via FREE Fiction / Raindrop.io https://raindrop.io CONTENT WARNING: when my father reprograms my mother { my mother becomes unbreakable    angles like a subway map    glitter bubblegum steelhard cyberwoman    a Galatea in Python too cold to share a bed with she boneless titanium I can’t do a portrai…

via FREE Fiction / Raindrop.io https://raindrop.io Lyra’s judges were not Anubis or Michael but three stern figures whose faces shifted from those of the fates, to the muses, to the musical judges on reality television. Their chambers rose high and dark and empty from the endless sand. via Pocket

via FREE Fiction / Raindrop.io https://raindrop.io There is a clamor of ancient lovers hiding under my hat. They sit or pace impatient, whittle bits of me with tiny knives also whittled from bits of me, and I let them. They each came to me, as lovers do, in the vast before—with small hands upturned,… Strange Horizons - All Muddle By Sionnain Buckley via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2GleGFN

via FREE Fiction / Raindrop.io https://raindrop.io At the mathematical center of Dorothy’s father’s RV, at its golden ratio curl, there is a tarot card pinned to the corkboard. The High Priestess; she has been there longer than Dorothy can remember. Worn at her edges, drawn in lines of gold and whit… Strange Horizons - Hunting the Viper-King By Kathryn Harlan via Instapaper https://ift.tt/2NlY7Qf

Jeremy should have known there was something going on with Tara, when she tried so hard to avoid looking at him that she spilled mochaccino on his pants. via Pocket

The key unwritten law for travelling on the London Underground is that you should never interact with fellow passengers, with the possible exception of offering your seat to someone visibly more in need of it. You may, however, people-watch a bit mo…

My mother's wedding dress was the skin of a swan, still blindingly white after more than a decade nestled in tissue paper. I would bury my fingers in the feathers, but my mother would only stroke it distractedly before putting it away again. via Poc…

A child dies. Lost in the woods, he curls up at the base of an ancient oak, and never rises again. Or she falters in the snow, lying down for a moment by the side of the road, just a moment to rest her eyes. Or, starving and alone, he weeps for some…

I fasten my skates. The ritual soothes me, dozens of eyelets all pulled tight. Fasten my breathing mask, cool against the skin of my face. Hoist my daily pack over coat-padded shoulders. via Pocket