Urban fantasy where the fantasy is, in the author's words, 'commonplace enough to make the weather report'. I have to say, the warding precautions are so complex I honestly think the authorities have a point saying '...Actually just don't even try.' Though I also see the point that people will be desperate enough. So, probably there should be licensed practitioners or something.
(A reread as I perform browser-tab maintenance.) This is about grief and reminds me a lot about the earthquakes even though it's nothing to do with that.
Food blog + bird flu pandemic = all of the earthquake feels that got missed out by the previous story.
The utility of beauty: blowing soap bubbles as climate change-induced drought threatens a city.
This was sweetly sad (reminding me of the recent Dutch documentary about a care-bot prototype being alpha-tested) and then I reached the last line and the only thing that stopped me bawling my eyes out was that I was visiting family and I didn't feel like explaining.
An interactive epistolary novel set in a pre-revolutionary magical France. A must-read just for the form; but the story is satisfying, and there are all sorts of delightful tendrils of creepiness that linger in the mind afterwards.
Starts with the classic 'Creepy dude preying on women is fallen on by his intended prey' but then it continues and is creepy awesome.
I didn't at the start understand why the narrator's equating their lover with the aliens, but by the end: yes. Yes, and so poignantly.
Why do wildly different aliens so often subsist in such similar atmospheres to our own? That's not the point of this story, but it has an implicit answer to it anyway.
Cute and convincingly academic.
A sweetly absurd tale about cloning ballet dancers.
The Apple of Discord, alternate timestreams, and a city.
About the fridging of women, and a resistance to it, and does it make any difference?
On the fridging of children. And the forgetting of old goddesses. And temptation and the lies that support it.