 5) extendable thorns with tiny eyes on top that give the arm a basic sense of space. If they want to focus on something they look with their mouth which has its inside lined with photoreceptive cells. To get a decent image they shape the arm inside into a sphere and change the end diameter.

But this works a lot better underwater, where they only spend their early and partial adult lives. Speaking of early life. Stars are born looking more like jellyfish than a star.

When hatched, they are only 1/4 of their adult version, a single arm swimming around and slowly growing. After this stage, the little jellies start connecting. Most often you get 4 arms but some moles have 3 or 5 (other numbers have a hard time surviving). Once they are joined, their bodily functions are connected, and even their nervous system becomes one. While being sophonts, their brain/s work a lot differently, with their arms being somewhat capable of independent thought.

And a tiny possible living space. But that's just thoughts.

On the left, an older caretaker from some island culture. Sleepy babies get to hold on the adult's piercings. The ones too young get a ride in the basket.

On the right, an egg arch (a reproductive leader) of a coastal culture. The babies on their neck don't have the balance to walk but might not be so sleepy. Unlike the caretaker the arch carries their own children. They make great accessories but being your parent's keychains is also a good exercise, experts say.

Climbing on big uniimas is natural to a baby. Since uniima are evolved to be arboreal, it's better they can climb and grip as soon as possible. Their giant heads make it easy to hold their full weight on their jaws.

Before becoming a parent or a caretaker, one needs to realize they will also become a tree, a mountain, and a hanger.

doodle compilation number idk

sillies

slom animal conceptin

bigger ethnicity difference and. a mecha (def not canon)

fun fact, Neal wanted to be a sloman priest as a teenager.

Also, foru tree thought? idk

the don't-worry-about-it and uuuh, ugly baby

lastly a character. They guide the group on their journey to the "different world". But this is still a WIP. I want to refine their outfit and name (text on the pic is their "first name").

Look at what I found while foraging for fruits outside.

Can't believe this is real. What a creature.

At this stage the critter is still covered with thin layers of shedding skin even over its crest and beak. It makes it quite shiny.

You can even see its mouth is starting to turn purple.

someone mentioned me in a reblog of this photo saying it looks like baby uniima, but when I finally got the time to do this the reblog was sadly gone

Smooth Helmeted Iguana (Corytophanes cristatus), family Corytophanidae, Costa Rica

photograph by Hans Hillewaert

New year, new creature reveal!

This animal is an Iťalaq, a large creature adapted for the hot and dry environment of the east. Just like some earth desert animals, it has energy storage in the form of its watery bloodstream and of a large fat pocket under its 'pelvis'.

They feed primarily on plant matter. Bushes and grasses are easy targets, while hard or spiky materials will get stomped on with their middle limbs to then scoop up the insides. For food high up, they pick on it using their front limbs and throw it to the ground or insert it directly into their mouth. They do not mind a meaty snack.

As a bonus unpleasant fact, Iťalaq have the contents of their 'ends' ready to protect them from predators (both liquid and bullets), and it gets very stinky if they eat meat before the processing.

You are unlikely to ever see one in nature - at least not the domesticated species that are used all over the eastern sloman cultures (those are better reported to the nearest settlement).

Their history with slomen is not as long as it is with pamuli that evolved side by side with slomen. However, they are considered the first domesticated "arm-jaw" animals and have served people for thousands of years as their main "vehicle". Where they are used, wheels and carts are uncommon, finding most use in cities.

One iťalaq can often carry over 200kg (330 pounds), but it's better to keep the weight lower and let a pamuli take the rest of the cargo.

In this illustration, the rider is a sloman matriarch, likely stopping to stare at a strange phenomenon.

It is often that a northeastern family has at least one iťalaq, and the oldest members are the primary riders (both because of the member's importance and less energy from old age). The matriarch is the oldest and most respected, so it's only expected she's most familiar with the animal.

the picture with no text

hope the text wall doesn't have too many mistakes man

ipbm test

i witnessed the shattering of our moon. although many will claim now to have experienced the moment, having in reality only seen the footage, on that day same as any few were looking to the sky before they heard the booms. and everyone heard the booms.

the last week of december is hard on everyone. holiday travel leaves far too much time to think, to contemplate the past year and its changes and what pain and pleasure will come with the next. this year i was happy to travel with my lover.

we flew to maryland this year. it was a fine xmas, snowless unfortunately but that’s to be expected in our warming climate. i was nervous about introducing her to my mother, and more so my sister, but the trip was uneventful. that is until we left.

we woke up late that morning, having wasted too much time the previous evening drinking wine and packing our bags and indulging in the intimacy we have been blessed to find in each other. snow in the north left us without concern, only a three hour delay. we chose to spend the time in our terminal; she thought it prudent, i saw anopportunity.

we spent all of two hours lounging on that ugly carpet, sharing one set of wired earbuds and one masterpiece of a conversation. the chaos of the previous week left us with little time for each other, all ofwhich was spent maintaining our affections and our respective body heats in the chill nights on the bay. i don’t admit it much, but my recollection of this day is dominated by those hours we spent with our backs against each other. how she braided my hair, how she laughed more than usual, how she seemed optimistic for our future together; i burned these moments into the folds of my brain like petroglyphs on canyon walls.

a few days previous was the full moon. a cold moon on the eve of xmas is a special occasion for everyone. we spent this rarity as anyone would, and consequently have little memory of it. we were amongst many who wished they had savored the moment. had we known that was our final evening basking in the full glory of her beauty, everything would have been different. that was one lesson we all have to learn the hard way: you will one day gaze upon the face of the one you love for the final time, and you will be blissfully unaware.

her beauty had already begun waning by the end of the week. she was however still largely visible on this crisp and clear winter’s day. my memory is vivid; i stood at the window wall by the gate watching planes take off and land and take off again as i waited for her to return with snacks i could care less about. the sunlight glared off of every surface; the brightness was overwhelming and i sought solace in the moon. it was in this moment it shattered.

it is trite by now to describe it as surreal, especially with every aspect of our reality becoming increasingly so with each revolution. in the moment, i was so certain i was daydreaming. it just broke apart. it cracked and scattered itself like a projectile egg. and that was the last humanity saw of her face.

moments later sonic booms, at first to be foolishly assumed by many to be the sound of this great calamity, were heard in every region of the country. this was quickly deduced by some to be no more than the sound of martial mobilization, a well documented impulse in this country.the details would later be unceremoniously revealed in the following months of news coverage.

my lover returned to me snacks in hand and confused, but not as confused as me. i was speechless, and it was all i could do to point at the sky. as vividly as i remember the moment of shattering, i can imagine seeing again the tears well up in her eyes and slowly rolling down her cheeks, void of any other expression. i relived that moment every hour of every day for the next year.

in the next few hours we learned that this was the result of the first test of the space force’s new ipbm, the inaugural interplanetary ballistic missile. the test proved successful only by the means they had expected to measure. in every other sense, it was an unprecedented failure. it answered all our questions about space bombs, but raised infinitely more about humanity’s history and place in the cosmos.

this was the day we learned that the moon, our moon, the very one we’ve worshiped and written poems about, the one our dogs howled to, the one that pulled the tides while glimmering the beauty of its light across the water, was in reality, at least our reality, a hollow megastructure put in place in the far distant past by beings more ancient and more advanced than we are genuinely capable of comprehending.

in the following days, people talked about nothing else. in the following months people began asking questions. in the following years, scientists began investigating. we were never given answers.

not real ones, not satisfying or even conclusive ones. we can only imagine the implications for our past and our future. in the present the effects of our hubris are self-evident. you didn’t need to be an oceanographer to see that the tides had lost their potency. the impacts on aquatic species are still being documented. the extent to which it exacerbated the extremes of each season will always be up for debate. it was clear that this was a new era for humanity.

a reminder of this day will exist forever in our sky. a broken moon fragmented and strewn across the firmament. a reminder of this day will exist forever in her face. i will relive it with every tear that falls upon it. and those memories will resurface with only positive feelings of the lovely day i spent with her.

terra

i remember the first time i saw her. she defended my honor shortly after. i have loved her ever since.

i knew better than to be in that bar alone. but this was a manic phase for me so all bets were off. i was using again, and doing my best to maintain a social life without many friends. and for once, i excelled. at least by my own standards. this night that meant drinking with my lonesome in a random dive.

i had never patronized this particular establishment. but there were bikes out front so i knew what to expect. at least i thought i did. i could never have anticipated that i would walk into her life on this night of all nights. a moonless night nonetheless.

the very moment i stepped inside i noticed her. curls as red and voluminous as hers are hard to miss. i was instantly consumed by layers of reactive emotion: lust, envy, insecurity, pride, panic. it took all of my attention not to show every racing thought on my face. i sat at the bar with my back to the pool tables, where she talked and laughed with her biker friends. i thought it best to keep her out of sight and out of mind.

i drank quickly that night. i was uncomfortable and i knew i stood out, but i had enough experience fitting myself in where i didn’t belong that i was ultimately unconcerned. being noticeable was unavoidable and i assumed myself capable of managing the unwanted attention. of course a few men tried talking to me; i did what i could to entertain them but i didn’t have the energy. after a couple more drinks that i did not pay for, one man pushed his luck. and i pushed back. not literally, not yet. he stood too close and breathed too heavy. he tried to ask about my braids and my jewelry, presumably in a lame attempt to connect with me over something personal. i suppose it is not a despicable tactic, but i despised it. i had no patience to explain my culture to a white man, or to bear the inevitable microaggressions. but i had been trapped and was feeling sassy after a couple drinks, so of course i had to call him out as soon as he asked about my blood quantum. i don’t care to relive that conversation, but i’ve often relived the following moments.

as his tone shifted from inquisitive to offended to offensive, others began to notice. i hadn’t the sense or sobriety to de-escalate, and like i said this was one of my manic phases. so i mocked, and he yelled, and before i could comprehend what i had gotten myself into i had to get myself out. but for once i couldn’t see an exit. and that’s when she came to my rescue. when i heard a woman’s voice interject from behind me, i swiveled in my bar stool and found myself face to face with a goddess. a goddess of war nonetheless, with a face so full of freckles and fury that i was instantly disarmed.

they seemed to have history. they seemed to have pre-existing beef. but either way she was as committed to escalation as i had been only a moment before. she told him not to waste his time, she told him to leave me alone, she told him to go back to fucking mannequins, whatever that meant. he called her a bitch and a dyke and she kept her cool. but as soon as tranny had left his lips i heard glass shatter. next was all of a flash of light to me. a sudden commotion and i was dragged from the bar. i thought i was carrion, but it had been devotees of my new savior that gotten me out of there. it was a relief, and in my one glance back at the brawl that had ensued i was filled with gratitude. this was just as immediately interrupted by the roar of motorcycle, and as if i had died in that bar and gone to heaven, i turned once again to my newfound idol, now revving her engine and gesturing me to mount her steed behind her. i hesitated for the smallest moment, maybe because i didn’t believe my luck or maybe to capture a clear image i could return to once my luck ran up. im glad i took that moment. 

it lingered in my mind’s eye for some time, and before i knew what had happened or how to feel i was holding onto a total stranger for dear life. as we sped down a empty freeway, cold air cutting into my watery eyes, i buried my face into her soft curls. i realized that i was wearing her helmet, that she had sacrificed her own safety several times over to secure mine. there are no words in the english language that can adequately express the gratitude i felt in that moment. it was all i could do to hold on with every string of every atom of my being, thankful to feel safe for the first time in my life.

**********

her name is Terra, she told me. a gorgeous name, did she pick it herself i asked. she did not, she was named for her mother.

she took me to her apartment. told me it’d be a calm place for me to sober up. i certainly didn’t mind. especially not after seeing it. i had no expectation of something luxurious or tidy or well decorated, and in that sense it met my expectations. but it was her domain and i was in awe. i took in every detail, eager to learn what i could about my new hyperfixation. a large mattress on the floor with perfectly disheveled sheets, a whiteboard displaying chemical equations, plants everywhere. an impeccably neat kitchen, a disheveled record collection, no visible closet. stacks of books. a dozen candles. empty wine bottles. only one chair. we sat together on the floor on her bed. this made me nervous.

but she wasn’t tense and that put me at ease a bit. she wasn’t talkative either, and i think ultimately that’s what intimidated me. i wanted to interrogate her motivations for helping me, but i thought it best not to push my luck. she seemed unphased by the whole evening and i tried my best to mimic her stoicism.

i helped bandage her hand. she had cut it on the broken glass she shoved into that man’s face. she asked where i learned first aid. so i told her about my years as a boy scout, growing up in Colorado. learning to survive the harsh winters without resources. learning to braid hair and sing songs and practice witchcraft. she laughed at that.

she asked me if i had any new moon rituals. i didn’t; i grew up a sun worshiper. she insisted we do hers together. she made me a cup of tea, offered me bread. i hadn’t realized i was so hungry and when she told me she made it herself, i certainly couldn’t decline. she lit candles and incense and told me that i didn’t need to say prayers but i needed to keep quiet while she said hers. afterwards she put on a Dexter Gordon record and we resumed conversation, much to my delight.

i told her i envied the density of her freckles and her curl pattern. it was tighter than mine. i told her about my stay in the hospital after my first attempt. about the 2spirit elder who gave me guidance when i wanted it least and needed it most. how they told me that my freckles were blessings from the sun. each individual spot a distinct blessing that would shape my life and guide my future. how the curls in my hair are a blessing from the moon, our celestial matriarch pulling my locks towards the heavens in celebration of my existence. that to waste my life and these blessings would be a dishonor. that i deserved a better death than that.

i told her she had more blessings than me, that the moon loved her more. she laughed at that.

she told me about how she grew up, with several brothers and no maternal figure to keep them in line. about how she left her family at an early age to pursue an education abroad, on a scholarship of course. how in Europe she fell in love with American jazz music. how she was embarrassed to admit it. how that taught her that everything is more admirable from a distance. how when you’re too close to your source you get caught in negative feedback loops that impair your judgment. 

i told her about my art, and she told me about hers. her voice was soft and low. smooth and syrupy like honey. i listened to it for hours and wanted hours more. but after some time we just sat in silence. as the first light of day slowly worked its way in, we found ourselves drifting into sleep in each other’s arms. 

Terra woke me a couple hours later. she was kind enough to provide me with coffee before driving me home, again on her motorcycle, which excited me as much the second time as the first. it was a very nice bike too; a real vintage model that she took pride in having rebuilt. i admired the gleam in her eyes as she told me about it. she was so clearly full of passion, not for motorcycles but for life itself.

on the stairs of my tenement i told her i admired that. how she seemed to live so much life in so little time. how she had so much life ahead of her. that i wanted to know how her story played out, as interesting as it’s been. i towered over her, standing a step above her, and lost myself in the intensity of her upwards gaze. i finally asked her, i needed to know.

“why did you intervene last night? why did you help me only to incite a riot?”

“well that guy you were talking to has a reputation. i know who he is; he has hurt my friends before.”

“so you saw an opportunity for revenge,” i smirked.

“i can’t honestly say no,” she admitted. “but i had my eyes on you since you walked in. and you were in more danger than i think you realized.”

“so you saw more more than one opportunity.” she chuckled in response. “do you make a habit of saving damsels in distress?” i continued.

“yes.”

I didn’t know what to make of that. i thought at the very least maybe i could enjoy my moment as object of her attention a little longer, before the next damsel comes along.

the sunlight shone through the canopy of maple leaves. it felt warm on my skin, and the sensation slowed my racing thoughts. Terra held my wrist in one hand, gently rubbing her thumb on the inside of my wrist. she had such strong hands, and seemed unaware of how intimate that had felt. i wondered how much of that was an act she put on for all her damsels. but i didn’t want to know. it was a good act and i wanted to feel, at least in this moment, that she was acting for me and me alone.

the tension was palpable. she stared into my eyes intently, with no expression on her face. i felt naked, i felt she could see right through me. i didn’t know what to say, but i knew i didn’t want to say goodbye. i knew any front i put on would go to waste. i knew i had to be honest with her and myself or we would both recognize the lies. instead i let my mind go blank. i let my eyes sink into the deep brown pools that gazed back at me. the light reflecting on their surface, the texture of her irises, the depth of her soul. suddenly i grabbed the lapels of her black leather jacket, unaware of how much time had passed since we spoke. i pulled into her to me, or more accurately i pulled myself into her.

“kiss me,” i told her firmly.

and she did! she kissed the freckle on the tip of my nose. it was short and it passed swiftly but i knew it was a blessing i would carry as long as i lived.

“what are you doing today?” she asked me, brushing off any awkwardness i felt. im sure she felt none.

“i need to clean my apartment. probably do laundry and make a curry.” i knew i was going to spend the day riding one high while coming down from another. “you?” i asked in response, trying to feign disinterest.

“i have a class at the college. i haven’t made up my mind about the rest of the day.”

“at the city college?”

“yes”

“compelling topic?”

“figure drawing actually. we have a nude model today so i can’t be absent.”

“do you like drawing nudes?” i asked cheekily.

“i would,” she told me, “but our prof only uses male models. i haven’t decided if it’s cause of some internalized misogyny or just a little kink of hers.” i laughed. “no, seriously. there’s a lot of rumors of her inappropriate behavior. at this point it’s more of a gossip class than anything.”

“that does sounds like fun,” i agreed, thinking only of how many girls she had gotten to model for her sketches in her apartment. if she did that as a ploy or out of genuine dedication to her art. if she took advantage of those girls, if she was a Picasso in her own right. if she kept her clothes on while she fucked them. i wanted to find out first hand. the desire burned in my chest. i exhaled and let it go.

“im sorry, i need to leave now.” that was the last thing i wanted to hear. “but it was really lovely meeting you. i hope i salvaged your night.”

“salvaged?! you made my whole fucking month!” i exclaimed. i hoped my enthusiasm would get me a little farther with her. “i hope i didn’t ruin yours. i’m sorry for derailing it.”

“don’t be.”

“would you like to see me again in that case?”

“you’re too bright to be asking such dumb questions.”

“then when would you like to see me again?”

“tomorrow night,” she said as if it was non-negotiable. i had no intention of trying. “i’ll pick you up and buy you a meal.”

“oh you don’t need to do all that,” i protested through the ear to ear smile that had come over me.

“too late. i’ve already committed to it,” she said as if it were her solemn duty to show me a good time. “i’ll pick you up at sundown.”

“i’ll be here.”

“good.”

neither of us turned to leave. i froze, feeling the awkwardness that remained between us. i wished she had kissed me.

“one thing before i go,” i was thankful to hear her interject. in one smooth motion she took a step as to be level with me and grabbed me by the neck. she was strong and with her other hand on my hip she easily pushed me back against the wall. and then she finally kissed me.

a bolt of electricity shot through my entire body. her lips were tender, making up for her lack of gentleness. they were parted slightly, and with the force of her face into mine i could feel her teeth on my bottom lip. for one brief second she gave into the same burning desire i had felt for hours.

i hope i never forget the expression on her face as she pulled it back from my own. she looked happy. plainly and purely and the warmth of her smile radiated outwards, illuminating parts of my inner self i hadn’t seen since childhood. i think it was in that moment i fell in love.

“goodbye for now, Billi,” she said in a dulcet tone.

“see you tomorrow, Terra,” praying she would not prove me wrong.

as she continued down the steps i watched her go. her red hair was so much more beautiful in the daylight. i took note of every complexity of the color and texture as quickly as i could, lest it be the last i saw of it. i wanted to bask in this moment. i lit a cigarette and sat in the middle of the stairwell, waiting eagerly for my armored knight to return, to rescue me from my tower and whisk me away to paradise.

star map

there are one hundred billion stars in this galaxy

so what makes mine so special?

what makes them worthy of my devotion? of my prayers? my offerings?

you & i were born under the same stars,

they guided us to one another, after shaping our lives in ways we could not yet comprehend

so maybe i owe them my life, as much as i feel i owe it to you

soon i will have a map of these stars emblazoned across my body

permanently marked upon my chest, on my shoulders, my arms, my hands

so that when my times comes to return to them,

i’ll be able to find my way back to you.

solar sentience

“Billiiiiii!!”

I heard her call my name from across the street. I hadn’t seen Marusya since Porto. I had to stop myself from running out into traffic to greet her. i had made that mistake before and my knee still gives me trouble. but once there was a break in the traffic i dashed.

she saw me coming and opened her arms to embrace me. i ran into her with such velocity that she fell back, luckily catching both of us because i wouldn’t have been able to.

“i missed you so much, Marusya.” i made no effort to stop the tears from flowing from my eyes. “it’s been too long.”

“we talked for a hour yesterday, you goofball.” we did. we talked on the phone often and had a bad habit of losing track of time. even just to establish when and where we’d meet led us to a long tangent about my travel frustrations. “but it’s so nice to see that smile again.” i grinned even harder.

Marusya led me to the cafe. she had been staying in the city the past few months with friends i would meet later that evening. i was lucky enough that my work brought me to Europe, and luckier still that my path crossed with hers. it seemed predestined.

she took me to her favorite cafe. she loved the pastries here and that was absolutely enough for me. the weather was beautiful today so we sat on the terrace. i found it somewhat overstimulating to be honest. i was distracted by the visibility of the old and intricate architecture that populated the landscape of this part of town. that’s to say nothing of all the people and traffic noise outside, but i did my best to focus on our conversation. it was all i wanted. that and a cigarette. i was surrounded by Europeans smoking over their coffees and i knew it was only a matter of time before i broke my streak. it wasn’t a long streak anyhow.

“i can’t believe it’s been three years already. it’s surreal.”

“i know. it feels at once like yesterday and a lifetime ago that we met.” 

we worked together while we were both in school in Santa Barbara. we bonded quickly over our mutual hobbies and interests. primarily music and philosophy. in that time in our life we both desperately needed someone to talk to.

“yeah, honestly i can’t believe this is how things turned out for us. if you had told me then this is where we’d end up, i’d have laughed. and probably made sure it didn’t.”

“then i'm glad i didn’t tell you.” Marusya smiled. i couldn’t help but smile back. Marusya continued, “i’m sorry again though. i still feel responsible for how things played out in Washington.”

“it hardly matters at this point though. Terra gets released in a few months; i’m sure she won’t hesitate to forgive you.”

“i hope you’re right. i hope she’s as gracious as you’ve been.” Marusya stared into her tea. i hated to see her look so guilty. she deserved to be at peace.

“gracious? i had nothing to forgive, no matter what you tell me.” years ago she had been instrumental in my decision to transition. for that i owed her my life. i would never shake that feeling, even if she was responsible for my wife’s prison sentence. but that was between them.

Marusya started to get emotional, but she was better at keeping it at bay than i was. “i still have a hard time talking about it. i wanted to today, but now i don’t know if i can.”

“well damn, i could’ve brought my cellular then,” i joked. Marusya had asked me to leave it at my hotel. i knew the routine from our community organizing days. if we hadn’t been so diligent about our comms procedures she would be with Terra now, and i’d likely never see either released.

“have you heard from anyone since Terra’s sentencing?”

“no, i thought it best to cut ties with them. i didn’t want to push my luck. but i miss a few of them.”

“maybe when Terra’s back you’ll hear from them."

“i hope not. for her sake.”

“how are things between the two of you anyway? as good as always i hope.”

“actually they’re not. we stopped speaking. or writing letters rather.”

“no! what? why? what happened between you two?”

“she admitted to cheating on me in the clink.”

“what? you lie. tell me you’re lying.”

“i wish i was.”

“are you two done for good?”

“oh god no. at least i hope not. im just upset and we agreed it best that we don’t speak again until she’s up for parole.”

“at least that’s soon.”

“not soon enough.”

“it should’ve been me.”

“you should’ve been the one she cheated with? yeah honestly i’d’ve preferred that.”

“actually Lake did say that they’d forgive an infidelity only if it was her of all people.”

“what? seriously?”

“yeah, Terra has that effect on more people than you realize. i never told you about it because i didn’t want you to feel threatened.”

“i wouldn’t’ve felt threatened.”

“...or get any ideas.”

“okay, fair.”

“i still should’ve taken that rap for her. i never got to apologize.”

“you will one day. one day soon.”

“crazy how one little mistake could have such consequences.”

“just be grateful that was the only mistake you made.”

“i am. and thanks again.”

“for what? i didn’t do anything for you.”

“you saved me.”

“Terra saved you. i just played along.”

“then extend my thanks.”

“i’ve thanked her enough.”

i was growing tired of thinking about about my last days with the both of them. i was at my wits’ end. i excused myself to bum a cigarette from another patron. Marusya used the opportunity to get another tea.

it felt good to smoke again, and to see Marusya face to face, even if we still had some tensions to iron out. we had been unable to discuss it directly, on the chance that a bug might overhear. Marusya was still wanted by the FBI for her connection to the Nerysian Resistance Cell.

i inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill me, and consume me. the nicotine made me feel light, made it hurt less to relive the past.

the Nerysians were the cell responsible for the assassination of Chief Justice Robert Jackson, the first Supreme Court Justice to be assassinated in the country’s history, but not the last. it seems like a minor incident after the events that followed, and i spent a long time hoping that the FBI agreed. luckily i have yet to be proven wrong.

ultimately, the only Nerysian who would do time in connection to that crime was Terra. just our luck. our friend Lake who pulled the trigger was murdered by police on sight. sadly, the trigger was attached to a pistol registered in Terra’s name. she had given her gun to Marusya when there was a string of robberies in her building. Marusya, in the midst of returning it, left it in the trunk of Lake’s car, which was commonly used for Nerysian activity. this led to it being mixed in with the unmarked arms that had shared the trunk that evening. the next morning Lake had taken that gun of all guns.

after recovering Lake’s body and Terra’s gun, it was only a matter of time before they came for her too. rather than implicate others, Terra took responsibility. the rest of the cell took the cue to go into hiding. we had covered our tracks well enough that the only charge they could pin to her was giving Lake the gun. she even convinced the court that she knew nothing of the assassination plans. they never knew of the other illegal rifles and pistols that Lake had access to. they never knew the truth of the Nerysians.

however, they did know that Marusya and Lake shared a house. scared that she could be used to expose an entire network of revolutionaries, Marusya fled the country. i helped her escape to Europe, by way of Portugal, where i had enough connections and spoke the language well enough to get her a stack of Euros, a fake passport and a train ticket to get deeper into the continent. she took refuge with her leftist connections from her post grad years in Eastern Europe. she seems to like it here, but it was hard to tell under all her grief.

Marusya returned, tea in one hand and pastry in the other, as i finished my cigarette.

“you smoked that so fast.”

“yeah, i should’ve savored it.”

“don’t make the same mistake with this,” she remarked handing me the pastry. “do you want to talk about something else? i think the heavy convos can wait.”

we sat to resume our convo. “yes, please. did you have something in mind?”

“yes!” Marusya’s face lit up, her demeanor shifting immediately. “i was reading earlier about the new advancements in cold fusion tech.”

“really?” this was a topic we both had followed since scientists started making advancements when we were in college. it was one thing that gave us hope for our global future.

“yes! they’re creating more and more energy everyday.” her enthusiasm comforted me. “it’s so exciting.”

“where is this happening?”

“at a new nuclear research facility in Vienna.”

“very cool. it’s about time.”

“i agree, it’s a shame that it took such extreme global circumstances to motivate the EU to fund it. but better late than never.”

“definitely. i just can’t help but be concerned with how this tech could be privatized and capitalized. this could solve so many problems across the globe, but that idea feels naive.”

“yeah, we need to be careful with these utopian ideas. every utopia is a dystopia for someone after all.”

“no argument there, but i don’t know what we will do if the people in power choose utopia. it seems almost certain.”

“we will feast upon their flesh,” Marusya replied flatly. “wasn’t that always the plan?” she looked at me earnestly, her eyes wide, as she pulled apart a piece of the pastry.

“yes, but i still pray it never comes to that.”

“too bad your prayers haven’t gotten a response. im sure the sun would know what’s in store for us.”

i thought that was a odd thing to say, at least for Marusya. “what do you mean?”

“wait, did you not hear that the sun is sentient? do you not read the news while you’re on tour?”

“i stopped reading the news when Terra left.”

“she didn’t leave. she was taken from you.”

“don’t remind me.”

“oh sorry. you’re right.”

“what are you talking about then?”

“okay so a few weeks ago some researchers published some really fascinating data that i thought you’d have heard about.”

“it’s been hard to keep up with all the extraterrestrial science that’s been happening since the shattering.”

“yes, definitely. but this is more legit than a lot of the speculation that’s coming out these days. essentially, astrophysicists were able to prove that within the sun there is energy flowing between atoms. and that this energy flows in patterns remarkably similar to the flow of electricity between neurons in the human brain.”

“oh, that is interesting.”

“isn’t it?” Marusya’s enthusiasm always filled me with joy. i missed seeing that in her face for so long.

“what exactly are we supposed to make of that though?”

“well, essentially the prevailing interpretation is that the sun is functioning like a brain, but given that the mass of the sun is so much larger than a brain, there’s practically infinitely more synapses with infinitely more connections, so to speak. and the conclusion researchers are coming to is that the sun is ‘hyper-sentient’ and is observing and on some level comprehending the universe that surrounds it.”

i was stunned. i didn’t know how to respond to that information.

Marusya continued, “i mean obviously we’ll never be capable of understanding exactly how the sun ‘thinks’ or how it experiences reality, or whatever hyper-sentience might imply. but the implications are fascinating.”

“you’re right. i was shocked. i don’t even know what to say.”

“really? i thought you’d have something to say given your sun worshiping tendencies. i really surprised you didn’t hear about it.”

“well, this is validating. i feel like i already knew somehow.”

“maybe somehow we all did. we’re all waves on one ocean anyway. the sun is just like a tsunami.” 

i really liked this conjecture. i knew Marusya thought about life along these lines and i knew that she was right about the nature of reality. “but given that our sun is just one star of one hundred billion, and that’s just within our galaxy, are they theorizing that all stars are sentient?”

“yes, that’s exactly the conclusion they’ve come to. all stars have been reclassed as ‘hyper–sentient beings.’ they’re already calling them ‘HSBs’ and it’s opening an entire new subfield of astrophysics. evidently our search for extraterrestrial life had too narrow of a scope.”

“does this mean they’ll finally stop looking for little green men?” Marusya and i had both long considered this a futile effort and a waste of ever-dwindling resources.

“almost definitely not. everyone still wants to know who built the moon.” Marusya said this almost as if she did as well.

“they want to know who they can declare war on.”

“sure, but maybe we need to be humbled. as a species.” Marusya was right. the hubris of man had gotten out of hand in the past decade, saying nothing of course of the centuries that preceded it.

i nodded as i ate the last bite of pastry. Marusya was right about them, and i’m sure she was right about everything else. but i needed time to process it.

i looked to the sun now. or as much as i could given its unbearable brightness this time of day, this time of year. its rays illuminated big fluffy clouds, clouds taller and wider than any castle in Europe. i wondered if it could feel me, if it could feel the warmth that i felt in that moment, from radiation that connected us directly. i felt so small then; i was one of nearly two million people in this city alone. this city that were its area transposed onto the surface of the sun, would appear so miniscule it would not be detectable by even our most advanced instruments and our smartest scientists.

could it feel what i was feeling? did we only exist as an extension of it? as a cosmic appendage that was willed into existence so that this HSB may be capable of experiencing its own beauty? if so, did that change anything for us? would that bring us to reassess, re-examine, and ask ourselves, “how do we live?”

i knew i wouldn’t come to any worthwhile conclusions now, or soon, or maybe even as long as i lived. we were in a new era of gods greater than ourselves, and for once in human history plainly observable to exist. so why did this bring our own existence into question? i wanted to get into all the questions that raced through my mind then and there, but it was time to leave the cafe. maybe it was best to give myself time to collect my thoughts, and to reground myself with the exciting prospect of exploring a very old city with my oldest friend. Marusya always had a way of bringing me back to reality, no matter how strange reality became.

“what do you want to do first?” Marusya asked me, smiling at me big as ever. i knew from that alone we would be alright.

“buy a pack of cigarettes,” i responded without missing a beat. for the first time since i landed in Europe i had other things on my mind, but i knew from experience that relapsing on my nicotine addiction would keep me from relapsing on the designer psychedelics that captured my youth and were widely available on the continent. i wanted now more than ever to dive back in, to take a hero’s dose and explore this fresh perspective of the cosmos. i wanted to reconnect with our celestial father, who gave us life and watched closely over us. i wanted to, but i knew i couldn’t let Marusya see me like that, not again. i knew if i wasn’t clean when Terra was released there would be no prospect of her returning to me. i knew that the two of them meant more to me than any drug. on second thought, i decided against the cigarettes, and Marusya led me deeper into this city as old as our measurement of years themselves, guiding me further into the past as she once had guided me into my present. we talked and we laughed and we sang and we cried, and we rekindled the friendship we had sacrificed for the greater good of humanity. for the first time in years, it felt like a worthy sacrifice.

imagination

imagine the world we could create

together

if we collected ourselves

and put us aside

to make space for others

imagine what we could build

together

if we worked for ourselves

and put time aside

to make life for others

imagine what we could accomplish

together

if we overthrew ourselves

and put our armies aside

to make peace for others

deeper

i awoke to a pounding on my door, ripping me from a deep slumber and from a surreal and incomprehensible dream. i was beset with fear until i heard her voice. “Billiii, if you don’t open this door right now i’m leaving.”

i didn’t know what Terra was doing here, but i scurried to the door. even having only known her a few weeks, i couldn’t stand to disappoint her. adding to my disorientation, i realized as soon as i stood, or tried to stand, that i was still high from last night. the floor still rippled and waved like water, like sound. what time was it?

i opened the door and the sunlight flooded my apartment, filling the room to my eyeballs where it all drained into my swelling brain. i was dangerously dehydrated.

Terra was standing there, looking as tough and as tall and strong and beautiful as ever. her tattued arms were bare and crossed her body, muscles full of tension. a stern look occupied her face. she was having a really good hair day. “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

i didn’t know where to begin answering that. why was she there?

“what are you doing here?”

“what do you mean? we made plans. i made you a fucking picnic and you don’t even remember that i was picking you up?”

“i thought that wasn’t until tomorrow at five?”

“it is tomorrow at five, you jerk.”

it was? how long was i out? were my pills laced?

her anger echoed in my ears. daylight illuminated her hair. was it full of glitter? it sparkled and glowed orange as flames, continuously curling in on itself just the same. her freckles fell down her face, down her neck to her chest, continually shifting towards her center. she was so beautiful. i wanted so badly to tell her so, but i knew better. she already knew anyway.

“what’s wrong with you? are you drunk?” she asked me, angrily but with obvious concern. i said nothing. i was feeling too dizzy to navigate this. “are you fucking high?!” she rolled her eyes.

it hurt to disappoint her like this. i hadn’t told her about my drug use. i hadn’t told her about a lot of things. i felt so much shame about it, even if i did a lot to rationalize it to myself.

“i’m so sorry.” my eyes began to water and the saltiness burned.

“are you okay?” she seemed concerned, but annoyed.

i nodded. “i need water.” i turned to get some, but before i could Terra brushed past me, grabbing my arm and pulling me with her.

“what are you on? you need to tell me and for fuck’s sake tell me it’s not heroin.”

“it’s just a psych.” another eye roll as she handed me the water.

“which one? how much and when did you take it?”

“a full tablet of 3c. last night around 8pm.”

“then you should be fine by now.” she was clearly familiar with it. im not surprised. it was really popular with people our age. a standout of the new generation of designer psychedelics, it’s visually quite powerful and long lasting, but unfortunately habit-forming. god knows what was in it. i certainly never wanted to know how the sausage was made. but Terra was right. i should’ve been sober by this morning, and definitely shouldn’t have slept 14 hours. 

“they must be making it stronger now.” she seemed pensive, and her tone was ominous. “are you fucked up or really fucked up?”

“i feel groggy more than anything. but it’s really stuck in my eyes. everything is so shiny. expect you. you’re sparkly.” she laughed; it felt good to finally break the tension.

“how do you respond to it?”

“what do you mean?”

“some people have reported interesting and unique side effects. is there anything peculiar about your trips?” her curiosity was unexpected.

“well, there is one thing i suppose. but you won’t believe me.”

“try me.”

“it gives me prophetic dreams,” i said sheepishly.

“woah.” it was rare to see her taken aback.

“i know it’s silly, but…,” i hesitated.

“tell me.”

“my mother has claimed my whole life to have prophetic dreams too.”

“that’s fascinating.” she looked into my eyes intensely as she stepped closer to me. she was so intimidating. it made me blush. “let’s put a pin in that. do you want to go on the picnic still? can you eat?”

“i’m starving! what did you bring?”

“it’s a surprise. go get yourself cleaned up and we’ll go.”

i’m glad this blew over okay. i knew this was a normal thing in her crowd, in fact i’ve seen associates of hers openly doing much harder drugs. but i knew she was more a drinker than anything and always turned down offers for anything but weed and cigarettes. at least in public.

as i got dressed, Terra watched me from the kitchen. she did that more often than i cared for, but she still hadn’t asked to draw me yet. i wonder if she had drawn me from memory? i needed to know, but sure as hell wasn’t gonna ask.

“i know you said you wanted to go the beach, but i think it’s too windy out. how would you feel about going to the park instead? we can see the sunset from the hill.”

“good idea.” i shaved my face and brushed my teeth as quickly as i could. they were extremely unpleasant sensory experiences generally, but now especially so. i retied my braids and put on a cap.

***

the sunset was beautiful. perfectly orange and pink. the picnic was just as good, and i was thoroughly impressed. she made us sandwiches; on fluffy rolls we enjoyed salmon and tangy coleslaw. she brought hot sauce and strawberries and cookies. did she make it all herself? no, of course not. it was mostly store bought, but the effort she put into grilling salmon, knowing that it was a favorite of mine, and the money she spent on everything else was a more than sufficient show of affection. the slaw, she bragged, was actually made by a elderly neighbor of hers. they often bartered and this time in particular, she traded for a loaf of madehome sourdough. she even brought along a bottle of vinho verde, a Portuguese white wine she knew was my favorite. why did she try so hard to impress me?

we sat cross legged, facing each other on a brightly colored blanket i kept for occasions like this. in a lull in our conversation, her expression changed suddenly, a frown coming over her face. “Billi, we need to talk.” my heart stopped. is this why? did she want to give me one last nice meal before walking out of my life?

“Billi, you need to stop taking those psychs.”

“what? why?” i didn’t mean to get defensive, but she caught me by surprise.

“you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.” she had told me those words before, and she would tell me them again. “they’re more dangerous than they let on. the one you’re taking specifically… well it was made to be addictive. i’ve seen it ruin people before.”

“i’ve heard the stories of people losing themselves too.”

“no, it’s not like that. it’s worse than you think. these drugs are getting stronger and to what end? the path you’re on has an end somewhere and i don’t want to see you go there. i won’t let you go there.”

“Terra, you don’t need to protect me.”

“yes i fucking do you dumb bitch! you don’t even know how vulnerable you are.” to reinforce her point, she pushed me hard by the shoulders. i wasn’t really sure how serious this conversation was, i wasn’t really sure how angry she was. but after catching myself, i acted on impulse. i lunged at her and tried to pin her to the grass.

“don’t call me a dumb bitch, you fucking dyke!”

this was a mistake. even with me on top of her she easily regained control, using the slope of the hill under us to roll both of us over, several times over, until she was on top of me, one knee on my chest and both wrists pinned. she looked directly into my eyes, her expression blank, unreadable, but intense. she spit in my face.

“dumb bitch. you’re gonna stop using, do you understand me?”

i said nothing. she was so deeply serious.

“answer me!” this was the first i had heard her raise her voice. it shocked me to see her lose her cool. maybe i had come to mean something to her. maybe i wasn’t just another of her mistress muses.

“yes, i understand.”

“what are you going to do?”

“stop using.”

“stop using what?”

“3c.”

“and?”

“and what? what do you want from me.”

“what else are you using?!”

“i’ll get clean, okay?!”

“you had better. or we’re done.”

“yes ma’am.”

with that she reached to her back pocket. i began moving my left arm in response. “don’t fucking move!” with that i pinned my own arm back down. she pulled her switchblade from her back pocket and clicked it open. she held it to my neck.

“i know how you make your money.”

“what?” she must’ve asked around, found the right people who knew my business. maybe our circles had more overlap than i realized. i told her i did gig work as a welder, which was true, ostensibly. but it was hard to make ends meet just doing that, especially with a couple habits to support.

“i know you’re turning tricks, you whore. with men nonetheless? that’s disgusting.”

okay, she knew. i wasn’t doing sex work full time, but i knew the right places to hang out and i knew how to hustle some cash out of the attention i drew. “alright, alright! i’ll stop. i swear! just put the knife away.”

“yeah you’re gonna fucking stop. if i ever catch wind of you putting yourself on the line like that again, you’re dead.”

i paused, hoping we could de-escalate from here.

“you’ll obey me, you hear? you’re mine now. you belong to me.” with that, she moved the knife, slicing my neck. i realized immediately it was only superficial and i had no cause to fear for my life. in fact, strangely, i never had felt more safe. but as i felt the warmth of my blood begin trickling down my neck, she grabbed my hands with hers, gripping tightly with her fingers between mine. she put her mouth to my neck and sucked on the fresh cut. it hurt so good. in that moment i was ready to let her bite into me, ready for her to turn me, ready for her to take my life as her own.

when she pulled her head back into my view, i saw her lips were red with my blood. i had fallen for her already, but right then and there, i fell deeper. so much deeper, realizing that i could fall forever, that this was a void with no bottom for me to crash against. where would this lead us? i knew i’d find out in time.

after gazing into my soul, bloodlust in her eyes, my blood quite literally on her lips, she broke the silence. “kiss me.” i smiled; finally it was her turn to say it to me. “kiss me now, Billi.”

i tried. she still sat on my chest, still grasped my hands in hers. i couldn’t lift myself to meet her, but she laughed at making me try. “you’re mine now,” she repeated, before kissing me with more passion than i had ever experienced in my life.

after a moment, once my lips were free to speak, i had to ask. “are we missing the sunset?” i have never seen her smile so bigly as i did in that moment. i understood now that i could dedicate my life to her, if she would permit me, and i would be perfectly content. we watched the last few moments of this gorgeous sunset, sitting in the grass where we had landed, my back to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around my torso. the cold crisp air raised goosebumps under her tatus. i was happy to be protected from it by the weight of her leather jacket. i felt so warm and so protected, but excited by the possibilities that were ahead of us. i knew the coming months would be hard, but i could feel in my bones that they would set me on a new track that would come to define my life.

***

back in my studio, the reality of this new chapter in my life began to set in. we needed to talk it out. while she watched me undress, as she is wont to do, i decided it was as good a time as ever to start asking questions.

“so you’re familiar with 3c and drugs of that ilk?”

“yes, of course. why are you asking?” i knew she was hiding something from me.

“well, why? what’s your experience with it?”

“i tried it a couple times when i was still in school in Amsterdam. that was back when it first hit the market. you know a lot of those designer drugs come from over there.”

“sure but what do you know about it being addictive?”

“i had some school friends get captured by it. they were the ones who took to it too strongly and experienced almost paranormal side effects. it haunted them.”

“what do you mean it haunted them?”

“it gave life to their demons, which followed them, continuously, from there out. you can’t live like that. if your demons don’t catch up to you eventually, you catch up to them.” this seemed awfully cryptic, but i didn’t think she had any intention of giving me more detail. not now at least. but she continued, standing to hold my hands and speak face to face. “i have to level with you. as long as you’ve been using, quitting won’t be easy. you’ll be real sick for a few days. nothing unbearable, but you should stay at my place for the next week.”

“oh a vacation. that sounds nice.” i stood in front of her, fully nude. she held my hands firmly. “should i pack then? should i get dressed?”

she giggled, “yeah, get dressed girl.” she smacked my bare ass as i turned from her. “but i need to get some things. for you. it’ll take about a hour.”

“get what?”

“you’ll see.”

she left in a rush, leaving me with more questions than answers. like how did she support herself? i assumed she did some business with the gangsters i had seen around her, men i knew for supplying my community with all sorts of contraband. not to say she kept company with evil folk, the gang she rode with the fateful night of our meeting weren’t meth and cocaine dealers. at worst heroin, sure, but they were also our local source of black market hormones. and as far as i knew, they had nothing but a positive reputation. even their horse was well-reviewed. but they were thoroughly organized, and i wanted to know what her role was. it was unlikely she was just a hangeron. they discouraged hangerons. and i didn’t buy that she was an art student living off of scholarships. i had one hour to decide what to ask her and how to ask. i hadn’t come to a decision by the time she returned. not that it would have mattered.

i was smoking my last cigarette under the yellow light of stairwell when a red Ford pickup pulled up in front of my building. it was a nice old truck, and i was surprised to see Terra hop out of the drivers seat. she grabbed a duffle bag from the trunk and walked towards me, stopping in her tracks at the base of the stairwell once she saw me. 

“oh fuck man. you scared me.” she grinned, as the windy night blew furiously at her ponytail and the other loose strands of red curls. “you should be inside. it’s cold out here.” i was happy to tolerate it for a few minutes while i enjoyed a smoke. “here. gift number one.” she handed me a pack of cigarettes. i lost any obligation or desire to finish this one, so i stamped it out and followed her inside.

before i could ask about its contents, Terra began unpacking the duffle on the low, makeshift table between my bed and the kitchen. she pulled out a large rusty tin, dirt still caked to it, followed by a plastic wrapped package the size and shape of a brick, a couple pill packers labeled with her handwriting, a collapsible rifle and a bottle of wine.

“okay, what the fuck is all this? you want me to get clean and you bring a bunch of drugs and guns into my house?”

“relax, Billi. this is just weed.” she tossed the brick to me. “you’re gonna need it this next week.” it was about a pound, probably exactly a pound, which was much more than enough.

“and the pills?”

“this is just acetaminophen,” she said, rattling the bottle. “and this one is spiro since you said you’re running low. i got it from Tiger.”

“you know Tiger?” “yeah, everyone knows Tiger.” she said that like he was a local celebrity, but i suppose in a certain sense he was. a great guy in fact, despite the ferociousness of his name. i don’t know the origin of it, but maybe Terra did. i’d have to remember to ask about that sometime.

“you’re good on e, right?”

“yeah, Tiger gave me a deal last time so i stocked up.”

“good, good.”

“so what’s with the fucking gun?”

“it was with my stash. i wasn’t gonna clear the stash and leave it behind.”

“what fucking stash?” i was getting her impatient with her.

“this stash.” she handed me the big dirty tin. i didn’t take it.

“what is this?”

“just take it.”

“not until you answer me.”

“okay fine.” she tossed it back on the table. “it’s cash. i told you i don’t want you fucking around and i meant it. so this is to assure you won’t have to.” i was stunned. it struck me she genuinely cared, but maybe it says more about me than her that i’m continuously surprised by her shows of affection.

“how much is it? and why do you bury your cash?”

“well, wouldn’t you if you had any? i know you live off-grid. i think you can understand why i might.”

“what are you talking about?”

“i checked up on you. you don’t exist after you graduated. i checked under your deadname too. you disappeared years ago.”

this was true. i had made a point of being untraceable. after i was arrested in college, i knew i wanted to be hard to find. and with how i lived my life, it wasn’t hard to accomplish. i rented off the books, did all my gig work under the table, had no phone and no computer. this was before they were compulsory. i had a library card, but it was probably the only record in my name.

“well how much is it?” i said as i opened the tin. it was all small bills as far i could tell. but stacks of them.

“i genuinely don’t know. you gotta count it.”

“is it dirty?”

“nope, pre-laundered. for your convenience.” she looked so proud of herself, like she always wanted to flex her cash but never could.

“you need to tell me where this all came from.”

“fine,” she relented. “in college i discovered a certain precursor chemical that is used in a new kind of over-the-counter pain killers. they have become very popular in Western Europe and since the patent happens to be in my name, i earn a lot of passive income.”

“like a lot a lot?”

“like a lot.”

“well if you make so much money, why do you bury it all in cash?”

“no no. i make way too much to bury all of it. but i bury a lot for emergencies, and for tax purposes.”

“you don’t pay taxes on all of that?”

“fuck no! im not helping fund this bullshit empire and its horrific global death cult.”

“then do you have a Swiss bank account for all this money of yours?”

“no, don’t be silly, Billi.”

“well why not?”

“because the Caimans make for a much nicer vacation,” she giggled at her own wit.

“oh, really? maybe you could take me sometime, miss moneybags.”

“if we’re together for a while, yeah i probably will take you on some nice vacations.”

“oh are we together? is it official?”

“bitch, i told you. you’re mine now.”

“then tell me where. tell me about where you’ve been and where you’ll take me.”

it was nice to dream together. really nice. i still had a sneaky suspicion that she was withholding some important information, but for now i had some answers and i would readily choose to believe her. Terra had enchanted me. i mean this quite literally; there could not be a spell that exists which would make me fall harder. or maybe she did cast a spell on me? that hardly seemed relevant in this moment. the effect was all the same: she had me in her arms, had me ready to travel to the ends of the earth with her, had me gazing into her visage, losing myself in her soft corona of chaotic curls.

Modern Fantasy Dwarf Headcanons #1

Dwarves flock to mountain ranges and usually build their capitol in the largest mountain of that range. Though they prefer the company of other dwarves it is not uncommon to find dwarves in mining towns/former mining towns. There is no safer mine than a dwarven mine as they follow regulations strictly and efficiently, unwilling to risk the life of a single worker lest production go down. 

Be warned though! If a human works alongside dwarves for any extended amount of time the dwarves closest to them tend to adopt the human families into their own whether the humans in question likes it or not. This caused quite a bit of trouble in the past though not as much as it does in the present. 

Dwarves who adopt human families into their own have a tendency to simply take the children of the family (especially those of the human extended family) that aren’t being treated right. This has caused some strain between the communities as this is protected under dwarven law but illegal under human law. Most disputes end up in a mixed race court. Only one dispute has ended up going all the way to the High Council, The Copperbeard Clan vs The Herring Family. (The main reasoning being that the claiming dwarf was still rather young herself). The case is the most recent and set up a wobbly law stating that one member of the human family must contend that the minor would be safest with the claiming dwarf. Despite its more volatile nature as a law it has held strong since its establishment in 1982. 

Modern Fantasy Headcanons #1

While its more common in wealthier private schools, children can choose to take a nonhuman language. In recent years some forms of elvish are slowly being introduced into public education as an elective and most students can choose to take nonhuman history if they wish to learn more about other creatures beyond The Fae Wars. 

However, mixed schools have shown that a surprising number of children will pick up on each others languages and learn them that way. This has caused quite a few calls home when a student uses a bit of slang that a teacher is not familiar with and is assumed to be something insulting (this- rather interestingly- only seems to be the case in a half of the situations). In some cases children, especially younger ones, have no idea they are learning a different language at all. 

Some schools with a student mentor program find putting two different races together leads to the older teaching the younger their language for easier communication. A desertion piece by Dr. Lightfoot called ‘Why Your Children Talk The Way They Do’ goes further in depth on the subject of shared languages amongst children and teens. 

When asked why the children started learning a nonhuman language the answers ranged from ‘to communicate more fluidly’ to ‘enjoying the sound of it’. 

Hmmm I dunno. I feel like white/black skin tone categories has a very earth specific history. The category of “white” was created over many years and the definition changed as power was shifted around to benefit European settler-colonial ideals. The modern def of a white person is different than it was 100 yrs ago.

Like obviously aliens have different skin tones, but probably wouldn’t be categorized in these earth ways. Like some people considered “white” on earth might be considered pink if you were actually talking about their real skin tones.

If aliens had a history of colorist/racism then maybe it would make sense, but the words and definitions would probably be different.

Aliens have a skin color and can be classified as white, black, etc DISCUSS

The two types of fantasy writers

1. Feverishly calculating the body mass of your dragon species, spent 5 hours last night researching the origins of steel, losing sleep over horseshoes, 20 tabs open, should a cockatrice be warm-blooded?, will die if they don’t immediately figure out when honeybees were first domesticated

2.

Another alien! This time it’s @jayrockin’s wonderful Talita!!! I had so much fun drawing her in my style :)

Queen Aurora The Gentle, Aubepointe 1492

Aubepointine fashion in the late 15th century saw the rise in the use of ornamental metalworks juxtaposed with the increasing popularity of woolen-silk, a highly sought-after material developed by the Silk Empire two centuries prior, for use in court fashion.

The period of decadence that closely preceded her rise to power was known for elaborate metallic contraptions that served little actual purpose and excessive spending of metals that were not renewed and recycled had almost caused both an ecologic and an economic collapse of the great kingdom that so heavily relied on treaties with the Faefolk of Duboishire.

Although the Found Queen was known to wear simple silhouettes with delicate floral embroidery throughout her reign, her most famous gown was the Somber Briar Dress of 1492, an example of the fashions popularized during her father’s, Prince Erwin III, reign.

She wore said gown just moments before the enactment of Maleficent’s curse of La Sommeil D’mort. It was described to be made from custom double-lined woolen-silk that was dyed with winter roses and everblues and treated with ground titter stones that gave the dress a pinkish sheen in certain angles of light. It was then trimmed with wool that had undergone a special treatment known of the Westernlands, making it look like fur. The copper-gold over-stays and matching choker necklace and bracelets were noted to be crafted in the form of the writhing noctus briars held as a symbol of the House of Canthus and, in retrospect, the choking feeling of sobering captivity Queen Aurora had largely disambiguated in her memoirs at the time.

To this day, replicas and homages to the dress is common place in the Day of the Great Awakening, held every year in Aubepointe since 1493. It is a highly controversial dress with many citing how such statement of fashion should not be at the expense of the Great Queen’s horrid early memories of court. Moreover, such era of fashion excess had caused the greatest tension between the citizens of Aubepointe and the Faefolk of Duboishire. Many argue that her later regalia of looser gowns in vibrant greens and pastel rose, after her Restoration of the Duboishire Lands and Settlement with the Faefolk, should be what must represent the commemoration in light of Queen Aurora’s impact to the long-lasting peace between Fae and Man to this day.

The cosmogony of French fantasy

The title is not by me - this is actually the title of an article I want to kind-of-translate kind-of-recap here. "Cosmogonie de la fantasy française - Genèse et émancipation", "Cosmogony of French fantasy - Genesis and emancipation", by Marie-Louise Bougon. It was an article part of the "Worldbuilding" issue of the French National Library review (La revue de la BNF), back in 2019, and it brings a lot of interesting element for those who are curious about what fantasy literature looks like currently in France (since all the fantasy we talk about is mostly American or British).

Here is the rough translation/summary:

Fantasy only appeared quite late in France - and if the first translations of English-speaking fantasy only come from the 1970s, we will have to wait for the new editorial dynamic of the 1990s for a true "French fantasy" to appear and specialize itself - many talk of a "French touch" that makes these books clearly different from their English companions.

I) The first translations: a fragmented territory

The first translations in French of fantasy books started in the 70s. The decisions of publishing houses at the time made it quite hard for a reader to identify "fantasy" as its own genre. Indeed, most fantasy authors (especially British ones) were published by houses specializing in "general literature" - The Hobbit was translated as "Bilbo le Hobbit" in 1969 by Stock, before it took care of the Cycle de Gormenghast by Mervyn Peake, while in 1972 Christian Bourgeois releases the first French translation of the Lord of the Rings. Another part of fantasy books - more American, these ones, the inheritors of the pulp aesthetic, the sword and sorcery books - was rather translated in collections dedicated to either science-fiction, or fantastique. [N.o.T.: The French term "fantastique" designates a specific literary genre in which supernatural elements suddenly happen in an otherwise normal, regular and mundane setting identical to our own - as opposed to "merveilleux" which is about describing worlds where the magical and fabulous is mundane. Dracula would be "fantastique" while fairytales are "merveilleux".] There was the collection "Aventures fantastiques" by the editions Opta, or the science-fiction collection of Lattès.

Fantasy was perceived originally as merely a sub-genre of science-fiction - an idea that was kept alive by collections such as "Pocket science-fiction" or "J'ai lu - SF" that published a mix of science-fiction and fantasy works throughout the 80s. Outside of the short-lived collection "Heroic Fantasy" by Stan Barets at the Temps futurs publishing house (it only lasted from 1981 to 1983), we would have to wait for quite some time before publishers started to understand that fantasy was its own genre. In 1988, the Atalante creates the "Bibliothèque de l'évasion" (Library of evasion) collection. Fleuve noir creates in 1998 a fantasy collection called "Dentelle du cygne" (Swan's lace), that in 2002 was replaced by "Rendez-vous ailleurs", "Meetings at other places". These were for large formats - pocket formats also started their own specific collections. J'ai lu Fantasy in 1998, for example, and in 1988 the Pocket SF collection started to add sub-titles such as "Fantasy", "Dark Fantasy" or "Science-fantasy" to differentiate the works. However, despite all these efforts, the original decades-old confusion between fantasy, SF and general literature hindered the growth of the genre in France, since it never got a true visibility...

II) Cartography of the "great old ones"

If people only start to realize and understand the genre itself at the end of the 80s, it doesn't mean that there never was any French fantasy works until this date. In fact, the Callidor editions, specializing in "fantasy archeology", have made an effort to dig up and bring back to light the works that shaped the French fantasy - and for them, the oldest French work of fantasy would be the epic Les Centaures, in 1904, written by André Lichtenberger. In 2005, the author Laurent Kloetzer went even further than this - he claimed that Flaubert's Salammbô (an 1862 sensual, violent and Orientalist historical novel) was one of the earliest examples of French fantasy. Kloetzer notably pointed out the similarity between Salammbô's baroque style, and the one of Michael Moorcock's Gloriana, and how the way Robert Howard described bloody battles was quite close to Flaubert's own war descriptions. By retrospectively considering these works as fantasy, this would make the French fantasy a continuation of the merveilleux genre (see my mentions above).

So, French precursors did exist - but they remained lonely and rare experimentations, that never got any true success upon their release. Nathalie Henneberg, an author of science-fiction (who often published under the name of her husband, Charles Henneberg) did made a few fantasy pauses in her SF career during the 1960s - Le Sang des astres (The blood of celestial bodies) and Les Dieux verts (The Green gods), republished by Callidor in 2018. However the most notorious example of this "primitive French fantasy" would be Jacques Abeille's Cycle des contrées, published in 1982 at Flammarion, then re-edited in 2012 by the Attila editions, and finally released in pocket format by Folio SF in 2018. This cycle, that describes the exploration of another world full of wonders and magics, took more than thirty years to be recognized as a fantasy works - and that despite Abeille having sent his manuscript to Julien Gracq, one of the greatest French fans of Tolkien at the time. If people did notice a similarty between fantasy books and Abeille's works, editors made nothing of it - one would have to wait for the more modern reedition for the "fantasy" aspect to be advertised. In 2011, in an interview, Jacques Abeille recalled a sentence one of his readers said to him: "As a kid, I watched Star Wars. As a teen, I read Tolkien. As an adult, I read you."

Abeille's new success in modern fantasy is however an exception, since other "precursors" of fantasy never regained such a late recognition: for example, Isabelle Hausser's Célubée, published in 1986 by Julliard, is still not sold as a fantasy work, and that despite being re-edited by Fallois in 2000 (with a Marc Fumaroli preface). Among other French early attempts, we can find Sous l'araignée du Sud (Under the South spider), a 1978 novel by Dominique Roche and Charles Nightingale, published by Robert Laffont. Unlike the previous works, this novel actually had a consciousness that it belonged to a new and "infant" genre. The back of the book doesn't use the "fantasy" word yet, but it does describe it as "a marvelous and terrifying fairy tale, in the line of Tolkien's work, in the heroico-fantastical tradition of the Anglo-Saxons, but this time written in French, in a rich and visual language, sparkling with humor."

In the 1980s, we see an hesitaton, an ambiguity between publishing/editing decisions that made the birth of this first fantasy completely invisible to the public, and a slow, creeping recognition by authors and publishers of a new genre. In 1983, Francis Berthelot's Khanaor duology was published in the Heroic Fantasy collection of Temps futurs - and in the preface the author clearly states its "fantasy" status. "No need to lie to ourselves, the same way general literature disdains SF, the SF disdains heroic fantasy. It makes it a sub-sub-genre, a doubly-poor parent of the Letters with a big L." This preface highlights the bad reputation of the genre at the time - for French people of the 80s, fantasy was just a sub-science-fiction, less thoughtful, less prone to reflexion, more turned towards adventure and entertainment. Despite all this criticism, fantasy will still manage to grow away from science-fiction, and find its place in the "genre literatures".

III) An expanding universe

It was around 1995 that a true turn of event happened, around the same time the first French publishing house entirely dedicated to fantasy were created (Mnémos and Nestiveqnen). Mnémos, originally conceived by Stéphane Marsan and Frédéric Weil to publish role-playing game novelizations, still edited during its first years French authors such as Mathieu Gaborit, Fabrice Colin, Laurent Kloetzer, Pierre Grimbert and Sabrina Calvo. Nicknamed "the Mnémos generation", these authors created a true boom and multiplication of the French fantasy works in the 2000s. Les Chroniques des Crépusculaires (The Chronicles of the Dusk-people), of Mathieu Gaborit (1995-96) and Le Secret de Ji, by Pierre Grimbert (prix Julia Verlanger in 1997) form the two first commercial successes of French fantasy.

This new fashion was certified by the creation in 2000 of the Bragelonne editions: this very prolific publishing house released translations of English works, but also promoted the writers of the "Mnémos generation", while discovering new authors. For example, Henri Loevenbruck with his Celtic saga La Moïra (2001-2002), or the Ange duo (already famous for their work on comic books and roleplaying games) with their cycle Trois Lunes de Tanjor (Three Moons of Tanjor, 2001-2003, re-edited in 2005 under the title Ayesha). Les Editions de l'Oxymore (The Oxymoron Editions), created in 1999, also allowed numerous French authors to start in the genre, via periodical anthologies - these anthologies contained short stories from authors now quite well-known, such as Justine Niogret, Mélanie Fazi or Charlotte Bousquet. The editorial expansion follows all the way throughout the 2000s, with new publishing houses opening regularly. Le Bélial', which created the Bifrost journal, published fantasy novels since 1998 (their collection "Fantasy", renamed "Kvasar" in 2011). The webzine ActuSF becomes an editing house in 2003, and dedicates its collection "Trois souhaits" (Three wishes) to French authors. Les Moutons électriques (The electrical sheeps) were born in 2004, and made famous Jean-Philippe Jaworski, while La Volte, around the same time, started the very noticeable Horde du Contrevent (Horde of the Counterwind) by Alain Damasio. The years 2010s also saw a few house apparitions - such as the Critic, Callidor and Scrineo editions - and there was also a very dynamic microedition market.

Of course, French youth publications also stayed very rich and prolific - finding a true audience after the Harry Potter phenomenon. Two famous French series played on the idea of "the adventures of a young wizard" - the Tara Duncan series by Sophia Audouin-Mamikonian, started in 2003 and a mass commercial success, and also started in 2003 the saga of the "world of Gwendalavir" by Pierre Bottero. While these works all evoke the Potter-phenomenon (teenage characters promised to a great destiny and magical powers in a fantastical parallel world), they do keep an original voice, find their own themes and specificities, and thus gain a faithful audience. In the Fantasy forum of the university of Artois, Pierre Bottero was the most frequently mentionned French author when participants were asked "Who is your favorite author?", making him a good rival of English-speaking fantasy authors.

If French fantasy managed to build itself, and to singularize itself - and if the genre became even more visible thanks to the recent mediatic success of the Game of Thrones TV series, Jérôme Vincent (director of ActuSF) made a quite disappointing observation in a 2017 interview. He noted that the "wave" expected did not happen. "The big cinema blockbusters all belong to either science-fiction or fantasy, the great TV series are all tied one way or another to fantasy, that's the same thing in comic books and video games, and that's without talking of role-playing games... [...] But it seems that is no effect, no repercusion of this onto fantasy literature." In order to ameliorate the visibility and the sales of fantasy books, since 2017 publishers created the "Mois de l'imagination" (Month of the imagination), a way to rival the "literary new year". While it is too early to establish if this worked or not, it is quite a hopeful sign to see that in "fantasy reading recommandations", French names start to pop up alongside the great English ones. As Estelle Faye wrote, "French fantasy seems to still suffer from an inferiority complex" - but we can only hope authors and readers will manage to fight it off.

IV) A world of its own ?

Is there a "French touch", a specificity to French fantasy? This question, frequently debated by fan forums, became the subject of a podcast produced by the website Elbakin.net, in which was noted the lack in France of huge cycles carried over several volumes (a very prominent feature of English-written fantasy). French fantasy authors prefers one-shots, short series (rarely more than a trilogy), or series of distnct novels merely sharing a same world (for example, the works of Lionel Davoust that take place in the Evanégyre world). This formal difference would however be due to the "fear" of editors, who do not dare putting in the world too-ambitous projects. Due to this format specificity, it seems that there is a lesser importance of the worldbuilding in French fantasy - which might be why its authors had a hard time building an audience in the beginnings. As David Peyron wrote it in Culture geek, fantasy fans tend to prefer the quality of the worldbuilding over the quality of the style. "If the quality of the world becomes essential, in return some traits such as the literary style, which gives its value to a cultural object in a classical system, are pushed aside." French fantasy, which is less of a worldbuilder and much more literary than its English counterpart, is as a result swimming against the stream. However, nowadays this particularly is accepted by the fans. Indeed, in recent reviews and articles, several French authors such as Jean-Philippe Jaworski or Alain Damasio are praise for their mastery of style - the first one because of how he writes like Alexandre Dumas, the second because of how versatile he can be with tones and genres. These literary qualities are obviously tied to the inspirations of the French authors, who do not have the "pulp inheritage" and rather take from French classics or swashbuckling novels. Of course, we also cannot ignore the theory that French readers are more sensible to the style when it comes to writing in their own language.

If we go towards themes, we can see several recurring motifs and traditions shared by both English-speaking and French-speaking fantasy. For example, Arthurian fantasy has sparked a certain interest in France - La Trilogie des Elfes (The Elf trilogy) of Jean-Louis Fetjaine (1998-2000), or Justine Niogret's Mordred (2013). However, French authors truly seem to express a taste for historical but non-medieval fantasy. Jean-Philippe Jaworski's Gagner la guerre (Win the war, 2009) takes place during a reinvented Renaissance, Johan Heliot's takes an interest in the rule of Louis XIV in his Grand Siècle (Great century) saga (2017-2018), Pierre Pevel choses the 17th century for the setting of his Les Lames du cardinal (The Cardinal's blades, 2007-2010), and finally Fabrice Anfosso takes inspiration from World War I in his Le Chemin des fées (The road of fairies, 2005). Urban fantasy also has a big success in France - especially one focusing on a reinvented Paris. There are numerous works reimagining the French capital as either filled with surpernatural beasts, either invaded by a scientific-marvelous touching to both the steampunk and gaslamp fantasies. For examples you have the Paris des merveilles cycle, by Pierre Pevel (Paris of marvels, 2003-2015), Un éclat de givre by Estelle Faye (A fragment of frost, 2014), Les Extraordinaires et Fantastiques Enquêtes de Sylvo Sylvain by Raphaël Albert (The Extraordinary and Fantastical Investigations of Sylvo Sylvain, 2010-2017), or Les Confessions d'un automate mangeur d'opium by Mathieu Gaborit and Fabrice Colin (Confessions of an opium-eating automaton, 1999).

Jacques Baudou described with enthusiasm the originality of French fantasy, whose main specificity is - according to him - a tendency to go to the margins. "The best works of French fantasy [...] operates a subversion of the codes, they practice the art of mixing, and as thus come off as greatly original literary objects". It seems indeed that, due to its late apparition, French fantasy benefited from a certain look-back on its own genre, making it easier for French authors to play with or subvert its codes. Anne Besson, however, nuances this opinion: she points out that the small number of French fantasy authors (compared to the mass of English-speaking authors) makes the differences in tones, themes and motifs much more obvious - which creates what is merely a feeling of a greater diversity.

Another element of French fantasy that seems to be born of its "lateness" is its reflexive dimension: French authors have a strong tendency towards the commentary and the erudition. For example, the fantasy anthologies of the Editions de l'Oxymore include between its short stories things such as critical files or textstaken out of classics of French culture. These practices seem to be an attempt at legitimizing a genre that still has a hard time being recognized as "true literature" - even though modern days receive fantasy works with much more benevolence than before.

V) To the conquest of the world ?

If French fantasy grew enormously since the first experiments of the 70s, and if it now benefits from a much better visibility, its market stays quite weak. A proof of that: the numerous funding campaigns launched these last years by different actors of the genre. French fantasy also has a hard time crossing the frontier. Le Livre et l'épée by Antoine Rouaud (The Book and the sword, first volume released in 2013) was translated in English, German, Dutch and Spanish. Le Secret de Ji of Pierre Grimbert (Ji's Secret) was also published in English via Amazon Crossing in 2013. But these are exceptions to the rule. But there is hope for future French publications - for example the Bragelonne publishing house established a partnership with the British Gollancz, a science-fiction specialist.

INFORMATION I WAS NOT PREPARED TO LEARN. MAYBE WE *ARE* ALONE. BECAUSE WE ARE SO *EARLY*. IF THERE IS EVER GALACTIC CIVILIZATION THEY WILL NOT REMEMBER US AT ALL. BECAUSE WE ARE NOTHING. CELLS, JUST BEGINNING TO FORM LIFE. SORRY FOR SCREAMING. BUT ARE YOU LISTENING. ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT IT.

This reminds me of the book "If on a Winter's Night a Traveler" by Italo Calvino! It has this as a premise, with a "you"-character reading a book, that repeats the first binding part. You go to the bookshop, to get a new copy. When you sit down to read this one, you realise that IT'S A WHOLE NOTHER STORY. The title is the same, but the story isn't. You start searching for the book and get tangled op in a lot of different stuff.

It's wild, I can only recommend it. It's a book you don't forget.