Kori Klinzing

@nvulnerabletide.bsky.social

1292 Followers 881 Following

(She/They/Fae) Bi/Demi, Polyam. Fat Nonbinary Femme. Future Librarian. Writer. Editor. Game Designer. Comics & SF&F Nerd. Tiefling Main.

White text on an ombre blue background, with a blue pencil to the right. The pencil is pointed downwards as if to write. The text reads: "Michael rushed forward in a blur, slamming into the SVALINN agent and sending them flying back. I heard something crack as they hit the wall, and their riot helmet had come clean off… revealing a sandy-haired white kid not much older than we were. Maybe in his twenties, if he really had a baby face, but more likely in his late teens. My blood ran cold. SVALINN was sending a bunch of kids at us? SVALINN had agents our age? I whipped around, needing to tell this to someone, when a SVALINN agent in blue and gray rushed at me with a club raised. I ducked, feeling the wind as the club just barely whipped over my head. They’d been planning on braining me. SVALINN hadn’t just sent in teenage agents, they’d sent in teenage agents with no restraint. Maybe they’d even been told to kill us. I wanted to throw up."
White text on an ombre blue background, with a blue pencil to the right, pointed downward as if to write. The text reads: “'Nah,' he said. 'My uncle’s been training me to control my powers since I was like, ten. And Mom before that, before, you know, the Vanguard threw her in the Empyrean Prison the first time. I can run as slow as any normie. Coach has been watching me for ages, and I know for a fact he doesn’t think anything’s up for me. He keeps threatening to kick me off the team because he thinks I’m slow as hell.' 'That right?' 'Oh yeah, I always make sure to come in third. No one would suspect a speedster of coming in third.'”
White text on an ombre blue background, with a blue pencil to the right, pointed downwards as if to write. The text reads: “'It’s not a phase, Dad!' I shouted at him. There were tears in my eyes now, and I was sure my mascara and foundation were running something fierce. Mom always used to do this. Critique my outfits without a word, or sometimes with more than was warranted, asking me what the world would think of her daughter tearing through the world in chains and ripped fishnets. I knew now that she was worried about conforming, wanting to look Suburban Normal on the surface to hide her own misdeeds—there was no way Esotera would look Like That if Mother actually disliked my style. And she’d never actually stopped me, had she? And she’d stood up for me when the school tried to have me dress coded. It was like she was doing it merely for appearances."
White text on an ombre blue background, with a blue pencil on the right, pointed down as if to write. The text reads: "'Almost… there…' Quinn muttered under their breath as they pulled themselves up the cliff face. They could have used their powers to make stairs. Or hell to float to the top of the fucking cliff, but nooooo. They wanted a workout. When we were already running late. I did not. I wanted to save my strength. So instead of rock climbing up a nearly sheer cliff, I had done the smart thing and teleported myself up here. So I could look down at them with disdain as they overexerted themselves. Not that it was a bad view."
White text on an ombre blue background with a blue pencil to the right of the page, pointed downward as if to write. The text reads: “'Don’t worry about it,' Riley said with one of her extra-bright smiles. 'I always carry a first aid kit. Girl scouts kind of impressed that into me, always be prepared.' 'Isn’t that the boy scouts?' I asked. But I took the band aid. And after a second, the antiseptic wipe. The last thing I needed was this getting infected. 'Well, sure. But the girl scouts don’t just go around selling cookies, you know. They teach you all the same stuff the boys learn. Like, I know how to pitch a tent and light a fire and sew a wound closed. We just also kept the neighborhood in Thin Mints.'"
White text on an ombre blue background, with a pencil to the right pointed downwards as if to write. The text reads: "And here this asshole was running at me with a fucking haymaker locked in. I dropped. Like I was taught when I was seven, I fell backwards, arms out, keeping my head off the ground. The mook was so fucking confused he ran past me, twirling around to see me already getting up. 'I’m not here to fight you, dick!' I shouted, over the sound of concrete breaking suddenly and violently and all over the place as Quinn threw it at the other mooks. 'They are! Go attack them!'”
White text on an ombre blue background. To the right, a blue pencil points downward as if to write. The text reads: "I was a poor substitute for my mother and we all knew it. She would have had the perfect spell, the sacrifice already stored away to unleash as much power as was warranted. She was the evil wizard. Top of her game, feared and respected across the world. I was just her daughter, who she hadn’t even cared enough to teach. Well fuck that."
White text on a blue ombre background. To the right is a blue pencil pointed down as if to write. The text reads: "Mother touched the dagger, her fingers lingering on the pommel, her thumb caressing the opalescent gem in the center. She had a look of such longing on her face, such wistfulness. It hurt, knowing she cared more about this dumb weapon she’d kept in a rock than she cared about her only child. 'Keep it safe,' she whispered. Her voice was torn and ragged, as if she was about to start crying. An act to keep me suckered in. 'Keep it safe, my little blackbird, and it will keep you safe.'"
White text on a mauve background. There are suggestions of trees and buildings at sunset, all done in various shades of pink and purple. The text reads: "The hothouse was humid, like I’d just stepped into a rainforest. Sweat immediately broke out along my hairline. If my makeup melted, I was going to do something unspeakable to Fe. I could give her this though, it was beautiful in here. Orchids and other flowers I didn’t know by name or sight bloomed in a riot of colors, their big heads nodding along listlessly with the breeze from the giant fan near the door. The beginnings of trees in pots spread their big leaves to catch the intense light, ivy coiled up the metal struts between the glass rather than keeping sedately to their lattices. And the smell. Good dirt and growing things and heady florals, all to the nth degree. I felt as drunk on it as a honeybee."
White text on an ombre blue background, with a blue pencil to the right. The pencil is pointed down, as if to write. The text reads: "The crowd roared with approval as the two squared off. Quinn shifted their stance low, though they were too high from the actual ground for my comfort. It wasn’t like they were Antaeus. They didn’t need their feet in the dirt to succeed, but it always made me feel better when they were. Beside me, Gauntlet nudged Bantam, and produced a sleek black pouch appeared in their hand from nowhere. 'Fifty bucks says the new kid won’t survive fifteen seconds.' Bantam grinned viciously. 'I dunno, kid’s got spirit. I’ll give ‘em a quarter of the match, easy.'"
White text on an ombre blue background, with a pencil to the right, pointed down as if to write. The text reads: "The underground stadium roared as a woman in a close-fitting white dress sauntered into the ring. She smirked at me through the netting, then turned on one of her stiletto heels to face the crowd. 'Welcome, one and all, to the Supreme Mask Fighting Championships! As always, I am your Arbiter, Miséricorde, and I am here to ensure there is No Mercy!' The arena erupted to echo her last two words, 'No Mercy.' It resonated in my chest and brought tears to the corners of my eyes."
White text on an ombre blue background. To the right is a blue pencil pointed down as if to write. The text reads: "I found Dominique exactly where Celeste said she would be, which was kind of creepy if you thought about it. There they were, in all their leather glory, making out with a leggy blonde on the bleachers beside the football field. I cleared my throat. They didn’t stop. I rolled my eyes and sat my ass down beside them, clearing my throat again. The benches were hot from the sun, and they threatened to burn my ass if I stayed too long. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take that long. After a moment, Dom came up for air. She put her forehead to the blonde’s, murmuring something of an apology, then glared at me. 'What.'"
White text on an ombre blue background, toward the right, a blue pencil pointed down as if to write. The text reads: "The moon was round and full, golden afamiliar. A storybook moon, to stand in for things like loneliness and hope. It gave me this sense of stillness. Of quietude. Like even with all the chaos happening around us, peace was still possible. At least in moments like these. 'Do you think the Teen Transcendents really have a base on the moon,' Fe said from behind me, utterly shattering my peace and quiet."
White text on a faded, greenish background. A brownish semi-circle nudges out of the bottom. In the background are pinpricks of white, suggesting stars, and the streak of an asteroid or meteor. The text reads: “'Good morning, Father,' I said, after bowing the appropriate degree. I hoped. I sat at the plush chair that had been pulled out for me, and smoothed out my skirts. 'Sirona,' he said. His surprise had faded to something more… cautious. So even now he was still afraid of his eldest daughter. I suppose that was to be expected. It was my doing after all. 'To what do I owe your visit this morning?' 'Can a daughter not simply visit her father?' I asked archly. 'I wished to see if you were feeling better. But if I am causing you distress then—'”
White text on a blue ombre background. To the right is a blue pencil pointed downwards as if to write. The text reads: "The knock at the door was sharp and insistent. Dad wasn’t home. I shouldn’t answer. They couldn’t do anything to me if Dad wasn’t home, right? I peered out the front window just to be sure, and saw the black sedan. I knew what that sedan meant. I still had nightmares about being shoved in one of those and dragged off again. Another knock. Louder this time."
White text on an ombre blue background. To the right is a pencil, pointed downwards as if to write. The text reads: "'Close the door,' Madame Lake snapped. 'You’re letting in a draft.' I complied. I stomped on the rug near the door, getting the snow off my boots before removing them and placing them neatly by hers. No shoes in the house. Just like Mom. 'I’m knitting a scarf,' she said as I came to sit by her on the faded chintz divan. 'In case you were curious. One with a little warmth spell inside.' She finished off her row, then set the mass of fabric on top of her yarn basket.'"
White text on an ombre blue background. To the right is a blue pencil, pointed down as if to write. The text reads: "I groaned. 'I hate tournament arcs. They’re so boring. And power scaling is stupid. We don’t need the theorize which hero can beat who. They’re all on the same side!' 'But what if someone gets brainwashed or mind controlled into attacking their friends,' Michael interjected. Too bad his eyesight was perfect. He could use some thick glasses to shove up the bridge of his nose like the fucking nerd he was. 'Power scaling—and practicing against other heroes—is essential. How else are you going to know if something is too big of a threat for you?' 'If you can’t figure that out by looking, you deserve to get squashed.'”
White text on a blue ombre background. To the right, in the foreground, is a blue pencil pointed downwards as if to write. The text reads: "There were so many stories about this lake. Undiscovered islands, the sleeping creature under the waves. The islands that floated over the lake. Some said SVALINN had their prison on one, and the Constellations had their Orrary on one looking over the city. I stepped further in, knee height, then up to my thighs. My skirt was going to be soaked after this. My toes curled and dug into the sand. I pricked my finger with the dagger, and let the blood drip drip drip into the water."
White text on a blue ombre background, with a blue pencil to the right, pointing down as if to write. The text reads: “'Oh, I’ll show you some magic,' I growled. I grabbed at my dagger, no, I grabbed Ironsong, in my hand and held it to the back of my forearm. With one smooth motion, I cut just enough to let blood well to the surface. It stung, but I barely noticed. The blood, precious resource, burbled up, crimson and potent. The scent of it filled my nose and made my mouth water. I let it coat the blade, and then directed my will towards my mother’s apprentice and her baleful sneer. 'Show me then. Show me just how pathetic you really are— oof.'"
White text on an ombre blue background. Towards the right side, a blue pencil points down, as if to write. The text reads: “'The Sensational Shimmer my ass.' I rolled my eyes. 'Her fans are absolutely rabid. Do you remember when she had that concert in Moonglow Park, and they left it completely destroyed? And that flame war with Miracle Maya’s fans? I knew one girl at my old school who just stopped showing up after she made a post about Shimmer’s latest album not being as good as Maya’s. I think she had to leave the city.' 'But her music is so good!' Delphine said. 'It’s not her fault her fans are like that.' 'I don’t know,' Dom said, 'I’m kind of with twinkletoes on this. It’s not like she does anything to curtail them. She’s never told them off, not even once.'"
White text on a blue background. A tree juts out from the bottom. The text reads: "Delphine knelt by the tree’s roots, her knees in the dirt. She reached up to where Fletchette's arrow had pierced into the bark, hand trembling a little. The arrowhead had sunk completely into the wood, leaving only the shaft visible. She sighed. 'This could cause an infection,' she said, as if trying to explain why she looked so forlorn. 'And this tree has been here for centuries. If it died…' If it died it would go right back into the circle of life, its wood and leaves decomposing and becoming food for other plantlife to grow, I didn’t say out loud, because I had some level of tact. I know. Shocking."
White text on a blue ombre background. A blue pencil points down as if to write on the right side of the frame. The text reads: "In the square, Kitsune was battling Reynard: the masked gentleman in something approximating a suit one could move in ably dodging the blue flames the white-clad, fox-tailed heroine threw at him. After the last one scorched the stone by his feet, he took off his top hat with its fuzzy red fox ears, revealing auburn hair. He bowed deeply. 'As much as I would love to continue our dance, mon petit chou, I have another appointment. Au revoir!' 'You are not getting away this time you piece of—' But Reynard was already gathering shadows around his feet, and when Kitsune summoned another lick of flame, it hit nothing."
White text on an ombre blue background. A blue pencil points down on the right side of the page, as if to write. The text reads: "She held a little crystalline pyramid in her hands. It glistened, opaline. She held it up to the light, letting it prism the light into rainbows across the frosted glass floor, letting it swirl lazily in the air. It made the air feel hot and close, and made head swim to look at, and I closed my eyes to get away from it. 'You’re safe here, my young friends. My seneschal tells me you appeared in the forest, that you stepped from a realm outside. You were fleeing from something, yes? No one slips into this close to the dreaming realms by accident unless you are running from something, hm?'"
White text on a navy blue background. Fireworks in teal and black spark in the background. Text reads: '"And now for the finale!' Z shouted. She winked at the crowd, flourishing her gloved hands. 'Hold onto your butts, everyone!' And at a gesture, all the doves she’d summoned from inside her hat rose into the air. Like they were the fucking blue angels, they streaked upwards in a curve, out over the audience. As they reached a zenith, she clapped her hands. They exploded into fireworks of all colors. And fireworks kept exploding: traditional pinwheels and waves, and at the end, a sketch of Z’s face that winked once more at the crowd."
White text on an ombre blue background. To the right of the picture is a blue pencil pointed downward, as if to write. The text reads: “'You looooost,' I sang out, revealing my hand with a flourish. Quinn laughed, revealing their own hand. 'Alright, alright, you got me.' Behind them, Dom smirked at me. 'Good show,' they said, before finishing off their beer. They had seen my little gambit, then. And they weren’t going to say a thing. Good, they owed me this. 'So what penalty am I paying?'"
White text on an ombre blue background, with a pencil on the right side. The pencil points downward, as if to write. The text reads: “'Then we call it a draw," they said, with that charming, lopsided smile. They offered their hand to shake. 'Tell you what, we’ll exchange prizes. You give me the information I want, and I give you the money I owe. I promise you I’m good for it.' It had no effect on the gang leader. He stood, jaw set. 'Oh, that’s not how it works down here, little girl. You cheat, you pay with more than just money.' 'Did I cheat?' Dom asked. The picture of innocence. 'I think you’ll find that there’s nothing up my sleeve—'
White text on an ombre blue background, with a blue pencil on the right. The pencil is pointed downward, as if to wrote. The text reads: "Before I could react, a warm weight dropped on my shoulders, smelling of leather and ceder, and their hand was around mine. They pulled me toward the intersection, where the lights were working. 'Come on,' they said. "I’m taking you home.' Their arms were bare. I looked down. Thick leather, with pins on the lapel. Their jacket. They’d given me their jacket."
White text on an ombre blue background. On the right side a blue pencil points downward, as if to write. The text reads: "It was at that lull, when my sobs had mostly subsided, that V finally spoke again. 'This isn’t a joke?” they asked. Their voice seemed to come from so far away. “Your mother is really Esotera.' 'Why would I lie about something like that?' 'I’m sorry I—this is just a lot to take in.' You’re telling me, I snarked in my head, only just stopping myself from saying it aloud. 'Yeah.'”
White text on a blue ombre background. To the right is a blue pencil poi ted down as if to write. The text reads: "She shone like the sun through water, her skin taking on that shimmering, dappled look: points and threads and brilliancy. The glow obscured her features, wiping away the arch of her brow, the slope of her nose. Her dark hair streamed behind her as if in a tempestuous wind as she floated upwards, night to contrast with day. Her eyes glowed molten, the only features left in the mask of her face."
White text on an ombre blue background, with a blue pencil in the right side pointing downwards, as if to write. The text reads: "She lounged with her arms on the back of the couch, knees spread so wide we needed to come up with a variation of manspreading just for her. Themspreading? I’d workshop it. I rolled my eyes and took the other couch. The fact that Quinn was on that couch had nothing to do with the decision."
White text on an ombre blue background. To the right is a blue pencil pointed downwards, as if to write. The text reads: “'And what made it 'fine'?' Jasper rolled his eyes, performing for the group his distaste and displeasure at being here. I thought it was a bit much. I didn’t think any of us wanted to be here. Except maybe Miss Goodie Two-Shoes in her marigold cardigan, hands folded neatly on her knee. She looked like she wanted to be here. And the girl in the Galatea shirt seemed way too happy, just, like, in general."
White text on an ombre blue background. A blue pencil on the right points down, as if to write. The text reads: "The door slammed behind the guy, as final as a coffin lid. His scream lingered. 'With that dealt with…' the man in the suit said, 'shall we resume our little game?' 'Sure,' Dom said, all smiles and confidence. I did not feel either of those. My hands were starting to tremble, and I could feel the sweat along my spine. She picked up the cards."
White text on an ombre blue background. A blue pencil on the right of the page points down, ready to write. The text reads: "I stood on the train platform, hands in my skirt pockets. The train was late. It was bitter cold. The kind of night where the wind swept right through you, cutting through my plastic-leather coat like it wasn’t there, leaving ice crystals along my bones. I tilted my head back, exhaling steam. 'You probably shouldn’t be out this late,' a voice rumbled behind me. The kind of bass you expect to make your windows shudder as it passes. I whirled around, hand on the dagger in my pocket, only releasing it when I saw who was behind me. 'Elias what the hell are you doing here. You don’t need to take the train.'”
A screenshot from an internet article entitled "Can We Save Literary Writing?" with a tag line of "If we're ever going to make any change in the market we've got to organize."
White text on a blue ombre background. On the right side of the page is a blue pencil, pointing downwards as if to write. The text reads: "I knew this woman didn’t belong in this place as soon as I glanced at her. She was human, without an animal or herbatious part to give her some otherworldliness. Nor was any part of her made of glass. "The staff in her hand was three different woods, and the knowledge seemed to bloom in my head as if it had always been there, but I didn’t remember learning it. It was oak and ash and thorn. Like the songs said. Oak for strength, ash for protection and connection, hawthorn for new beginnings. And all connected to the fae, so the stories said. Hawthorns were lonely fairy trees, oaks had druidic connections, ash was otherworldly, their roots sinking deep into the holy wells and into other worlds."
White text on a blue ombre background. On the right side, a pencil points downward, as if to write. The text reads: “'Hashtag-in-my-villain-era,' Delphine said, her hands miming claws. Her legs kicked gaily at the air. Dom snorted a laugh. 'Oh yeah,' they sneered. 'So villainous. So evil. Aeon City trembles before you.' Delphine stuck her tongue out at them. 'They should be! I’m terrifying.' 'Absolutely,' Dom agreed."
White text on a blue background. On the righthand side, a blue pencil points down, as if to write. The text reads: "'We’re here to support you, Melanie,' Doctor Fukahara said gently. Her body language was studiously open, her dark eyes pleading. 'Every one of us. That’s why we’re here. That’s what this group is about.' Was it? If it was about support, why did SVALINN force me into it? Oh, sure they’d played it up for dad like “she’ll need help from peers in her situation during this difficult time,” but they’d signed me up before even asking him. I didn’t know what they were yet, but if I didn’t attend, there’d be consequences. I could tell from the way that Agent had looked at me."
White text on an ombre blue background. On the right side, a blue pencil points downward, as if poised to write. The text reads: “'Can we just get this project done, please?” Cecelia asked flatly. 'Chemistry isn’t exactly my best subject here.' “'What, little Miss Perfect has a class she’s not perfectly acing?' I snarked. The liquid frothed and foamed in front of me, and I turned the heat down on the Bunsen burner just a tick. We’d done all of this—or at least something similar— at my school last year, but they were making me take a science class, and I really, really didn’t want to do physics. Physics made my head swim. “'What is your deal?' she asked."
White text written on a blue ombre background. On the right side a blue pencil points downwards, as if writing The text reads: “'You guys don’t do festivals?' I asked, looking from Quinn to Dom and back. Dom snorted. 'You’re in public school now, twinkletoes. We can’t afford it.' I frowned. 'We always did like, a festival over the quarterly parent-teacher conferences. It was really just to keep us and any siblings busy while the teachers told your parents literally everything you did over the quarter to get you in trouble.' Dom’s expression went from incredulous and kind of outraged to kind of sympathetic. She patted my arm. 'Then it’s probably a good thing we don’t have those.'"
White text on a green-gray background. Above the text are white dots suggesting stars, and a streak denoting a comet. The text reads: "You ever get that sinking feeling you’re the least competent person in the room? Watching literally everyone in the room aside from me power up snuffed out any pride I had gained from learning how to kindle fire in my hand, or speak in someone’s ear from across the room."
White text on a navy blue background with fireworks in black and green. The text reads: "He charged, the sword at the ready. The Beast lunged to meet him. Before they could clash, another set of arrows arced through the air—seemingly from nowhere—hitting the creature in the eye and neck. The Beast choked on a howl, nails skittering on the cobblestones. Completely open for Evander’s blade. Normally, Evander would have made short work of such a creature, even something as huge as this. But normally, he wielded enchanted steel. This one dealt only a glancing blow."
White text on a blue ombre background. On the right is a blue pencil pointed downward as if to write The text reads: “'Then let me finish,” Delphine said. But she was definitely smirking. 'Five of Swords. You’re in the midst of a conflict, that feels all consuming, but you can’t lose track of the small things even while you’re fighting. The battle isn’t all there is. Remember that you aren’t alone. You have allies even when you feel everything is against you. Don’t push them away.' “'Is this actually the cards are you just trying to read me,' I griped. "'It could be both.' "'Just finish up so I can wallow in self-pity already.'”
White text on an ombre blue background. A pencil on the right side points down, casting a long shadow. The text reads: "My hands had always been kind of dumb. The dexterousness other people had, to tie knots, to sew, to make and build things was completely absent in my fingers. I could barely shuffle cards without sending the deck flying all over the place. The writing was cribbed and cramped, barely legible. I managed the violin through hours and hours of practice and memorization. It had become the one exception to the rule, the one thing I could do competently well. "So, trying to braid my hair or do anything besides put it in tails was completely out of the question. "I set the hair clip on the vanity again and ran a hand through my hair. My roots were starting to show. Chestnut peeking out against my scalp."
White text on an ombre blue background. On the right, a pencil points straight down, as if to write. The text reads: “'Yeah, I get that. I’m worried about my Grangran.' Their eyes crinkled with a smile. 'Though honestly, I should be more worried about those jackbooted thugs if they think they can lay a hand on her. She’d have their guts for compost bags.' "Even with that gory little image, warmth bloomed in my chest to see them smile. 'I bet she would. She seemed like she could take care of herself.' 'Yeah. She’ll have an entire taskforce broken and sobbing without breaking a nail.'"
White text on a dark blue background with stylized fireworks. The text reads: It occurred to me that if the two of them wanted to disappear me, this would be an excellent way to do it. The alley was gloomy and trash ridden. I pressed a perfumed handkerchief to my face to ward off the smell, but it was pervasive. There was no inch safe from garbage juice or animal droppings. Brennas forged ahead, however, pressing his hand to one of the moss-slick stones at the end… and low and behold, a secret door. Of course. He looked over his shoulder at me at Evander, who was standing behind me. Presumably to guard my back and not stab it. “Into the breach, dear friends.” And into the darkness he went.
White text on an ombre blue background, with a pencil on the right side, pointed down as if to write. The text reads: “'Alright. Lay on Macduff.' 'Oh, Shakespeare, hm?' She stood, heading for the door. 'We’re reading Macbeth in English.' She guided me out of her office, out of the building entirely, and into a cab. I let her. Special speakers at school had warned us about going to a second location with someone, but they probably weren’t talking about my court mandated therapist."
White text on a blue ombre background. A pencil on the right side points downward as if to write. The text reads: "Delphine smirked, tossed her braids over her shoulder and flipped the first card. 'Oooh. This card represents you.' "The card was a stylized woman with a moon crown: a full moon at the center of her brow, and crescent moons on her brow. On her lap she cradled a closed scroll. “'The High Priestess,' she said, raising an eyebrow. 'You’re in your own way right now, focused on matters that aren’t serving you. You have more important matters—matters vital to your well being to focus on. And until you attune yourself and hone your spirit, and give your focus to these matters, you won’t find the path to freedom.' "I narrowed my eyes. Ouch. Would it have killed her to have just drawn the Lovers for me or something?"
White text on a green background with a comet and stars. The text reads: "I waited until the footsteps of the guards had faded before going to the wardrobe I had directed Alexander to. And there, among the dresses, he had collapsed. His gaze fell on me but couldn’t focus. Shit, that was right. He’d been bleeding. "'What happened to you?'"
White text on an ombre blue background. On the righthand side is a pencil pointed downward as if to write. The text reads: “'Shit shit shit shit shit!' Dom screamed, barely audible over the wind whipping past us. My hair was going to be so tangled after this. "Another bolt whizzed by us, Dom just barely darting the motorcycle out of its path. She pulled us off the main street, steering us into a side street nearly devoid of cars. The cars both peeled off after us, electric bolts occasionally fired in our direction. Dom narrowly avoided each one. “'Do something about them!' they shouted at me, after a particularly harrowing barrage."
White words on an ombre blue background. On the right, a blue pencil points down as if preparing to write. The text reads: "They came out of nowhere. SVALINN toughs, like they were some kind of elite SWAT team, in body gear and riot helmets. They repelled from the ceiling, they kicked down doors and broke through windows. They seemed to melt out of the very shadows, until we were entirely surrounded. "At my left, Celeste took in a deep breath, then shoved her shoulders back. Her powers lit her up from within, her eyes becoming solid lanterns of golden light. Delphine, on my other side, was reaching for the bag of seeds at her waist. I found my dagger’s hilt with my hand, its bronze warm under my palm."
White test on an ombre blue background. On the right side a blue pencil points down as if to write. The text reads: “'Oh, all that formal stuff can be done in a moment. There are more important things.” She stood and closed the distance between us in quick steps, grabbing ahold of Celeste’s hands. “Oh, you must have come ever such a long way. Are you tired? Thirsty? Oh, we have a lovely beverage here, made from the nectar of the prismroses…' Celeste forced a smile. 'Oh, well. I’m sure that would be lovely.'"
Novel excerpt, white text on a blue background with a stylized pencil. Reads: “'You ready?' I peered at Quinn. They were in their makeshift outfit again. They’d added knee and elbow pads, black against the goldenrod of their spandex, and they’d done away with the cape. Thick goggles covered their face, and they had… were those goalie gloves on their hands? 'Are you?' They grinned. 'I was born ready.' I rolled my eyes. 'Okay, nerd. Let’s go before your spandex rips again.'"
White text on a background in shades of blue, which has a pencil pointing down on the right side, as if to write. Reads "I stared at her, completely at a loss. 'What do you mean you told me before.' She shifted, and I realized that my mother was uncomfortable. Maybe even ashamed. I don’t think I’d ever seen her look anything less than perfectly poised. I must have, right? But the only image I had of her in my head was with her head raised high, mouth tight, eyes impassive. This level of emotion was unknown to me. “When you were thirteen. Do you remember the summer when you were sick?” Not really. “Vaguely. I mean, I remember I don’t remember a lot of it.” “The doctors said you had a stroke. And I suppose it wasn’t inaccurate. But it wasn’t random. It was caused by magic.”'
A cup of Stracciatella Gelato (vanilla with chocolate bits) on a rock next to a lake.
A meme of Aquaman summoning sharks, while green lantern and batman look on. Text reads "I'm Useless, They said. I have stupid powers, they said."
Pokemon team builder, shows Umbreon, Patterned, Gothitelle, Honedge, Corvinight and Galarian Rapidash
A stack of books! Including, from the top down: White Cat, Black Dog by Kelly Link; Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik; Nocturne by Alyssa Wees; Kraken by Six-Gun Snow White; The Last Contract of Isako by Fonda Lee