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In case you missed it: my story in
Translunar Travelers Lounge
features my favorite type of main character - someone who soldiers on with a deeply dry sense of humor.

His hand hesitates an inch from the between us. The translucent shield twists and shudders, pink and green. Like mold, or rotting flesh.
Morbid thought.
I pull a smile together for him. The next time we meet, he'll be a new man.
I hope.

The in her muscles is a wall between us, a shivering barrier of fear. I press my palm to her chest. "My heart is here. Even if you travel to the far side of the world, I'll be with you."
Then I wink. "Whether you like it or not."

My lamp flickers as I stumble through the wood; the is a molten stub that won't last me much further. I should stop, wait for morning. Blow the flame out and hope they don't find me. I lift the glass, purse my lips.
The path lights up gold ahead of me. Fireflies.

He holds up his hands tented, as if he's holding an immense . He peers through the opening; I can see one dark eye.
I frown at him. "What are you doing? The vote is coming in soon, we don't have time for silliness."
I can hear a smile in his voice. "Looking at the only thing that matters," he says.

The line of rock salt is thick and unbroken, running round the tiny metropolis in swirls and sigils that confuse the eye. Ants are brushing antennae against the first bulwark.
The lights a taper. "Are you sure?"
I nod. "I need an army."

The story of how we have cheap hormones (birth control, transgender hrt, cortisol for arthritis) is WILD. It's called Marker degradation; an unpatented process that turns a product of yams in Mexico into various mammalian hormones.

I'm ringed by thorns and the sweet scent of rose, my face pressed to rich loam, my heart racing. Something snaps less than a foot away. I cut my eyes toward the sound. boots, glossy and black. The rose bush starts to part.
I steel myself and push forward.

She taps the hard drive with a stylus, as though she’s unwilling to touch it with bare skin. “The data is holding for now.” Her voice is grim and dry.
I snort. “It’s air-gapped, Sarah.”
Her eyes are daggers. “Demons don’t care about air. This is about blood.”

I squint in the uncertain light. “This phrasing is , but my best guess is that you twist the third knob until you hear two clicks.”
You shift back on your heels, incredulous. “What’s ambiguous about that?”
I shrug. “What happens next.”

Holy god of writers, this line.
From NETTLE & BONE by T. Kingfisher

“Five is a fist. Five is a hand on the enemy’s throat.”

If ever there was a day that encapsulated the dog saying "this is fine", it's my day today. Good lord.

The corpse is icebox-cold, blue-tinged and stiff. I've ringed it with smoking pitch and fenced it with rock salt - if it's going to , I have zero interest in prying its undead hands from my throat. Honestly, this is a bad idea, but I need answers.

Please don't censor words!

If you change characters in the words then the keyword mute thing can't filter out the post from people's timelines.

Trust people to block keywords they don't want to see!

(Also you can put things in CWs if you want to be extra cautious.)

I look out over the vast salt , fingers digging into bark. I'm as high as I dare go in the tallest tree I could find, and I still can't see the end of the blinding flats.
What I can see is winged shape making a beeline for the city below, raising dust with every downbeat.

Something to consider when posting hashtags:

For people using screen readers, they know when to separate words either by spaces, or uppercase letters. 'mastoart' will try to be pronounced as one word, whereas 'MastoArt' will be pronounced as 'Masto Art'. It just makes life a little bit easier for those who rely on screen readers to interact with the fediverse :bear_hugs:

In case you missed it: my story in
Translunar Travelers Lounge
features my favorite type of main character - someone who soldiers on with a deeply dry sense of humor.

She glares at me, all slant-eyed and like a cat promising to shit in your shoe later. I shrug. "That face isn't going to fix the problem, you know that as well as I do."
She raises her hand. Mine dangles from the cuffs that join us. "You don't know that."

Excellent new book mail from Premee Mohamed - THE VOID ASCENDANT and T. Kingfisher - NETTLE & BONE.

Today, I am a three.

ALT text: 9 black cats, each depicting a state of being. Number 3 is manic and determined.

The peeping is coming from a crack in the wall. I put my ear to the dingy plaster. Yep, that's birdlike. I picture a , grown too large to squeeze back into the world, and my heart contracts. I step back to think.
An immense ebony talon emerges.
Peep peep peep.

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Wandering Shop

The Wandering Shop is a Mastodon instance initially geared for the science fiction and fantasy community but open to anyone. We want our 'local' timeline to have the feel of a coffee shop at a good convention: tables full of friendly conversation on a wide variety of topics. We welcome everyone who wants to participate, so long as you're willing to abide by our code of conduct.