LINKDING

quote: Alice wants to hold a funeral for me, which is disconcerting because I’m not dead. But humans, like all aliens—and certainly all single-forms—have their own idiosyncrasies. ➤ scifi short story about a multi-bodied alien in a relationship with a human ➤ questions of identity, of whether you're being seen for who you truly are by people who want to interpret the whole world as being inhabited by people like them, eyes closed to the reality of differences ➤ I loved the intertwining of the worldbuilding and the relationship drama, and I loved that we got to see Yonder's relationships with other people, friends and siblings and so forth, the ways those relationships are different than the one with Alice ➤ 6k words in length

no summary ➤ huh, in the end I'm not entirely convinced I LIKE this novella but it's odd and compelling and interesting for sure ➤ about the academic study of history in a context where a very specific subset of people have access to a very specific subset of historical figures to ask them directly about what they remember ➤ asking questions about who's an insider vs an outsider in academic study, about the values of different approaches to history ➤ ultimately I think it turned too much into a story about the fantastical elements in the narrative and didn't engage as deeply with the themes as I thought it would at the beginning ➤ but it's still a very interesting and well done story and I'm glad I read it! ➤ 22k words in length

Excerpt: <blockquote>That’s my last Duke painted on my locket. Sofonisba’s work. Look; there’s no cocket Wit there, no husbandly affection near. Just an icy regard, a chilly sneer, And a pair of painstakingly clean hands That ne’er strangled an intimate, yet plans To order it done with but a raised finger.</blockquote> ➤ narrative poetry from the pov of a dead woman to her terrible husband's new wife ➤ really fun and compelling to read on in a vacuum, but also it is clearly written in response to Browning's famous poem "My Last Duchess" and is from the pov of the dead woman that poem is about! ➤ also seems to be an alternate history narrative? again you don't need to know this to appreciate the poem but after reading it I had to look up the characters involved. POV character is Lucrezia de' Medici, her terrible husband is Alfonso II d'Este, but as far as I can tell the new wife is someone who in irl history died in infancy: Isabella, daughter of Charles III of Savoy. ➤ and now I really want to know more about the history of the time period and the ways that this would have affected things and why the author made these choices for the story of the poem! ➤ anyway. I like the poem. it's good. ➤ 1k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>It’s a little ridiculous, really, the things that make Ming Fan happy. They’re so small. A single word of praise from a teacher; being picked first to shoulder a responsibility; a smile and a touch from Zhao De. It’s painfully obvious how Ming Fan feels about Zhao De, and it always has been. Ming Fan has a paper face, and can’t hide what he feels to save his life. Zhao De has always known. And honestly? He doesn’t particularly care. Or, no; it’s a little funny, actually. To be able to make him flush with happiness or wilt with disappointment with such very little effort, to always have him eating out of his hand and so eager to please. It’s too easy, really, but easy is fun sometimes. Useful, too, when he’s the Head Disciple of Qing Jing now. For as long as that might last. Maybe Zhao De should reward him for making himself so useful? / Zhao De shows Ming Fan a bad good time.</blockquote> ➤ yikes (complimentary) ➤ Ming Fan/OMC, where the OC is another disciple on Qing Jing Peak ➤ it's truly impressively horrible, the pov of this awful bully who manipulates Ming Fan into misery and encourages Ming Fan in all of his own worst bullying tendencies ➤ it's so well and believably done, and so compelling! ➤ mind the author's tags on this one, it means what it says. I enjoyed the fic a lot but it's not a pleasant fic! ➤ 13k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>Maribel heard but did not see when the new pig-boy was named. She never went down into the village of San Rafael if she could help it. But she couldn’t miss the wailing lament of the village mothers echoing from the church courtyard, a wrenching sound, though traditional and expected. It made Maribel shiver despite the heat. It had only been a month, Only a month without a pig-boy. But she should have known that the new one would have to be named soon. The sun was retreating, the nights getting longer, and that meant the high season for pilgrims was coming.</blockquote> ➤ in a village where people possessed by demons are turned into javelinas, cared for by a pig-boy for the rest of their lives, what happens when the new pig-boy has a little too much empathy for his charges? ➤ excellent use of fantasy alternate world to engage with questions of the failures of the justice system and the penal system, and the ways people become complicit with the system ➤ really well done pov character ➤ 5k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>"Ask me something only I would know." You say this to your wife because you know you’re human. You can feel it in the familiar ache in your back, and the fear writhing in your guts. You feel it in the cold seeping into your bare feet from the kitchen floor. You know you’re real because you remember. You know I’m the duplicate. The imposter. The monster.</blockquote> ➤ a woman with a gun is faced with two identical people who both claim to be her wife ➤ it's a fascinating short horror story about shape-shifting monsters who can duplicate human forms ➤ told through the pov of a shape-shifter! ➤ 2k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>Masculine Women, Feminine Men, which is the rooster which is the hen? It's hard to tell 'em apart today. An exploration of the queer characters and tropes of (mostly) pre-Code Hollywood.</blockquote> ➤ fanvid about queer movies from mostly pre-Code hollywood days ➤ a fascinating window into the way queer themes were portrayed in that era ➤ fun and thoughtful at the same time

Summary: <blockquote>Eyes first. If I can get the eyes open, I’m good. If not, the meat’s too far gone, which means I have to try again, and I hate fucking trying again. This time’s okay, though. Eyelids roll up surprisingly easy, even if it takes the eyes themselves a minute. That’s fine, though; everybody’s eyes are different, even if nobody but me knows it, because how many eyes do you get to see through in your life? Me, I’ve lost count. The soft jelly settles, the focal centers slowly pull themselves into place. I can hear the pupils contract against the light. Eyes blink once, twice. We’re in business.</blockquote> ➤ content notes for ummmmmmm body horror? body grossness definitely. also, murder, plus sex with weird consent stuff going on. drug use. probably other stuff too. ➤ but it's not, like, horrifying and depressing about any of that! it's remarkably sweet! ➤ an absolutely incredible piece of original fiction about bodyswap/bodysharing that really makes its home in exploring the weirdness of the situation from the inside. What Is Embodiment. How to have a relationship with the body you're in. Bodies have a lot going on! The brain is part of the body. ➤ probably this story isn't for everyone, but if it is for you then you are in for a TREAT. I adored it. ➤ 14k words

excerpt: <blockquote>Well hear this one time nuh. I tellin’ all yuh the queen must be alien or something not of this earth, because in 1966 she come and visit Trinidad when I was just a schoolgirl, and I gone with my classmates to see she, and before we gone, the headmaster tell we, we have to throw flowers at the queen.</blockquote>

Summary: <blockquote>“I hear you’re about to graduate, huh,” John called from the booths. Kieran’s jaw tensed on reflex, but he pried his mouth open to say, “Sure am, against all odds!” “Hell yeah, brother. You itching to get out of here once the degree is in hand?” The question was reasonable, his tone jovial, but Kieran froze stiff as a startled possum. Two weeks ago his answer would’ve been “of course not,” but then the admissions offer slashed new depths to his greedy imagination. The security he had built over the last two years stung sweetly between his teeth. Cozy living arrangements with fresh food and a wad of cash stuffed behind the attic access panel in his room; easy closeness grown between himself, Sean, and their mutual best friend Xander. He hadn’t told either of them, yet, about the letter.</blockquote> ➤ not really particularly sff though I guess there's technically a ghost, so it doesn't feel like it fits an sff publication, but it's a good story

Summary: <blockquote>Meng Yao rescues the first Jade of Lan and takes him into his home, becoming far more involved than ever anticipated. / The guards are getting closer; the man, likely Lan Xichen, tries not to curl in on himself. Meng Yao gives himself five seconds to consider the implications of getting involved before he swings his work bag off his shoulder and drops it rudely in the First Jade of Lan's lap. "I told you not to slouch," he says, a firm note of displeasure in his voice. / Stands alone from the prequel fic.</blockquote>

Summary: <blockquote>He saluted her in that way he sometimes mockingly did, as a loyal general ought to greet the sagest of chief ministers. “Come on, now,” she said. “You can do better than that.”</blockquote>

Summary: <blockquote>Shen Jiu loses his memories while out on a mission, and gets himself adopted into a minor sect in some obscure countryside. Five years pass before his fellow Peak Lords find him again.</blockquote>

Summary: <blockquote>“The Mobei-Jun rises from his throne, eyes glowing white as his voice takes on the timbre of power unique to the reigning Ice Demon King of the Northern Desert. “Prince Mo Bei is declared outcast. You are sentenced to conditional exile according to the traditions of this Court. Prince Mo Bei, you are forbidden from returning to your ancestral lands until you have learned to count to five. Learn to count to claim your rightful throne.” Once upon a time, an arrogant prince was exiled from his kingdom. A kind stranger takes him in. Together they write a new story.</blockquote>

excerpt: <blockquote>DRAMATIS PERSONAE ACHILLES: A young man yet untouched by love or war. PYTHIA: An oracle who sees alien futures. THE CHORUS: #mlm #5k #patrochilles #coffeeshopAU #meta #canon-compliant • • • • SETTING: The adyton at the Temple of Delphi. Smoke rises from a vent in the floor, partially obscuring PYTHIA, who is sitting on a high stool carefully positioned behind the smoke. ACHILLES stands, supplicant. Behind him, the CHORUS looks at their phones.</blockquote>

Summary: <blockquote>“Why are we even here?” Wen Xu groused. “Yeah! That’s right! Why are we here?” Wen Chao immediately chimed, very obviously taking his cues from his elder brother – much to the latter’s irritation, judging by his immediate scowl. Lan Qiren knew that he needed to pick his next words very carefully. With recalcitrant students, a teacher only had a few opportunities to really connect with them. If he allowed them to dismiss him or categorize him as an enemy at this early stage, it would be an incredibly uphill battle to gain enough respect in order to teach them anything, and in this case, given the strength of their background and the fact that this little teaching session was both likely to be short and definitely completely unauthorized, it would quite possibly make it completely impossible to ever get through to them. “You are here,” Lan Qiren said solemnly, each word slow and thoughtful, “because your father is an ass.” (a story of kidnapping and falling in love, reluctantly)</blockquote>

<blockquote>“We always want the mole-year to come, don’t we?” I said. “Well, you and William will vote as you like,” said Dad. Mom held the kitten belly-up in her arms like a baby. With a furrowed brow, she said, “Dad and I always pray, and wish, and vote in favor. Who wouldn’t want more life?” “But people do vote no,” I said, and we were quiet, each perhaps imagining what might bring someone to vote no. In a moment Mom had put on her coat and was holding out Lucy’s. “What will I do?” said Lucy. “You’re too little. Can’t vote, can’t choose,” said William. Lucy stood and backed into her coat, scowling. “It isn’t real anyways.”</blockquote>

<blockquote>Six months ago, the Very Large Array picked up a signal. Well, we didn’t pick it up so much as received a targeted message asking for a meeting. The senders—part of an alien civilization hurtling toward Earth in an inconceivably advanced spacecraft—had been studying our broadcasts, and that was how they learned about us, just like in the movies. The rest of it wasn’t going much like the movies. The Mapmakers—we didn’t know why they called themselves that—would land, but they would only talk to one person, and not anyone in power. No taking them to our leader. This request caused an uproar, quickly quashed because we still didn’t know what they could do or what they wanted. Apparently, one-to-one negotiation was their tradition—put two people in a room and see what they talked about. They said vast networks had been built on such beginnings. Start with the personal, work up from there. They were adamant; this was the method they always used. All we had were faulty expectations. Nobody wanted to let just one person have that much power or take that much glory. Or take the fall, was how I looked at it. Just one person couldn’t possibly represent all of us. But what choice did we have?</blockquote>

<blockquote>A lot of skips were like Truck Skip: money you could grab quick and get away with. On Economic Victory runs, the quicker you got out of the prole stage, got some real investment capital, the quicker you could start amassing actual wealth, work your way up to being the richest person in the world. Most of the best EV Any% players didn’t bother to start with wage jobs or uni at all. They just strung together a bunch of early skips, laundered the cash, bought a fully credentialed identity, and then got on with the real game. That’s where the timesave was—when you made more money in a day than proles made in a year or a lifetime.</blockquote>

<blockquote>When Yue Qi rushes away to save her Xiao Jiu, it is not a cultivation sect that finds her, but rather a nun. Meanwhile, when Shen Jiu decides enough is enough and escapes the life of a slave, her skills enable her to work at the Warm Red Pavilion. Both think the other dead, but when their paths cross once more, they cannot help but be drawn to each other. Yue Qingyuan, wracked with guilt, offers herself in penance. Shen Qingqiu, she says, may punish and hurt her as she likes. And what is Shen Qingqiu going to do, except take the chance to corrupt that immaculate nun as best she can, and pull her away from the heavens, so that they might go to Hell together, hand in hand? In other words, a Tang Dynasty historical au, featuring far too many footnotes.</blockquote> ➤ author's tag: #meta-textually exploring the way fandom conceives of guilt and punishment

<blockquote>1 half-rotted black boot. Initial inferred usage: fashion. Final inferred usage: survival. (Note: the phrase “The crumbling signs of material wealth from an ineffectual species bent on effortless luxury. But we ended beautiful. We ended beautiful” added into record post-collection by unknown entity)</blockquote>

<blockquote>Some scholars of resentment believed that strong enough resentment could bind souls together, both before and after death. Some further believed that, were this resentment to be tempered with some other powerful emotional energy, it could become magnified to the point that it could bend the laws of the natural world, even those governing space and time. Or, Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang find themselves thrown back in time to the end of the Sunshot Campaign, each determined to outmaneuver and destroy the other. Their schemes don't quite have the effects they anticipated.</blockquote>

<blockquote>“Show me his picture,” Yanli says. She keeps her fingers wrapped close around the cooling mug. Xue Yang types and swipes on his massive phone, then turns it around.</blockquote> ➤ arranged date I guess? tagged as arranged marriage because that's like, the closest thing I've got

<blockquote>Qin Su is sick and tired of this wedding. And her marriage. Nie Huaisang is conveniently present.</blockquote>

<blockquote>(oh my god they were roommates) "Thank you, valued user, for accepting the Protagonist Rehabilitation Programme. Your task: Ensure the protagonist's happiness." Shen Yuan is convinced that his favouri... least favourite novel's main protagonist isn't really happy. He has babes, money and power, but does he have any friends? Cue the system handily dropping Demon King Luo Binghe into his bedroom. Can Shen Yuan make him happy before the timer runs out? (90% light-hearted comedy, 10% existential horror and fear because this is the OG PIDW Binghe we're talking about)</blockquote> ➤ reverse transmigration

<blockquote>When Luo Binghe is fourteen years old, his shizun suffers a terrible qi deviation and fever that completely changes who he is.</blockquote>

<blockquote>In which Shen Qingqiu, angry and so very alone, decides that if the world will not give him a companion, then he will simply make one. Shen Yuan comes into being knowing very little, but loving every part of it.</blockquote> ➤ sy is a creation of sj's. includes friendship between sy and yqy

<blockquote>Jingyi has his hands up immediately, ready to fire a warning talisman. “Who are you?” “Jingyi, it’s me. It’s Sizhui.” “I don’t know any Sizhui. How do you know my name?” / Something has gone wrong with the world. The worst part is, Sizhui's the only one who realizes it.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Generations after the events of the novel, Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao come out of retirement to investigate a series of mysterious fires targeting the watchtowers.</blockquote> ➤ the fic works well as is but I am still desperate to know what the solution might be that will honor yao-guniang's ambitions and keep her safe from yao-zongzhu at the same time!

<blockquote>Sure enough we could not outrun the hoverbikes. Understandable—yes? Yes. We were a new thing, a sharp thing; not a fast thing. So we stood and panted, and the bikes idled a few handsbreadths above the rain-slick tarmac. The Nero’s men fanned out before us. We said, “Boys!” and also, “Let’s not do anything hasty,” and also, “Always be closing!” No reaction from these little vessels of intent, their faces obscured in the shadow thrown by the weed-choked overpass where they had cut us off. We’d made it, oh, perhaps two miles. Sprinting south, pursued. A body wants to go north; sometimes circumstances intervene.</blockquote>