savdoesbooks

@savdoesbooks.bsky.social

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Mother, Lover, Dreamer. BA-Haver, Grad Student, Reformed Dropkick. Gritty spec-fic writer, it's cathartic. Protect literature. Write ban-worthy books. This page is LGBTQIA2S+ friendly.

Screenshot from user's manuscript reads:

There’s a stage at the far corner of the square at near eye height, surrounded by a cage of intricately knitted steel. Inside are two creatures, ones I’d thought to be long extinct.
One’s a tiger. At least I’m presuming it’s a tiger, judging only by the orange coat striped with black that I recognise from an old picture book. The other is a big cat of a slightly smaller type, with a fine beige coat that I’m not sure I’ve seen before. They’re secured by short, thick chains on opposing sides of the cage. Both animals are growling fiercely.
“City of Cobalt! Are you ready,” a voice shocks me as it echoes from somewhere overhead, “for the first event of this year’s demonstration!” At this, the surrounding crowd erupts in a howl, pushing in on us even tighter as they fight one another for the best view, in a mess of glitter and smoke.
“Tejas?” I grip his hand tightly because seeing such beautiful creatures trapped like this, up close, is enough to fill me with dread. “I thought this was banned.”
“Something tells me this ain’t a zoo, Lark,” Tejas mutters. They disallowed any sort of zoo after the melting, but he's right. Because from the way the animals are bowing, their muscles rippling in anticipation under their fine coats beneath the down lights of the stage, I can tell that they’re readying themselves.
“That’s… barbaric.”
Tejas simply holds a finger to his lips. He’s right. I shout at least pretend I know what’s happening, and look like I want to be here as much as everybody else. Then, the crowd is counting in an echo reverberating around the square.
“Three, two, one!”

Blue and green collage barely visible behind white text box reads:

Seventeen-year-old Lark believes she understands everything about the forbidden Wilds beyond Cobalt's city borders. But when she rescues a wounded stranger—who heals too fast and remembers only the name branded into his skin, Nero—his arrival triggers an attack that ends in her uncle Roland's disappearance.

Lark's search for him means teaming up with his rebel allies she's known nothing about—and takes her beyond the concrete barrier of the inner city, which reveals more than the glittering lives of the wealthy. Here, the Power Edict—the law that keeps her sector in darkness—doesn't apply. And the exiled 'androids' roaming the wilderness aren't mechanical relics of the past at all, but bio-engineered humans, created and released as tools of control.

I slink through the door as if I belong, because I don’t feel new here; not like I had under false firelight and chanting. No, here in this nightdress and stepping into the rain, I’m a ghost. As my skin soaks to the bone, I realise I’ve become something well-loved and worn, in this place. A haunting that belongs.
I’m looking for a solitary space, but I’m not alone. The smell of a cigarette hanging in the fog tells me as much, so I squint. At the far end of the terrace; the vines form a canopy. Beneath it, the shrill scrape of metal leads to a figure hunched over a flickering flame with his elbows on his knees. The intermittent glow lights Janus’s face, and I hesitate. I’m not sure what to make of him after today. Not until I speak to Mars. But that’s been impossible, and I do like closure. If I can’t trust him now, I’d rather find out.
I’m not sure it’s deliberate, but my light steps start to smack against the flagstone. Janus startles and disappears.
“It’s just me,” I say to nobody. “Pretty sure it’s past bedtime.”
Janus appears on the bench again. This time, he glares at me through the dark, face lit only by the cigarette hanging from the corner of his crooked smile. “Couldn’t sleep either?” He says.
I chew on my cheek, and shake my head. My arms dimple from the cold.
“Come on, then,” Janus gestures for me to sit. Instead, I reach out for the cigarette. He doesn’t question it. “Didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t.”
“Yeah, me neither,” Janus pauses, eyebrow quirking when I don’t return it. “I’m sorry about today, if you let me explain—”
“I was there,” I huff. “You can’t explain it away. I saw it, and I saw what you let them do to Mars and—”
“And?”
“I can’t trust you,” I spit the words like they’re poison. “Not like I thought.”
Janus runs his hands through his hair with a groan, head resting in his hands, palms rubbing at his eyes. The clouds have cleared a little now, and when he looks at me, I’m sure he’s been crying.
“You can trust me,” he says.

Screenshot from user's manuscript. Black text on white background reads: “Androids,” the nurse responds. Both exactly what I feared, and what I already know from the state of him. I want to move. To help. My hands don’t listen. Through the mayhem, and the blood, and the mess of bodies, someone is on the floor beside Roland. Nobody is working on them, which only tells me one thing. It’s impossible to tell who it might be, because even though someone has tried to place a sheet over them, it’s shifted. Their face has crushed into their skull so badly that they’re little more than a mess of brain matter and fragmented bone.
One, two, three, four, five, six. Eleven people went out this morning. Six people remain. I count again. The number doesn’t change, but I’m starting to figure out who’s missing; so I try to focus on anything else. I look at the ceiling. But blood-spatter freckles its textured surface.

White background with black text. Screenshot from user's manuscript. Text reads: My body shudders involuntarily at the mention of Byron's name. "You think they suspect someone else?" I ask—but what I really mean is that I hope it’s not me.
"After what we saw in that memory?” Mars says. “Surely someone out there had to have noticed him talking to…”
“Whatever it was?” Mars says. From the front of the room, a loud cackle room draws our attention. Cembra sits in the first row, and she isn’t hiding the fact she’s looking right at us as she laughs, which Mars apparently takes personally. He plucks a pen from the table and flicks it towards them. But Cembra lifts a hand, and it stops in midair to drop, bouncing off the head of a boy from Validus I don’t recognise. He spins around, eyes narrowing.
"That you, Bertrand?" the boy hisses at Mars.
“Wasn’t me, mate. Take it up with her,” Mars points to Cembra and grins, all teeth. Then, he turns to address her. “Thought you'd catch it with your reflexes. Isn't that your thing?"
Cembra’s mouth drops open, stunned. Vittoria whips her head around, opening her mouth to shout. Elm’s already interrupting.
"Students, please," the professor says. “Now, if we’re ready to begin—"
“Respectfully, ma’am,” Cembra's voice is sweet like honey, but cuts through the classroom like a knife as she stands. Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, she turns around to address us. "I think I speak for everyone when I say we want answers.”
The room responds with affirming cheers.
“W-well,” Elm stutters, pushing her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. “Look, I understand why you might be concerned.”
“You tell us the Asterism is all knowing,” says Cembra, continuing as if Elm hadn’t said a word, “yet nobody saw this coming? That’s what I find hard to believe.”

A screenshot from user's manuscript. Black text on white background reads: I can’t imagine how this is going to work. Kirra said we will have three seconds, but that doesn’t seem like enough time to fight our way through the horde of people here, hoping for a miracle.
“Get ready to stick the landing,” Tejas says quietly from behind me, “it’ll be any second now.”
We shuffle forward, and I fight the urge to tug my clothing over my mouth and nose to ward off the lingering scent of faeces and rotting flesh, but I act like it doesn’t bother me. Instead, I stand tall, straightening my shoulders.
“You ready?” Nero whispers. I hadn’t realised he was walking beside me because of the crowd here, but he’s taken the place between me and the pawing hands of the desperate sewer-people. Someone grabs at my face with a wet hand. Reflexively, he shoves their arm away.
“Thanks,” I say. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

A multilayered collage showcasing a green and blue collection of images representative of a dystopian landscape. Top Right: A couple kissing in front of a red glow. Top Middle: Plans from the game TLOU. Top Right: A protest. Bottom Left: Still from the game TLOU with Ellie, the young, female, brown haired protagonist, overlooking a city. Bottom Left: A bush landscape with a sign hammered into a tree. It reads 'KEEP OUT'. Text Displayed on page in red writing reads:
FOREIGN BODIES, complete at 91k
SCI-FI thriller
DYSTOPIAN
AUSTRALIAN SETTING
YA CROSSOVER

Screenshot from users manuscript. Black text on white backgrounf reads: Row upon row of tall buildings stretch deep into the sky, extending for what seems like years before us, much further in distance than I’d ever dare to venture into the Wilds. They glint the slightest hint of the dim moonlight off their chrome surfaces, but the glow of fluorescent yellow and pink ricocheting off the glass windows against one another shines even brighter. Tall lampposts, woven through the uniform streets like a thread formed of steel and glitter, brightly glare down on us from a star littered sky. It is a hypnotic sea of colour, and the lights don’t flicker here. Not like the light we sometimes get at home.

Black text on a white background from the user's manuscript. Reads:

“So, how are you?” he asks.
“How do you think?”
“Well, I’d say not good. Judging by the…” Nero pauses, then gestures to the cluttered glassware before me. “But it’s hard to tell exactly how not good it all went.”
“Wrong. It was fine.”
“It’s not my first day on Earth,” he responds, reaching forwards to rattle the empty bottle on the table, “at least, I don’t think it is.”
“I suppose you could say it’s your second.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. When I yawn, I’m sure I see the corners of his mouth twitch into the semblance of a smile. “I’ll keep the fire going. Sleep well, Lark.”
I don’t respond, and I don’t sleep well, if I manage to at all. Every time I manage it, I’m disturbed by the sensation of dropping twenty feet into a nightmare. Only it’s not the terrors I’m used to. Instead, each time, I’m drowned by strange, wet creatures.

Screenshot from user's manuscript. Black times new roman text on white background. It reads: “Do you think you’re human still?”
“Yes,” he says, without hesitation.
“I suppose he is, too. But it was different.” I look down to rub a thumb absently over the palm of my hand, scraping a fingernail at the dried blood. “Do you ever feel yourself… Fighting? To stay attached?”
“Attached?” Nero echoes.
“To your feelings,” I say. “To the human side.”
“No,” he says. “Not once. It’s the only part of me I know I have.”
“Do you miss it? Who you were?” After this, I pause. Nero leans against the wall beside me.
“I don’t think I’m like Roland,” he mutters. “Not in that way, at least. I don’t have anything left like that to remember.”
“Then what could you possibly have to compare it to?” I’m sure my voice is barely audible.
“What, being human? Everything in the world,” he admits. I’m sure his hand twitches as if to reach for mine, but he pulls it back. Instead, he looks at me with an intensity that makes me feel as if he’s trying to burn his truth into my skin. “The sky. The sun. The fire in my stomach. That’s how I know it’s all real.”
“What do you know about the world?” I scoff.
“Like I tried to tell you, it’s not my first day on Earth,” he says.
“I want to find my dad,” I whisper. My voice sounds like my own, ten years ago.
“Then that’s what we need to do.”
I drop my gaze to the floor. There it is, again. The retrograde sort of grief I’d tried to bury.
The word 'retrograde' is highlighted in yellow.

Screenshot from user's manuscript. It reads in black font on white background: '“Can I see it? The scar?” I ask.
When he nods, I take a few tentative steps forward to get a closer look, because it’s not just his neck. The even lines decorate the entirety of his back, as if somebody has gutted him like a pig for market and sewn him together again. My mind flashes back to my week of work in the butcher’s shop, and I reach out tentatively with a finger, expecting to find a raised surface. Instead, I’m surprised by the absence of a scar. There’s no divot in the skin, not a crease or wrinkle. It’s a seamless, clean line, so precisely stitched you couldn’t dream of it out here. My body goes numb as I pull my finger up the line on his spine. It meets the circle at the base of his skull. There, in tiny letters, is a word etched into his skin in a white, well-healed scar.'

Image of screenshot from the user's manuscript. Black text on white background reads "I even admire the way the sun glitters off the rows of buildings here. It’s the only thing that feels almost familiar, even if it doesn’t burn my skin like at home. Even the potted plants and the crawling vines planted evenly through the streets look artificial, too perfectly green amongst the grey.
They’re probably fake, I think, and I remind myself to check the next time we pass by one again. If it weren’t for the dome, it would have been so obvious what was waiting here for us. These buildings would have stood tall above the wall, ruining everything they were trying to hide. But I know they exist, because I am trapped here, imprisoned under their false sky.
“Monotonous, huh?” says Tejas. “Makes our twin houses look like the most fascinating things in the world.”
“You can say that again.” "

The word 'building' is highlighted in yellow block.

Cover image of 'Chain-Gang All-Stars,' written by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah. A stylised image of a red scythe or scythe-like weapon. with colourful, flame like shapes coming from the blade tip. The background is a mustard yellow colour. The title appears in black block letters lower middle of the page. A gold badge reads 'One of the New York Times 10 Best Books of the Year,' and a silver badge reads 'National Book Award Finalist'

Screenshot from users manuscript, the word 'shirt' is highlighted in neon yellow. Black text on white background reads, "Still, I can’t help but laugh when he tosses me a bottle of liquor, because Ada gives him a sideways glance that looks like it could split him in two. If there’s something I need right now, it’s bravery, but I also need to forget about the open sores sticking to the inside of my shirt. This will work for that plenty, so I give her a nod and swig from the bottle. She shakes her head."

Image of a screenshot of users manuscript. Black text on white page reads: “Go on,” Nero says. When I look up, he’s watching me cautiously.
“If humans could rewrite our bodies at will,” I turn my attention back to the page, “would we still be human? Or would we become something else entirely, drifting between borrowed selves?”
I realise, now, the pictures on the page are this same creature, after all. It really does as the words say. It is almost indistinguishable from those it desires to replicate.

Cropped image of the user's manuscript text in Times New Roman font on a white background. The word 'movement' is highlighted in yellow, indicating that the user searched for it in their document. The text reads: . It’s a learned movement, I suppose, just like mine through the rubble. Only here, their bodies ebb and flow in synchronicity with one another. From this high up, they’re like a busy school of iridescent fish in a running creek.

Funny image of Drag Queen Katya, a bald person wearing dark eye makeup with tear streaks, fading red lipstick, and a tan velour jacket with tripes at the wrists and collar, sits outdoors, smiling uncomfortably while holding a cigarette, a box of cigarettes and a phone.

Image of a wedding portrait photo. The background is a wall with brightly coloured grafitti tags, bubble letters in white with black and pink borders. The word is hidden by the central figures, man and woman on their wedding day. The man has dyed blonde hair and wears an ivory suit, black collared shirt, and golden bolo tie secured at the centre. The bolo tie is gold, in the shape of a horse-shoe, and has floral accents. The woman has pink hair with a blunt cut fringe, wears a mesh dress with diamontes, and red bracelets. She holds a floral bouquet of bright pink flowers and red roses, and they are showing off gold and emerald wedding rings on their ring fingers.

Book cover of 'Looking for Alaska,' written by John Green. A solid black background, with a thin trail of white smoke curling from a recently extinguished candle which appears at the bottom of the image. The words 'a novel' appear beside the smoke. The title, 'Looking for Alaska,' appears in white, lowercase type and is outlined by a red rectangle, centered at the bottom of the page. The author's name, 'John Green,' is printed beneath it in white text.

The seventy fifth anniversary cover of 1984 by George Orwell. The background is red with white stylised text reading "1984" at the top and "George Orwell" at the bottom. In the middle of the page is a large cartoon-style eye, as if cut out from pieces of paper and collaged, with a black pupil, grey iris, and a small red dot acting as a light reflection. It appears to replicate a camera.

"All Boys Aren’t Blue" by George M. Johnson book cover. The cover art features a painterly style and depicts a Black person with a serious expression, wearing a colourful flower crown made of roses and birds of paradise. The background features a gradient sky that is blue and shifts to pink. The title is in bold white letters on the left bottom corner with the subtitle “A Memoir-Manifesto” above the author's name in blue at the bottom right

Image of text reads: Foreign Bodies, complete at 91k
SPECULATIVE SCI-FI
DYSTOPIAN
AUSTRALIAN SETTING
YA CROSSOVER
querying

Book 1 of an outlined 3

They teach them the world has died. To leave is certain death.

But seventeen-year-old Lark knows this isn’t the case, despite what the Citizen Handbook tells her. After all, she’s spent her life under the Power Edict, dodging banished androids to scavenge in the bushland beyond the city borders. But when she rescues a mysterious boy from the Wilds, everything she thought she knew about survival crumbles.

Nero has no memory and impossible healing abilities, but his appearance brings destruction. Lark’s uncle disappears. There’s an attack on her sector. Then she discovers the truth about the hierarchy dividing her city.

Stepping into her uncle's footsteps, Lark learns of his fight against the conspiracy that threatens not only her family but every civilian living outside of Cobalt’s inner city.

But as she navigates her trauma, relationships, newfound allies, and a growing alcohol dependency in her search for answers, she faces the ultimate betrayal.

Because sometimes the enemy looks like your family.

a photo collage. top left shows a smoggy city skyline. middle left is a teary eye on a dirty face. Bottom left depicts a wildfire blazing across dry landscape. The centre is a science lab with glass tanks containing wet specimens and scattered bottles. bottom middle shows two silhouettes facing each other in a dimly lit space. Bottom right shows a group of people struggling through smoke and ash with shovels, fighting a fire. The background of the collage is a cityscape at night.

Musician Sabrina Carpenter, with her blonde hair styled in a bun, smiles at the camera while holding a microphone. She's wearing a pink satin dress and has a hand near her mouth . A soft orange background and a bouquet of flowers are visible behind her.

Illustrated book cover of "Antiracist Baby" by Ibram X. Kendi, illustrated by Ashley Lukashevsky. It features a smiling baby with pigtails and flower hair clips in a bright yellow carrier worn by a bearded adult. The baby has arms raised playfully. The title "Antiracist Baby" is prominently displayed in large, bold mint-green letters across the front.

Red book cover. Yellow writing top of page: Kurt Vonnegut. Centre page: "Poignant and hilarious, threaded with compassion and, behind everything, the cataract of a thundering moral statement." - The Boston Globe. Centre Page: crude, sketch-like drawing of a yellow skull, outlined in black. Bottom Page: SLAUGHTERHOUSE-FIVE A NOVEL.

text reads 'spending time with your dad' image of a baby and adult male

Cover of 'The Bluest Eye' by Toni Morrison. Purple book cover background. In the centre, a square picture of a young black woman in a bowler-hat, red cardigan and white printed skirt. The words read from top of cover to bottom of cover: Winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature, Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye, National Bestseller.

Cover of the graphic novel "Palestine" by Joe Sacco. The title is in bold font, yellow in cover, laid over a comic panel from the book which features a drawing of the busy streets of Palestine from the novel. There is a car in the centre, surrounded by buildings and busy refugees. In the bottom left corner, there is a yellow text box which reads: "Gripping... A political and aesthetic work of extraordinary originality' - From the new introduction by Edward Said. "The landmark work of comics journalism from the creator of Safe Area: Gorazde - Finally complete in one volume."

Cover of the novel "The Haunting of Hill House" by Shirley Jackson. The image shows the shadow of a woman as she looks into a lake; her silhouette is reflected on the surface.

Image shows the cover of the combined edition of the 'His Dark Materials' series by Philip Pullman. Black, with an overlay of a Polar Bear alongside a monkey, pine marten and cat in gold, surrounded by stars. There is a castle and hot air balloon in the background.

Book cover of 'The Maze Runner' by author James Dashner. Image is of tall, stone walls covered in vines and moss, which form a maze. The words 'The Maze Runner' in white font, followed by 'James Dashner' in orange font, are laid over this image.

An image of a white and brown cartoon hamster crying pink love hearts in place of tears, expressing adoration. He is surrounded by pink love hearts.

Book cover of Stephen King's 'Pet Sematary'. A cat hissing angrily appears in the foreground of the image, over the silhouette of gravestones against a blood-red sky. The image represents the elements of horror seen in the novel.