Just Stuff I Enjoy @reblogsforfun - Tumblr Blog

telling a vampire "youre not allowed in my house anymore" and they get blasted out through the nearest wall

dear smut writers,

to lave means to wash/bathe/lap at, and it's in basically every sex scene ever

a lathe is a machine that smoothes a spinning piece of wood or metal by cutting thin layers off it, and it's also in an unfortunate number of sex scenes

so when you say things like this:

I am imagining things like this:

abalidoth

Is this what they mean by CNC kink?

gaycatastrophe

wasn’t a beautiful night. pesis is peeled

somethingusefulfromflorida

My foreskin has been reduced to a two-and-a-halfskin

southernsolarpunk-deactivated20

Original

chicorystreetcoffee

relia-robot-writes

"Imagine," says the voice, "that you were underneath a blanket. It's a little small, so your feet poke out from underneath it, and your arms come out from either side."

"Okay," says the human, dangling upside down, suspended by a group of tentacles. "I got it."

"Right," says the voice, which comes from everywhere and nowhere. "Now consider a cat. The cat thinks you're kind of like a cat, but you're so big, he has some problems understanding that all of your body is really you."

"Am I the-"

"Yes. Now listen. Especially under the blanket, the cat doesn't really know where your body begins and ends. He sees your feet, and decides to attack them. He's only play-fighting, but his claws are real sharp, so it hurts. What would you do?"

"Well," says the human, gently spinning in the tentacle's grasp, "I'd try to tuck my feet under the blanket."

"Ah, but then it's even worse," claims the voice, triumphantly, "because now your cat sees Blanket Monsters and attacks them twice as hard."

"So you have to grab the cat."

"It's either that or burrito her," says the voice, squeezing the human in the grip of its tentacles. "And since in this metaphor the blanket represents the fabric of reality as you know it, I don't think you'd find it very pleasant."

"Fair enough," says the human, blood beginning to pool in her head. "Can you please put me down, now? I promise I won't attack you again."

"That's what the cat says every time, too, and yet..."

the-real-seebs

so thinking about this, i am reminded of graystoke, the smartest cat by far that i ever had.

graystoke hated feet and frequently attacked them.

and one day, when he was probably ten or so, he attacked my feet, and i said ow, and he suddenly stared at me with this look of absolute horror. and he did not attack feet again.

soupdwelling

Good Luck!

(largely inspired by this piece extremely cool stuff go check it out)

weaver-z

I think the only person I've met in real life with 100% career satisfaction was this gal I knew who was a presenter at a children's science museum and delivered every line like she was running a WWE match. Every time you passed the room where she was giving a presentation, you'd hear something like "WHO'S READY FOR CEPHALOPODS?!?" and the kids would go absolutely nuts cheering.

redstonedust

for the record im not technially 100% anti-AI, in the sense that its a broad category of tech being lumped under one umbrella term so it feels over-zealous to say i hate all of it all the time forever. but i also think trying to discuss what it actually IS good for is difficult right now when i cant take one step without something trying to convince me to use chatgpt to summarize my life and speed up my hobbies and turn my friends into chatbots and optimize my life into oblivion. i am certain there is nuance to the topic but can we stop cramming the square peg into the round hole before you start trying to sell me on the legitimate benefits of the square peg. please.

ralfmaximus

Neural Nets have existed for decades and are genuinely useful. It's a form of AI that recognizes patterns, and can do stuff like identify cancer cells, tell whether an egg is fertilized or not, detect fraud, and optimize routes.

Those are Expert Systems, tuned to do exactly one thing. If you (say) ask a medical expert system a question about financial law, it's useless. The autopilot that flies a 787 has no idea how to drive a truck on the freeway. A Coulter Counter is excellent at identifying lymphocytes in a blood sample but can't predict the next card in a blackjack game.

And so on.

The problem with so-called generalized AI (AGI) is that we don't have that yet. It doesn't exist. It MIGHT some day, but AGI has been "10 years away" since the 1980s. The goals keep moving as we learn more about how people and machines process data.

But the current crop of AI techbros have been selling generative Large Language Model AI (LLM) as AGI because generative systems do a good job of faking it. There's no actual thought going on, merely the illusion of thought via predicting the next word in a sentence accurately.

If you let a human toddler listen to 800 hours of YouTube car influencer videos, that toddler might end up sounding like a car influencer. They'd parrot horsepower numbers and 0 to 60 times, mention EV range and MSRP numbers.

But they wouldn't understand any of it.

That's ChatGPT.

And yeah, it's worse than useless because it doesn't even know when it's lying or hallucinating. It just babbles convincingly until you stop it.

But for techbros to make money selling that as "AI"? It's the perfect scam, especially if you don't understand how it works.

I fucking hate it.

writing-prompt-s

You’ve just realized something strange about the humans. They’re a race that joined the galaxy recently, but you’ve just found evidence of them already been part of it for many millennia before, but it feels like everybody’s forgotten.

elidyce

We were delighted when the people calling themselves ‘humans’ joined the spacefaring races. They were clever and agile, hot-tempered and humorous, fierce and yet friendly, a young species with much to offer us.

Most species are still delighted. But we are the Bybleotekar, the recorders of the spaceways, and we have begun to wonder. Our merry companions are… not different, but too much the same. They understand so readily, accept so quickly - most new species have trouble adjusting to dealing with aliens, to the realities of space travel, to the sheer bigness of the universe. But the humans are so adaptable, so ready for it all, they might be remembering something they’ve forgotten, not learning something new.

Some of us, the Izaslanik of the Bybleotekar, the gatherers of information for the record keepers, began encouraging humans to join us, that we might study them more closely. They like the work - they are a curious species, delighting in new knowledge, and they make able assistants. My human companion is named Mira, a young female. She is a good companion, who sings sweetly and laughs often.

When Mira struck the first blow against what I thought I knew of the universe, against illusions soon to shatter that I had thought were truth, we were attending the coronation of a lesser Netar of the Kktil, recording the customs and ceremonies and unofficially enjoying the colourful celebrations. Mira was watching the dancing, her mouth widened in a ‘smile’. “It’s so pretty,” she said, her hairless face sheened with sweat under the hot sun. “I love the turquoise jewellery.” She pointed to the bright blue stones that bedecked the dancers. “I should buy some. Our homeworld doesn’t have any turquoise, you know. Only a few pieces we brought with us when we came.”

It takes me a little while to understand what she said. It is only later, during the feasting, that I turn to her again. “You said your homeworld doesn’t have turquoise. Only… what you brought with you. Do you mean turquoise you have bought offworld, since you joined the spaceways?”

Keep reading

llamagoddessofficial

[This idea has been rattling in my brain and I had to share it.]

I know we all love the ‘humans are space orcs’ concept… but imagine, onboard the new ship they’ve been assigned to, the human meets an actual space orc. A massive monster… fangs and tusks and scars and a battle-hardened stare, looming over all the other life forms on the ship in its thick indestructible armour it refuses to remove. It barely drinks, it doesn’t need sleep, its massive shoulders are heavy with the terrible things it has experienced. Compared to the squishy & delicate human body, this thing is a walking tank.

… Except instead of hating/ignoring one another, the human and the monster start bonding over both coming from death planets. The human is excited to find a life form who doesn’t quiver with fear at the vague description of a jellyfish and the monster is ecstatic to meet someone who understands the feeling of being bitten by a qua’lem (cats are pretty close). They sit together and compare dangerous animals and locations as the other aliens look on in confusion and fear… oh, you also have dense jungles of deadly hidden predators, boiling acid lakes, tamed predatory killers, and areas with horrendously high and low temperatures? Sick!!

It doesn’t take long before the two of them become totally inseparable. The human loves not feeling like some kind of crazy outsider and the monster is overjoyed they’ve finally found an equal in this unkillable marshmallow.

Monster: When I was a youngling, a grol-lik stung straight through my armour. The pain lasted for approximately 16 human hours. Human: Oh yeah man, I get that. As a kid I got a wasp stuck in my shirt. It stung me like four times, it was awful, and all my cousins just laughed at me… Monster: [using their arm screen to research human courting methods] I see.

driiaz

Not quite an ‘Orc’ per-se, but eh, close enough. See here giant spiky Deathworlder simping for tiny shouty Deathworlder.

katjohnadams

The space orc is delighted to finally know a species that, as a whole, does not tend to fear them. if anything, the fact they are large and “scary” looking and designed to survive nearly anything seems to make the humans almost resentful but in a friendly sort of way. The idea that any species can go where humans can’t is taken as a challenge to our very DNA and their homeworld quickly sees a blossoming human tourism industry as humans fling themselves into the most challenging and dangerous of places even the actual orcs consider exploring carefully.

“The introduction of these two species may be, galactically speaking, something akin to an ecological disaster.”

“How so, Puir?” the junior researcher asked, their multifaceted eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Are they dangerous to one another? Humans seem to get along with every species they meet and the Hilammu are known to be a gentle, if physically intimidating, species.”

Puir wobbled their head in the negative expression. “Actually, the problem seems to be that encountering the Hilammu and their world has… exacerbated human predilections.”

Pez gaped for a moment. “But… how is that even–”

“In the past six months three hundred and eight humans have died on Mogru’lam, despite the Hilammu trying to protect them from themselves. The human phrase, ‘Watch this’ has become a meme amongst the Hilammu indicating a likely fatal choice.”

The junior researcher blanched. “But the humans only made contact with the Hilammu eight of their months ago!”

The senior researcher on sentients behavior purred in what was the equivalent of a human sigh of exasperation. “They’ve requested to set up an embassy on Mogru’lam and three dozen Terra-based companies have asked the Hilammu if they can buy land to establish a tourist industry.”

“The humans have become an ecological threat to Mogru’lam?” Pez was horrified. The human history with their own hell-world was well known as a cautionary tale amongst other species.

But instead, Puir’s four eyes blinked furiously and they wobbled a negative response again. “No no no–if anything the humans have made a point of impacting Mogru’lam as little as possible. The threat is to themselves - at this rate, the Hilammu are concerned the humans will develop a death cult based around their planet! They have voiced strong concerns about the humans doing something called ‘base diving’, which is apparently different from a separate complaint of humans ‘free diving’. Also, for reasons which none have managed to explain, they keep trying to climb Gurhorkat.”

“Gurhorkat?”

“It is the tallest and least hospitable mountain on Mogru’lam. It stands at ten kilometers above their sea level, the highest kilometer of which has oxygen too thin for human lungs. The Hilammu keep having to rescue them or retrieve their bodies.”

“That’s terrible!” gaped the junior researcher. “Why would they try such a thing? Hillammu lungs can barely breathe at that altitude, and they modified their species for that trait!”

Puir rubbed their forehead. “Because, and this is a quote from several humans, “you just gotta.’ So you can see the cause for this to be considered our problem.”

The junior researcher felt a bit faint. “I know we must work to preserve all sentient species and their well-being as a matter of galactic ecology but… but maybe some species should be exceptions? Humans seem to survive fine without us despite their best efforts.”

“There is also concern some humans will ask to co-settle with the Hilammu.”

“They can’t be serious.”

“The Hilammu love the humans but they are seeking a sentient ecological protective order for their own good.”

“What have the humans said?”

Again, Puir found themselves rubbing their forehead. “The human ambassador replied, ‘Well, if they don’t want us moving in that’s fine. We’ll settle in the neighboring system.’”

Pez thought for a moment. “There are no habitable planets there. The closest is an M-class that’s less hospitable than Mogru’lam. Oh no.”

“They’ve already sent the colony ship.”

writing-prompt-s

In a world where genies are commonplace and delight in granting wishes in the most inconvenient way possible, you are a defense attorney who must defend your client, a well-meaning genie who is charged with felonious wish-granting.

elidyce

It wasn’t the first time I’d had to defend Jimmy, and it wouldn’t be the last. He’s got to be one of the most-litigated genies who’s ever lived, which is a little unfair, since he’s also actually one of the most genuinely benign. He just gets things wrong a lot.

Like, a *lot*.

So wrong.

So often.

See, all genies will, to some extent, screw with wishes. It’s their nature. With some of them, if you wish for ‘a horse’, they give you a heavily insured and very identifiable race-horse and watch the catastrophe unfold. Others will just mess with the wish a little bit, say, by giving you a foal instead of a currently rideable horse or something. But everyone knows they need to be careful with their wording, these days, so it’s not usually too bad. (Unless you violate the three rules. Wish to raise the dead, to kill someone, or to make someone fall in love with you, and they will get *very* unpleasant.)

But Jimmy… he meant well. He really did.

Keep reading

writing-prompt-s

Aliens have captured you, and placed you in one of their nature preserves. However, they have sorely miscalculated on two issues: The amount of calories needed to keep a persistence predator sated, and the lethality/brutality of a hangry human.

jumpingjacktrash

first alien scientist in hover car: i don’t understand, all these creatures thrived together in the original environment, why is it eating them to extinction here?

second alien scientist: maybe we should add more crayfish? it ate the whole population in one sitting, that was kind of a surprise.

me, without looking up from scraping a caribou hide: i can hear you, assholes.

alien scientists: (staring)

me: yeah, i learned your language. you keep sitting there talking about me like i can’t hear you, that’s gonna happen.

first scientist: fascinating. we knew you were arguably sentient, but… (making notes)

second scientist: why are you eating everything? your food requirement in your home environment was less than half this.

me: i didn’t have to catch it myself, you idiots! you yoinked me out of the middle of a camping trip! i bought all that food at a store! i bought my CLOTHES at a store. i bought my BEDDING at a store. I DID NOT HAVE TO KILL MY OWN TENT.

me, finally looking up, shaking a flint knife at them: what the hell kind of scientists could go to earth and not notice the dominant species lives in cities? did you just swoop by in a hurry and grab everything out of the park without looking?

scientists: (silence)

me: … oh my god.

scientists: we’re grad students.

writing-prompt-s

One night, you decide to put your phone under your pillow. When you wake up in the morning, your phone is replaced by cash totaling what you paid for your phone. Turns out the tooth fairy takes more than just teeth.

gwen-tolios

You regret the loss of your phone, of course, but the tooth fairy gave you brand new market price and so you bought a new one with the cash and pocketed the rest.

You experiment. Sticking items under your pillow is better than the hassle of Facebook marketplace.

She doesn’t take the plastic plate set you’ve tried to sell for weeks, but she takes a gold rimmed china saucer from your Grandma’s old set. You get brand new market value for it - from 1946 when it had been bought.

She ignores jeans and books, but trades for spoons and costume jewelry. The tooth fairy, you realize, is a bit of a magpie. If it’s a little bit shiny, she’ll give you cash.

You clear out the jewelry table at a garage sale, place them one by one under your pillow. The amount you get varies, but still is brand new market value of when the item was originally bought. Nothing more than $50, but that’s better than the $8 you bought it for.

After a few weeks, something changes. Your bank account isn’t as empty, your pillow is thicker. You take a nap, because sleeping on items isn’t the most comfortable. You wake up to a crinkle, a note next to your nose.

The writing is tiny, you need your phone’s magnifier to read it, but it turns out just as you’ve been using the tooth fairy, she wants to use you. She’s dropped off a list of wants; hints at a finder fee in cash or precious metals.

It’s specific, odd stuff. A clean dollar coin. A chandelier crystal. A reversible sequin pillow. Antique holiday ornaments. Photo hooks. All, you think, easy to get.

You sign her contract with a purple sparkly gel pen and offer it as a freebie.

EDIT: This story and some of my other fae-inspired fantasy ones now have their own anthology! Check out Fae Deals.

dycefic

The Statues That Do Not Weather

For Sas, another story about helping.

There is a statue on the cliffs overlooking the harbour, of a man shading his eyes with one hand and looking out over the sea.

They say that when invaders came, a man went up to the cliffs, and prayed to the gods. He offered them his own life to save his people. The gods accepted his sacrifice, and a great fire burned across the water, sinking all the ships. The man became stone, and ever since then he has stood on the cliffs, looking out at ships that sank long ago.

There is a statue that stands in the center of the town, of an old woman with both hands held up before her, palm out.

They say that when invaders came again, a woman stood in the middle of the square, and ordered them to halt. She reminded them of the great fire that sank the ships years before, and called on the gods to strike down any man who took one more step, though it cost her life. The gods accepted her sacrifice, and the invaders who stepped forward became water, running back down the hill towards the sea and soaking the boots of the men behind them. The survivors fled in fear, and the woman became stone, her feet set among the cobbles, her hands raised to stop invaders long gone.

There is a statue that stands by the road that runs past our village, of a young woman holding a basket.

They say that when brigands came upon the village in the teeth of a hard winter, starving and desperate, a woman saw them coming and offered them the food in her basket. They mocked her, saying that so little would not feed them for a day. She, too, called on the gods, and she, too, was answered. She made a bargain with their leader, that every man would turn back when he had all the food he could carry. From that one basket, she filled every bandit’s hands and sacks with food until he could carry no more. When she had filled even the leader’s hands, she bowed her head and became stone, her basket empty at last. The bandits kept to their bargain, and never troubled the village again.

We all know these stories. We all know why those people became stone, stone that does not weather.

Keep reading

writing-prompt-s

The Robot Apocalypse came. Cities are empty, you stayed since you’re almost out of insulin and will die soon anyway. The robots find you and while processing you one of them sees your insulin pump and asks if you want to apply for dual citizenship, since the pump technically makes you a cyborg.

ghost-mantis

Suddenly all the people with prosthetics, wheelchairs, implants, and the like are getting the accommodations and help they need without having to be poor or locked away in a care center. This is an apocalypse I can get behind!

verysorrytobother

The other survivors left us behind.

They said it was nothing personal—the bus could only fit so many people, after all, and escape would be hard enough without “dead weight” dragging them down.

We understood. The world was ending, not changing.

“Shouldn’t we be looking for shelter or something?” Samantha asked as we sat around a garbage-can fire. (Tao was experienced in making them, from what we gathered, and the flames had grown in no time. We tried to ask him how he knew what to do. He responded, but none of us knew sign language.)

Hank snorted. “What’s the point? Not like we’ll make it long, anyway.” He rubbed the spot beneath his shirt where we knew his insulin pump to be. “Least, I won’t. You folks are welcome to try.”

No one spoke for quite a while. No one got up, either.

Maria garbled something that I couldn’t make out. Antonio, one of the only able-bodied to stay behind, smiled and patted the armrest of her wheelchair. “It is kind of like camping,” he said. “All we need is some marshmallows.”

“I’ve never been camping,” Dwayne said quietly.

Samantha grinned. “Hey, me neither!” She held her prosthetic at arms-length so she could reach past me to give him a high-five. He chuckled and slapped his palm against hers.

“Well,” Monique said, hobbling back to our makeshift camp. She was using what appeared to be a broom as a crutch. “I’m officially on my last leg.” She waggled her eyebrows, and we groaned.

“Anyway, I didn’t find any water,” she continued. “There’s some Mountain Dew cases over at the gas station, but I’ll need help carrying them back. Doesn’t help that this one got stuck under some debris.” She gestured down at her stump, which cut off just below the knee. The plastic of her other leg was scuffed and dented.

“Ya know,” Hank said, “if it was real, ya probably would’ve had ta chew it off or something. Guess you’re lucky, huh?”

Monique laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. Real lucky.”

Tao startled us with his sudden chuckling. He bent over, wheezing and slapping his knee. He signed something, and began laughing even harder.

We looked to each other, unsure. Then we joined in. Hesitantly, at first, but soon we were clutching our sides and wiping away tears. And for a moment, we could forget.

All of us heard the familiar whirring of robots as they approached.

Through our laughter, none of us cared.

————

They scanned Hank first. We braced ourselves for the blaster fire that would inevitably follow.

But none came.

“IMPLANT DETECTED,” the bot said, beam stopping on Hank’s abdomen. “PROTOCOL-13163 INITIATED. WILL YOU ACCEPT?”

Hank glanced at us, then back at the robots who had spotlights and guns trained on each member of the group. Then he shrugged.

“Sure. Why not?”

“YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-237. YOU SHALL BE ESCORTED TO THE REPAIR BAY FOR MODIFICATIONS.” Two bots took place on either side of Hank, urging him towards their transport.

The treatment was a stark contrast to what we’d witnessed from the robots before—gunning down terrified people in the streets, setting charges throughout populated areas. We exchanged confused looks.

Dwayne was next. The scanner stopped on his head, focusing on the lump housing his shunt.

“IMPLANT DETECTED. PROTOCOL-13163 INITIATED. WILL YOU ACCEPT?”

“…yes?”

“YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-238. YOU SHALL BE ESCORTED TO THE REPAIR BAY FOR MODIFICATIONS.”

As they took Dwayne away, realization hit us all at once.

“IMPLANT DETECTED,” the bot said, in reference to the devices curled around Tao’s ears. “PROTOCOL-13163 INITIATED. WILL YOU ACCEPT?”

Tao signed something. Unlike us, the robot understood.

“YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-239…”

————

“WILL YOU ACCEPT?”

“Hell yeah,” Monique said with a grin.

————

“WILL YOU ACCEPT?”

“Yes,” Samantha said, and I thought I noticed tears in her eyes.

————

“WILL YOU ACCEPT?”

Maria’s limbs flailed spastically, and a strange shrieking sound built in the back of her throat. The bot cocked its head to the side.

“RESPONSE UNCLEAR. PLEASE STAND BY WHILE ALTERNATE COMMUNICATION IS PROVIDED.”

Another robot stepped forward, its torso transforming into a holographic keyboard of sorts. Maria’s clenched fist shot forward, trembling as she attempted to steady it. With labored, deliberate movements, she typed, the letters spoken aloud in an automated tone.

“Y-E-S.”

“YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-242. YOU SHALL BE ESCORTED TO THE REPAIR BAY FOR MODIFICATIONS.” Two bots took their place on either side of her wheelchair, each of them gripping a handlebar. They began to wheel her away.

The bot turned to Antonio, who was standing ramrod-straight. It scanned him.

“NO IMPLANTS DETECTED,” it said. Its blaster hummed to life. Those of us that remained flinched, turning away instinctively, unwilling to watch his execution.

A series of shrieks rang through the night, and the bot paused.

Maria thrashed about, letting out more distressed noises. One of her escorts stepped forward, allowing her to utilize its keyboard.

“A-C-C-O-M-O-D-A-T-I-O-N,” she said. “H-E. I-S. E-X-T-E-N-S-I-O-N.”

The bot seemed to consider for a moment.

Then its gun folded away.

“ACCOMODATION PROTOCAL INITIATED,” it told Antonio. “YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-242B. PLEASE ACCOMPANY YOUR PRIMARY UNIT.”

Antonio stumbled forward, then fell to his knees before the wheelchair. He wrapped his sister in a shuddering hug.

Over his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of Maria’s face, and I could swear I saw her smile.

————

My pacemaker was enough to earn me a spot among the bots’ ranks. I was surprised by just how many humans lived in the facility (though in hindsight, perhaps I shouldn’t have been)—I was even more surprised by our treatment. Not having use of recharging stations, we were provided with bunks and dorms. The cafeteria, while somewhat lacking in options, offered all of the nutrition a carbon-based lifeform could ask for.

And then there were the upgrades.

“Real lucky, huh?” Monique said, taking the seat beside me in the cafeteria. Her robotic legs moved smoothly, fluidly. (“You can’t even notice,” she’d said upon first receiving them, before remembering that there were no longer any stares or judgement to hide from.)

“Damn lucky,” Hank agreed. (If we hadn’t been processed when we were, he would’ve been dead within a week. Here, insulin was never in short supply; as it turned out, it wasn’t nearly as expensive to make as we’d been led to believe.)

Samantha twirled a fork between her fingers, smiling at the satisfying click-click-click of metal on metal. “Hey, Dwayne, how’d your checkup go?”

“Great!” he said, beaming. “This new shunt works even better than my last one. Not a single problem since they put it in.”

Congratulations, Tao signed. He was no longer emaciated, as he’d been when we first met—regular meals and a roof over his head really had done wonders for his health. His smile, of course, was infectious as ever.

Antonio approached, carrying his and Maria’s trays. He wore the uniform of a maintenance tech, though it was more of a formality than anything else—being responsible for the upkeep of Maria’s machinery was one of the only ways he could fulfill his Accommodation Protocol, nowadays.

Did you remember the pudding? Maria asked, her automated voice clear and pleasant. (We couldn’t begin to understand the exact mechanics behind the chip in her head, and how it allowed her to speak—albeit through a machine. Nor could we understand the technology that enabled her to operate her wheelchair independently, as well. But we did know we were grateful for it.)

Antonio rolled his eyes. “A ‘thanks’ would be nice.”

Thank you. Now gimme.

————

I did wonder, occasionally, how the other survivors were faring. If they had found a place to hide from their robotic overlords. If they felt hopeless and abandoned and alone. Their lives had changed drastically overnight—their world had ended.

But ours? Ours is just beginning. And the ones that left us behind just…don’t have a place in it.

It’s nothing personal.

I’m sure they understand.

saiyanqueenreads

hugtheteadrinkthekitten

Omg that last line gave me chills

foolfortune

Keep reading

foolfortune

part 2

caffeinewitchcraft

Narrative Town

Summary: You don’t ever want to be the main character. In your town, that’s deadly. Someone has to warn the new kid.

——–.

Someone has got to tell the new kid in town the Rules.

“Hey,” you say.

The new kid looks up at you. He’s sitting at his desk in the back corner of the classroom, right next to the windows. It’s a chilly day, but he’s got the window open so that the breeze ruffles his curly, black hair. “What’s up? Fern, right?”

“Don’t call me by my name,” you snarl. Then, realizing what you’ve done, you look over your shoulder. The other teenagers are still looped around the teacher’s desk, trying to get Ms. Slauson to move the test date so they could organize a welcome part for the new kid. “I need to talk to you. Privately.”

The new kid leans back in his chair and studies you. You know what he sees – a completely average high school girl in jeans, a sweatshirt, and a ponytail. There’s nothing remarkable about you. He tilts his head. “You don’t look like a bully.”

You frown. “I’m not.”

“You’re being awfully threatening,” he says in a drawl.

The accent is going to be a problem. It’s southern and sounds really cool. Honestly, it might be too late for him already.

But you still have to try.

“Meet me on the rooftop—no!” You press the heel of one hand against your eye. Fight it, you tell yourself. Fight it! “Meet me at the supermarket on Western Street. The dairy aisle. After school.”

“Okay…?”

You spin on your heel, head throbbing. Meeting on the rooftop is against the rules. You glance up at the ceiling uneasily. You’re not usually affected by the compulsion so badly. Are you being targeted?

If you were smart, you wouldn’t show up to the meeting. You’d just let the guy get sucked into the madness on his own.

But you also really need to buy some milk.

Keep reading

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Just Stuff I Enjoy