#aetherpunk

[duckprintspress]

Back the Aether Beyond the Binary Kickstarter Campaign!

Duck Prints Press is thrilled to announce that the crowdfunding campaign for science-fantasy gender-diverse sixth anthology Aether Beyond the Binary is now live on Kickstarter!

The core concept of Aether Beyond the Binary is simple and compelling: create intriguing main characters outside the gender binary and set them loose to explore the modern world twisted or barely changed, enhanced or destroyed by magical aether. This power source may replace technology, supplement it, or oppose it. These characters may be agender, genderfluid, bigender, or any other non-binary identity. The thread that these tales share is exploration: of the world around them and of the self. We propose no conclusions; instead, we demonstrate how far-reaching the questions are and how expansive the range of possible answers can be, thereby broadening the discussion about the nature of gender and the place of genderqueer characters in science-fantasy fiction. We hope you’ll join us to explore the endless possibilities of these magical worlds.

This anthology includes 17 stories, each up to 7,500 words, by our diverse fancreators-turned-original-fiction-authors, gorgeous artwork by Mar Spragge, Pippin Peacock, Alessa Riel, and Atomic Pixies, amazing merchandise, and awesome add-on extras.

Looking for the perfect post-holiday purchase? Look no further! Get awesome, gorgeous stuff, a fantastic, erudite book, and support queer indie publishing – become a backer of the Aether Beyond the Binary crowdfunding campaign TODAY!

Campaign ends January 25th, 2024.

Patreon backers who support the crowdfunding campaign can also get an excellent extra: the adorable plant-watering backer as a key chain! So there’s no time like the present to back us on Patreon, too!

[zilentis]

A tacticool Wizard, inspired by a WWI-wizarding setting called Aetherpunk28.

[ask-coppertop]

Hello Everyone! Um a little about me is I’m something called a Mequine! We’re a race of magical clockwork creatures (although most of us are ponies) made to fight the threat of King Sombra. Unfortunately that didn’t quite work out…

Anyways feel free to ask away!

[multidimensionalpineapple32]

Aetherpunk Samurai.

This is AI generated by Midjourney.

[alphamecha-mkii]

Aetherwing, Golden-scale Flagship by Leon Tukker                          

[tafferling]

Aphelion: A Touch Of Ruin

Like Science-fantasy? Soul-harnessing magic+tech? Cyberpunk (sorta)? Slow burns simmering away in the middle of a zombie apocalypse? Then this free-to-read web serial might just be for you.

Today, we return to where we left Sophya and Varrett; sitting on a small bed, confined to a room within the warrens of the Quarry and overlooking its bottomless pit. What will we find in the puzzle box Isaac gave them?

>> Read on Ao3 | Follow it on Campfire | Tumblr Tag <<

Part One, Chapter One: A Secret Third Thing

Sophya sat in the wreckage of her life, among doubt and defeat and the dance of rain against glass. No more than an unhappy moment ago, she’d made a choice. She’d keep going. She’d not leap into the monstrous pit looming beyond the window, with its green lip where plants clung to the edges and its gaping thirst for the rain pouring into it. No. She’d keep going. She’d not give up on Krisi. And she wouldn’t waste all the wayward effort she’d put into ruining (and often ending) the lives of all the people who’d been unlucky enough to cross her path in one way or another. Like a certain Varrett Vild Vickers, tethered to her against his will. Or like Pete. Dead. And all the others; the people in the shuttle, the nameless person who’d kept her out of Monarch’s hands. Also dead. She took a shaky breath and stared at the puzzle box Isaac had given them. It sat cold and dormant in her hands, a simple, heavy sphere of steel grey metal with a thin line of yellow dividing it. The choice no longer made sense.

>> Read on Ao3 | Follow it on Campfire | Tumblr Tag <<

[deathbycoldopen]

[ID in alt text]

Concept art for my short story "Flower and Rot" featured in the anthology Aether Beyond the Binary, published by @duckprintspress

Excerpt:

Four dozen minds linked by Aether watched me through thousands of leaves and roots and flowers as I hurried away. Their attention bored into my back right up to the moment I switched off the Aethercoil and the flow of Aether abruptly stopped. The grove became just an unusually lush garden. I was alone once more. The thing growing inside my eye stopped too, but I couldn’t afford to hope that it had shriveled away without Aether to feed it. My vision was still cloudy in that eye, and the whole area was delicate and tender. Spitting rain formed halos around the streetlights as I reached the drugstore parking lot. I clumsily fished for my keys with my left hand, keeping the right firmly covering my eye. My shitty sedan was the only car in the lot, but I checked every line of sight around me before stepping into the driver’s seat. I was pretty sure I was alone. I couldn’t take the chance that I was wrong. I already knew what I would see, but I had to know how fucked I was. I pulled down the visor and flipped open the mirror.  Rot.

The Kickstarter for Aether Beyond the Binary is now live and waiting for you to back it! Check it out here!

Some detail shots under the cut:

[infiniteartmachine]

a painting of a futuristic city in the distance with people walking on the ground

[art-of-li]

🔸 𝐎𝐂: 𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐄𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 🔸

Born into an aristocratic family, Asher Hayes spent most of his years growing up focused on intellectual development and writing. Most of the Hayes dedicated their careers at the University as researchers or scholars as a way of reinforcing their family name and legacy.

Asher, however, appeared to stick out as the black sheep of the family due to his clear preference for writing fantasy and outlandish works of fiction. He would commonly receive raised eyebrows or dismissive remarks due to his 'wayward' interests. With the dawn of Aetherium upon humanity in recent years, many have insisted that Asher ought to redirect his focus towards Aetheric research and development instead.

Asher was just on the verge of reconsidering his path when the local Battlecore arena finished its construction after his 28th birthday. Originally intended as a brief visit and only to gain first-hand experience of Aetherium use in combat, Asher found his passions ignited unlike anything he has ever known once the sparring began. Between the adrenaline of the fight, and the rush of Aetherium coursing through his body, empowering him with regenerative and telekinetic powers, Asher felt like he was able to live the fantasies of warriors he only ever wrote about.

From that point forward, Asher knew his true destiny deep down. Despite the shock and resistance met by his family for his newfound calling, claiming that he’s throwing away his high-born life to volunteer as some ‘lab rat' of a dangerous, unrefined bloodsport, Asher would return day after day to refine his skills in the arena.

While his ambidexterity served as nothing more than a neat party trick of writing a perfectly form sentence starting from both ends, Asher decided that his talent would be much better maximized to master the simultaneous dual-wielding of a blade and pistol. Now, from scientists and engineers who regard his writings as research, or to folk who simply enjoy the entertainment of the sport, many continue to watch and track Asher's rising success in the Battlecore Ring to this day.

Song: Extreme Music Feat. Dan Murphy - Inside of Me

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Flywheel Racer by Joshua Cairos

[fadingoftheveil]

Fading of the Veil: 4

⏮ First Episode | 📃 Table of Contents

The steam from the locomotive cast a hazy veil over the platform, which was busy despite the odd hour. People in top hats and waistcoats, or voluminous dresses and feathered hats, bustle past in every direction. The scene is a riot of color and movement; the bright hues of the women’s dresses and the dark, muted tones of the men’s suits blending together in a mesmerizing dance.

Beyond them was the suspension rail. Unlike the city trolleys — which rode on a track inlaid into the road — the locomotive rode underneath its track.  Without fear of weather or traffic blocking the tracks, it was so efficient that people boasted you could tell the time by the arrival and departure of trains.

Ellamae could see a series of tubes on the locomotive engine side that glowed with the same energy that powered glowcells. It was a power source that Aldwin and his co-workers were responsible for; spending hours transferring what little magic they had into the factory machines, and yet she knew her brother would be thrilled by the technology of it.

She, on the other hand, could not help but feel a tainted by bitterness as she watched the wealthy all around her; enjoying the luxury of the train powered off the struggling lives of others.

‘Perhaps I could remember enough of it for a letter.’

Ellamae had no idea what words could describe the mechanics of what she was looking at, but she moved to take in every detail of the engine. As such, she squashed her nose right into the back of another person. The woman stumbled forward a step, and the huge arrangement of powder-blue hair on her head waved like a puff of candy-floss in a sudden wind.

“Well, I never!” The blue-puff woman snarled, swirling her heels and glaring down at Ellamae. “You need to watch where you are going! What if I had been hurt? What then?”

Ellamae meekly lowered her head in apology. They expected the tilt for someone of her class, but it also hid her features under the newsie cap her hair was crammed into. “I apologize, ma’am. This is my first time on a platform, and I am feelin' overwhelmed.”

“First time here, you say? Well, you certainly do not look like you could afford to be here yourself. Who are you here with? Where is your guardian? I would like to speak with them.”

That was not an unreasonable question, but Ellamae realized that she didn't know the answer. Fionntan Ward was nowhere to be seen in the sea of faces.

It took only a few steps into the crowd, and she had already lost him.

'Maybe I should leave,' she mused, but whatever amusement that thought brought was ruined by what the woman did next.

“I asked you a question!” Blue-puff snapped, jabbing Ellamae in the shoulder with her white-gloved finger.

Familiar burning anger lit up to protect her as Ellamae stared at the finger.

It would be oh so easy to break.

‘Just grab, and bend it back.’

Her fingers twitched eagerly.

“If you cannot produce someone, I will have no choice but to assume you stole your ticket to be here and call for assistance. Do you want that? Do you want me to scream for police? No, I bet you do not. So, one last time, where is your guardian?”

“That would be me,” Fionntan Ward’s voice said as a blur of dazzling white stepped between them. He leaned on his cane; his body positioned so squarely in front of Ellamae that she had to lean to see around his dark frock coat. "My apologies, ma'am. Has something happened with my ward? If so, I will take full responsibility."

The woman’s eyes were wide with her rage, but not for long. As soon as she took note of the patch on his shoulder, fear whitened her face and she edged back; as if the spot she had been in was now risking contamination. 

“N-no,” blue-puff stammered. “No, just see to it that it doesn’t happen again.”

She spun on her heels and flounced away, her large pool of skirts swishing behind her.

Fionntan shot Ellamae an irritated glance.

"It was an accident," Ellamae said.

His hand landed between her shoulder blades, urging her forward with a firm push. 

The platform continued to buzz with activity, announcements echoing overhead. The steam train hissed like an over-sized tea kettle.

"I barely even bumped her," Ellamae snapped as they manoeuvred around families saying their goodbyes.

"I never said you did. However, it never would have happened at all if you were with me, like you are supposed to be at all times."

"Can you blame me for losing you? You're practically dressed the same as the rest of this lot; all dress shoes and top hats. I might as well 'ave been looking for a single sheep in a running herd."

He leaned in and said in a hush tone only just able to make it over the crowds; “I thought you might have run."

‘I thought about it.’

“The train distracted me,” she explained. “I thought I might try to remember it to put in a letter for my brother. ”

His eyes looked at her for no more than a moment, and his mouth pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing. No words were necessary, because the message was very clear to her; Aldwin might not want to hear from her.

The surrounding people seemed to grow tenfold; all looming forms blurring past at unimaginable speeds.

There had been countless times Ellamae begged the police to let her talk to her brother, but they always refused. What if the reason was that it was Aldwin who had not wanted to...?

Within the mud of the alley, her brother looked at her with the expression of someone staring at a monster. On others, it was ignorable. On him, it was a weapon that cut cold pain into her chest with the ease of a knife.

“This is us,” Fionntan announced.

Far down the line, trailing only the caboose, stood a train car that starkly contrasted with the others. While the rest were lavishly adorned with vibrant wallpapers and scarlet curtains, this one consisted of plain wooden panels and a wall adorned with medical supplies.

In a remote corner, a silver-lined cell barely wide enough to sit in caught Ellamae's eye, briefly stirring a sense of panic. However, Fionntan guided them past it.

Entering one of the three unoccupied compartments, he gracefully placed his briefcase and cane on the shelf above the bench, then relaxed with a relieved sigh, closing his eyes.

“Close the door and sit down,” Fionntan instructed without looking to see if she complied.

Hesitantly, she did so, sliding the door shut and clicking the lock.

As she sat down, Ellamae had to stop her hands from reaching out to gather skirts that were not there. The trousers felt strange as she sank into the cushions. She didn't even have to worry about rearranging fabric for modesty reasons.

The stranger across from her remained silent, and when the train suddenly lurched forward, Ellamae gasped and clutched her seat.

As the platform with its bustling crowd slid out of view, the city of Sheeglen came into sight, still shrouded in the dark cloak of night. Perched on a sea cliff, the walled city appeared majestic. Ellamae strained her eyes but couldn't spot the stairs leading to her sea-level neighborhood.

In an instant, the train gained speed, leaving Sheeglen behind and venturing into rolling farmland.

New clothes, unfamiliar scenery, unusual transportation, and a seat with cushions more comfortable than any bed she could remember. All of this was enough to leave her head spinning, but it was only the beginning. She had tested positive for magic, witnessed a murder, and her life with her brother was... gone.

The shock that settled over Ellamae plunged her into silence.

Eventually, Fionntan — seeming content with ignoring her — roused and brought out a book, but he didn't bother to adjust the dim lamp suspended above them. Instead, raised bumps on the page awaited his touch to glide across.

As he delved into the text, Ellamae rested her head on the cool glass and watched distant twinkling lights speeding past, resembling shooting stars. With every passing moment, she felt herself growing further and further from the life she once knew.

Time allowed her overwhelming fatigue to dissolve into a deep pool of exhaustion, and her eyelids grew heavy.

Ellamae hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep until a strange tingling feeling sent goosebumps prickling across her flesh jolted her awake. On her feet before her eyes had fully fluttered open, Ellamae frantically looked for the source of danger she knew was there.

The room remained unchanged, yet Ellamae's heart pounded.

‘Run.’

Fionntan halted his page-turn, fixing his gaze on her.

The train glided smoothly.

Her breath quickened, like she was in a frantic race.

‘Escape!’

The world closed in.

‘HIDE!’

The book snapped shut and was promptly discarded on the bench beside Fionntan. "Ms. Holt, it seems you may be experiencing a panic attack, but you can overcome this. Look at me. Good. Now, try to breathe with me. Take a deep—"

That's when she smelled it—a floral scent mixed with moss. Ellamae had encountered that scent before, but not here. It was from a place that couldn't exist.

‘It's too late now.’

Tearing her eyes away from Fionntan felt like breaking free from an anchor she desperately clung to, but dread compelled her to glance out the window just in time to witness the destruction.

A bolt of lightning crashed from the sky, but it didn't diminish. Instead, it lingered at the point of impact, expanding like a crack in stone.

As if seeking to contain it, a purple smoke rushed in and engulfed the spectacle.

Lightning and smoke swirled and thrashed, interweaving and compressing into a tightly wound ball of pulsing energy.

Then it exploded.

It radiated outward in a formidable wave, toppling trees and reducing houses to rubble.

Fionntan swore and grabbed her arm. 

She was wrenched to the floor as the blast tore the train apart.

Suspension Railway

The trains run on a suspension railway, which means the track is high up, and above the train rather than under it.

This train engine design was based on the designs by Raymond Loewy, specifically the PRR S1

[duckprintspress]

Meet Aether Beyond the Binary Contributor ilgaksu

Wondering what Aether Beyond the Binary is and why you should care? It’s Duck Prints Press’s latest anthology, currently crowdfunding: 17 stories, modern aetherpunk settings, outside-the-binary main characters! Help us reach our funding goals by checking out the campaign now!

About ilgaksu: Full-time fandom cryptid, Furby enthusiast, and the human embodiment of that one gif of Elmo on fire, ilgaksu was born and raised in an  undisclosed location, living in several others, and now currently residing in [REDACTED]. Their interests include collecting haunted toys, using their artistic practice as an excuse to forget to do their laundry, and playing with fictional men like Bratz dolls. They have not unclenched their jaw yet today, but they do remember to drink lots of water. 

Link: personal webpage

This is ilgaksu’s first publication with Duck Prints Press.

An Interview with ilgaksu

What is your “dream project” – the thing you’d see as the culmination of your work as a creator?

I have a list of dream projects – a big queer space opera trilogy, a series of detective serials, I want to pastiche all of the genres I adored growing up – but I think I’m never going to find the culmination of my work. I’m going to have to make do with whatever I do while I’m alive, and other people can argue about that for me or something. The work is the work. It has to speak for itself without me defending it.

When you look at your “career” as a creator, what  achievement would you most like to reach – what, if it happened or has  already happened, would/did make you go “now – now I’m a success!”?

Does any writer actually get to the point where they fully believe they’re a success, and the feeling lasts forever? This is a genuine question. Where are they hiding? I want their advice.

What are your favorite snacks and/or drinks to consume while creating?

I have to have at least three emotional support beverages, and one of those will always be a form of iced coffee, then usually bubble tea, and then usually water. These are because I clearly run on three separate hydration systems. Snack-wise, I don’t tend to eat while I’m actually making things, but I like churros and loaded fries and ramen and salmon on bagels and, listen, I just really love food.

Describe your ideal creation space.

I like writing somewhere near a window, ideally when it’s raining outside, with three emotional support beverages and my favourite headphones and the very specific song that works as white noise in that moment on repeat. Possibly for the next five hours.

Do you like having background noise when you create? What do you listen to? Does it vary depending on the project, and if so, how?

I have to have background noise or I can’t focus to write, and it’s usually music with lyrics. I tend to have a mix of current songs I’m fixated on in a huge Everything playlist, and then I often have a smaller playlist for the project itself. Like I said before, I can also easily listen to the same song on repeat for as long as it takes to finish the necessary section, even if it that takes hours, because after a while I stop hearing the music itself – it functions as white noise.

Share five of your favorite books. (You can include why, if you want!)

Wolf Hall Trilogy (Hilary Mantel, technically 3 but)

The Dream Thieves (Maggie Stiefvater) 

Evensong’s Heir (L. S. Baird)  

Daughter of Fortune (Isabel Allende)  

The Magpie Lord (KJ Charles)

Share five of your favorite (blanks). 

Five favourite current bubble tea flavours: Earl Grey, Snow White, Rose, Lavender, Honeydew

If you could give one piece of advice to a new creator who came to you for help, what would that advice be?

You don’t want to write like me. 

That probably sounds incredibly arrogant, but let me explain: the most common thing I’ve had said to me by a new creator, or a fan of my work, is “I want to write like you.” And I get where people are coming from, and I get it’s from a place of admiration – which is very very flattering, of course – because early on in my writing career that used to be a desire that consumed me to. But my point is this. I realised that it was futile to want something like that, because I would never be that creator, with their experiences in life and reading that had informed how they view the world and filter it into their own work. Even if I tried to mimic it, and maybe if I managed it on a superficial level, it wouldn’t be animated by the same mind moving through it, and so I’d be doing us both a disservice. So, I no longer want to write like other people. I want to write more and more like myself. And because of that, I try and advise people to redirect how they’re verbalising that desire. What is it about my work, or anyone’s work, that speaks to you? What parts of it don’t work for you? What is it you want that’s similar – the assurance of their authorial voice, their breadth of lexis or grammar, the themes they focus, how they make you feel as a reader in that relationship with them through the text? Identify those things. Start from there, and think about who you are and take these little ingredients from everyone you’ve read and loved, and everything you love in the world outside writing. Do that instead. Not only will it help you identify more concretely the goals you’re working towards in your craft, but you deserve a voice as a writer that’s solely your own.

What would you say to a demoralized creator to inspire them?

The same thing I said earlier but reappropriated: nobody can write like you.

ilgaksu’s Contribution to Aether Beyond the Binary

Title: chameleon trick

Tags: be gay do crimes, be gay solve crimes, established relationship, heist, manchester, non-binary, past tense, present tense, suicidal ideation (mentions of), united kingdom, third person limited pov, trans man

Excerpt:

Sasha turns on him; gleeful, sparking with it. It’s less a dropping of a mask and more of a perfect, total illumination as they ask, “How did I do?”

You would think they were an amateur at this, looking at their borderline puppyish excitement. They even tilt their face up, less in expectation of a kiss and more in certainty of one. But they are both working. Martha has read the codes of conduct at this factory: no fraternisation during work hours. And so:

“I don’t have time for your praise kink right now,” Martha says, and sidesteps them.

End-of-post reminder: check out our campaign on Kickstarter! It ends January 25th – we’re about half-way done.

[heyzebulon]

Is there a term for the aesthetics of "sewing machine threads and wire".

Like, not steampunk or clockwork machine, but visible wires and threads being spun for tension and released to move a mechanical arm.

Anything like this?

[ask-coppertop]

Mequine Forager

Collect organic matter for spelldrivers

Can “scream” to attract other Mequine if incapacitated or if spotting hostiles

Can give small lacerations with cutting tools

Cutting tools retract into legs.

One of a few non combat focused Mequine.

[ashenvein-gate]

These Smog-Laden Strays, Page One

Kairliinat offers a first look of her next book, an erotic gothic aetherpunk novel.

Hello, seekers dear! I am delighted to reveal the first glimpse of my next project: a long-form erotic gothic aetherpunk novel set in my newly-reimagined Canno setting, featuring two trans fem protagonists, an occult conspiracy, a bordello fallen on hard times, and lest I be so crude as to let them go unsung, mechs. Without further ado, I present to you the first…

[tafferling]

               Hop on. 

Varrett Vild Vickers is inviting you for a ride. 🏍🛵🛴 

You can find out what that’d be like in Aphelion (Ao3, Campfire) :3

By @drawinglinestoconstellations who may or may not be made of 90% fairy dust. Look at the magic she does! THANK YOU THANK YOU.