Abigail Thorn on transition & loss, Ophelia (1851-2) by Sir John Everett Millais, L. A. H., draft of THE ONE AND ONLY UNIVERSE OF KAY RAINIER by yves., Tragic Accident by yves., All is Vanity (1892) by Charles Allan Gilbert, The Missing Person by Jennifer Finney Boylan, Symphony in White, No. 1 (1861-2) by James McNeill Whistler, We Only Come Out At Night (2014) by Stephen Mackey, Tragic Accident by yves., The Missing Person by Jennifer Finney Boylan.
TRAGIC ACCIDENT by yves.
flash fiction. slipstream. 650 words.
After I read the Abigail Thorn @realphilosophytube quote at the top of this post, I had the strangest dream. Everything I'd ever thought about transness, suicide, agency, family, and duty was in it, and, predictably, it was in fiction form. That dream is now out, in the form of the piece Tragic Accident. Women in the walls! Transition as suicide! Ambiguously historical setting! Tragic Accident has it all, in less than a thousand words.
Obviously, this piece is very close to my heart. It's one of my favorites I've written so far. I'm very happy to be able to share it (and another weird flash piece, The Scar) with a community of people whom I hope will very much enjoy it—first with $5+ Patreons, and now with everyone. Thank you so much for supporting strange transsexual writing.
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behind the scenes on Patreon
original two drafts on Patreon
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GIRLS LOVE CATS: a parallel post.
“Oh? Like what, Guy-Who-Hasn’t-Read-The-Books? Sorry, Max.” Yves glances down at him, then leaps, catlike, off the table again. They give a sharp yank as if on a lawnmower pull, and the bones fly back up their sleeves. — Forced Hand, yves.
Sources: Godsong the Ninth by Max Franciscovich, Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu, Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, KAY RAINIER Book Two by yves., Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, KB2, HtN, KAY RAINER Book One by yves., HtN, KB2. Plain text under cut.
Was inspired by Max’s @goose-books fanfiction crossover between his series Godsong and the Locked Tomb series (and the iconic cat moment in Carmilla, and the realization that surely the Locked Tomb series itself must have employed the same metaphor, and the knowledge that all my women are kittenish) to make this one. Just a few examples of how women, particularly lesbians, seem to really enjoy the feline—or perhaps simply the domesticated carnivorous—spirit.
Plain text of quotes & sources:
Godsong the Ninth [fanfiction] by Max Franciscovich (unposted, see Godsong page & DM him for fic)
The Ninth cavalier stalked to the middle of the room with the steady grace of a great cat. Though the skull paint muddled her features, Ambergris could pick out a square jaw, narrow eyes, dark hair chopped off blade-straight just above her chin. She was broader than Felidore, limbs taut with muscle; she stood steady and poised, statue-still in a breathlessly anticipatory way. She did not speak. She bent her rapier blade, as though loosening it like a ligament, and stood at ready position.
Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu (edition with footnotes + intro by Carmen Maria Machado highly recommended)
But I was equally conscious of being in my room, and lying in bed, precisely as I actually was. I saw, or fancied I saw, the room and its furniture just as I had seen it last, except that it was very dark, and I saw something moving round the foot of the bed, which at first I could not accurately distinguish. But I soon saw that it was a sooty-black animal that resembled a monstrous cat. It appeared to me about four or five feet long for it measured fully the length of the hearthrug as it passed over it; and it continued to-ing and fro-ing with the lithe, sinister restlessness of a beast in a cage. I could not cry out, although as you may suppose, I was terrified. [redacted]
Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir (book one in the Locked Tomb series)
Naberius toyed with her languidly—he had a trick where his sword licked out like a cat’s claw, immediate, before pulling back again with a measured half step and he kept her at sword’s length, never letting her enter his space. He kept up his litany of parry; quick attack for space; pressure the sword with the offhand until she was sick to death of it.
KAY RAINIER Book Two by yves.
“Now, Atlas,” she says, her tone an indiscreet mix of playfulness and catty calculation, “this is unfair. [redacted] Does this not give [redacted] an unfair advantage?”
Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir (book two in the Locked Tomb series)
Gideon, watching this single combat, might have better appreciated the
anonymous monster called the Sleeper for what she truly was. In life she must have had few, if any, equals. Her people—whoever they had been—must have cherished her as their finest champion. She was a prodigious fighter: fast, brutal, ruthless in exploiting advantages, terrifying in her force and aggression. She had gained a wicked-looking knife with a serrated edge in her left hand, balancing the baton in her right, and she struck with it at eyes, groin, or anywhere else she could reach. The heavy haz suit did not seem to slow her at all, and she had a catlike agility in keeping with her earlier handspring; she kept swerving her body away from strikes and mixing elbow jabs, knee strikes, and even kicks into her overall assault. There was no trace in her of the beribboned show fighter: she fought like she wanted to kill you and she hoped it would hurt.
KAY RAINIER Book Two by yves.
Another smile: this one winsome, almost kittenish in satisfaction.
Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir
The woman had not died tranquil; her features had settled into an expression
closer to determination than the peace of the grave. When rigor mortis developed —would it develop, in this parody of a world?—the whole might harden further into despair. The chin was firm; the jaw stubborn in its lines, the nasofrontal angle of the nose barely present, with flared nostrils like a large cat’s. It was the jaw, and something about the eyes and brows, that kept distracting Harrow.
KAY RAINIER Book One by yves.
“That’s not true.” Atlas heats his hand and runs it through Kay’s hair, experimenting a little. He doesn’t manage to dry much, and it’s still frizzy. “I could see you in a harness... leather pants...” He pauses. “Yeah. Hold on. Wait. That’s a good idea. I can totally—”
“If you buy me a harness, I will see to it that nobody finds your body,” Kay says, and Atlas pulls away to look her in the face. “I cannot even imagine what ‘harness’ means in this context.”
“I can,” Atlas says, giving her a little catlike grin. “You want to find out?”
Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir
Augustine said, “The eyes have it, John. Those damn golden eyes she always had, like a cat’s. [redacted]
KAY RAINIER Book Two by yves.
[redacted] a need so intense it turns her into someone else, into a motherless kitten, into a child awoken from a terrible dream. [redacted]
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