LINKDING

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

Summary: <blockquote>“Mona, I think they’re … they’re all lesbians!” This was not precisely the conversation Pearl wanted to be a part of while standing in the sun, shooing flies from her face, waiting for a horse so they could start their scheduled trail ride. Truth be told, she hadn’t want to be part of most conversations that had transpired since the long weekend had started, not about lipstick or Richard Nixon or Elton John or the mimeograph machine their office manager kept threatening to buy. And yet, this conversation had, in only a few words, jumped right to the top of that least-wanted list. Mona turned to Tammy and rolled her eyes. “They’re just working girls,” Mona said, with the authoritative queen-bee air that had gotten them all out here in the first place. “Not every working girl is a lesbian.” “I think ‘working girl’ means something else,” Sheryl noted.</blockquote>

<blockquote>His father illustrated children’s books, his mother created wind sculptures from reclaimed objects, and Paul had compensated by never developing the slightest bit of imagination. He did not believe in ghosts, witches, angels, demons, luck, gods, karma, or any related concepts. And he certainly did not believe in fairies. In fact, if he had, for some reason, felt compelled to make a list of exactly what he did not believe in, in order of the intensity with which he did not believe it, fairies would have been very close to the “definite no” end of the spectrum. Thus, having one sitting on his couch was not a comfortable sensation. </blockquote>

<blockquote>“Of course, you should never pop the cork. If you do it right, the sound should be” –and there it was, that gentle exhale– “as soft as a lover’s sigh.” Two tables over, Avery was trying not to shred his cocktail napkin into too many small pieces. It wasn’t even the first time he’d heard Baldwin do this, or the tenth, or even likely the hundredth. It was his same song-and-dance every time patrons ordered a bottle of champagne: come over to the table, introduce himself as the proprietor of the establishment, chat with them about what special occasion had inspired such a purchase, and open it for them with gentle southern charm so thick it hung in the air long after he’d walked away again.</blockquote>

<blockquote>100 days before the Fire / Lizzy was in the kitchen, chopping onions, when Nina walked in the front door to their apartment. “I’m in here,” she called, as though the rhythmic sound of her knife might not be enough to give her location away. Dinner would be simple tonight; Lizzy was too tired to spend much longer on her feet than she had already. She was looking forward to a weekend of doing nothing, catching up on sleep, maybe working on some of the million projects she always meant to get started and then never did. Nina appeared in the doorway a couple minutes later, leaning against the frame. Her curly hair was a little damp; the weather had been grey and rainy off and on all day. “So you remember I had that doctor’s appointment today,” Nina said softly. “Yeah?” Lizzy dropped the chopped bits of onion into the hot oil, where they started to hiss. “What’d he say?” “He said it’s time.”</blockquote> ➤ this is gorgeous

<blockquote>I scowled at them like I could shoot lasers from my eyes — which I didn’t have the mods for, but they didn’t know that. “Both of you, shut the fuck up.” To their credit, they did. He kept glaring daggers at me, like he was promising that the second I untied his hands, they’d be around my throat. She had on her biggest, saddest brown eyes, complete with perfect little tears trickling from the corners of her eyes, like she was just a helpless little thing who could be let go with no consequences. Both of them were goddamn liars. When I do a job, I do my research. He wasn’t vicious and she wasn’t harmless, and both of them were staying tied to those chairs.</blockquote>

<blockquote>"Behold, the story that dares to ask the question: What if your soulmate was shitty?"</blockquote> ➤ I like that although Haley is indeed shitty, there are indications that he's not, like, unredeemable, and that Bailey made his own mistakes too in their relationship, and they've just both been bad for each other. but the possibility of them being together again in a future life isn't out of the question. ➤ but tbh Raven is so great and deserves better than Bailey! idkkkkk I really enjoyed reading about their developing friendship and relationship, but even the happy ending of the two of them going off together felt more bittersweet than anything? ➤ also though the worldbuilding was fascinating and so were all the characters and I kind of want fic of this now??

<blockquote> December 2, 1962 Dear Calvin, Congratulations on your upcoming marriage! I hope that you and <del>Michelle</del></blockquote> ➤ told through a series of unsent letters, as the title implies. Between the unsent letters you can tell that there are sent ones, and phone calls, and in-person visits, and through what is and isn't said in these unsent fragments you can piece together what's going on in between, and it's lovely.

<blockquote>Max spent nearly an hour outside the shop, huddled under an awning that barely shielded him from the bitter rain, smoking one cigarette after another down until he nearly burned his fingers. He was desperate, that much was sure, but how desperate? That was harder to say. Desperate enough to walk into Adriaan Visser’s den was desperate indeed, especially since Visser wouldn’t need any of his family’s fancy weaponry or arcane knowledge. Any one of the guns lining the walls for display would be the end of Max in a single mundane trigger pull.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Two men from alien races with a long and violent history try to bring an abandoned colony world back to life.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Daraya kept his breathing easy, measuring every inhale and exhale until they were evenly weighted so they would not betray the way his heart was pounding in his chest. Why had no one ever warned him that the king was as bound by the laws he made as everyone else was? But someone had warned him. Athiel had warned him. And Daraya had not listened, which meant Athiel would now pay the price.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Eli was just about to give up on the evening when the cops arrived. A collective groan rose through the patronage as the lights in the bar snapped full up and a little joke of an air raid siren began to wail from over the bar. Eli glanced down at his watch before he remembered that he wasn’t wearing one tonight — or much of anything else, for that matter. He shifted his wig a little more securely into place, though he didn’t think it helped the illusion much, not at this hour, not after this many beers. Shit, why hadn’t he tried a little harder tonight? Maybe he could have passed as someone’s little sister, tagging along for a night on the town! Yes, Eli thought, because homosexuals brought their little sisters along with them to the bars all the time. The place was practically overrun with them. No faggots here, officers, just a bunch of little sisters out past curfew. He wondered how many palms the owners would have to grease to make the cops believe that.</blockquote>

<blockquote>She drew herself to her full height when she saw me, setting her chin at a regal angle, announcing without words what she thought about herself and where she stood — or at least, what she wanted everyone to think she thought. “Well met,” she said, drawing the back of her hand hastily across her heat-warmed cheeks, rendered pink by sunlight. She took three sharp, shallow breaths, then squared her shoulders again. “I am come for audience with the Great Queen Ereškigala, ruler of the worlds below and mistress of souls.”</blockquote>

<blockquote>Novice Theo was not supposed to hate. He was expected to feel some negativity, of course, but he was not supposed to. Purging that was part of his novitiate training, burning away everything but love for and devotion to the Great Tetratheon that blessed their land. He had been with the Brothers for ten years now, and he had entered freely, wanting nothing but the serenity and discipline that a life of godly service promised to bring him. He wanted to be pure of heart and spirit. He yearned for that inner peace, earned through deep contemplation, which he could then reflect outwardly to better the entire world. But oh, he hated Novice Clarence.</blockquote>

<blockquote>A string of murders must be solved by a would-be assassin who can't remember the last two years of his life and the magician who took those memories from him.</blockquote>

<blockquote>In the growing dark, he saw the place shimmer like an oasis against the last pink-orange light of day. A series of exposed bulbs lit the tall sign by the turnoff from the main road that labeled the short, boxy building as The Golden Spoke. Bud didn’t have to look at the matchbook in his hand to confirm it; he’d looked at it plenty already, at least a dozen times a day every day since he’d had it passed to him by another sailor in another port. On the front flap was the establishment’s name and cross-street address. On the back were four words: FEMALE IMPERSONATORS OF DISTINCTION.</blockquote>

<blockquote>“You think you could try to go back to sleep?” Marcus asked, pawing for his glasses. “Just give it a shot?” There was a pause, and Marcus really, truly hoped that this time, finally, his five-year-old son would shrug, turn around, and head back to his room, and that would be the end of it for the night, and he could shut his eyes and not open them again until much, much closer to his wake-up alarm.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Racquel held her breath for a moment, hoping madly that it was something else — a new project, maybe, or an unrelated item, or maybe not even about Leigh at all. Then her eyes focused on the headline: At Speculative Smorgasboard panel, Leigh March reveals she’s had romantic relationships with both men and women.</blockquote> ➤ I really loved a lot of things about this story and had a lot of feelings, but I'm feeling left hanging by the ending because it never actually addresses Racquel's concerns about being out despite the changes at the end clearly making their relationship at the very least an open secret!!!

<blockquote>The throne room looked different from this angle: an inch or so off the floor, with a guardsman’s shiny leather boot pressed against the back of his neck. It was a fine angle from whence to observe the delicate work and mother-of-pearl inlay. It was a terrible angle from whence to face the king. Unfortunately for him, Marcelo was not there to appreciate the architecture. The truth was, he could barely even see the king, given the way he was being forced to bow. But he wasn’t there to look at the king; he was here to be looked at. Alas that he hadn’t known he’d be making a court appearance today. He might have worn more flattering trousers.</blockquote>

<blockquote>A failed attempt at reincarnating a supersoldier meets his former self's old boyfriend.</blockquote> ➤ incredible worldbuilding and characterizing, as always for shukyou. I was particularly drawn in by the questions of identity in this story.

<blockquote>Written in just a few hours, this story hints at a larger world that I know nothing about. Why a radical separatist space vaginarchy? I think the better question is, why not a radical separatist space vaginarchy? In all seriousness, though, this definitely got its inspiration from writing and teaching about a) the "political lesbians" of second-wave feminism, b) forced-motherhood policies of fascist states, c) the identity purity culture of "gold star gays", and d) sex toys. I've written about plug-and-play dickware before (see Suspension), and while this isn't the same universe, it's probably the next one over.</blockquote>

<blockquote>A solitary man meets a friend in the snow. It was difficult to believe in such a chill, even as Hrolf stepped out into it. Breathing it in was like taking a blow to the chest every time. With his hands, hobbled as they were in fur-lined mittens, he redoubled the scarf around his mouth and nose. The morning sky was the clear blue-grey of a bird's egg, but he would not see the sun's weak winter face today, not this late in the year. It would give him enough light, though, to do what was needed.</blockquote>

➤ in which the main character regularly smuggles information across a Wall in a fantasy dystopia, and ends up getting roped into smuggling a couple of people across. I had so many feelings????

<blockquote>The first thing I noticed were his hands, which were stained beyond all washing by brown-black grease hiding in the creases of his knuckles and beneath what little of his fingernails hadn't been bitten down to the quick. They were delicate, though, I could see by the way that he set his glass on the bar and ran his fingertips around the damp rim where his mouth had just been; he touched it like he'd touch a lover, I thought, long before I knew he'd never in his life touched a lover that way. The scent of new money rolled off him, not in that flashy, obnoxious way tasteless barbarians turn gilded lilies with a few extra notes in their billfolds, but like a man who'd come to enjoy all the things that wealth could get him but still didn't feel like he fit in any of the places you had to go to get those things. He waited until the starched-collared bartender had wandered his way to the other end of the bar before inclining his head in my direction and saying to me, "I'll buy you a drink if you let me see that arm."</blockquote> ➤ steampunk arm-fixing

<blockquote>It was the Queer as Folk that tipped him off. But for the four months leading up to it, Gautam just blamed his brother.</blockquote> ➤ In which Gautam has a friendship with a ghost in his apartment, who talks to him via movie titles pulled up on Gautam's netflix account

<blockquote>A Jewish man disconnected from his upbringing re-finds meaning in traditions. "Eventually, his parents had talked Lemuel down to only two Transformers figures, and those he would carry in his pockets instead of his hands. Asher had not been there for the negotiations, but Lemuel recounted them in great detail in the car, several times over. "My pockets, not my hands, Uncle Asher," Lemuel said for about the twenty millionth time."</blockquote>

<blockquote>I admit, I wrote this story entirely so I could engage in this particular form of pronoun fuckery. If it seemed at all familiar, then you must be one of those beautiful and lovely people who also read Samuel R. Delany's brilliant Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand. (In fact, the story itself was originally going to be titled 'The Splendor and Misery of Bodies, of Cities' until I realized I'd rather save stealing an auspicious title like that for something more substantial.) If you haven't read it, one, you need to, and two, let me steal the bit from the Wikipedia article where the pronoun thing is explained: [T]he Velm sections of the novel assign an alternate meaning to the pronouns "he" and "she" not related to physical sex. All characters, whether they are human males or females or evelm males, females, or neuters, are referred to as "she" in most contexts, and "woman" and "womankind" are used as generic terms for humans. The normally male pronouns such as "he" or "him" are used to denote sexual interest in the subject by the speaker.</blockquote>

<blockquote>A young athlete has to learn to grow up with his late father's legacy, his remaining family, dreams of stardom, and the mysterious man who may be able to teach him how to breathe underwater.</blockquote>

Summary from ssbb wiki: <blockquote>After agreeing to move in with her girlfriend, one woman shares an important secret; a reptile appears.</blockquote>

<blockquote>My name is Rainer, and I'm an alcoholic.</blockquote>