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by Nicholas Stillman

“The horizon of shells before him rose and fell in subtle waves upon the frozen cloudscape.”

The humans drew closer. Eightspeck heard of their resurgence through the chatter of clicks and stirring shells all around him. His fellow giant crabs warned him in unison about a massive change in the Earth-space infrastructure. He scurried crabwise along the particularly dense cloud of ammonia ices, frozen water vapor, and ammonium hydrosulfide crystals which formed a dark and stable gas belt around Jupiter. It all vibrated beneath him with the collective panic of millions. A dense growth in his mind shuddered as well, for he had a lifelong predilection for the human language called radio. Humanity finally jolted Earth, and his eight legs, out of dormancy.

He hurried to a plain of reposed crabs and climbed atop their carapaces. The horizon of shells before him rose and fell in subtle waves upon the frozen cloudscape. Their light yet mighty claws never moved off the bed of gasses. Only their hind legs rattled, and Eightspeck felt the reverberations through one of his own. His other hind leg tapped out the same sequence on the adjacent crab’s back. The chatter propagated through the whole superorganism, their words rattling autonomically into each other’s sensory legs. The message, however, sounded the same as when they had first deciphered radio words generations ago. Nearly everyone agreed to wipe out all life on Earth.

Eightspeck scrambled over their backs, trying to ignore the rapid clicks and louder clacks of the two-letter language. He could not, however, stop his left hind leg from repeating the same compassionate yet annihilative message. Between each step, he heard and passed along the plan to end humanity’s cyclical suffering. Their decadence went on after countless market crashes and fiat currency collapses. Even their radio signals had ceased long ago through warfare. They had nearly annihilated themselves, and their cycles of starvation would only perpetuate in space. Thus, they all had to die via mass ejection of radioactive clouds.

Eightspeck raised a hind leg to argue, but he balked. He listened for new evidence of humanity’s compassion, as his lack of data would only foment the masses further. The messages that clattered in, however, centered on killing all the primates as well. Otherwise, they could become as abhorrent as humans.

He gazed at his destination, the mountain where all cosmic data tumbled down. Made of living and dead crabs, it already teemed with impulsive ones like him. Some climbed for a view of the stars. Others sought to learn the human culture stacked upon the radio waves up there. Eightspeck hurried to join them, even though Earth and all its shiny probes had gone silent.

The rattle and prattle drummed through him from the population underfoot. No one could make sense of the shifting steel in Earth’s barely visible satellite space. Eightspeck looked for a rich food source so he could reach the mountaintop and see the activity himself. Though he lacked the biggest eyes for spotting Earth, he easily spotted the biggest female. She sat atop the landscape of crabs in a westward stream of delicious radioactive gas. She had a smaller carapace than him, but its four-meter spikes sliced the fumes into ribbons of red, tawny, and sepia. He rushed to her with a libidinal impulse which made him even more reckless than usual.

He settled beside her into a position that could last decades. Her luscious spikes and spots presented a nicer code than radio. The gasses fanning off her passed through the smaller spikes on his claws. He combed away the lighter streams to amass the ones that tasted like paradise. He balled the fog toward his mouthparts and sucked it all in. The orb became a cone, then nothing. He exhaled something clear and dull that pushed away the incoming sweetness. He took four and a quarter gulps and resumed his blissful thinking. The female did better, ignoring every nudge around her.

The ions and fine solids suffused his stomach with radioactive warmth–his stomach also serving as a lung. The gaseous food suppressed all his urges to seek the mountain. He only escaped the female by stumbling toward the colors of other dancing clouds. Their tangy currents tempted him even more. Chasing them, he reached a second layer of crabs who wrangled and ruminated on the backs of the first layer. He climbed on top of them, ignoring their natter and chatter.

Atop this bumpier sprawl stood a giant named Fourdot. Eightspeck gathered his willpower and crawled to him. He knocked on a massive claw bigger than him and received the permissive response of stillness. He clambered up the ramp of a claw, up the steplike elbow, and onto Fourdot’s back. He perched with his legs tucked in as three other travelers jostled aboard. Fourdot then lurched to the mountain. Each of his passengers burned off a love high that had nearly pinned them to females forever.

Eightspeck beheld a living landscape as aquiver as him. The highland of crabs braced for more news of the human reemergence. They dreamed in global reveries about gassing the whole blue planet. Their hind legs vibrated with plans for the mercy killing while their front ends gulped in Jupiter’s copious fumes. Those with Eightspeck’s build sat dormant after the death of all radio. Their specialized brains had no new signals from Earth to analyze, so they breathed, ate, and waited.

Fourdot carried his more ardent passengers over them. Eightspeck gazed farther at the distant islands of isolationist crabs. They debated in secret, planning a bigger move for the once-dirigible collective. A ring of legs tapped away about some new migration path, the streamlining of the language, or greater mountain height. No one chided them yet, for they looked too sedentary and afraid to present such ideas to the world. Another amalgamation cozily discussed the attractiveness of shells and sensory abilities and how their owners ought to breed. Through the rocking giant beneath him, Eightspeck only felt the signals about slaughtering humankind, the taps all faint yet multiplying.

He debarked near the base of the chitinous mountain. Its bottom had only sunk a few meters through the condensed icy clouds, while the top rose into the hoary overcast. He scuttled up the spiral ramp to the upper mists. Millions of constellated crabs formed the live crags and the walkway of palaver. They told him how the benighted humans had reached a level of eusociality with the advent of mass communication. Yet, humanity kept repeating its abject boom-and-bust cycles despite its vast knowledge. Without resource abundance from gas giants, all life forms on Earth ripped each other apart slowly via mutually assured cannibalism. Even the plants stole nutrients from their dead or starving neighbors. Only extinction could end their torture and turpitude.

While the crabs bemoaned, however, Eightspeck clambered over them with claws once used for pinning females. He passed along their loving message with language legs that had chiefly evolved through rape. He refrained from arguing with a mountain, though. As a decapod, he simply climbed it with more than twice the atavistic limbs as any barbaric human.

Other giant crabs rushed downward, chasing random fumes. Eightspeck scooted aside to let the crowd and the nutritive wisps go by. They left a thin yet pervading haze which flowed over his eyes and memories, leaving him hungry. He gazed down the mountainside at a gigantic swirl of far more tempting gasses. Multicolored and perennial, the stream fed a breeding colony coalesced on the cloudscape. The newer branch of the collective lined up their monumental claws for display. Some even paddled already, in practice for the concerted cloud ejection that would irradiate Earth. They just needed a few million more claws and one generation to fatten them.

Eightspeck hurried away two legs at a time. He scaled for hours to the upper deck of clouds. The crabs high above him had big enough eyes to see the rolling speck of Earth. They chatted about how to coordinate the future subspecies of attack crabs and how to best time the daily fanning of the gas. They debated how many centuries the columns would take to reach Earth and kill all its megafauna.

Exhausted, Eightspeck felt starved of not just radioactive food but also radio waves. The human language had soared through space for generations to make him relevant. Now, he heard only clicks and stomach growls. He stopped and let the words pulse through his legs, for a singular voice deserved his focus at last. Someone finally tried to supersede the orthodoxy. The one named Twostain suggested the collective ought to kill only ninety-six percent of the earthlings. He argued the smartest would survive to rule the abundant resources without brutal competition. The collective, quite discomposed, bewailed that the smarter humans imposed the most egregious systems of all. Incorrigible forever, they all had to die from radioactive gas, enough to seep through every vault.

Millions of minds started trouncing the vanguard of one. Eightspeck continued the climb, somehow alone in it all.

He weaved past some brawny crabs who carried up shells freshly molted off of juveniles. They packed the exuviae into tunnels held up by even brawnier crabs. Beyond them, Eightspeck passed another coterie, one bred like him for radio sensitivity. Its members crouched in silence, a living layer of the mountainside over the core of dead shells. Only one leg twitched, and only after a solar radio burst that made it through Jupiter’s harsh magnetosphere.

Hours later, a wave of clicks and clacks disseminated down the mountain. They reported an exodus from Earth in many spacecraft the size of mountains themselves. As if in warning, a random meteorite struck Eightspeck’s back. A leg hit him there next, then seven more legs followed by a stampede. The onslaught ended, and he hurried upward while the panicked crowd went down.

He remembered similar events called shudders which shook society every time an Earth probe swung close. The bedlam erupting beneath his feet threatened to shrink the whole mountain. He raced up the narrowing ramp which thinned even further as the walkway itself fled. The crabs rose like living cobblestones, an old Earth term. More eerily, they joined the cycle of unrest similar to those of humans. The vibrations felt immense, like a premonition of an avalanche.

He clung to an ancient carapace overlooking the cloudy plain. The precipice let him view the vast wall of storms that chafed along the border of the walkable region. Kilometers below, hundreds of terrified crabs scampered into the infinite lightning. Only a few survived the curtain of bolts to venture on. Soon, however, they simply fell through the less dense cloud band that swept opposite of their home plain. The panic and rumors from the stationary crabs made roads to further stupidity. A few specialists careened down the mountainside, breaking themselves to pieces to avoid the supposed wrath of the spacecraft.

Eightspeck scuttled through the ammonium clouds that hid most of the mountain from space. He struggled with poor visibility and poorer footing as the spiral ramp ended. The mountaintop consisted of only the best radio specialists and the freaks with the biggest eyes. They formed a pyramidal stairway. He nearly fell off it twice despite his assiduous footwork. He hungered as well but saw only black specks of void through the clouds.

The mountain had shrunk several meters. In minutes, however, he ascended enough to see entire swaths of space for the first time. He beheld a pane of star-flecked glass which humanity could only stare through a few centuries ago. He moved closer to it, crawling atop the famous giant named Sixteenblot who formed the summit.

At his blustery new height, Eightspeck looked for any encroaching probes beyond the space dust and moonlets. He only found the dab in the darkness the humans called Mars. By straining his eyes, he finally saw a particle beyond the red planet: Earth. Glitter and grains danced around it, as though the world had vomited all its metals into orbit. Over the course of a human minute, they moved.

The many spacecraft spread outward like another dying branch of humanity. At least visually, the people cried out for euthanasia as the collective had always said. They left behind an abhorrent brown speck of a world which used to glow blue. Now, it rusted and rotted away. The sunlight accentuated the stations and satellites still orbiting like eternal wreckage.

The elder Sixteenblot must have felt the stomach growls above him along with some empathy of his own. He exhaled a cloud of tartly-flavored radiation fed to him hours ago by a delivery crab. Somehow, even up here, Eightspeck’s claws knew the right tilts and trembles. They sorted the gasses by flavors and weights through a comb of spikes. Colors arose, and he ate them. But the wind wanted some too, and it had become more of a brawler midway up the mountain. Most of the food blew away.

Meteorites hissed and sizzled around him. The taunting fumes and their secrets faded. He slowly starved among their vanishing trails, his metabolism neither slow nor specialized for mountain life. His left hind leg chattered on, wasting energy without his control. It redelivered every signal that rose through Sixteenblot’s carapace. Not a word of it came from radio which carried all the past confessions of Earth.

The messages sounded speculative but likely: the humans must have decoded the crab language via cloud-piercing probes. The panic flowing down the mountain became tremulous. Even Eightspeck could spot a baleful spacecraft, a growing circle, heading straight for Jupiter. The dozens of other vessels didn’t appear tangled or chaotic like the lives of their passengers. Their design resembled not the crooked veins of humanity but pillars–perfect shapes never heard or conceived of by most crabs.

The closest pillar approached inexorably and at extreme speed. The circle grew bigger within Jupiter’s mere ten-hour day. Eightspeck watched some of the crabs below pinch off their own eyestalks, afraid to see the machinations the humans might bring. Farther down, the suicides spread with another spurt of bad information.

With the whole population beneath him, no one could see the eight specks on Eightspeck’s back. He stood on the most sessile crab in the world who would likely die with him or at least stay put. On the summit, he had pure anonymity and a unique immunity from ostracism. He readied his leg for a worldwide message the rankled masses could never trace to him.

Without a crackle of human radio, however, he had nothing of use to say.

His hunger, the suicide rate, and the circle in the sky all grew enormous over time. He waited while the mountain offered a slow death by starvation or a quick one by jumping off it. Yet, it also offered the best views and clues about the inscrutable humans. He chose starvation and clues topped with the torture of watching the delivery crabs arrive. They fed everyone below him by exhaling dense fumes into all the faces. The humans called it kissing. Eightspeck, however, lacked the specialized mouthparts for blocking the wind. Thus, on seeing his grim face looking down, the deliverers turned to every crab but him.

As the plated faces veered from him, and as the torture rained hard, he realized the spacecraft veered likewise. It loomed like a circular moon but with a strip of its side slightly visible. The giant-eyed crabs below him, in awe of the otherworldly shape, hadn’t yet signaled that the humans sped off course from Jupiter.

Eightspeck finally drummed his one-legged outcry based on his own little field of praxeology. He said the humans wanted the stars, not Jupiter. Otherwise, the mountain would only see a perfect circle instead of the spacecraft’s underbelly. He declared the humans had evolved into better life forms who’d molted the Earth like an old shell. He concluded that the radio waves ended not from humanity warring with itself, but because they’d developed a medium no one else could hear.

Sixteenblot sent down the message to the world. He tagged it as coming from a speaker he could not identify by variegated shell spots. The mountain soon juddered as thousands of conformists kicked their rage upward. The collective affirmed that the exposed belly of the spacecraft had all the weapons, and the humans didn’t deserve to breathe. Eightspeck felt the whole fracas. All of nature sang out of tune, on Earth and on Jupiter.

The derision only ceased when the bigger eyes announced a more startling observation. Instead of weapons, they saw the human word PEEKABOO emblazoned on the underside of the ineffable spacecraft.

Eightspeck swam through all his memories for the meaning of the vessel’s name. The answer seemed both clear yet incomprehensible. The humans considered their contact with Jupiter a mere child’s game, a fun little joke.

They infantilized the crabs. The gas giant and all its living ones looked small to them.

The humans sent a well-timed radio message, as if they had calculated the visual acuity of the topmost crabs. The signal, however, contained no human language at all. It arrived in a series of clicks like the rattle of chitinous legs:

“From life to life: Greetings, goodbye, and watch the ice.”

Eightspeck’s language skills finally became relevant, but the ten words overawed him into lifelong silence. Waves of relief rippled through Jupiter as its curvature blocked out the tail end of the passing spacecraft. Its message, one of peace from peers, sounded clear enough. However, the world would debate the old phrase about ice for millennia.

Eightspeck obeyed the advice from the technologically superior humans. He watched the ice, the frozen vapor and crystals which formed the densest cloud band around Jupiter. An empty plain of it had become visible through a sudden parting of the overcast. With the mountain lowered several meters, he could just make out the forms of crabs amassed on the horizon.

The population, he realized, nearly circumvented the planet. After building more mountains, crabs would soon fill the only dense enough cloud band for life on Jupiter. Then, they would war over limited space. Eightspeck glanced at the hordes of attack crabs on the shrinking plain. He wondered how they might repurpose themselves.

Much higher, the humans flew off to master the void in their colony vessel. Its fleeting gravitational pull allowed the curtain of clouds to close. The anthropic era ended like its wellspring of radio waves. A different epoch of catastrophism would begin with the overpopulation of crabs.

As the worldwide furor settled, so did Eightspeck. He felt enfeebled by the rapid-onset kwashiorkor which struck most of his kind after their energetic pursuits. Too tired to descend, he simply needed to park his pensiveness. He perched on the apex of Jupiter and watched the Earth turn blue again.

Sixteenblot shared enough food on calmer days. Twostain made crude deliveries on windy ones. Eightspeck used the energy to ponder which species, humans or crabs, had pushed the other toward space. Only one had reached true bliss and abundance in the stars. He waited to see if they might teleport back someday in their adult form. They could revisit their hatched egg called Earth, still adrift by the sun.

Given their growing pains here, he doubted they ever would.

 

* * *

About the Author

Nicholas Stillman writes science-fiction with medical themes. His work has appeared in The Colored Lens, Bards and Sages Quarterly, The Martian Wave, Not One of Us: Animal Day II, and Helios Quarterly Magazine.

by Elizabeth Cobbe

“Please do not share your passwords, bank PINs, or social security number with the dolphins.”

Welcome to Ocean Paradise Lagoon, LLC! Please read the following safety guidelines carefully before entering the lagoon.

1. Only swimmers age 12 and older may participate in our Luxury “Swim with Dolphins” Adventure Package.

2. While in the lagoon, you may interact freely with the dolphins. Those whistles and clicks you hear mean that a dolphin wants to use its powers of telepathy! Go ahead, relax into the dolphin’s long, soulful gaze, and allow your mind to meld with these good-luck creatures.¹

3. No need to go chasing after a dolphin for conversation! They love to meet new friends,² and they will swim right up to link their consciousness with yours.

4. Please notify our staff in advance if you are currently taking any prescription antidepressants and/or anti-anxiety medication.³ Telepathic communication with animals should be pleasant and enjoyable, and we want to ensure that your dolphin encounter goes smoothly.

5. Swimmers may not bring any food or beverages with them into the lagoon. For an optional fee⁴ of $85, you can purchase a bag of live jellyfish⁵ to offer the dolphins during your adventure.

6. Our most popular dolphin companions include Trixie, Aphrodite, Tycho, and Slasher, who are all cheerful and eager to chat with our guests.⁶ Swimmers are encouraged to interact with this main group, and don’t mind any loner bulls (males) who might not fit comfortably within the hierarchy of the pod.⁷

7. Swimmers should not worry if the pod occasionally gangs up on a single dolphin⁸ and teaches him a lesson by ramming their snouts into his flank over and over. It’s all right, that’s just what bulls do, and dolphin blood is harmless to humans.⁹

8. However, please notify staff if any dolphin declares that he is unhappy and seeks the ocean.¹⁰ We will pair you with a more suitable animal right away.

9. Visitors should keep to the clean, clear water of the lagoon at all times.¹¹

10. Once you’ve finished your conversation, our dolphin friends¹² are prepared to offer dorsal tows, foot pushes, and maybe even a bottlenose kiss!

11. One more friendly reminder: don’t swim with any of the dolphins out into the open sea! No matter how much he asks.¹³

Thank you for choosing Ocean Paradise Lagoon, LLC for your marine wildlife encounter. We hope your experience is everything you’ve dreamed!

* * *

1. Please do not share your passwords, bank PINs, or social security number with the dolphins.

2. This is mostly true.

3. On occasion, one particular dolphin’s inability to adjust to life in the lagoon has led him to access the deepest sorrows and worries of an already vulnerable swimmer’s soul in a misplaced bid for sympathy. Like grapefruit juice, this sort of prank may interfere with certain serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SRIs).

4. We accept credit cards, Paypal, and Venmo. Our dolphins are not able to accept payment telepathically at this time.

5. Do not attempt telepathy with the jellyfish. They do not have brains, and it stings a little.

6. Examples of safe and fun topics of conversation include how to count to five, ways that dolphins differ from porpoises, and the various jellyfish snacks available for purchase at any time during your visit. They do not include the effects of long-term captivity on mammals, or the color of the open horizon as day fades slowly into night.

7. All right, we’re referring to Johannes, the young rescue bull who can be identified by the chunk missing from his dorsal fin and the bite scarring along his left flank. Johannes is most often seen swimming along the southern end of the lagoon, occasionally battering the underwater fence and attempting to leap over the artificial barrier to the sea. The rest of the pod understands and appreciates the boundaries of the lagoon, but Johannes has unfortunately refused to accept these limitations.

8. Johannes.

9. All the same, swim with your mouth closed.

10. He may try to bring you under his influence by telling you singsong tales about the vast, open water, about leaping above the ocean’s surface to breathe in the warm Gulf air, and of fisherman’s nets. Don’t pay any attention. Don’t believe him if he tells you there is a wider world beyond the lagoon, a vast underwater realm where only he can guide you. Listen: no one returns from the deep unchanged. If pressed, tell him no! “There’s nothing there for you in those cold, dark, and polluted waters,” you should say. “No, you must stay here with us, among your own kind. We’ll teach you to relinquish your dreams, if you’d only let us help you. Why won’t you let us help you?”

11. It happens like this: once the others have paired off, he’ll swim up cautiously. He’ll reach out with his mind, and ask if you know what it is to sit down after dinner, picking the remaining jellyfish bits from your teeth as you review your quarterly Roth IRA statement, observe the limitations of your days, and wonder, “Can this really be all there is?” Johannes dreams of more than shallow tides, but don’t be fooled is all we’re saying. Do you think Tycho and Slasher have never felt discouraged? Is Johannes really the only dolphin who’s meant for greater things? Who is he to defy the pod and seek his place in an undefined expanse?

12. Not Johannes.

13. Besides, it would incur a great deal of liability. So come away from the gate. Leave Johannes behind. These small dreams we offer inside are more than enough.

 

* * *

About the Author

Elizabeth Cobbe is a playwright, arts critic, and software developer living in Austin, Texas. Her fiction has also appeared in Fireside, and she is a graduate of Viable Paradise. She is currently at work on a fantasy novel about motherhood, miscarriage, and magic.

by A Humphrey Lanham

“The toaster flapped and fought and pushed against the wind like never before, its tail whipping like a kite’s.”

With a soft clunk, the toaster landed on a sandy bluff overlooking the ocean. It flicked its pterodactyl wings just so, making the leathery membrane almost shimmer in the fading sunlight. It wiggled its toaster toes in the sand and sighed.

It was a lonely little toaster. The only one of its kind. No one wanted it around. Humans screamed and threw things. Dogs barked. Wildlife fled. The other toasters gave it the silent treatment. (They were inanimate after all.) All the little toaster could do was travel the continent in search of a place to call home.

As the light faded, the toaster tucked its wings into their bread cavities, preparing for sleep. The little toaster sat on the bluff watching the sun slowly slip into the ocean, the sky fading from blue to pink to dusky black. The lights from ships blinking in the ocean were met by the twinkling of stars in the sky. The cacophony of the ocean waves and rustling crab grass sang to the little toaster in the otherwise silent, lonely world. It would always be sad and hopelessly alone.

The toaster made a bed in the sand and fell asleep counting the stars.

* * *

A collection of seagulls woke the sentient toaster, pecking at its metal exterior and picking at the two metal prongs of its black cord tail. It alternated yelling toaster profanities and pleas for mercy to no avail. The toaster retracted its wings as far as they could go into their bread cavities and tucked its tail as best it could underneath itself in the sand, waiting for the flying saltwater rats to lose interest.

The attack eventually subsided, and the toaster lay, shaking with fear.

What purpose was there for a sentient toaster with pterodactyl wings? None. None was the answer it had known and been avoiding all its life. It didn’t know how it had come to be, but it had always and would always be alone.

The toaster rose, shook itself, feeling the grit of sand that had worked its way into every crevice. It lifted off the bluff and flew towards the ocean, struggling with all its might against the wind currents headed for shore.

The toaster flapped and fought and pushed against the wind like never before, its tail whipping like a kite’s. It didn’t try to gain sufficient height to surf the currents. It just needed to get far enough over the water for a sufficient drowning.

At last, fatigued by the effort, satisfied with the distance from shore, the toaster tucked its wings into their bread cavities and dove. It could not gain the aerodynamic speed of a peregrine falcon, but for the duration of its plummet, it felt a panicked sense of freedom, its tail fluttering loose behind it.

It hit the water with a splash. It sank like, well…like a hunk of metal.

The toaster did not cease to be. Instead it rested on the sea floor, tail tangled in a kelp bed, surrounded by inanimate bits of trash. Its pterodactyl wings were near useless in the water, so it kept them furled and protected.

All in all, the toaster had naught to do but watch the world pass it by. Here, helpless in the kelp bed, it found a sense of calm.

On the second day, a tiny octopus came by and attempted to use one of the bread cavities as a den, but upon realizing her new hiding spot was sentient, she moved on, ignorant of the toaster’s request that she stay.

On the third day, however, a pod of dolphins and a barge came. The dolphins swam from the barge to the ocean floor and back again with pieces of trash in their mouths.

Eventually, one of the dolphins made her way over to the toaster’s kelp bed and began removing the trash one piece at a time. Finally, it was the toaster’s turn. The dolphin examined the toaster, grabbed onto it as best she could, and pulled. After a few firm tugs, the toaster detached from the kelp, leaving behind its beautiful black cord tail with two metal prongs. The little toaster shed a toaster tear, watching the tail waving goodbye in the ocean currents.

Human hands grabbed the toaster and lifted it from the mouth of the dolphin, giving the cetacean savior a piece of fish in exchange. The dolphin winked as it swallowed its reward and disappeared below the water. The human tossed the toaster onto the barge without a second thought.

The little toaster rested, keeping its wings tucked into their cavities as more and more trash was thrown on the pile. It wanted to not draw attention to itself, tailless, and unsure if it would be able to escape. While it did not seem to hurt being tailless, the toaster mourned the loss.

As the day shifted into evening, the barge returned to a place of rest. When the voices of the humans grew faint, the little toaster wiggled its way out of the trash. It stretched out its wings and did a test flight to the top of the pile to look around. It was in some kind of water paddock, separated from the ocean by two jetties made of rock, and enclosed with a gate.

One of the dolphins–perhaps the one who had rescued the toaster–swam over and whistled at it. A friendly, knowing sound.

The toaster unfurled its wings, thinking the movement would scare the dolphin, like it did most creatures. But she remained, clicking and whistling and staring at her own grey reflection in the toaster’s smooth silver plating. In response, the little toaster toggled its lever, clicked it into place, and released it again with a squeak. This seemed to please the dolphin, who signaled to the rest of the pod, which swam over to investigate.

Delighted to find something in the world that did not fear it, the toaster took to the air and made a wobbled pass over the pod of dolphins. Flying would be more difficult, though not impossible without its black cord tail with two metal prongs. The toaster made several awkward loops around the paddock, the dolphins swimming after it, before landing again on the barge.

The toaster made a gleeful little squeak with its lever. Its pod whistled in joyous response.

 

* * *

About the Author

A Humphrey Lanham is a science fiction, fantasy, and horror writer in Oregon. They graduated from Odyssey in 2019 and are a member of the Wordos Workshop. When not writing, they like to make kombucha, procrastinate, and study secondary languages. Ru, their housemate, is an anthroxenobiologist, studying humans and their strange, hydrophilic proclivities. Sadly, everyone else insists he is just a common terran cat. Follow their adventures on Twitter @ahumphreylanham.

by Marie Croke

“Yet, I couldn’t shake that whisper-want that had started the day of my yearling celebration and had risen so that it didn’t feel like a whisper anymore, but rather a river’s coursing flow beating from my head all the way to the tip of my singular, strong tail.”

They named me for the ground, for the metal and glows embedded within the lower recesses of the range: Dirt of CrystalSleep. They marked my forehead, in between my air holes, with a metallic-rich mixture that bestowed the blessing of the metal weaver faction. They had intentions for me the moment I hatched, before I’d even risen off the ground, sniffed my first redwood leaf or sung my first notes. Named for the mountain, blessed with strength, my tail fastened with many-pronged picks or double-plated maces, I was destined to be a metal weaver.

And maybe that would have sufficed, had I not fallen from a woven bridge during my yearling celebration and landed two long stories down in the slow-churning water where saplings and twinelings grew on interlocking puzzle-platforms.

A nearby adult, likely drawn by my bleat of surprise, lumbered into the water, her wrinkled skin heavily shadowed by the layers above. She plucked me up with her teeth and set me on a puzzle-platform where I became dwarfed by twinelings, their leafy branches whipped and whorled and braided all about me in beautiful dappled designs.

“And who might you be?”

I stood there, wet from air holes to soles, mud on my tail and scratches along my flank, but I straightened into a proud stance. “I am Dirt of CrystalSleep, and I’m to be a metal weaver.”

“I can see that.” Her eyes twinkled and she sang her words gently as she swayed. “You fell through here like a rock. No grace at all, metal weavers.”

My whole life up to that point had been surrounded by my own faction and never had I heard one word calling us anything but strong and powerful. “Who needs grace when you have strength?”

“Who indeed. Come, let’s get you back to your pod.” And she turned to indicate the path across the puzzle-platform rocking under my pads.

Yet, as she did, her tail came into view. Or rather, her tails. They moved independently of one another, one up, the other down, touching, bending, folding branches along the twinelings in the neighboring puzzle-platform, pausing now and then to use shears or combs to detangle trailings. Her tails moved fluidly; grace, I realized. This was grace.

“What are you doing?”

She paused, then looked to where I stared. “I’m shaping the trees, little one. If no one shapes the trees, then the city would not grow along paths, not form nests, would not envelope us, protect us, feed us.”

“We don’t need trees in the river.”

“No, we don’t. But the roots enjoy the water and this way we can move them later to where they need to go.” She paused and crooked her neck as she considered me.

Me, who stared and stared, watching as her tails swayed, picking and choosing branches and vines to wrap and weave. She danced, I thought, a dance of wood and grace.

“I wish I’d been born with two tails,” I whisper-sung.

Her tails froze. “No one is born with two.” She shifted. “We make them. It’s a painful process.” Her tails drew long toward her body, but there near the base they morphed into one with a dimpling of scar tissue where the cut ended.

Her name, I found out later, was Root of WillowWhip, and she thought she’d been dissuading me from my whisper-want, but all she did in that moment was take an impossible desire and make it possible.

Possible things though, I discovered quickly, did not mean possible for you. I proudly went home after my yearling celebration and asked my pod mother when I could go to the life weavers for my tail-cut. That’s what I called it, still young enough I made up words, because I didn’t know city weavers called their forced mutation a splice.

My pod mother, Tower of HotRocks, thought I jested. “You’re a metal weaver. Born to work the dirt and stone. If you break your muscle in two, you’ll only be half as effective.”

“But I want grace. I don’t want to be strong like a rock. I want to be like the trees.”

Tower of HotRocks measured me for my first pickaxe and didn’t say another word other than, “Please cinch that with your teeth.”

And she certainly refused to take me to a life weaver for the tail-cut, her believing me caught up in something new and different, with a desire that would surely fade in time.

After a while, I stopped asking and instead would sneak away after work, my tail and backside sore from beating metal out for the skilled forgers or tapping away at the mountain gorge. The City of ManyWeaves sprawled across tributaries, stretched up the range, and reached into the sky, each bend, each braid, each tree grown thick and strong through centuries built to withstand a weight of a thousand thousand sauropod steps. Willow whips, ginkgos, crescent blossoms, redwoods, all held together by thick woven fern ropes or plaited river weeds mixed with flattened wires to aid in strength of the upper stories.

Before, I’d see the metal stumps and plates bolstering the city and gaze proudly at my ancestors’ work. Now, all I could see was the beauty in the woven tapestry, in the pronged leaves and loose vines, in the curling branches and fused trunks. And, of course, the split trunks that reminded me of Root of WillowWhip’s tails.

Down among the puzzle-platforms where metal weavers never trod unless they’re fallen yearlings, Root of WillowWhip reigned. I’d perch on an upper path, my bulk hidden by the formed understory, my neck arched down so I might peek at the busy city weavers.

They passed branches back and forth between their tails, tightened ropes against curves to keep the trunks in shape. They did not use buckles or single cinch-lines as metal weavers did, but rather tiny shears and thin rakes and intricate knots that left me in wonder, watching the way their tails flipped and curled, creating the first stages of walls and ramps.

Root of WillowWhip would catch me watching and turn so I might see her work. She’d explain to city weaver yearlings a little louder than normal how to work a certain braid or grow a certain plant. She’d slow her tails down, giving me the chance to learn the motions, even though I could not repeat them accurately.

I tried to mimic the braids, bunching my tail and attempting to hold pieces with a thicker, less agile section of muscle, but the branches did not cooperate and the fern ropes slipped free from my grip, leaving me with piles of useless knots I couldn’t unravel and the belief in my heart that I could never be anything but what I’d been marked as.

“The life weavers say we have choice,” I said to Tower of HotRocks one morning as we crossed the upper paths in the range, her steps creaking the trees, my own tiny shivers in her wake.

“Is this another question about tails?”

“I’m merely curious. I asked Root of WillowWhip when she’d had her tail spliced and she said it is done in phases, that forty suns after hatching, a city weaver gets a pin through their tail at its base, so that at the blessed two-hundredth they can undergo their full cut. If it’s done so young, how did they have a choice? And us? We didn’t get that choice whether we wanted one or two tails.”

She twisted her neck to look back at me. “Every time you cut your tail, it halves your muscle, making you weaker and weaker. A metal weaver needs strength to wield our tools. A city weaver uses small, barely there things, if they use anything at all. You are strong, Dirt of CrystalSleep, as it should be.”

“No one crosses the faction lines? Not ever?”

Tower of HotRocks stared down at me, and I knew, even without her saying, that there were those who did. And I also knew, their actions were not approved.

“If you splice your tail now, you will be a worse metal weaver or a novice city weaver who will never gain the grace of the others who’ve been practicing their whole lives.”

With that, she turned and headed down the ramp to the gorge, her tail casing flashing sharply in the sunlight as she moved beyond the city canopy.

When faced with a choice like that I understood why the factions remained separate, why the pods held tightly to their own. Yet, I couldn’t shake that whisper-want that had started the day of my yearling celebration and had risen so that it didn’t feel like a whisper anymore, but rather a river’s coursing flow beating from my head all the way to the tip of my singular, strong tail. I shoved it down, down, squished it under my pod’s pressure, under affirmations of my work and burgeoning friendships among other metal weavers. To my surprise, I found it easy to ignore wants when the path has been woven before you, no matter how many twists exist in that path.

I stopped visiting Root of WillowWhip. Stopped watching the city weavers work with their lithe braids among the twinelings. Stopped looking around me as I walked from my nest to the range. Stopped listening to the song weavers in the morning.

Then I woke up one morning and realized I’d stopped caring at all. The whisper-want dead, shriveled into wrinkles and dust.

I moved through the motions of my daily life in the metal weaver faction. Moved without seeing or feeling. I might have kept on like that forever, a shell stomping through the intricate paths of the city.

Except, while trailing the yearlings to their celebration, one fell. Down, down, to splash in the slow-moving river near the puzzle-platforms.

I rushed after, a part of me crazed with the horror that my whisper-want might transfer to another, and found Root of WillowWhip plucking the yearling from the river and setting him on the bank where he thanked her in a chirp and ran off, not once even glancing at her two tails or the beautiful braid she worked behind her.

“Dirt of CrystalSleep, how good to see you again.”

“And you,” I sang softly as I stared and stared as I’d done years ago, that whisper-want a raging crash against the shell I’d become, telling me I had never beat it, never truly removed the desire. Had merely looked away until I’d fooled myself.

“You’re missing your faction’s yearling celebration.”

She spoke with that same gentleness as she had the first time we’d met. I glanced at her, then up the ramp where the yearling who had fallen had disappeared into the upper stories, no whisper-want ensnaring him like it had me.

I made a decision then, the same kind of decision I’d attempted to make when I’d been the yearling who had fallen. “I want you to place a pin through my tail.”

I lifted my tail with its metal casing and sharp prongs meant for gouging earth. Using leverage against the base of the tree and the powerful strength I’d accumulated over the years, I broke the longest metal prong, slipped my tail free of its tool, and proffered the metal stake.

Root of WillowWhip stared at me unblinkingly. “A life weaver should do this.”

“Yet, if you do this for me, then I’ll know you’ll accept me as part of your faction, no matter how clumsy I might be at first.”

She didn’t ask if I were sure. I think she knew. I think she’d always known. “I’ll walk you to the life weaver, Dirt of CrystalSleep.” Her tails left off braiding and her song altered slightly to one I’d heard her only use among her own.

My whisper-want dampened that day–not on account of the pain, though it was tremendous since I’d waited until adulthood to begin the splice–but with satisfaction.

It’s a rough go, my tails striving to move concurrently and the muscle straining to stay together. My actions are too rough, used to bashing and heavy hefting. I have broken many sapling branches, and yet…I have braided many, many more in my own dance of wood and grace.

 

* * *

About the Author

Marie Croke is an Odyssey Workshop graduate, a Writers of the Future first place winner and her stories have been published in places such as Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Dreamforge Magazine, and Cast of Wonders. She lives in Maryland with her family, all of whom like to scribble messages in her notebooks when she’s not looking. You can find her online at www.mariecroke.com and she’d love to chat with you on twitter @marie_croke.

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Hogwash Husky pops in to spend some time with us and tells us how they came to be part of the famous dance competitions at BLFC and FC. Taebyn asks a completely nonsensical question. Shrove Tuesday is discussed in reference to Pancake day. Euclidian Geometry. Does Cookie Monster sound like us? Can you watch Sesame Street without an HBO subscription?

Links mentioned in this weeks ep:

Hogwash info:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/RaK3T
Telegram: Hogwash H. 
Discord: The Slander Channel https://discord.gg/B4pCRRR
Twitch: https://www.twitch.tv/hoggers_z
Fancy Friday - 8:00 PM PST (Modern Warfare mostly)
**Merch giveaways every 1st Friday of the month**
Saturday/Sunday Mornings - Games Vary depending on mood.
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 Animal Skull reference: Animal Photo Art (x6ud.github.io)

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Thanks to all our listeners and to our staff: Bearly Normal, Rayne Raccoon, Taebyn, Cheetaro, TickTock, and Ziggy the Meme Weasel.

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Bearly Furcasting #44 - Hogwash Husky, Last Time Today, Media, Math, Really Bad Jokes

Size Matters is a part of virtual Fur Squared 2021. It's our first livestream podcast! We talk about all things big and small, King Kong vs Godzilla, macro madness, artist shout-outs and more! Episode 32: "Fur Squared 2021 Livestream" (2021-02-27)

撰文／狸貓，封面圖／Photo by CEphoto, Uwe Aranas

（一）

　　身為獸控的各位，多少都會有在場次買本本的經驗。這些本本可能是清水向的，但更多時候都會包含R18的元素，讓我們在這個沒有毛茸茸香香獸人的現實世界裡得到不少的慰藉。

　　但是，買賣這些R18本本真的沒有問題嗎？會不會一不小心就觸犯了刑法第235條：「散佈、販賣猥褻物品罪」呢？

　　這篇文章想藉由這個問題，稍微的討論一下這條法律的適當性、以及我們該怎麼做才不會在買賣本本的時候不小心踩到了法律的紅線。

（二）

　　刑法第235條說，不論成功與否，如果有人意圖散佈、播送或販賣猥褻物品的話，要被處兩年以下的有期徒刑，而且還要罰錢。而除了有期徒刑和罰錢之外，這些所謂的「猥褻物品」，還要被沒收。

　　看到這邊，或許有人會開始擔心場次上的R18本本會被沒收、負責產糧的繪師大大也有可能被抓去關。但事情真的是這樣嗎？

　　早在大家耳熟能詳的釋字748號解釋出現之前，大法官做了釋字617號解釋，限縮了刑法第235條的適用，讓我們可以安心的在場次裡買到我們喜歡的本本、創作者也不用擔心被警察找去泡茶。

　　釋字617號解釋將色情書刊定調為言論的一種，稱之為「猥褻言論」。這些猥褻言論又再被分成兩種，分別是「軟蕊」和「硬蕊」：

　　如果本本中含有「人獸交」、「性虐待」的元素，且其中沒有任何藝術、醫學、教育價值，那就會被歸類到硬蕊；而只要不屬於硬蕊的，就是軟蕊。

圖／狸貓

　　包含軟蕊猥褻言論的作品，在「與一般人保持適當距離」的情況下（像是在封面加上警語、加上封套、在OO上貼海苔），就可以正常的販賣、散佈；然而硬蕊的作品就沒有那麼幸運，只要符合了刑法235條的要件，就算已經和一般人採取了適當的距離，散佈者還是有可能被抓去關或是罰錢。

　　也就是說，如果本本僅有軟蕊的內容，只要沒有公然在路邊兜售本本、或是把裡面OO最大的、等各種精彩的內容展示給路人看的話，都不會有觸犯刑法第235條的問題。

　　場次中販售的本本非常多樣，R18本本中除了會有只有人類的組合外，也有很多獸人、或是更廣泛的人外主題內容，其中更可能多少的包含了一些「硬蕊」的內容。但整體上來說，都還能勉強落在軟蕊的範圍之內，在採取與一般人的適當隔離措施下，自然能夠和刑法第235條相安無事。

（三）

　　既然在場次裡買賣本本能夠和刑法相安無事，那為什麼要拿出來討論呢？原因在於，把本本區分成「軟蕊」和「硬蕊」，並給予不同程度的保護，從憲法的角度來看是非常具有爭議性的。

　　即便是為了滿足性慾的R18本本，都仍然屬於言論的一種，受到憲法的保護。既然釋字617號解釋已經明文規定，猥褻物品只要採取適當的安全措施、讓不願意看到這些猥褻物品的人不會因為這樣受到冒犯，為什麼還需要區分出誰受保護、誰不受保護呢？

　　難不成是多數的大法官認為，任何人如果只要接收到了人獸交、性虐待的內容就會被冒犯嗎？這一類的內容通常不只是單純的「性癖」，更是一種次文化。在已採取安全距離、不冒犯他人的情況下，我認為政府並沒有必要去限制這種次文化的傳播。

　　在這個逐漸從單一文化走向多元兼容並蓄的社會中，我非常希望政府不再需替民眾「著想」，決定他們不該看什麼，更不需要來替民眾審查這些東西會不會冒犯到他們。

　　畢竟，有誰是在接觸到毛茸茸香香獸人之前，就知道自己喜歡他們的呢？

　　距離開拓動漫祭FF37(下稱FF)的日子已經不遠，相信各位計畫參加的獸迷們已經擬好目標，決定攻下哪些商品了！今天皓然來幫還沒計畫的各位，整理本次FF中獸圈相關的社團新品，讓所有獸迷們都能迅速找到自己喜歡的商品，支持喜歡的社團！
　　
　　在進入正文之前皓然必須提醒大家～本次FF鑒於疫情規定，所以採取新的「全整理券制」入場方式，詳細的資訊還請大家自行上FF官網1確認相關規定，以免敗興而歸喔！

FF37整理券入場之懶人包

　　還有還有，雖然皓然已經努力挑不會露點的圖片，有打馬賽克的也被皓然加強塗黑，可是內文和裡面的本本封面還是有一點點的刺激，所以建議未滿18歲的獸迷們斟酌觀看，FF當天也不可以購買標明R18的書。就算是成年的大家，看這篇文時也要注意後面有沒有其他人，避免發生不必要的誤會！

　　未滿18歲不能購買大部分本子的獸迷們，若是不怕與地獄相關的題材可以考慮阿鹿小站的「蒿里歌—鬼差」系列，本次阿鹿小站推出本系列第三集，同時推出不那麼可怕的番外篇，以陸修與阿硉為主角的四格漫畫。

阿鹿小站之「蒿里歌-鬼差」系列宣傳圖

　　同樣不需要成年就能購買的，還有CK Studio的新品。除了骨凱推出自己的插畫集外，還推出了「獸化不拆除」鑰匙圈吊飾，布製材質比起常見的吊飾重量較輕，同時帥氣的骨凱與小塯也能夠點綴生活的色彩。

CK Studio的新品「獸化不拆除」鑰匙圈吊飾(以一組販售 300NT)

　　CK Studio也推出新的「Let’s Party」主題滑鼠墊與掛布，除了CK的兩位，「挪威」系列的兩位角色也現身其中，與CK兩位一起舞動，Party Night！

CK Studio的新品「Let’s party」滑鼠墊(60cm*40cm 400NT) CK Studio的新品「Let’s party」掛布(100cm*75cm 450NT)

　　若是你也有和皓然一樣把各種東西貼滿牆壁的夢想，除了Let’s party的掛布外，還有斷翼的新品牛年耕耕日上海報可做選擇，新年就讓牛牛幫你改運，讓你年年大豐收！

斷翼生活理論新品「牛年耕耕日上」海報(100NT)

　　不介意走比較遠的獸迷，也可以到W區的飛行基地逛逛，飛行基地推出了壓克力及木製的兩種動物別針，以及諾特飛行員的徽章與三角筆袋，如果是喜歡可愛風格飾品的獸獸，不妨抽空過來一趟尋寶。

飛行基地的商品總覽

　　同樣是較遠的F區以及主打可愛的動物，Animal Kingdom的飆飆在野生動物圖鑑立牌新增全新的五款之餘，也出了透明書籤與壓克力吊飾！各式毛茸茸動物天真可愛的模樣，正等著你們收養！

Animal Kingdom新品「動物日常透明書籤」，攤位消費滿100也會隨機贈送一枚喔! Animal Kingdom新品「動物飼育日誌」壓克力鑰匙圈吊飾 Animal Kingdom「野生動物圖鑑立牌」系列新增的五款立牌(300NT)

　　既然提到了未成年也能購買的獸風格物品，自然不能錯過奇獸幻響！奇獸幻響的商品一向以帥氣的風格知名，本次FF除了復刻大尺寸的電競滑鼠墊兼防水桌墊，還出了新的「Legendary Beast」系列T恤。三種散發不同光芒與威嚴的野獸，實在是難以抉擇呢……。

奇獸幻響今年度復刻的大尺寸滑鼠墊(600NT) 奇獸幻響的新品「Legendary beast」T-shirt(680NT)

　　推出新品滑鼠墊的還有雷虎雜貨鋪，帶來的是去年秋天剛上架的新遊戲”Live A Hero”中雷奇與巴雷爾的滑鼠墊！相較起上面提到的兩個滑鼠墊尺寸更小，比較適合桌子不大的獸迷們唷！

雷虎雜貨鋪的新品——巴雷爾與雷奇滑鼠墊宣傳圖

　　雷虎雜貨鋪的FF新品還有巴雷爾的超柔毛毯，雷虎雜貨鋪也聲明廠商方通知原料斷貨了，之後想製作可能也沒有辦法，提醒大家把握這次機會，透過網路途徑預購也是一個好辦法。

雷虎雜貨鋪的新品——巴雷爾毛毯宣傳圖

　　除了巴雷爾毛毯以外，可樂餅也已經在網路上釋出東京放課後悌順小文吾毛毯的預定！臉紅著躺在地上的小文吾，正等著你……咳咳。此外FF當天在「盛川食堂X熊熊蓋飯」進行會場預購，是會免運費的喔！

盛川食堂X熊熊蓋飯的預購新品——悌順小文吾毛毯(120cm*150cm 1000NT)

　　上面介紹了一堆商品，如果帶來的包包已經放滿，裝不下本子要怎麼辦？就讓波樂熊來拯救你！除了既品的環保帆布提袋，這次還有新品A4本本提袋，以簡單的圖案點綴……不對，圖案裡的樂器貌似不太對勁……？

波樂很有事新品——A4用本本提袋(280NT)

　　有了提袋之後，就可以開始大開殺戒了！若是之前有買塔吉的「外送特殊服務」系列的獸迷們，別忘記這次FF塔吉推出了第四集！繼高原空被抓走作為人質後，第四集以哥哥高原海為主角，為解救弟弟而走入圈套的他，又會遭遇什麼事情呢？

塔塔魚虎醬的新刊「外送特殊服務4」(84P黑白 400NT)

　　如果喜歡對自己身體無可奈何的發情期題材的話，清蘋薄荷的「魔族發情期」以及Ura的「升暘」兩本新刊都是你的好選擇！需要注意的是清蘋薄荷的新刊是寄攤於Sea story，千萬別繞一大圈找不到了。

Sea story 清蘋薄荷寄攤的新刊「魔族發情期」(20P黑白 100NT) 嘎嘎嗚啦啦的新刊「升暘」(18P黑白 150NT)

　　Ura在本次FF37的新刊除了上面提到的「升暘」，還有阿九與阿鐵的故事「情人與節日」，明明是情人節，自己的工作狂情侶卻老想著工作，該這如何是好？

嘎嘎嗚啦啦的新刊「情人與節日」(24P黑白 200NT)

　　嚮往海水氣息的大家，西歐的Fighting續集，野外題材新作「肛合作用」，以及寄攤於Zanakil魔法少女的攤位，魔貓貓事務所和芭蕉群島合作，以暑假打工兼職為導火線的「暑假作業」，兩本充滿夏日風格的新刊也將在FF正式亮相。

小狐狸泡溫開水的新刊「肛合作用」(26P黑白 150NT)
圖片已經過加強海苔處理 寄攤於Zanakil魔法少女的魔法宅急便OWO，魔貓貓事務所和芭蕉群島的合作新刊「暑假作業」
(32P 200NT)

　　虎皮蛋糕獅子丸這邊，完全顛覆勇者與魔王關係的系列作「勇者的大小只有魔王塞得下」也正式推出第四集！這次比魔王更魔王的勇者，和魔王又會發生什麼事情呢？

虎皮蛋糕獅子丸新刊「勇者的大小只有魔王塞得下4」(48P黑白 250NT)

　　在推出續集之外，虎皮也再販了手工木燒畫！除了原本的部分角色，也應牛年增加了東京放課後中的兩位牛獸人角色阿斯特利歐斯與神農，以及Live A Hero中兩位人氣角色雷奇和巴雷爾。喜歡兩部作品或者木質商品的獸獸記得趁早下手，以免遲了一步。

虎皮蛋糕獅子丸手工木燒畫新版(700NT)，圖中為雷奇(左)與巴雷爾(右)

　　喜歡東京放課後的獸迷們，來個漂浮於冰棒之中的熊神威和賽特，或者在金魚袋中看著你帥氣笑著的神農如何？Modo推出了新品壓克力入油吊飾，同時也推出了自己的原創彩本合集MOOD ART:01，喜歡Modo的獸迷們可以支持他喔！

Modo的大幻肢新品——東京放課後壓克力入油吊飾宣傳圖 Modo的大幻肢新刊——MOOD ART:01宣傳圖

　　微妙空間的祥ぎん狼更是推出東京放課後的插畫本「邊線味」，裡面囊括了包含賽特，忠與，坎卜斯，鐵木真等等眾多角色，不管是誰我全都要！

微妙空間的新刊「邊線味」(18P全彩 200NT)

　　59Course的阿品則是一口氣推出雙新刊，分別是是賽特與巴爾的新刊「沙灘上的藍鑽石」，以及衝吧烈子中灰田與只野組合的「社畜的秘密房間」！另外同樣在59Course的新刊還有亞灰寄攤的，以Live A Hero巴雷爾為主角的「BANG!BANG!」，喜歡巴雷爾大狗狗的人不要忘記喔！

59 Course的新刊「沙灘上的藍鑽石」(24P黑白 200NT) 59 Course的新刊「社畜的秘密房間」(20P黑白 150NT) 59 Course亞灰寄攤的新刊「BANG!BANG!」(26P黑白 150NT)

　　喜歡灰田只野CP的獸迷們，子將推出的新刊「ACTION！」中有一部分就是灰田與只野的故事，醉暈暈的灰田會被只野怎麼吃掉？另一部分的主角則是日前推出第二季的動漫BEASTARS的雷格西，在發情期中失眠的雷格西又會發生什麼事呢？

KUMAK．COM的新刊「ACTION!」(32P全彩 350NT)

　　如果覺得雷格西的本子一本不夠，同樣是本次FF新品，貓介的「Beastars EX 熊貓先生的秘密任務」也是以BEASTARS中的熊貓豪彬與雷格西作為主角。究竟秘密任務指的是什麼事情呢？

逗貓棒之尾-貓介的新刊「Beastars EX 熊貓先生的秘密任務」(18P黑白 150NT)

　　漣漪月影的漫畫「老大與經理」，這次FF也出了實體本唷！在健身房之外兩個人私下的甜蜜(？)互動，喜歡這系列卻苦無實體版的獸迷們是一定要入手的！

漣月影堂的新刊「老大與經理」(48P黑白 部分彩色 200NT)

　　2021是牛轉乾坤的一年，熊八老師索性推出了雙牛大典，在應景之餘也讓各位獸迷大飽眼福！這次熊八部屋有兩本新刊「極樂!!雄肉外送」及「BOGO的烤箱初體驗」，前者是雄肉外送撞單所引發的慘劇，後者則是以動物方城市中水牛局長Bogo為主角。

熊八部屋的新刊「BOGO的烤箱初體驗」(30P黑白 部分彩色 200NT) 熊八部屋的新刊「極樂!!雄肉外送」(30P黑白 200NT)

　　牛味滿滿的還有S.A.CLUB奇塔的新刊「奶香農場RE」，以及新品東京放課後牛魔王卡套。眾多與牛相關的商品，不怕讓你感受不到牛年的氛圍。

S.A.CLUB的新刊「奶香農場RE」(20P黑白 150NT) S.A.CLUB的新品，由左至右分別為「牛魔王卡套」(150NT)、「健美大學棉布提袋」(200NT)、「牛牛好食肌燙金紅包」(活動贈品)

　　奇塔的「健美大學」系列不只出了棉布提袋，也出了第三集。第三集主要是巴克與巴恩兩個熊獸人兄弟的故事，此外前五十個購買健美大學3的獸獸們，可以免費拿到牛牛好食飢紅包袋，前二十名再加碼50元刊物折價券一張！

S.A.CLUB的新刊「健美大學3」(28P黑白 200NT)

　　倘若對兄弟丼感興趣的話，除了上面所提到的健美大學3，阿爺的新刊也定能滿足獸迷們的慾望！獸魂幻想本次新刊「狼兄的秘密」，對喜歡兄弟之間親密互動的獸迷們是絕對不可以錯過的！

獸魂幻想的新刊「狼兄的秘密」(24P黑白 150NT)

　　一樣是兄弟丼題材，炎的幻想新刊「兄弟的秘密2」也會在本次FF出現，可別和阿爺的新刊搞錯了呀！另外阿炎在FF現場也提供了兄弟抱枕的預購，小小圓圓的抱枕很適合抱在懷裡呢！

炎的幻想 – Fantasy of Flame的新刊「兄弟的秘密2」(32P黑白 200NT) 阿炎及炎的幻想 – Fantasy of Flame的預約新品「兄弟抱抱抱枕」(直徑34cm 300NT)

　　喜歡龍獸人的獸迷們，藍德以魔物獵人雷狼龍為主角的「聚魔町的秘密情事2」及來自日本的繪師pukkunn於獸次元販售的熟肉新刊「デカ過ぎるは及ばざるが如し」，肯定可以讓你的荷包失守！

藍德的羊皮紙新刊「聚魔町的秘密情事2」(28P黑白 150NT) 獸次元pukkunn的新刊「デカ過ぎるは及ばざるが如し」(24P黑白 150NT)

　　除此之外，確定在本次FF獸次元登場的新刊還有集結國內外共21個繪師的超值新刊「DSKY-T」將於攤位「獸次元」販售！以日本相撲為貫穿全本的主軸，出自各個繪師筆下姿態不同的胖胖獸人們全部聚集於一本，有興趣的獸迷們可不要錯過！

獸次元共21個繪師的新刊「DSKY-T」(128P黑白 300NT)

　　るん的「深夜虎配信1+2」，本次也將以中文版無修正之姿在獸次元出現！之前因為看不懂日文而決定作罷的獸迷們，這次不需要擔心語言隔閡了！

獸次元るん的新刊「深夜虎配信1+2」(34P黑白 150NT)

　　一樣是主打胖胖型獸人的繪師，酒肉熊貓以熊熊遇見你中三位主角所創作的新刊「熊熊當網紅」也在FF37首次亮相，似乎三位好朋友的網紅之路朝著不妙的方向前進了？

酒肉熊貓的新刊「熊熊當網紅」(20P黑白 150NT)

　　同樣是為人所知的卡通，寶可夢的新刊有星柴本舖的「初次飼育屋」及典藏有個大耳毛與尾巴不可以合作的「冰火菠蘿之歌」。前者是捷拉奧拉的飼育屋初體驗，後者則是冰精靈與火精靈共譜的故事！

星柴本舖的新刊「初次飼育屋」(40P全彩 350NT) 典藏與尾巴合作的新刊「冰火菠蘿之歌」(36黑白 250NT)

　　典藏與尾巴的合作除了「冰火菠蘿之歌」外，還有歐瑞斯與路克的娃娃，皓然的目光都要被可愛的兩獸吸走啦！另外還有和凱特蘭合作的短篇漫畫「凱特蘭與小銀」，喜歡公母獸人組合的獸迷們記得過來典藏的社團看看！

典藏與尾巴合作的新品——歐瑞斯與路克的娃娃(單購400NT 合購750NT) 典藏有個大耳毛和凱特蘭合作的新刊「凱特蘭與小銀」(12P彩色 170NT)

　　同樣是以公母獸人組合的新刊，阿米青的「魔女與法師」系列也出第二集啦！一行人來到世界樹後會擦出什麼火花呢？想下手的獸獸們要注意阿米青只有第二天會有自己的位置，第一天會寄攤於S.A. Club喔！

阿米青的肉包獅的新刊「魔女與法師2」(38P黑白 250NT)

　　哈格把拔本次的新刊則是純肉短漫「爺爺&大貓」，隨本附明信片一份。據本人所述，這本其實就是個自肥本……。家裡不好藏本子又想支持繪師的獸迷們，或許可以考慮這本喔！

哈格把拔的新刊「爺爺&大貓」(6P黑白 50NT)

　　除了帶夠鈔票零錢與裝戰利品的包包外，大家也要記得做好防疫措施，近期也要照顧好自己的身體，如果當天發燒可就麻煩了！此外也要仔細注意有些社團只有特定一日參展，大多數社團都會在第一天出現，可別製造撲空的遺憾了喔！

　　因為皓然整理這份文章的時間離FF還有幾天，在整理當下有些社團可能還沒有放上自己的商品總覽，難免會漏掉一些，如果有自己喜歡的參戰繪師不在這上面的，可以關注對方的粉絲專頁，或者下方附上的黑小貓所整理的獸圈社團資訊表格快速查詢，說不定會有驚喜喔！

參考資料：

(1) 開拓動漫祭FF37官方網站 -《入場整理券發放須知》
獸圈社團資訊表格原噗
奇塔 (噗浪Plurk)
西歐 (噗浪Plurk)
塔吉 (噗浪Plurk)
阿炎 (噗浪Plurk)
雷虎 (噗浪Plurk)
阿爺 (噗浪Plurk)
宇羅 (噗浪Plurk)
虎皮 (噗浪Plurk)
斷翼 (噗浪Plurk)
藍德 (噗浪Plurk)
阿品 (噗浪Plurk)
熊八 (噗浪Plurk)
嗚啦 (噗浪Plurk)
貓介 (噗浪Plurk)
飆飆 (噗浪Plurk)
可樂餅 (噗浪Plurk)
波樂熊 (噗浪Plurk)
阿米青 (噗浪Plurk)
MODO (噗浪Plurk)
DRNX (噗浪Plurk)
漣漪月影 (噗浪Plurk)
阿鹿小站 (噗浪Plurk)
酒肉熊貓 (噗浪Plurk)
祥ぎん狼 (噗浪Plurk)
清蘋薄荷 (噗浪Plurk)
飛行基地 (噗浪Plurk)
CK Studio (噗浪Plurk)
子將與魯味 (噗浪Plurk)
典藏 (臉書Facebook)
奇獸幻響 (臉書Facebook)
星柴本舖 (臉書Facebook)

Surprise furry movie from Pixar….  This is a “Wait for it” trailer for the furry stuff.

Set in a beautiful seaside town on the Italian Riviera, Disney and Pixar’s original feature film “Luca” is a coming-of-age story about one young boy experiencing an unforgettable summer filled with gelato, pasta and endless scooter rides. Luca shares these adventures with his newfound best friend, but all the fun is threatened by a deeply-held secret: they are sea monsters from another world just below the water’s surface. Directed by Academy Award® nominee Enrico Casarosa (“La Luna”) and produced by Andrea Warren (“Lava,” “Cars 3”), “Luca” releases Summer 2021.

Luca – Teaser Trailer

Jacob Kovar, and his friend Lee “Foxler” Miller, founder of the Furry Raiders

The continuing story of nazi furries and their gang-like crimes (Updated April 2020)

In 2017, Dogpatch Press broke news that made national headlines. (Rolling Stone: Does the Furry Community Have a Nazi Problem? — Newsweek: Neo-Nazi Furries are Trump’s Latest and Most Puzzling Alt-Right Supporters.)

The Colorado-based Furry Raiders are a group with around 200 online members at this time. They exist to infiltrate and troll the furry community. The first story covered how they killed Rocky Mountain Fur Con, and followup covered more of their crimes and victims who need vindication. (See timeline at bottom). 

In 2019, Denver police arrested Furry Raiders founder Lee “Foxler” Miller. He was charged for sex offenses with a child that took place in 2015.

New court documents show how Miller’s inner circle tried to undermine the case by intimidating a witness. If the plan worked, the witness would be lured into a trap, framed, harassed and extorted, and pulled out of Miller’s case. Dogpatch Press would be baited into false reporting to hurt the victim.

Alleged activity by Miller/Foxler at Rocky Mountain Fur Con 2015

Repeat offenders.

The plan proceeded until Dogpatch Press caught on. Investigation gathered evidence, police were alerted and two Furry Raiders were arrested in early 2020.

Behind the scenes, police traced a threat sent by VOIP and found it came from Furry Raiders. Police also received a forged document asking to cancel prosecution against Miller. It’s a reminder of the very first Dogpatch Press headline about the group doing “intimidation” with a fake legal letter.

The plan earned 8 felony charges for Miller’s right-hand man, Jacob Kovar. As a Furry Raiders admin, Kovar was known as Flare, Sneps, and several more names. He used “Dodger” as head of security for a new con in Wyoming. They dropped Kovar as soon as Dogpatch Press sent proof. Court records also show Kovar posed as 14 and 16 year old boys to lure the witness.

Kovar was already on parole for sex offending while working out of Miller’s house in Fort Collins, CO.

Facebook.com/snepcity

Kovar’s conviction for the plan.

In 2021, a Colorado court resolved charges for Kovar. Evidently a deal was reached, and he pled guilty for felony Attempt to Influence a Public Servant, and Invasion of Privacy for Sex Gratification. The D.A. dismissed charges for Witness/Victim Retaliation, Stalking, Extortion, and Criminal Impersonation.

Kovar was ordered to stay away from the victim, get a new sex offender evaluation, and faces years in jail on top of penalties for violating parole. Sentencing is set for April 2021. Update: Kovar was sentenced to 8 years in jail.

Here’s 28 pages of legal docs (with redacted witness ID). The arrest warrant shows police recognizing the furry community.

View this document on Scribd

The bizarre forged document sent to mislead police is worth a look, and might entertain lawyers.

Implications about the Furry Raiders.

In mid-2020, Miller’s own sex offense charges were dropped; but he did not prove innocence with acquittal. From a non-lawyer, the reasons could be (1) gathering evidence to re-file charges, (2) reducing court work during a pandemic, or (3) resting with Kovar’s case and avoiding taking a chance on another one. Miller has not shown an official statement from a judge.

It’s all consistent with reporting since 2017. The Furry Raiders are a threat to critics and kids, and they use “Sovereign Citizen”-style and gang-like tactics.

There’s a key rebuttal to claims that their reputation suffers from false reporting by critics, or “both sides are to blame”. Miller’s 2019 charges coincided with offending at RMFC 2015, long before he was known to Dogpatch Press. The crime report wasn’t seen here until after his arrest, because police learned from private sources and the witness was protected. So here’s the big question:

If they claim to be innocent of targeting kids — why did they need a convicted sex offender like Kovar to frame the witness?

The witness was not intimidated to retract any claims. Furry Raiders say he lied and Miller/Foxler won innocence by proving it. That never happened. Let Kovar’s conviction tell you which side to believe.

Timeline of news for review.

Telegram archive

This group was guilty from the start with trolling RMFC 2017. They got away with nazi “dogwhistle” imagery, threats and interfering with hotel room booking. Some RMFC board members were complicit enablers and their mismanagement helped to kill the con. With the pattern continuing to now, it shows the consequences of tolerating it the first time they show up.

Here’s how it started.

• April 2016 — Furry Raiders grab a block of rooms for RMFC before the official opening, like hoarding pizza at a party and doling it out to friends.
• Through 2016 — Furry Raiders provoke controversy with nazi dogwhistle activity, including appeals to alt-right leader Richard Spencer.
• January 2017 — on Twitter, anti-nazi critic (DeoTasDevil) references a big headline that week: Richard Spencer getting punched.
• The same day — RMFC bans “offensive imagery”, but Deo gets blamed for causing the problem with her tweet.
• February 2017 — VICE gives early mainstream notice to furries opposing nazis and the Furry Raiders.
• March 2017 — Controversy leads to RMFC’s hotel giving notice that the con has to add expensive security due to threats from unknown sources.
• Soon after — Deo gets SovCit-style threat from RMFC’s CEO (Kahuki,) written by his board member friend (Scorch, now an active Furry Raider.)
• April 2017 — Dogpatch Press publishes the letter with “intimidation” headline, and evidence that CEO Kahuki is a registered sex offender.
• The same day — RMFC is canceled, and mainstream news reports nazi ties; but Deo is scapegoated for years after in the fandom.
• In an interview, RMFC’s Chair says threats kept coming from unknown sources. (They were before and after Deo’s tweet.)
• RMFC owed taxes not paid for years; Kahuki had stepped down as chair 8 years earlier due to being a sex offender, but stayed CEO.
• Followup finds complicity between CEO Kahuki, board member Scorch, and Foxler/Furry Raiders, with suspicious activity regarding kids and sex.
• RETALIATION: May 2017 — Califur convention targeted with “swatting” calls to their hotel by nazi furries.
• Through 2017 — Nazi furries are active with alt-right organizing, including Richard Spencer’s Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville.
• More interference with events by Nazi furries, Furry Raiders are banned from events, Denfur convention is planned to take RMFC’s place.
• RETALIATION: Late 2017 — Denfur is targeted with a scheme to falsely book rooms so the con will fail; Denfur restarts room booking.
• An ex-Furry Raider comes out about Foxler leading the scheme to cost Denfur $40,000 with stolen credit cards and ID’s (possibly from RMFC).
• Early 2018 — Discord bans nazi servers where Unite the Right was planned and sweeps out members, Nazi furries are banned with them.
• March 2018 — a prominent alt-right troll (Weev) joins Furry Raiders with hopes to bring Foxler to Richard Spencer events.
• May 2018 — FurAffinity bans numerous nazi-furry accounts with a new policy against promoting hate groups.
• August 2018 — Denfur breaks attendance records, security marches Foxler out.
• April 2019 — Foxler arrested for child sex offense coinciding with RMFC 2015, previously unknown here.
• RETALIATION: Fall 2019 — Furry Raiders team up with a prominent alt-right troll (Milo Yiannopoulos) to troll Midwest Furfest.
• Followup finds ties between nazi furries and a violent gang (the Proud Boys); Milo wanted street fights at MFF, but he was stopped from going.
• RETALIATION: Late 2019 — Dogpatch Press targeted with intimidation scheme, reports to police lead to 2 arrests of Furry Raiders.
• Through 2020 — Dogpatch Press story about violent threats by nazi furries collects the most evidence yet. There’s ties in FBI reports of swatting schemes, violent hate groups recruiting kids, and murders in Charlottesville and Texas.

2019: Kovar and Milo plan for MFF.

These groups chase power even with constant consequences for being toxic. More than ever, this story is evidence for why to keep them out.

Like the article? These take hard work. For more free furry news, follow on Twitter or support not-for-profit Dogpatch Press on Patreon. Want to get involved? Try these subreddits: r/furrydiscuss for news or r/waginheaven for the best of the community. Or send guest writing here. (Content Policy.)

This credit report ad better not awaken anything in me….

Toadally Money

Hello, Papabear.

I saw this on fur affinity, and I'd thought I'd give it a try. I'm a second year college student working on a degree in marketing. I've always been good with numbers and I'm kinda creative so I thought it would be a good choice. Two years in an I'm having doubts. The courses are super challenging. My main skill is creative writing, and I also love geology, but I was afraid those would be not good ideas to take as it's hard to find work in those fields.

My main question is this. Should I continue with my degree for 2 more years, or should I do something else? I'm afraid it will take me more than two years to complete because I'm struggling with many courses. What do you think?

Dodger the Crocodile

* * *

Hi, Dodger,

Assuming colleges in Canada are similar to the ones in the USA, the first two years of college are typically about taking prerequisite courses in areas such as math and English composition. So, probably many of the courses you have already completed would also work in another major discipline, yes? I mean, if you were aiming at marketing, you'll probably take writing and math courses. Also, if you were doing some graphic arts courses for advertising, artistic skills could apply to, say, cartography in geology majors. Anyway, changing majors in college is a common occurrence, so deciding on a different path is not going to cost you too much time, I think.

The best majors to pursue are the ones you have a passion for. Don't pick an area study merely because you think there is money in it. If you love geology, then you should go for it. Furthermore, you seem to be under the misguided notion that there are no careers out there for geologists. Quite the contrary! Geologists are in high demand in areas including:

• Oil and gas industries
• Mining
• Construction
• Hydrology industry
• Alternative energy sector
• Environmentalism
• Gemology

Your interest in creative writing would also be helpful in any industry because communication is key. So, one path for you might follow would be majoring in Geology with a minor in Communications or English composition. Now, I'm not sure what courses you found challenging in marketing, but be prepared for some tough courses in geology, too, which involves such things as engineering and chemistry.

Anyway, Geology has applications in a wide array of industries. Not only that, but hiring for geologists is predicted to climb 5% a year for the next 10 years, which is faster than growth in many other industries. Therefore, if you have a passion for geology, I think you would do very well in switching majors from marketing and getting a degree in that field.

Good luck!
Papabear

Welcome back everyone! As February comes to a close, we wanted to share our final interview with a Black furry creative in honor of Black History Month. Today, we’ll be speaking award-winning editor and author extraordinaire Krisis “KC” Alpinus!

Kiri has edited books like Claw: Volume 1, Species: Wildcats, and Soar: Volume 1 and also freelances as a Narrative Designer for several dating simulators and digital comics. She has also done work as a Cultural Consultant and Sensitivity Reader for various entities and authors. She is a graduate student of Political Science, a political activist, and in her own words, “An openly and unapologetically Black woman.”

With our interviewee properly introduced, let’s get on with the interview!

FWG: What is your favorite work that you have written?

Kiri: All of my works are my favorites. I put them out into the universe because they are works of my heart and I love each and every character as if they had sat down with me and told me their narratives themselves.

If you’re looking for what works that I think would be most representative of me, I can recommend “Power & Pleasure” in Give Yourself a Hand or, more blatantly, “No Dogs” in Roar: Volume 9.

“Power & Pleasure”, while a NSFW story, is a testament to feminine sexuality, but also finding one’s own sexuality and surrendering yourself to it. I wanted to tell a story about a woman who has come into her own and is guiding another’s discoveries by explaining her own insecurities regarding sex and pleasure. Though the main antagonist in this story is the embodiment of pleasure or hedonism, I found that I enjoyed exploring how relinquishing yourself to pleasure or the things that please you ultimately shape the person you become…or, it at least opens you up to the possibilities or questioning what you’ve been told. I also enjoyed creating a character that didn’t define themselves by their gender identity or sexuality; they defined themselves by what pleased them or what felt good to them.

 “No Dogs” is the result of talking to a few friends up here about the American South’s brand of racism and how it starts at a young age. I related to them how I and a few other Black kids had been slurred in elementary school by a classmate and his punishment was being sent to his teacher’s classroom, while we were often disproportionately punished for minor infractions.

I also was beyond pissed at how in this very warm, accepting fandom, we still have organizations that have very bigoted people in leadership positions and we have people denying that bigotry exists at all in the fandom, let alone in places that are designated “safe spaces” for people who have been historically marginalized. It infuriated me how it felt that in some matters, furs in my own, chosen community could put the life of a Black person below that of a dog. And yet, it happened and I got to see it with my own eyes. So, using the tools that I had available to me at the time, I showed how it feels to be a young, marginalized person who has to face bigotry and prejudice and still manages to rise above it.

Plus Staffordshire terriers are so sweet.

FWG: What do you think makes a good story?

Kiri: Some will say it’s characters. Others will say that it’s the plot that makes it a good story. I’m of the mind that it’s a lovely mix of the two. One of my favorite tv shows to watch is Scandal, by legendary show writer, Shonda Rhimes. That show has some of the best plots that make my little politically-poisoned mind squeal. Elections tampering, infidelity, covert governmental organizations, and a love story that set my fuzzy soul on fire, but these plots would have been nothing without dynamic characters that made me love them and made me tune in each week to see what happened to them as they advanced the plot. They had agency, backstories, and were all beautifully flawed in ways that made them relatable.

Stories NEED that mix. I need to care about your characters to become invested in your plot. I need the plot to do something that makes your characters come alive. I’m a very much “in my head” person, so as I said earlier, I need your characters to seem real enough that it feels like I’m getting sucked into that world and everything that happens outside of it stops. In a world that has gone crazy with inequality, greed, diseases, and mounting bigotry, when I’m done fighting against this, I need something that helps me to escape.

When I write, I try to give that feeling of immersion and make my characters so realistic, so that even if they’re an alcoholic, polyamorous lesbian tigress with silver fur, it feels like you should know her (and scream at her to get her life together). I need your story to give me a sense of immersion that is not easily broken, not even in the bathroom (I’m a habitual bathroom reader).

FWG: What does Black History mean to you?

Kiri: When I was younger, Black History was a month of discovery and a showcase of Black excellence. I was shown poets, authors, innovators, scholars, movers, and shakers. I felt a sense of empowerment and kind of special. I thought that this was OUR time, a time where we mattered more than just being slaves and oppressed people. It showed we were complex, resilient, and talented people. I used to love Black History Month.

Now, it feels like one long, drawn-out performance and whataboutisms. Every year, there’s a growing group of “very stable geniuses” who adamantly ask, “why is there a Black History Month? Why isn’t there a ‘Mexican’ Heritage Month (Hispanic/Latinx Heritage Month is Sept. 15 – Oct 15) or an Asian Heritage Month (May)?” Or my personal favorite, “what have Black people done to have an entire month?” (That’s the reason for the month, friend.)

But still, there’s also the acts of random performativity that really just irritate me. I see so much kente cloth and invoking of Dr, Martin Luther King Jr. that I get physically ill. It’s all just a show. While things are a bit better now than they were in Dr. King’s time, we still have a long way to go. I can still get killed for driving while Black, walking while Black, being Black in my own home, or worse, being Black while minding my openly Black business. I mean, how far have we really come? The destruction of “Black Wallstreet” aka the Tulsa Race Riots or the destruction of Rosewood aren’t mentioned. Hell, people who live in Tulsa, OK didn’t even know about the riots because of how suppressed information surrounding it was, but it’s our history. It’s American history that should be told.

Honestly, I’m kind of sick of the saccharine version of Black history that is made palatable to the White moderates. Well, it’s not that palatable because apparently, some people can opt-out of Black history teachings. Funny, when I was in school, I had to learn about every racist traitor of the Confederacy that owned people who looked like me and debated the humanity of my ancestors, but some kids can be opted out of learning about the contributions and sacrifices Black Americans made for this county. Can’t say that I’m surprised that people think we came here of our own volition and were happy to do so, but boy am I disappointed.

FWG: Do you feel that your Blackness has affected your writing?

Kiri: I mean, my Blackness affects everything that I do and how people see me, so not sure how it wouldn’t affect my writing. It’s who I am and what I was raised around. It’s my culture and my history. When I write, I write for Black audiences about issues that Black people have, but under the illusion of strictly writing anthropomorphic creatures. I am glad to have non-Black eyes on my stuff because it challenges the norm, but I do like having an anthropomorphic fantasy that Black people can somewhat relate to.

FWG: Do you feel that issues in the outside world affect your writing in the fandom?

Kiri: The issues inside of this fandom affect my writing, let alone those outside of it. As I mentioned earlier, when I wrote “No Dogs”, I was quite pissed about how Black people being murdered by cops was a ho-hum, but animal abuse was abhorrent. There’s nothing that makes you feel ignored by your fandom than logging onto Twitter and seeing someone who is con staff of a rather large con call your people “thugs” and “animals”, but want the head of a woman who abused a dog. I mean, you can both be disgusted by animal cruelty AND the over-policing of Black bodies. I do it every day.

I pretend to be a dhole* on the internet, but when I turn off my phone or shut down my computer, I am still a Black woman. When I create these stories, I create them as a Black woman and when I talk to people at furry cons, it’s not as a red dhole, it’s as a Black woman. A disabled, light-skinned, opinionated-but-honest Black woman. Any and everything that affects me under those categories are things that affect me inside of this fandom and sadly, I don’t have the complexion for the protection from those things. I’m not awarded that escapism here.

Furries are people and just like people, they bring their biases and prejudices with them, but sadly Black people and other PoC have to deal with them. We can’t be dogs, cats, frogs, or dragons on the internet. We’re usually having to justify our existence to the nearest sparkle dog who doesn’t understand what rights we’re exactly missing.

So, to answer your question, yes the issues in the outside world affect my writing in the fandom because the fandom does not exist in a vacuum where we’re all cute, fluffy animals who hold hands, sniff each other, and hug it out.

I don’t even dream in that color.

FWG: If you could convince everyone to read a single book, what would it be and why?

Kiri: Fiction: It would be Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. Zora was a wonderful writer and helped preserve a lot of Black traditions through her writing. I remember watching the movie Oprah produced and it blew me away. It was one of the things that awakened me to my own powers and abilities as a Black woman.

Non-Fiction: Hood Feminism by Mikki Kendall. Read it and you’ll know why I recommended it.

FWG: Do you have any projects incoming you’d like to tell people about?

Kiri: Unbreakable Anthology has a couple of sequels in the works, so check those out. Buy my book Soar: Volume 1. Lots of good fantasy from various cultures and backgrounds. Vote for me in the Coyotl’s and the Ursa Majors. (Shout out to the folks who recommended Soar for the Leo’s.)

FWG: Any last words for our readers?

Kiri: Pet dholes. Drink mead. Save dholes (Like please, save the dholes.)

We would like to thank Kirisis once more for sitting down to answer all of these questions for us. You can find her on Twitter @SwirlyTales and we highly recommend checking out the projects she has worked on.

As this is our final spotlight for the month, we would like to encourage all of our readers to check out all of our interviews in this series. Supporting Black creatives and learning about Black perspectives isn’t something should not just take place during just one month — make sure to keep expanding your knowledge. Until next time, may your words flow like water.

Yesterday’s story looked at finding therapists in the furry community, who might get things like LGBT issues or the benefit of role-play. Meet one.

I am a licensed independent marriage and family therapist in Ohio. My furry name is “Fuzzyfin“.

I have been in the fandom since before I was a therapist. Being in furry actually helped me quiet a bit, as a queer women, to help find myself authentically. I was able to explore and witness things like the leather and BDSM/Kink community (as there is a lot of overlap). In experiencing these things personally, it has greatly helped me as a clinician. Clients want to see someone who “gets it” and won’t pathologize them.

One of the big issues that clients face, is a lot of scrutiny for being involved in “non traditional” interests. I am open on my website that I am involved in the furry fandom, and have been told by clients that it helps them feel more comfortable and not judged. It has also helped me in being comfortable talking about things like gender expression, sexuality, and intersectionality of power and privilege.

I love talking and teaching about furry. I gave a Sexology on Tap talk in January 2020 locally in Columbus. I gave a presentation to MFT students at Akron University late last year. 2019 was my first year as track lead for the Mental Health, Nature, and Spirituality track at Midwest Furfest. It has been great to give presentations on how to find a therapist and how to manage anxiety at a convention.

I am constantly learning, I am a member of AASECT (American Association of Sexuality Educators, Counselors, and Therapists) as well as the National Coalition of Sexual Freedom. I am currently taking additional courses in sexuality and sex therapy.

The pandemic has definitely created a unique situation. I work with A LOT of couples/polyam folx, which I have noticed the issues within their relationships being amplified by feelings of helplessness and being stuck. It has amplified stress on folks. Honestly, the hardest time during COVID for me as a clinician was during the Jan 6th insurrection. Clients were terrified and I was terrified, things were changing so quickly. I might be a therapist, but I am still a human.

As a mental health professional, I am also exhausted, holding space for folks right now while also going through our own stuff.

Furry is unique in that a majority of the community is online, but the lack of cons has created a massive hole in connection. I know we are all tired and that need of connection is so great right now, while at the same time having that connection leads to a lot of risk. I have a lot of conversations with clients comparing safe sex conversations to COVID risk – and how to talk about risk with folks “in your bubble”. I am thankful things like Zoom and Discord exist, as it enables face to face connection. I know COVID will forever change my profession, it has allowed me to meet people “in their house” by being virtual. I have been able to get an emergency license for KY. I also now am licensed in FL and not just Ohio. It has removed some of the barriers to seeing folks. I am seeing folks I never would have seen before being online.

Fuzzyfin is like many furries — multiskilled and generous about sharing. Here’s hoping to catch one of her talks in the future.

UPDATE: talk shared by Hund the Hound.

Follow Fuzzyfin on Twitter or visit her site.

Like the article? These take hard work. For more free furry news, follow on Twitter or support not-for-profit Dogpatch Press on Patreon. Want to get involved? Try these subreddits: r/furrydiscuss for news or r/waginheaven for the best of the community. Or send guest writing here. (Content Policy.)

I have so many questions here….

“Unbreakable” is the story of Barbara the Bunny. When she begins to persistently cough, “Quality Control” at the toy factory labels her “defective,” and so her search for treatment begins. She goes from shop to shop to no avail, until she discovers a loose string of yarn that takes her on a magical journey across town and into the arms of a toy repair shop owner.

Unbreakable

Lawrence M. Schoen’s Soup of the Moment: A Tale of Barsk is a distant prequel to his earlier novel Barsk: The Elephant’s Graveyard but can easily be read as a standalone story. As the title suggests, it takes place on Barsk, a planet of islands colonized by genetically modified elephants or “Fants.” The Fants display a number of traits inherited from their non-sapient ancestors, such as a tendency to live in large matriarchal herds, while males can enter a hormonal rage called musth if they go without sex for too long. They’re also divided into two “races'' called Elephs and Loxs (presumably Elephas maximus and Loxodonta africana). However, they also have a few traits that are obviously engineered but not elephantine in origin, namely their physical inability to conceive children out of wedlock.

Soup of the Moment is presented as the “true story” behind a Barsk legend about a Fant who could fly. Pholo, the Fant in question, was a post-grad who discovered a means of using the limited technology available on Barsk to build an anti-gravity harness powered by the planet’s constant storms. However, nearly everybody else—both her male and female lovers, her great-great-grandmother, and one of the senior faculty at her university—seems to think it’s a horrible idea and try to talk her out of it. While flying is physically dangerous, the core conflicts of the story are more social in nature. Each naysayer has their own arguments and reasons to discourage her, forcing Pholo to come up with different counter-arguments to mollify them.

For a story about a flying elephant on a distant planet in the far future, Soup of the Moment is surprisingly down-to-Earth. It seems evocative of sci-fi novels of the 80s, such as those of Frank Herbert and C.J. Cherryh, that emphasized the social sciences over the physical. One particularly intriguing scene was the “projective test” performed by Pholo’s therapist, in which she laid out Tarot-like cards and asked Pholo to relate them to herself. It turned Pholo’s therapy session into a debate with herself, without any obviously supernatural elements, and acted as a vehicle for exposition about the world of Barsk as she interpreted the symbolism out loud. That was a creative means of bypassing a big info-dump and changed up the debate formula of the previous chapters a bit.

Schoen's writing is very effective at conveying the complex characters of the story and their social situations. Pholo has a life outside of her work, and she has to balance it carefully with her family, her polyamorous lovers, and the university. Nor are the other characters 1-dimensional caricatures: every one of them has their own line of reasoning and different reactions to Pholo's decisions.

If you’re into high-concept science-fiction about ordinary people in strange well-developed worlds, check this story and the other Barsk novels out.

Soup of the Moment: A Tale of Barsk, by Lawrence M. Schoen

This Australian kids show digs deep in the yard of raising little ones, and the Moms of Furries show Arrkay just how helpful and practical these life lessons can be. This cartoon isn't just for kids, it's for parents too. Subscribe to Moms of Furries on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCgNoGzJlOxb4PsHER1ID0Yw Merch, Sweet Tees and stuff: http://www.culturallyfd.com https://teespring.com/stores/culturally-fd-merchandise Support Culturally F'd: https://www.patreon.com/culturallyfd Plus a Newsletter: http://tinyurl.com/gsz8us7 Listen in on TEMPO TALKS with Tempe O'Kun https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIPk-itLl1jPyIK2c7mK-LpbvfDNqfcSW Check out Tempe O'Kun's books "Sixes Wild" and "Windfall" here: http://furplanet.com/shop/?affillink=YOUTU2907 Here's a playlist of his other Culturally F'd videos: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIPk-itLl1jPS7tnT4hdJwBI-CeLF8Kb_

Hey,

This is my first time sending this. But here's my question, it's been kinda bothering me. Is there a way to keep my mind off of negative thoughts from the past? The reason is have this question because I had times when I messed up in high school. Not paying attention, not doing my homework and all of that. And my father kept of telling me, "You're not going anywhere in life." if I kept on acting like school was nothing. Lucky for me, I actually graduated and I kinda expected for my father to congratulate me like how he did with my little brother, but he ignored me for the whole day. And it broke my heart seeing that all that I work hard for ... was just there for my father to ignore or seeing it as a joke. And it still bothers me till this day. Can you give me an advice?

Sincerely,
Aura

* * *

​Dear Aura,

Congratulations on completing high school. Good for you! 

I have a feeling there is at least another letter or two in there about why your father treats you this way, but for now, I will just address the issue at hand. My bear gut tells me that all this stuff about not paying attention in school, not doing homework, etc., is probably related to stuff going on in the home. For example, if a kid or teen is having family trouble at home, or suffering from poverty and not getting enough to eat, or some such thing, it makes it difficult to concentrate at school. Or, it could be you have an attention deficit disorder or another mental or emotional issue that is hampering you. Or it could be that people have put you down so much that you didn't believe you were worth the trouble to do well in school and you self-sabotage.

Many things could be going on here, you see. I also suspect that you have trouble keeping your mind "off of negative thoughts from the past" because someone (guessing your father) keeps reminding you of his perceived shortcomings of you. Yet despite these handicaps, you still managed to get your diploma, and I think that shows you have a lot of character and proves your father wrong.

First thing's first. When your father tells you, "You're not going anywhere in life," don't believe him. Don't let this become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Going for my gut again, I'm guessing your father didn't get where HE wanted to go in life, and he is now projecting that negativity onto you.

Am I hitting any targets here?

If I am correct in any of this, the solution is to get your father out of your head and write your own story of success. Just because he doesn't believe in you doesn't mean you shouldn't. If it's worth anything, I'm proud of you for finishing high school and hope you continue your education (whether or not it is a formal education matters not at all). Now, doing this is tough, admittedly. That's because it is programmed in all of us to want our parents' approval. Many times, parents are kind and loving and give us what we desire, but sometimes there are bad parents who not only deprive us of this emotional need but actually damage us emotionally by attacking our sense of self-worth (this is usually because the parent is damaged themselves and passes that emotional disease on to the next generation).

To get your father's voice out of your head, you need to recognize that he is not perfect and that there is a very real possibility (I feel, certainty) that he is incorrect about you. Once you acknowledge that, you can break free of that chain and begin to actualize yourself.

In addition, you need to begin supplanting negative thoughts about yourself and negative memories with good, positive thoughts about yourself. Take some time each and every day to look at yourself in the mirror and reflect (pun intended) on good things you have accomplished and good traits that you have. Do not be hesitant to congratulate yourself on something good you have done or some good quality that you have. Spend at least 10 minutes a day doing this; longer, if you can. The more you do this, the more you will crowd out negative brain waves running through your mind.

Live your life as you see fit and not with the goal of pleasing others. You are not placed on Earth to make your father happy. You are here to discover yourself and improve yourself. Whatever it is in your life that you find appealing and wish to pursue, regardless of what others think or demand, that is what you should do. And don't listen to people who say you can't do it. If you truly want it, then you should go for it. Even if you fail, keep trying. Failure is not the end; it is merely a chapter in learning.

I hope this helps. Good luck to you!

Hugs,
Papabear

Fun is good for you. Furries know it. Get a fursona and have fun with art, stories, role play, or putting on a carpet and doing silly voices. How about news reporting with a silly voice that makes dogs flip their heads to the side? (I was on a podcast this week.)

Sick of lockdown? More than ever, people need fun to stay well, but options are limited: “The pandemic has evaporated entire categories of friendship, and by doing so, depleted the joys that make up a human life—and buoy human health.“

You can talk to people online, but social media has bad vibes that are hard to ignore. Expecting bad ideas to get neutralized by good ideas is a bad idea at this point. Stoking them can turn into mass hysteria. Or mega-hysteria. (Megascale is a thing now, but here’s some history:)

“Whose turn is it to clean the litterbox?”

OK, I don’t think soldiers should come whip people for meowing (kinky) but there are problems that don’t get fixed with meowing back.

Speaking of mass hysteria, look how a thing like QAnon jumped from online to real life. It’s the conspiracy theory about satan-worshipping pedo-cannibals ruling the world from a “Deep State” who were supposed to get rounded up by the Messiah Trump. What a sentence. I’m just a talking dog, but that doesn’t sound healthy. I have no idea what those people are doing now, but they might need help to come back down to earth.

Sometimes you need professional help.

This started with a friend having the idea of a therapist finder for furries, because if you are one, you might prefer someone who gets your reality. Think of professionals who get common LGBT issues and won’t judge role-playing. I gathered some comments about this.

I'm a therapist! Feel free to reach out!

— FuzzyFin #BlackLivesMatter (@TheFuzzyFin) February 15, 2021

Anon furry tip:

I have a counselor who’s been very open and accepting about the whole ‘furry’ thing, though it took several years to come up. We also spoke about it in the context of something else, and so I ended up talking about how I entered the fandom, what my initial experiences were, and how early interactions shaped me (both positively and negatively). There were a few questions they had to ask more than once, but overall I feel like the fact that they hadn’t known anything about the fandom previously was a big help. I had a similarly positive experience with a hypnotherapist. Oddly enough, both of them were professionals who’d decided to train as counselors later in life.

For therapists with furry clients, from Furscience, via MythicalRedFox:

I was just thinking the other day how it’d be nice to have a therapist that is a furry. Getting a therapist up to speed on furry context has always been a barrier. There is this: Clinical Interaction with Anthropomorphic Phenomenon: Notes for Health Professionals about Interacting with Clients Who Possess This Unusual Identity.

Finding help online might not be as easy as you think, says Furscience:

A big challenge is the restriction on therapists to practice only in the state they are licensed.

— Furscience! (@furscience) February 15, 2021

A caveat from Hero of None:

I don’t know many furry therapists, but I’ve certainly seen several that aren’t. Discords and Telegram chats, just like twitter, are not good places to discuss mental health issues, especially in “anonymous” help channels. Always seek accredited & professional therapists! I think we’re both familiar with at least one furry group that promotes said ‘help’ to furries, just to boost their membership numbers and with no accredited therapists on its constantly shifting staff list. =\

Reassurance from Horrible Horse and more furries:

This reminds me of work with my therapist, where we’ve discussed Furry Fandom often; everything from him having a little knowledge about BLFC to my unadulterated joy at Foxtrot (furry dance), how Furry helped me embrace my gayness, and how anthro deer are the epitome of men I find attractive.

I have a sex therapist too. He's the most understanding one I've ever met regarding Furry culture.

— Scrimno (@Scrimno) February 16, 2021

That’s a good start… but what would therapy be like for various animals?

• Therapy dog: “Nobody ever asks how *I* feel…”
• Housecat: “I get in trouble for sleeping around.”
• Owl: “It feels like I’m always watching my back”.
• Groundhog: “I can’t get one day for myself without people expecting things from me.”
• Porcupine: “I’m working on less prickly relationships.”
• Sheep: “Is it OK if I’m attracted to farmers and Scottish people?”
• Bear: “My parents were overbearing and I’m learning not to panda to them.”
• Cow: “I’m getting help for a moo disorder.”

Tomorrow, check out what Fuzzyfin has to say about being a furry therapist!

Like the article? These take hard work. For more free furry news, follow on Twitter or support not-for-profit Dogpatch Press on Patreon. Want to get involved? Try these subreddits: r/furrydiscuss for news or r/waginheaven for the best of the community. Or send guest writing here. (Content Policy.)

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In January I sat down with Nat to discuss everything from the furry fandom, to colorism. Needless to say this fun and lighthearted soul really knows how to bring on the harsh truths some of us are afraid to say. As a skilled artist and animator he was more than happy to talk about how art has shaped his life over time. From his humble upbringing to rousing need to protest whether it be outside or at home. 

Since Nat is also an avid cartoon fan it didn't surprise me to hear his delight when it came to more LGBT+ representation in cartoons. He went over how it impacted him to see characters they could relate to in that way. 

Thanks for listening everyone! 

(Audio got kinda messed up. Sorry about that!)

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Interview With NatCatSama - Art, Colorism, & LGBT+ Representation