#am writing science fiction

[charliejaneanders]

She's certain that she's a girl in the exact same way that she was never certain she was a boy. Or rather, she was a boy because everyone told her she was a boy, not because she felt like one. Until now, she's never allowed herself to even wonder if they were right.

I wrote a p. good description of trans feelings just now

[inbabylontheywept]

That isn't a ship, it's a cannon with FTL

Aggral Thrawn’s gut was a grotesque thing to behold: Soft and distended, covered with a coarse layering of fur, a fat purple worm of a scar crossing over it’s almost spherical circumference. So vicious was the scar that even gazing upon it brought unwanted imagery of the fat ape-like creature screaming in pain, both arms working as a dam to keep the tidal wave of bloody guts from spilling out of its three-fingered fists

Yet, for all its grotesque horror, he trusted it. That same gut that had almost gotten him killed so many years before had worked hard to save him again and again after. It was what had brought him from mere gangpress, to quartermaster, all the way to the captain of his own pirate vessel.

And right now, it was telling him to call off the attack. The readings he was getting from the craft ahead made no sense. The crew space was too small, the energy readings were off the charts, and there was something almost military about it. Yet, as he looked over the hull, he couldn’t spot a single weapon. Nothing about it made sense.

The crew had enough in the larders to pass on a ship this sturdy. Even as ships on either side of him pulled forward, eager to be the first to raid the craft, he aborted the ram sequence to watch from a distance.

The crew was disappointed. It’d been too long since they’d had a good, solid fight, but they knew better than to second guess Aggral’s gut. It had earned its place as the ship’s oracle by rite of blood, and was to be respected accordingly.

---

There were only four crew aboard the USSN PMAC: Dalton Dial, in charge of weapon systems, Elizabeth Harris, in charge of navigation, and the Pratchett siblings, who worked together to keep the fifth generation fusion reactor that powered the whole abomination within some semblance of working order.

The Pratchett siblings’ love of the reactor (which they had affectionately named “Sun-Son”) was rivaled only by their hatred of the rest of the craft. Elizabeth and Dalton had more mixed feelings on the matter. Elizabeth considered the ship “Perhaps a little ridiculous on paper, but a work of military genius,” while Dalton lauded the idea as “Literally the coming of the Messiah, the only thing I prayed for my whole adulthood, and the answer to that prayer manifest, just for me, to bring me back to the flock.”

Their mixed feelings could be explained away just by describing the craft concept:

The PMAC was not a ship. It was the largest possible gun that could still be attached to an Alcubierre drive, with just enough manpower to steer, aim, and maintain the thing for long term patrols.

The prototype MAC that the life-support, thrusters, and reactor had been constructed around hadn’t even been built with space in mind. It was originally designed as a ground-to-orbit defense weapon. If it wasn’t for the capacitor bank the ship would’ve needed almost a minute between each shot to get enough power, even with the fifth generation reactor. Luckily, it could start out each battle with enough charge to fire off a salvo of four before needing to begin recharging for its next launch.

It had just such a salvo prepared for the pirate ambush that their military grade scanners had picked up minutes earlier.

Dalton was not taking the delay very well.

“With all due respect mam, I’ve had a lock on all three for almost a minute now. I could just fire and claim that I sneezed. The Pratchetts would back me up on this. Right guys?”

Emily Pratchett snorted.

“Why is it that when the weaponsmaster says ‘with all due respect’ he always means ‘fuck you for giving my stupidly giant gun blue balls?”

Thom Pratchett shrugged.

“Maybe he’d say it less if you weren’t so eager to translate it to the navigator for him.”

Elizabeth was slightly amused by the conversation. It was hard to keep things particularly formal while on a crew this small. Still, she was waiting for something. She’d gotten permission from the brass to take a new approach to fighting with the ship.

They’d proven it could win battles. Now, it was time to establish shock and awe. And as it currently stood, dead men told no tales.

Thus, they needed more living ones. And as she watched two pirate ships pull forward, with one hanging back, she knew just who’d live to pass on this particular legend. ---

Aggral watched the ships advance on his HUD, the blips crossing the thousands of kilometers between them and the strange ship in seconds. For a moment he felt regret. Was he making a mistake? Was this going to be what led to some upstart in the crew thinking they could do things better than him?

Then, the world went mad.

The power readings on the strange ship spiked. Hard. He’d thought that the baseline levels were outrageous, but they must’ve had some sort of absurd capacitor bank to expel that much energy that fast. The twin prongs that made up most of the length of the ship gave off some sort of EMP that fried the electronics of the Viscera, his sister ship, cutting off their radio traffic. His crew scrambled to find some way to regain contact when Gods of the Dead, forgive me my sins, and and forget me my debts, the actual weapon went off. The EMP hadn’t even been the attack, it had just been a side effect.

He hadn’t seen a weapon because he’d been looking for one on the hull, some kind of guardian laser, or a missile pod. He hadn’t even conceived that the whole goddamn vehicle could be the weapon. But what kind of weapon would charge up like that? A laser would just fire over a sustained period. What would need a burst like-

He stopped midthought as it hit him: A railgun.

He stopped again as it hit them: The kinetic charge would have to have been moving at almost 0.8c for it to just ignore the evasive maneuvers like that. The ferroslug itself wasn’t detected by any of their defense measures aboard, but the thermal readings of the Viscera made every infared sensor aboard scream in horror. Contact with whatever slug had hit it must’ve reduced the whole thing to plasma. It was almost inconceivable.

He was already screaming out the full retreat call when the ship fired twice in rapid succession at the Rictus, which was still recovering from what had just happened to its partner. The first shot was dead through the center. The second hit some target a few dozen meters off to the side.

A direct hit on an escape pod. Apparently, the captain had tried to save himself. Even in the mortal terror that he felt at that moment, Aggral could take a grim satisfaction at that second shot. To leave all the men that followed you to their deaths was a cowardice that he could not bear to consider. He would rather die.

And now, he was going to. Jump was fifteen seconds away, and the console was telling him that the ship was pinged. They knew where he was, they had him in their crosshairs, and they were going to pull the trigger.

He traced a finger over the purple scar absentmindedly. This was it. He’d been living on borrowed time since that first wound, and now he was to meet his ancestors.

He was ready.

---

Dalton was wincing, even as he maintained his ping on the ship. He knew that Elizabeth was just doing her job, but even by his admittedly bloodthirsty standards, there was something fucked up about keeping a ship in ping like this. It was like forcing someone to look you in the eyes before you slit their throat. Way too personal for his tastes.

Elizabeth was keeping an eye on the craft, making sure that no escape pods were jettisoning. Part of her was hoping that some would, but whatever other faults these pirates had, they were loyal to each other at least. As the ultraviolet scanners gave the telltale flair of redshift, she told Dalton to turn off the ping.

To say he was relieved was an understatement. In the middle of a firefight, he couldn’t question Elizabeth’s orders, but for the first time in a long time, he’d been afraid to pull the trigger. Now he didn’t have to.

He almost slid out of his chair as he asked the question that had been on his mind since the engagement began.

“Mam, what the hell was that?”

Elizabeth smiled warmly at her very surprised crew even as her words came out, cold as ice.

“A message.”

---

Thanks for reading this far! I'm moving my previous works from reddit to here. If you follow me, more will come. If you're impatient, you can skip to the source and read things at https://www.reddit.com/user/InBabylonTheyWept/

[eddieintheocean]

currently writing a short story about a time travelling microbiologist (cambrian noctiluca my beloved <3)

Through deep breaths, Farah explained, “Getting enough hydrogen ions was the limiting factor. Why did we not put them through CRISPR?” She gripped Cambrian’s shoulders in return. “Make the mitochondria and enzymes resistant to acids and put them in solutions with high ion concentrations. The enzymes go into overdrive and start producing way more energy than before. It’s enough to power the machine, Brie. I went back in time.”

i apologise to the biologists who know things. i wanted my time machine to be powered by mitochondria and by god theyre powered by mitochondria because the plot wills it

[joswriting]

⸻ WIP intro: On the end of everything

✶ Key words: science-fiction, multiverse, self-acceptance, queer main characters, gloomy comedy, omniscient narrator, toxic friendship / qpr, death

Most inhabitants of the multidimensional Whole (whether they be human, animal, sentient toothpick or hyper intelligent gas cloud) were out for more or less the same thing: to understand and to be understood. However, with existence being so enormous and complex, and their own minds being filled to the brim with contradictions and meaninglessnesses; they barely managed to understand themselves, let alone the situation they were in. Each person had their own way of dealing with this — some found God, others wrote poetry and many decided to ride their bicycles on pavements topped with 20cm snow. And though everyone had to deal with themselves on their own, all were connected through the shared experience of having to take part in existence.

It is fitting, then, that those who were connected by the mere act of living at the same time, should also meet their ends together; without ever having understood what it was all for, anyway. And so the "world" ended neither with a bang nor a whimper, but with a collective "What?". - Prologue

✧ general info ✧

✶ genre: soft scifi approaching science fantasy at times, NA, comedy, philosophical? perhaps not, apocalyptic (technically)

✶ pov: third person omniscient, past tense

✶ status: worldbuilding all but done, writing first draft

✶ (tentative) full title: On the end of everything + 25 ways to feel comfortable in your own skin

✧ main cast ✧

— Celia

full name: Silke Quesada

nickname: Celia

pronouns: she/her

origin: our universe

age: 21

occupation: student

orientation: lesbian

flaw: wishes she was normal

fear: being a burden, not being liked

sources: picrew | faceclaim

— Lea

full name: Beatrix Lea Reiter

pronouns: she/her

origin: our universe

age: 23/24

occupation: cashier

orientation: aromantic hetero

flaw: wishes she was normal

fear: being a bad person (she kind of is)

sources: picrew| faceclaim

— Cornelius

full name: Cornelius Brož

nickname: Nelly

pronouns: he/him

origin: a universe not quite unlike our own

age: 30s-40s

occupation: professor

flaw: wishes he could go back to normal

fear: never getting back the life he had

— Mouse

species: non-sentient mouse

function: former lab mouse, Nelly's pet

origin: universe that I like to call. the eugenics universe (it's not pleasant)

pronouns: it/she

now flaws <3 just mouse 🐁

sources: picrew

✧ practical ✧

✶tag/s: #wip: on the end (for reblogs), #wip: oteoe (for orignal posts such as intros and snippets)

✶ possible CWs: medical malpractice, experimentation on human subjects, dissociation, body horror, death, xenophobia, internalized homo-/queerphobia, internalized ableism, "romantic" relationship with bad power dynamics

✶original title: Über das Ende von Allem + 25 Tipps, um sich in der eigenen Haut wohl zu fühlen

✶ languages: German (original), English (translated by myself once completed). I will probably also translate snippets now and again

✶ writing tools: analogue writing in note book (1st draft)

✶ edit sources: images: space-like background | fonts: Heavy Rain, MS Gothic

✧ taglist ✧

no one here yet. ask to be added (comments, asks, messages, carrier pigeon)

[winterandwords]

🔫 Name From Nowhere (WIP summary)

Corruption and cruelty pulse through the veins of an opulent metropolis, where every side is the wrong side and progress is fuelled by exploitation. Imprisoned for a crime or five that she definitely committed, Aria made it through her sentence remembering more than she was supposed to but not enough to make sense. An illicit trade syndicate gives her a fresh start and the acceptance she won’t admit she craves, but her blood family’s betrayal is seared into her mind and revenge is only ever an opportunity away.

📝 BASICS See tags #name from nowhere and #project aria. Project Aria was the working title. The book is set in the same world as Bridge From Ashes. Yes, Rafe and Gillen are involved, as are some of the other characters.

✅ GENRE Cyberpunk, neon-noir

📖 AUDIENCE Adult

👀 VIBE Found crime family. Memory is a curse, but it’s also a weapon. What doesn’t kill you makes you deadly. No identity, still a crisis. Life may be more than survival, but survival is a good place to start. Because fuck you, that’s why.

⭐ MAIN CHARACTER Aria Day fights her way through life burdened by loss and regret and fuelled by adrenaline and spite. She doesn’t believe she deserves anything good, but she’ll take what she wants because she doesn’t believe anyone else deserves it either. Trust is a liability and emptiness is a valuable skill. Keep your hands to yourself if you like having hands.

📸 IMAGE CREDIT Original photo by Wilmer Martinez on Unsplash, edited under license.

[archerism]

with the much-appreciated help of helen @mashbrainrot i found + read the entire novelization of The Questor Tapes, written by Trek alum DC Fontana (available here on internet archive), and i have some. choice snippets to share with you all (in the order they appeared in the book)

(more under the cut:)

(this one ^ made me insane because i quite literally made a joke about jerry doing up questor's tie for him while watching the movie. this and several other moments felt like DC Fontana was somehow in my brain while writing)

(a brother's...Uh-huh)

these and so many other moments in this novelization made me lose my mind. i highly recommend reading it if you enjoyed the questor tapes--it's a quick read, adds a lot of interesting material to the movie, and is overall just an excellent adaptation!!

[saunteringvaguelydownwards]

****

Motherfucker, y'all got me writing again, what the fuck?

[writereleaserepeat]

Chemical Romance

Loosely inspired by @justplainwhump's story Pet Safety. In Pet Safety, the MC drops some details that suggest Romantics in their universe can be chemically altered to need another person nearby. I thought this was a brilliant idea and ran with it for a short story (that I haven't really edited or revised, fuck it we ball).

Summary: After countless trials and many failed experiments, X001 is the first chemically-altered Romantic available for sale. The scientist responsible watches over his subject as she is introduced to her buyer - and carefully-tailored chemical match - for the first time. X001 soon learns what it's like to need someone more than she needs life itself.

CW: institutionalized slavery, implied medical whump, chemical modifications, fade to black noncon/dubcon

X001 knelt patiently on the plush carpet beside the chaise. She could sense that her handler wasn’t quite as patient, particularly with the way he kept twisting the leash between his fingers, a gentle tug on her collar each time.

Perhaps her handler was just as excited as she was. Not just excited, but nervous. X001 hadn’t been this nervous since her first days in training. Today she was going to meet her new owner, her Master, the very person she had been working so hard to learn how to please. A chill ran up X001’s spine, a sensation she was barely able to swallow down. She couldn’t let her nerves show, not now, not when it mattered the most.

Voices murmured outside the door, warm words running together, the comforting hum of idle conversation. No commands came for her, not yet. X001 was certain if there was a command, she wouldn’t miss it. Every sense was attuned to her handler, and soon, to her Master. Her handler had told X001 that if her new Master was satisfied with their trial, she would get to go home with them.

Home was what she had been working so hard towards, wasn’t it? It's what she was made for.

---

“As you can see, ’01 is a physically spectacular specimen,” Val said as he gestured towards the one-way glass. The girl knelt unmoving where she was nestled in the thick pile of the carpet, her posture perfect, and her brilliant green eyes fixed glassily on some distant point. As unflattering as the training facility uniforms could be, it was hard to mistake the delicacy of her petite figure, and impossible to tear one’s eyes from the thick russet curls that cascaded down her shoulders.

At least, that’s what Val had been told to regurgitate from the facility’s marketing materials.

“That’s why I chose her,” the buyer said, his gaze transfixed on the subject, not once turning his attention back to Val.

Perhaps Val would have been irritated if he was in marketing. But that wasn't his business, never had been. He continued, unbothered.

“As you’ve surely been reminded by the purchasing agent, X001 is the first product available for sale with these particular modifications. Although our experimental models have shown great success and promise, there is no guarantee that X001 will perform to specifications.” Val also regurgitated this, all but verbatim, from the materials he’d been given. He wasn’t a salesman, no, he was a scientist.

It had been years of hard work and tireless nights. It had been dozens of destroyed products, specimens that were ruined beyond refurbishment, and millions of dollars of company money poured into equipment and supplies. It had been begging his superiors for another chance, promising them that he would make the company's next cash cow.

Eventually, it had also been a success.

“I hear you,” the buyer said, the patience in his voice slipping. “I’ve been told that same thing at least ten times now. I think it's worth the risk, especially for a pretty thing like that.”

Val’s grip on his pen tightened. He’d waited for this moment for many months now, and it was finally here. It was time to prove himself.

His heart thundered inside his chest, and Val nodded to himself as much as the buyer.

“Very well. Are you ready for your trial to begin?”

Lust dripped from the buyer’s tongue as he answered.

“Absolutely.”

---

A clicking tone came through the intercom, a sound which seemed to signal something to X001’s handler. She didn’t move as he unclipped the leash from the ring on her collar and pulled away. He took a single step, then paused, and she felt his hand rest gently on the top of her head.

“Remember your training. Don’t disappoint me, ’01.”

“Yes, sir.” The demure whisper was one she’d practiced until she’d become hoarse, but today, it was as smooth as honey. X001 was merely grateful it hadn’t cracked under the nerves that strained her body.

The comfort of the hand disappeared. Her handler exited the room, leash in hand, leaving X001 alone.

She knew what came next. It would settle in her stomach within the next thirty seconds, and over the course of five minutes, it would buzz throughout her body like electricity. That insatiable longing, the primal need to be close to a human person, would begin to broil to the surface. Her skin would get covered in gooseflesh, like she had been plunged into an ice bath.

To be isolated like this, utterly alone in a room, would slowly become agony.

X001 thought back briefly to the time before her body had been weaponized. Early in training, before she’d been dragged to the medical wing every morning for new injections and infusions, she hadn’t felt like this. She could be alone in her cell for hours, sometimes days, and be perfectly content with the solitude. Not just content, but grateful.

That had changed, though, and she didn’t know why. They'd done something. Something she'd never have the privilege of understanding.

All X001 did know was that she needed someone. She needed them now, at her side, before the pain in her chest became unbearable. Her handler, a different handler, her Master. Anyone would be enough to settle the unease.

---

“As you can see,” Val explained as gestured towards the subject that sat beyond the glass, “we’ve engineered a nervous response upon isolation from human contact.”

It had hardly been a minute since Handler Jones had left the room, and already X001 was trembling where she knelt. Muscles strained beneath her supple, tanned skin; her effort was apparent as she tried to keep still. Those stunning green eyes, once unblinking, now fluttered nervously.

The warmth in his stomach spread as he watched his experiment succeed, fulfilling his decade of promises to his superiors. Val continued his explanation eagerly.

“Part of this response is conditioning, and part of it is the chemical manipulation I discussed earlier. Her very brain chemistry and nervous system function have been altered to make her not just crave human contact, but require it for survival. The moment you walk in, you should notice her relax. She’ll be inseparable from you. Even in her sleep she’ll reach out for you, her body telling her that she needs your touch.”

The buyer hummed beneath his breath, and he watched ’01 tremble with a languid smile.

“And what if I do leave her alone?”

“That, sir, would be one of the most painful things you could do to her.”

---

Seconds became minutes, and the aching in X001’s chest mounted. Her heart fluttered uncontrollably, her muscles ached, and her head spun. Her training slipped away so easily when she got like this, when she was alone. The only thought she could hold on to was the thought of touching someone, curling up against their body, sinking against their naked skin. It was the only cure for her present sickness.

She dug her fingernails into the soft skin of her palms. Her hands were still folded neatly in front of her, but the subtle flexing gave her something to distract from the pain wracking her body.

No, it wasn’t pain, not exactly. She knew pain, she’d grown accustomed to it. This sensation was need. It was like thirst, or hunger, or desperation for air. Every part of her thrummed in its cadence.

Then the door handle clicked open.

It took all of X001’s training not to throw herself at the man who’d walked into the room. In an instant the discomfort in her body began to ebb, but the fluttering of her heart continued. She wanted to be touched, held, comforted. It was the only cure for the ache deep in her bones.

Although she hadn’t looked up at the man’s face – she wasn’t permitted to – she was drawn in by the intricate designs on his well-polished shoes. The well-tailored pants and unscuffed leather dripped with and air luxury, and a scent of burnt vanilla and whiskey seemed to follow as he entered.

The man sat down on the chaise beside X001, and she had to clench her teeth to stop from leaning into him. Her handler had made it incredibly clear that she was to remain in position, as perfect as she had been trained, until she was granted reprieve. She listened attentively, straining for the sound of a command, hearing as he settled into the soft plush of the furniture, then-

“Release. Come up here with me.”

X001 didn’t need to be told twice.

---

Val couldn’t help but smile, his cheeks aching as he watched years of work pay off before his eyes. ’01 slunk up onto the couch with that effortless fluidity all Romantics were trained in. She slid into the spot beside the buyer’s body, already cozy against his chest without a moment of hesitation. Her chin tucked against his collarbone, her nose buried against his neck, and her body shifted with a deep sigh.

“Shit, she never had this reaction with the test sticks you had us use in training,” Handler Jones said with disbelief.

“That was a very low dose of the buyer’s pheromones,” Val explained, attention only partially on the handler. A mere handler could never understand the beauty and complexity of what was unfolding beyond the glass. “She’s never been given unrestricted access to the source. It must be overwhelming her.”

“Bitch better be able to remember what we’ve worked on these last few months,” the handler grumbled.

If she couldn’t, Val wouldn’t be surprised. The experimental models had been almost delirious when they were first introduced to their chemically engineered pheromone match. This had been the most successful of the chemical alterations he had been pioneering, and X001 was absolute proof of that.

All humans had this reaction, at least, to some extent. Despite having some of the weakest noses in the animal kingdom, the human body still sends messages to other humans in smelling distance. And in these messages the body conveys arousal, genetic compatibility, and desire.

What Val had done was nothing more than play with these senses inside a laboratory's sandbox. It had taken a couple of years of development and chemical tweaking, but Val had finally developed a course of treatments that would make the buyer’s scent irresistible to the product. The treatments overrode the product’s innate senses, the natural desire to find genetic compatibility, something that only the subconscious animal mind could know.

A few weeks of daily injections and that innate instinct was overwritten. The product's true nature had been wiped out, replaced instead with the extact chemical makeup of their new buyer. The scent of the buyer would be irresistible, intoxicating. It would immediately invoke lust, and when coupled with a Romantic's conditioning, it would naturally create the ideal product.

The waitlist for chemically-altered Romantics had already surpassed the waitlist for standard-issue Romantics. After all, who wouldn't want their perfect match, a divine creature that believed in its animal mind that its owner was its perfect match?

---

X001 had never experienced anything like it before. The scent flooding her senses was not merely sweet. Sweetness was something found in baked goods, or the treats that her handler snuck her when she was performing well. This was ambrosia, a full-body sensation that drew her ever-closer to the man on the chaise. It was like the space beside him had been built just for her.

No matter how close she drew herself to the man’s skin, she couldn’t get enough. It was all she could do not to drag her tongue across the hot flesh. She was burning with need, the urge to sink deep into him and never leave.

Hands ran through her hair, across her hips, but she hardly felt them. Instincts from her training took over and she let them move her body. All she cared about was getting closer, her skin warm with the desire for contact with his. All of X001’s instincts were filling her with the need to be with the man, a need even greater than her own need to breathe. It was beyond intoxicating.

Relief and pleasure coalesced as his smooth hands grabbed her hair, her waist, her neck. Bliss. Relief. The understanding in her mind that this was her purpose, and this man is exactly who she was meant for.

If this was truly her Master, she couldn’t imagine anything better.

---

"Hey, labcoat, isn't your job here done?" Handler Jones asked as the buyer began the more intimate engagements of his trial run with X001.

Val pursed his lips and reclined in the seat in front of the one-way mirror.

"I'd like to see the fruits of my labor in action. You've worked in X001 for what, four months? I've worked on this project for more than nine years. This is my moment, my success."

"Whatever you say, man," Handler Jones muttered. "Call me when the bitch has had her fun. I've got two new trainees to worry about, no need for me to watch the show."

Val merely waived the handler off. Solitude is what he needed now, the opportunity to bask in his own success. After all, he deserved it.

No, the thought idly as a grin crept onto his face, I deserve one of these for myself.

[thoughtportal]

https://podcast.tomasino.org/@SolarpunkPrompts/episodes

What is Solarpunk? Why does it matter?

In this series we discuss Solarpunk as a movement within art, literature, and activism. We explore its themes and talk about what separates it from its genre peers. Each episode explores a writing prompt set in a Solarpunk aesthetic with examples and inspirations from our world today.

Based upon story prompts created by Paweł Ngei⁩.

[souldagger]

im trying to read Altered Carbon bc im a sucker for sff murder mysteries but wow this sure is the worst case of "she breasted boobily down the stairs" writing ive seen in a While

[charliejaneanders]

When it comes to revising your story, people talk about cutting or expanding, but I'm a big fan of *combining*.

Those two sentences that say the same thing slightly different ways? Combine 'em.

Those two scenes that are the same scene w/ slight changes? Combine 'em.

Those two characters who occupy more or less the same space in the story? You know what I'm gonna say.

[babydarkstar]

odbdbsjdabdbsbfbdhfjdh i didnt realize we were now describing books with a straight romance as having a ‘queer romance’ im going to kill myself

[kae-luna]

Writing Snippet from Ultra Drive: Episode 1 of MC's Dad Being a Himbo

Story: Ultra Drive (WIP Intro Post)

Genres: sci-fi, drama, dystopian, cyberpunk, biopunk, psychological, action, LGBTQIA2S+

Tagging: @digital-chance

Rating: 16+

CWs: food? (at least in this snippet)

I edited my first chappy some for grammar, spelling, and rewording some stuff, then had the idea for Lexi's dad - Alessandro - to show his goofiness some more. Here's a snippet of him trying to persuade his wife to start a restaurant. Hope you enjoy!

(You can read the whole chapter here!)

The smell of freshly cooked chicken flooded the house as steam flowed from our plates.

Grandma hummed happily and wafted the smell into her nose with a pleased hum. "Mm mm mm. Your mother always makes the best curry, Lexi." She practically sang as she cut it up with her fork and knife.

Mom chuckled and smiled sweetly over at her. "Thank you, Mom."

"I know, right?" I agreed with a big smile.

Dad’s eyes sparkled as he joined in with the praise. “Isn’t she amazing? Why, she could easily open up her own five star restaurant! It would be the best restaurant in all of Arasai!” He boasted proudly, waving a finger in the air.

There he goes again. Being gushy about Mom. I thought to myself with a playful shake of my head. It always made me roll my eyes in discomfort, but that was just my immaturity.

Mom chuckled and shook her head. “Now I don’t know about that. But that’s very sweet.”

He grimaced when she said. Gosh. He looked like a begging puppy. “Why not, babe?”

“Well, I’d have to go to school for a proper license. I wouldn’t be able to work on farming as much.” She pointed out, tilting her head as she cut up the chicken.

He shook his head and waved the notion away. “Meh. License shmicense. You don’t need that! Heck. Anyone would see you’re a professional after tasting some of this!”

She only giggled and shook her head again.

At least his gushing could be entertaining.

[thespirala]

The Spirala - Introduction

Greetings. My name is Kayla Pellegrini, a poet and author/storyteller. I’ve written and self-published a poetry book titled ‘Rhetoric Maniac: 202 Chaotic Poems’, which is only available on Amazon. I’m transitioning to short storytelling, about an idea I’ve had ever since childhood to bring to life. The goal is to pitch my short story series to publishers once the pilot or first short story is complete. 

I will be using Tumblr as a blog to post drafted quotes, writings, and concept art (I’m not an artist, but I enjoy drawing) related to my short story series ‘The Spirala’ in hopes that maybe it'll become something influential and bold. 

The Spirala is a fictional short story series under the sci-fi and fantasy genre categories. It’s about the supernatural for young adults due to future sensitive topics. 

With a diverse cast of authentic characters from various backgrounds, please feel free to join me in this uncertain, yet exciting journey where we explore the relationship and existences between the dead and the living, the past and the present, and what could become of the future. 

My ask box is always open for any questions or concerns about The Spriala or me. I will be sure to post the following on the drafted logline that’s based on the series as a whole.

Thank you dearly for reading and I hope you can stay with me.

Write like crazy,

Kayla Pellegrini

[winterandwords]

🔪 Bridge From Ashes (book summary)

Corruption and cruelty pulse through the veins of an opulent metropolis, where every side is the wrong side and progress is fuelled by exploitation. Too useful for prison and too dangerous for freedom, underworld assassin Rafael Turner is sentenced to serve in a secretive military agency. When a mission to infiltrate a criminal operation drags his past to the surface and someone he thought he’d lost forever unexpectedly returns, how much is Rafe willing to risk to settle old scores and have a chance at a future he’d given up hoping for?

💻 To download as a PDF and EPUB, please visit winterandwords.com

✅ GENRE Cyberpunk, neon-noir

📖 AUDIENCE Adult

📝 LENGTH Approx 70k words

👀 VIBE High-rise buildings and low-life scum. Everything hurts, but not enough to feel good. Yes, that’s a gun in my pocket and no, I’m not pleased to see you. If mind control is real, why do I still have to make decisions?

⭐ THE MAIN CHARACTER Rafe Turner is a close-range weapon with a face full of scars. He’s a necessary evil, but all evil is necessary to someone. He knows fear intimately, he wrote the code, and you’re going to tell him the truth whether you want to or not. He’s a hardcore masochist with an addictive personality and a weakness for people with the guts to call him on his shit, not that he’d ever admit it. Anything he’s good at feels like a curse, and the only thing he hates more than the world and everything in it is himself.

💫 THE OTHER GUY Gillen Kane is a god-tier holder of grudges and his trust issues have trust issues. His presence can lower the temperature of a room. Beneath the carefully constructed facade of calm control, he’s extremely fragile and self-protective. Do not disturb; already disturbed. Trauma? What trauma? That’s just who he is. Now shut up and do what you’re told (but please don’t leave).

❗ CONTENT NOTE This book contains themes around human trafficking, as well as exploitation by both criminal and public service organisations. My personal preference is not to linger on details of abuse, so while those events generally occur off-page, I would like readers to be aware that they still form a significant part of the story’s context.

📸 IMAGE CREDIT Original photo by Drew Dizzy Graham on Unsplash, edited under license

[omohole]

i am frothing at the mouth writing about plant biology with reference to existing species on earth. i gotta make a diagram or something to share my thoughts im losing it