#short story

[whereserpentswalk]

People don't realize how liminal it is to be a time traveler. How you don't ever really feel like you're in the time you are. Even when you're in your own time, everything is off, your coat was something you bought in interwar France, the book you're reading on the train is from a bookstore you had to visit in Victorian London, even your necklace was given to you by a Neolithic shaman, from a culture the rest of the world can never know. You find yourself acting strange even when in the present, much less in the past you have to work in.

You remember meeting a eunuch in 10th century China, and having him be one of the only people smart and observant enough to realize you were from a diffrent time. You could talk honestly with him, though still you couldn't reveal too much about your time. And it was still so strange hearing him talk casually about work and mention plotting assassinations. You're not allowed to but you still visit him sometimes.

You remember that the few times you were allowed to tell someone everything it was tragic. You knew a young woman who lived in Pompeii, who you had gotten close to, a few days before she would inevitably die. On your last day there you looked into her eyes, knowing soon they'd be stone and ash, that the beauty of her hair would be washed away by burning magma. And you hugged her, and told her that you wanted her to be safe, and told her she was wonderful and that you wanted her to be comfortable and happy. And you let her tongue know the joy of 21st century chocolate, and her eyes see the beauty of animation, knowing she deserved to have those joys, knowing it wouldn't matter soon. And you hugged her the last time, and told her she deserved happiness. And when you left without taking her it was like you were killing her yourself.

You want to take home everyone you're attached to. There's a college student you befriended in eighteen fifties Boston. And you can't help but see him try to solve problems you know humanity is centuries away from solving. And you just want to tell him. And it's not just that, the way he talked about the books and plays he likes, his sense of humor. There's so many people you want him to meet.

You feel the same way about a young woman you met on a viking age longship. She tells stories to her fellow warriors and traders, stories that will never fully get written down, stories that she tells so uniquely and so well. She has so many great ideas. You want so dearly to take her to somewhere she can share her stories, or where she can take classes with other writers, where she can be somewhere safe instead of being out at sea. She'll talk about wanting to be able to do something, or meet people, and you know you're so close to being able to take her, but you never can, unless she accidently finds out way too much then you can't.

You remember the longship that you met that young storyteller on. You were there before, two years ago for you, ten years later for the people on it. The young woman who told you stories wasn't there ten years later, you had been told why then but you only realize now, her uncle, who ran the ship, had been one of the first people to convert to Christianity in his nation. He killed her, either for not converting or for sleeping with women, you're not sure, but he killed her, and bragged about it when you met him ten years later.

You talk to the storyteller on the longship, ask her about the myths you're there to ask her about, the myths that she loves to tell. You look into her eyes knowing it's probably less then a year until her uncle takes her life. You ask her if you think that those who die of murder go to Valhalla. She tells you she hopes not, she doesn't see Valhalla as a gift but as a duty, she hopes for herself to go to Hel, where she wouldn't have to fight anymore. You slip and admit you're talking about her, telling her that you hope that's where she goes when she's killed. You hope to yourself you'll be forced to take her to the twenty first century, you're tempted even to make it worse, you want to have ruined her enough to be able to save her.

#196 #my thougts #worldbuilding #writing #my worldbuilding #my writing #urban fantasy #ancient history #history #short fiction #short story #original fiction #flash fiction #viking #viking age #norse mythology #ancient rome #pompeii #science fantasy #science fiction #sci fi #scifi #queer #queer history

[strangelittlestories]

If that year’s winter had not been cold enough to crack the air, or if it had not overstayed its welcome like a troublesome relative, then the village never would have called upon the woman with all the skulls.

But the warmth came late and, worse, when it did it brought the sickly sweet smell of blight on the wind. The people tried to hope it away, but it clung in their nostrils, the ghost of future hunger pains.

When spring finally limped into view, the first long-term crops emerged shrunken and sickly. Barely thawed earth was dug up to reveal blackened roots beneath. The farmers toiled to get their first plantings of the spring in the earth, but a second snap of frost killed their progress and many of the seeds.

So, with a hard and hungry year promised, Evelyn (the village librarian) volunteered to make the journey to the Tower of Skulls and Soot.

Evelyn was no fool. She took all reasonable precautions. She brought gifts: a small jar of her own baby teeth, saved by her parents in case she ever saw such desperate times; and a parcel of old poetry books that no-one ever checked out as they were long past the fashion. 

She took protection too: from beneath the library’s floorboards she excavated the Quiet Stone, a worn piece of marble that resonated with all the silent moments of revery that echoed above it. With it, she could take any place she travelled to into a library. She also brought a knife (because some people didn’t respect libraries).

When she reached the tower, she was struck by its strange appearance; the impossibly elongated femurs and humeruses of its pillars; the lightning blackened spire; the hanging baskets of death-pale flowers. Inside herself, she noticed a new feeling squirm at the sight and it was … not unpleasant. She gulped and raised a hand to the jawbone knocker on the front door.

The door creaked open, revealing a light and airy corridor - totally empty. Most people would have asked, in a similar situation: well, who opened the door? Evelyn was left wondering: how on earth does a hinge made of cartilage creak?

Soft whispers coming from nowhere and everywhere guided Evelyn through the hallways and winding stairs (mostly made of stone, but with some bone accents). The way was lit by skulls mounted on the walls, with small patches of glowing fungus growing from their mouths. Eventually, the gentle susurrus guided her to a solar near the top of the tower. 

Evelyn had never been in a solar before, but had read descriptions in books and had always thought they sounded most elegant and sophisticated. She was glad to see she was correct, as this room was spacious but not gaping, well appointed but not gaudy, and comfortable but not too cosy. It was filled by crisp morning sunlight that spilled through a huge window that took up the entirety of the east wall.

Sitting by the fireplace was the lady with all the skulls. She rested on a chair with a frame built from the skeleton of some fierce and hunched creature, but filled in with plentiful soft cushions. She wore a sleek robe of pure white; it looked soft.

“Greetings, fell mistress. I bring you a gift of-” Evelyn began confidently, before tripping over the final step.

The jar of teeth went flying from her hands and shattered on the floor. Molars and broken glass covered the floor.

“Well, that’s certainly an improvement on pitchforks and flaming torches.” The lady’s lip twitched almost imperceptibly. “But your aim certainly needs work.”

She flicked a finger in the direction of the teeth, which transformed immediately into a dozen tiny creatures that began to gobble up the glass. They were like a cross between cats, ferrets and tiny dragons. The shards went crunch in their teeth (Evelyn’s *teeth* had *teeth*).

“I, uh, also brought poetry.” Evelyn held out the books. “It’s quite old, I’m afraid. But I like it.”

“A poorly flung tooth grenade *and* classic poetry?” An eyebrow was arched. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to assassinate me or court me.”

Evelyn blushed.

“If I might ask-”

The lady waved a hand.

“I already know what’s on your mind. And yes, I will raise your village’s crops from the dead.”

“Actually,” Evelyn continued to blush, “I was going to ask you where you got those robes. People in towers - especially with so many skulls - always seem to have robes. And I’m sure no-one nearby makes them. At least, not ones so fine as that.”

The lady looked at Evelyn properly for the first time. Once more, Evelyn felt that strange squirming sensation and again realised that she didn’t mind it.

“I keep a small colony of zombie silkworms. They’re picky eaters, mind, but they do make the most delicate threads.” She paused, noticing something in Evelyn’s eyes. “I could gift you some, if you like.”

“Um…”

“Now come on, let’s get to your village before they think I’ve eaten you or harvested your clavicle or some nonsense.” She rose. “I swear, folks may think all the skulls are a *bit much*, but … when the killing winter comes, they remember they need a necromancer.”

---

With thanks to Character of the Month member Ellie Williams for the character of Evelyn.

Want to join the Character of the Month club and suggest character pitches for my stories? Support me at £10/month on Ko-Fi! https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

#writing #microfiction #flash fiction #short story #wtwcommunity #writeblr #creative writing #character of the month club

[hanako-0kun]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVORITE MAN EVER♡

-----⋆⭒˚｡⋆꒰☽♡☾₊꒱⋆⭒˚｡⋆-----

Katsuki Bakugo is a man of great things. And one of them is being your boyfriend. So you decided to take matters into your own hands and surprise him with a gift you actually have been saving up until today. It was a one of a kind All Might figurine that you saw him staring at in a mall once. Of course he didn't say anything, which he didn't need too, but you already knew you had to get that for him.

You knew he wasn't a big fan of parties or too many people but you decided to decorate the place just a bit. You already had the cake in the oven so now you just had to see up the banner and balloons before he came home. You took a step down from the ladder you were standing on and inspected your work. You nodded in approval as your head snapped towards the front door. You panicked before diving down behind one of the kitchen counters. You heard him stomping into the kitchen, so that's when you made your move.

You then jumped up with your arms in the air as confetti was thrown from your hands.

"Happy birthday, Kats'!" Katsuki looked bewildered before smiling softly. He walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"Thanks baby." You giggled and pushed away from his embrace and ran towards a nearby closet. When you returned you had a box wrapped up in golden wrapping paper. "What's this?" He asked as he took the box from you and inspected it.

"It's a present, obviously! Now open it!" You squirmed in your place as Katsuki started to open the present with a puzzled look on his face. He torn off the wrapping paper in quick speed and finally realized what was inside. He opened the box itself and pulled out the figurine.

"Is this...?" You nodded excitedly.

"Yes it is!" Katsuki furrowed his brows slightly and turned his head to look at you.

"[Y/N]..." A frown formed on your face as your arms dropped to your sides.

"You don't like it?" He shook his head and turned his head back to the box in his hands.

"It's not that. I just thought you shouldn't have spent this much money on my birthday." It was now your turn to furrow your brows. You then walked over to gently smack his shoulder. "Hey! What was that for?!"

"You should know damn well that I would've spent my money on you!" Katsuki stared at you with widened eye for a moment before relaxing and sighing.

"I know. Thanks, baby. I love it. I'm sorry for sayin' stuff like that." You smiled brightly and hugged him tight around the waist.

"You're welcome"! He smiled softly and started to sniff his nose around.

"Did you put somethin' in the oven?" You gasp at his question and ran over to the oven to pull out what remained of his birthday cake. You frowned at the cake and placed your face in your hands in shame. Katsuki walked by your side and placed a kiss on your temple. "It's alright, [Y/N]." You felt your bottom lip tremble at his words.

"It's not though. Your birthday cake is ruined and it's all my fault..." He hummed and stared at the cake.

"To be honest I can't give two shits about the cake." Your heart sank at his words and can almost feel tears about to spill out of your eyes. "What I actually care about is the effort and spendin' time with you." You lifted up your head up from your hands and was met with Katsuki's crimson orbs.

"Really...?"

"I wouldn't say somethin' if I didn't mean it. You know that." You wiped the water from your eyes and wrapped one of your arms around his waist. "Plus, I rather have this cake." He then quickly slithered his hand down to your ass and gave it a quick squeeze. You yelped in surprise and smacked his shoulder as he laughed at your reaction. Once you both calmed down, you embraced each other and just stood there in the kitchen for a moment. After a while, you lifted your head up and gave a big smile to Katsuki. He returned and small smirk before placing a small peck on your lips.

"Happy Birthday, my love."

"Happy fuckin' birthday to me."

-----⋆⭒˚｡⋆꒰☽♡☾₊꒱⋆⭒˚｡⋆-----

#bnha #bokunoheroacademia #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugo #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #mha #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #my hero academia #katsuki bakugou #anime #anime x reader #anime x y/n #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x you #fluff #short story #bakugo bnha #birthday #4/20/24

[kumsal-thingss]

Bir zamanlar katlandığım sıkıntıların bu gün elimde güç olacağını söyleselerdi kesinlikle inanmazdım.

Şer'den hayr'ı yaşıyorum...

#içsel #ilustration #flowers #flowers aesthetic #flowers photography #aesthetic photography #short story #spirituality #rain day #rain photography #clouds #rain aesthetic #art #relationship quotes #spilled thoughts #writing inspiration #poets on tumblr #beautiful photos #quotes #lake #lavander #landscape #ispirational #photoblog #photography #nature photo art #nature photography #currently reading #relationship #travelling

[klance-headcanons-official]

Klangst Week. Day 3

"It's okay... It's okay.... Everything will be okay..."

He cradled him in his arms, rocking back and forth.

"Keith. It's been weeks. He's not going to wake up. You have to let him go."

#voltron #klance #vld #ships #keith kogane #lance mcclain #headcanon #short story #can that be classified as a short story??? #whatever #it's short #suffer my wrath

[kbspangler]

ISSUES - Coping Strategies

Remembered this old story of mine that I had posted on my Patreon in 2017. In April of 2016, I donated an AGAHF story to Geeky Giving, an organization raising funds " to help advance research on Parkinson’s, ALS, traumatic brain injuries, brain tumors, Alzheimer’s and more. " At the time of writing, Geeky Giving was working with the  Barrow Neurological Institute to determine the causes and progression of these conditions. 

Alzheimer's took my grandmother; it took my husband's grandmother. Both of us watch our parents like hawks: both of us wonder what's going to happen to us in 50 years.  So I approached Geeky Giving and offered to donate a story to them. They said sure, and yes, it could be an in-universe AGAHF story as long as it touched on the importance of neurological research. 

I have a series of short stories called "Issues," mainly for topics which don't get a lot of on-panel discovery. This is the story of the brilliant oncologist who had to shift her specialty to cyborg research, and the damaged forensic artist who is slowly putting himself back together. AKA: How Jenny and Shawn fell in love.

Please be kind: this was written in 2015-16 and language changes.

The man on the other side of the bed was sweet and kind and completely insane.

She didn’t know how to feel about that. This uncertainty bothered her more than the act of sleeping with a crazed man. Five years ago, she would have been mortified with herself, with the idea of intimacy with someone such as Shawn. Even if he wasn’t her patient. Even if he was more than a friend. Today, he was just…Shawn.

She didn’t let herself think about it—she’d find fear down there, and maybe something else, something that could chase the fear away but leave them both forever changed.

Instead, she stared at the ceiling and pretended she couldn’t hear her machines call to her.

Shawn’s mental voice was strong, and ran as crisp as a winter river through her mind. “Go,” he said.

 “I thought you were asleep,” she whispered aloud.

“You’re too noisy. You should go. Go be with them.”

She rolled over to face him. He had cut his hair himself last week and had done an awkward job of it. Someone had given him a buzz cut to tidy him up, but aggressive neurosurgery and skull-shorn hair paired poorly. She traced his scars with her fingertips, feeling the bumps and twists of the ridges of his scar tissue, and beneath that, his drowsy tangle of emotions.

“They miss you,” he said in her mind. He reached out and traced her own scars, hidden beneath her short brown hair. “I’ll miss you, too, but I want to sleep.”

“All right.” She kissed him on his shoulder, and felt him drop out of her senses as his implant went into passive mode. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time,” he muttered into his pillow, his voice cut down to nothing from lack of use. “I remember having more energy after sex.”

“You remember sex when you were twenty,” she said. Their clothes were a single knot on the floor; she yanked on loose ends until she had reclaimed her pants. “We’re getting old.”

Gentle snoring.

The other members of the collective slept around them, rooms and buildings and miles away. She felt them around her, off-line but still present in the back of her head, four hundred souls who shared their thoughts with her during the day but kept their dreams to themselves.

She opened the door to the crash room and stepped into her lab. It was a medical suite in name only, stuck beneath a crumbling mansion in what once had been a wine cellar. Federal funding only went so far: the government could front the costs for the cutting-edge technology that had gone into their heads, but resources for infrastructure and development? Please.

She didn’t mind. She had built her own diagnostic laboratory by scavenging equipment from storage, or buying what she couldn’t borrow. The room served double-duty as an emergency ward, but the worst injuries she saw tended to be exercise-induced, and not too many of those.

It left her plenty of time for her own projects.

Her computers whirred to life around her. There was no need for clunky access codes; they recognized her and welcomed her home.

“HELLO, JENNY.”

Theirs was a woman’s voice, false and mechanical. Most days, she told herself that they couldn’t feel, that she was projecting her own eagerness to get back to work on her machines.

On nights like this, when the rest of the collective was sleeping and she was nearly alone in her own head, Jenny wasn’t so sure.

“Hello, ladies,” she said. “Ready to play?”

A human brain sprung up around her in reply.

It was lovingly rendered in greens, and enlarged ten times life-size for clarity; if she looked closely, she could see the bright flashes of synapses.

(Which was something of a comfort—it was her own brain, scanned and digitized, and independent confirmation that your own brain is active is always welcome.)

 The implant rested against her parietal lobe, a small metallic sliver smaller than the head of a nail. At this resolution, she could make out the microscopic filaments connected to it; these ran throughout her brain, the majority twining into her brain stem. Heat regulation had been front and center on the developers’ own minds; without it, the cyborgs would have cooked themselves within their own skulls.

She ran her fingers through the hologram. The silvery filaments covered her holographic brain like cobwebs, shining brightly against the green.

“Ladies, overlay image JED-1 over master.”

A second brain appeared, the same general size and shape as the first but made from blues instead of greens. The opacity of the green brain diminished as the blue brain was positioned over it.

“File: Jenny Davis, late night ramblings,” she said aloud. Talking helped. Speaking directly to her computers through her implant was good for clinical analysis, but it was late, and she was tired, and it was time to purge her thoughts so she could, maybe, get some sleep.

“RECORDING.”

“Thank you, ladies. Subfile: Background, general.” She began to pace around and through the hologram, checking for oddities. The blue brain was hers, too—had been hers, once, nearly seven years and an entire lifetime ago. Before the surgery, and the collective, and the alien oddness of hiveminds had all had their way with it. “Image JED-1, brain of a healthy 22-year-old Caucasian female. Ladies, highlight parietal lobe.”

 A section of the hologram began to glow.

“Side by side, magnify, compare and contrast.”

The hologram divided itself again, blue and green enlarging to fill the room. She wandered through the colors, talking to her machines as she went, tracing lines and shapes and twisting flashes of—

“What’s this?”

Jenny swore aloud as her concentration shattered. Shawn flinched away from her sudden frustration and dropped to his knees.

“Oh, honey!” She knelt beside him and reached out through the link. His consciousness scurried away from hers, looking for an escape but unable to find it. “I didn’t know you were there. I’m so sorry.”

She pressed her bare hands against his bare shoulders: she pushed positive emotions—calm, peace, belonging—across the bridge of their skin until he believed it.

He uncurled, looking up at her like a lost lamb.

“I thought you were asleep,” she explained. “You scared me.”

 Shawn laughed at that.

She managed to coax him off of the ground, one arm around him to keep him steady. “Here,” she said aloud. “Look. Want to see something amazing?

“This is me,” she continued, pointing to the blue hologram. “You know those tests you hate so much?”

“The brain scans?” He shuddered, and the sensation of being trapped in a tight white chamber crushed against her. Of lying as still as death, of knowing the person on the other end of the monitor was looking for what was wrong about what the core of you…

“Easy,” she whispered. “Please.”

His fear let her go, slowly. It had managed to find the cracks in her own psyche and had set itself deep—What if these brain implants stimulate tumorigenesis? Or neurodegeneration, or arteriovenous malformation, or… An almost endless list of what could go wrong…

 But there was the green hologram, brand-new and still perfect, and she told herself to put those fears aside.

“Well…” she began, “you remember during orientation, when we all had full medical diagnostics done? This is a composite image from my first MRI and CT scans.”

He stretched out a hand; it passed through the hologram, layering him in a blue the color of a summer sky.

“And this is me, too,” she said, pulling the green parietal lobe towards them. “From last week. Notice the differences?”

“This,” he said, as he pointed to the bright sliver of light on the green lobe. “Obviously.”

“What else?”

He grinned at her. A sense of pleasure at the challenge came back to her over their link, and she turned away on the pretense of gathering up some fallen papers. Too easy to forget that Shawn had once been in the FBI, that he had once been a brilliant up-and-coming forensic artist.

That experimenting with the human mind could have consequences.

Shawn didn’t seem to notice. He moved between the holograms, sorting and poking. His own digital renders began to appear as he worked; the holograms he created were more stylized than her own, freehand sketches hanging in the air beside her still images.

“Here,” he said, once done.

She wrapped her arms around him and stood on her toes so she could rest her chin on his shoulder. His sketches were playful, with arcs of white light moving across the lobes in quick streams. In some places, they caught what she hadn’t: Shawn’s sketches moved across regions that seemed no different than the others, with—

Jenny squinted, hard. “Are those bunnies?”

She stepped away from Shawn and moved into the holograms. A tiny cartoon rabbit popped out of a fold in her green parietal lobe and scampered across her brain. That first rabbit was followed by a second, then a third…more rabbits, an infinite number of rabbits, each scurrying with purpose towards different destinations.

Not just arcs of light, then.

“There are cheetahs somewhere,” he said. “And horses, too. They don’t show up as often. I used rabbits to show the most frequent movement.”

Sure enough, a streak of light emerged across the green expanse before her. A herd of wild mustangs, manes and tails flowing together as they ran, moved in a single stream.

“Damn,” she said softly. “Baby, this is really beautiful.”

She felt his cheeks flush. “It’s just a clip from a YouTube video,” he replied. “I didn’t have time to render each horse.”

“But you drew the bunnies?”

“One of them. The rest are a copy-paste job.”

“These are neural networks,” she said, reaching out to touch the mustangs with her mind. They blurred beneath her thoughts: she hastily moved her mind away, scared she had damaged them. The herd reformed and continued its journey. “Your bunnies are action potentials. The horses—” Out of the corner of her eye, a tiny feline body bunched and shot across the hologram at an incredible speed. “—and the cheetahs are electrochemical neurotransmissions.”

He laughed aloud, a wild, coughing sound. “I can’t remember freshman biology,” he said. “All I know is that the green brain has more wildlife than the blue one. A lot more wildlife.”

“That’s because the implant’s been changing us.”

White light in her head, so bright and sudden it took her a moment to realize her words had stunned him. Shawn stood, motionless, before he turned and fled to the comfortable darkness of the crash room.

“Oh, no, no, Shawn honey…” Jenny hurried after him. If he managed to make it under the bed, he’d be there for the rest of the week. She reached him in time to lay both hands flat on his back and pushed calm, belonging, peace across their joined skin.

He let her pull him away from the bed, but no further. They huddled on the floor in a sad, uncomfortable pile, and she felt a spot on the knee of her jeans grow damp.

Shawn was crying.

“There’s always some good that comes with change,” she said gently.

He looked up at her, eyes wide and desperate, before curling in on himself again.

“You didn’t break. You got a little bent, but… Here,” she said. “Come back to the lab. I want to show you something.”

Bad days turned him mulish, but this was a good day: she was able to coax him off the floor and as far as the doorway. They stood in the void between rooms, cold tile beneath their toes and warm carpet under their heels, as the holograms spun before them.

Jenny pointed. “You said you noticed how there was more wildlife in the green brain?”

“…yes…”

“That’s because our brains—this part of our brains, anyhow—is more active than it was before we got the implant. No, not just active—it’s thriving! Want to guess why?”

His attention was fixed on the holograms, but the easy scorn of an eyeroll passed between them.

“Humor me,” she said. “I’m going to have to explain this to people who aren’t in the collective at some point. Help me find the right words for this.”

“Because we’re using our brains in new ways,” Shawn replied, his mood pulling itself a little higher. “Talking via a link, or this—” he said, and pushed sensations at her.

Unseen fur, coarse but soft, surrounded her hands. Beneath that was the heat from a living body. With these came the memory of a beloved family dog, long dead but not forgotten.

“Exactly,” she said, blinking back her own tears at the loss of a pet she had never met. “We’re the first humans to have been augmented in this way. It’s causing us to think and act differently. We’ve got these new skills that we’re just beginning to put to use. We’re barely seven years into this experiment, and there’s already observable growth in the parietal lobe. Can you imagine what we’ll be able to do after—”

 “Wait, Jenny, wait. Brains grow? Don’t we… I thought we started shedding brain mass once we turned eighteen.”

“That’s Hollywood science,” she said. “Outdated and chock full of errors, but it still fits the script. The reality is…”

—rabbits, horses, and giant cats, speeding over an expanse of green in endless knots of light—

“The reality is, we’re miracles,” she said to him. “Human beings weren’t meant to be networked together. We shouldn’t have the ability to survive as part of a collective, but we do. We change—we grow. We’ve barely begun to understand how we can do any of this, but the more we learn, the more we can use that to grow.”

Shawn broke away from her and stepped into the lab. Greens and blues moved around him, coloring him in a digital sea. He was still naked; the scars across his wrists were nearly as white as the glowing animals.

“What about me?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not…” Shawn’s hands clenched uselessly. “I’m not who I used to be. Does this mean I can go back to how I was, or will I…”

He opened his hands and let his mind pour into hers.

Memories. All of them, from the moment that his own mind broke under the weight of a new reality to living in the fear of staying as he was, unable to change, unable to grow, a roller coaster of emotions that threatened to tip off of the rails—

Too much: she cried out. Shawn lost focus: the memories faded.

Her world rebuilt itself in pieces. The floor came first: she had fallen to her knees. She concentrated on the patterns in the tile until she found the walls. Where there was a floor and walls, there was a ceiling…

She stood.

Shawn hadn’t noticed. “Is this me?” he asked. “This?! From now on?”

She closed her eyes and thought about impossible conversations. Then: “Ladies?”

The holograms stopped spinning.

“Replace current images with new holographic display. Show SEF-1 and SEF-46, parietal lobes only. Side-by-side comparisons.”

Blues and greens vanished; blues and greens returned. To the untrained eye, nothing had changed; the wildlife was gone, but the silvery rectangle was still there on the green brain, and the same flashes of light chased itself in purposeful patterns across both.

“Here,” she said, as she joined Shawn in the center of the room. “This is you. Your earliest scans are blue, and the most recent scans are green.”

He stared up at the twisting holograms. She felt his attention dart across the details, focusing like a laser on anything distinctive or different…

“They look just like yours,” he finally admitted.

“That’s the problem, baby.” Jenny pulled him close. “If you had typical neurological damage, it’d show up on the scans. Whatever happened to you, it’s…harder to find.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Mental illness can be caused by emotional, psychological, or physiological events, or a combination of these. We’re just beginning to scratch the surface of the causes of known disorders. Since your condition is almost unique, we’re flying blind.”

Sorrow. Loss. Anger—You’re a doctor! Why can’t you fix what’s wrong with me?!—and fear.

So much fear.

“We’ll get there,” she promised, as she pushed her own fear down below where she could feel it. “You’re responding well to medication and therapy. It’ll take time, and trial-and-error, and…and more tests, I’m sorry. None of this is easy, but we’ll make it work.

“You might never get back to who you used to be,” she admitted, as his heart hammered in her head. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t get to where you want to be, now.”

“I can do more tests,” he said quietly, even as the white chamber rose up again in his mind.

Together, they held their fears away.

#agahf #a girl and her fed #short story #cyborg #cybernetics #hivemind #mental health #mental illness

[tofu83]

For The Good Of Mankind

The old society collapsed but a utopian society rose from the ashes. There are only 3 kinds of people existing: Authorities, Servants and Laborers.

Authorities follow the advice of supercomputers to govern society. Servants serve the authorities and carry out orders from superiors. Laborers obey the orders carried out by servants to work and engage in production. No one will be jobless because everything is calculated by supercomputers.

If everyone abides by the guidance of the super computer, society will maintain harmony, and mankind cannot afford to be destroyed again. Therefore, anyone who violates the rules must be punished immediately without trial, because the super computer is infallible, absolutely just and compassionate.

Workers who violate the rules are often reported to the servants by the people around them, and the servants immediately assign law enforcement robots to arrest the violators and send them to jail. The servants then summarize the situation and report it to the authorities. The authorities will ask the supercomputer for its opinion and impose punishments. If a servant dares not to arrest or report, other servants will arrest him. If a leader makes decisions without asking the super computer, his colleagues will just ask servants to send robots to catch him.

A prisoner is usually sentenced to reform through labor, but if he is already a laborer, this means that he cannot be reformed anymore. The only fate that awaits him is transformation. He will be escorted to the Transformation Factory by law enforcement robots. There he will be stripped off all his clothes, shaved all hairs from head to toe, and put into a transformation capsule. The capsule will release sleeping gas to make him appear half asleep and half awake.

Several tubes were pierced into his skin and the transformation fluid was injected, turning his bones into alloys, his blood into motor oil, his muscles into reinforced fibers, and his skin into invulnerable armor. As for the appearance of his head, it is a perfect oval. His head becomes a small computer that can directly receive messages from the supercomputer but is temporarily authorized to give instructions to some humans. The original eye area has become a small screen that can display current tasks and regulations to the person he is facing.

The process seems painful, but with the help of gas and nanotechnology, he is actually moved by incomparable joy and glory. He will no longer be a problem, will not be a threat to social order, and will not cause mankind to face destruction again. On the contrary, he will absolutely obey and implement all instructions of the super computer, arrest and transform all diehards like the old himself!

What's more important, he no longer has to take responsibility for his actions. Because he is no longer an individual, but a robot, one of many drones. The supercomputer is his Master and will be responsible for making decisions. All he has to do is obey. It's so wonderful to be freed from the shackles of responsibility. It turns out that giving up your sense of self is true freedom!

"Thank you, Master! I swear I will obey you forever." He shouted his loyalty to the supercomputer in infinite pleasure, and then the last trace of humanity disappeared.

The capsules are opened and all new law enforcement robots walk out in unison and line up towards the factory exit. After being assigned by the super computer, they will report to their respective law enforcement units to show all citizens the consequences of disobedience and the benefits of obedience.

Thanks to the supercomputer, the real Master of mankind, the earth has been peaceful for another day.

Finally, please always remember, when you find it difficult to obey the rules but don't want to destroy the peace, the Transformation Factory always welcomes volunteers to contribute to social stability.

#reprogramming #dystopia #ai takeover #post apocalyptic #cyborg #drone #scifi #robot #male robot #short story #scifi story #robotization #dronification #ai image #tofu83

[theroseceleste]

Tango Teacher Miguel

----------

You have decided to take up learning the tango, but the teacher you booked with is sick, so grumpy Miguel steps in...

18+ content! Minors DNI. Contains : mentions of oral, fingering, penetrative sex and mild praise.

Word count : 3850

Enjoy! xx

----------

You half-walk, half-jog down a busy pavement in the city. Occasionally you glance down at your phone, while navigating between groups of people hurriedly; checking your map to see how much further you have to walk. Surely you’re not too far away now…

You’re on your way to a dance class, you want to take up learning the tango. After months of debating it in your mind you finally went for it and booked a beginners class with Mr. Gomez. However on your way there, you got held up and are running late, if only by a couple of minutes.

FINALLY! You find the building but the dance studio is on the third floor and you have to press a buzzer to be let in.

Standing at the top of the few steps above the street, you press your finger on the buzzer next to the number three. There was no name next to it so you start to worry that perhaps you were at the wrong place. You hear a click as if someone answers the buzzer but an obnoxious honk of a car horn in the street behind you blasts your ears at the same time.

“Hello!?” You shout out - you can never trust how well people hear you at the other end.

Suddenly you’re met with an impatient voice.

“YES! Who is it!?” It’s a man’s voice but strangely it doesn’t sound like Mr. Gomez, the man you spoke to yesterday.

You double-take at the console on the wall, now feeling certain you’re at the wrong place. However the phone says you’re in front of the studio so you state your name. Without another word from the man at the other end, you hear the door click as it unlocks. Two seconds later, you’re inside and the general bustle of the street dies down. You sigh as you look up at the flight of stairs you’ve got to climb.

Feeling slightly out of breath, you make it to the third floor. Pushing through the door signed as the dance studio you booked with, you breathe a sigh of relief, but that feeling doesn’t last for long.

You’re met with a tall, intense looking man. Broad shoulders, narrow waist and exuding dominance. He stands there in the middle of the wooden dance floor in his black long-sleeved shirt, and tight black trousers resting his hands on his hips as he waits. This is not Mr Gomez…

“You’re late.” The sulky voice fills the room as you settle your bag and coat down on a table.

“I’m sorry, I got held up in traffic.”

Stepping closer, you see his face a lot better. His body wasn’t silhouetted against the bright sun shining through the window in your new perspective. You do everything you can to stop your jaw from dropping at the sight of him.

His skin is a beautiful tanned colour, eyes are an enticing shade of a warm chocolate brown, lips full and very kissable - if he wasn’t pouting in a sulk. His silky smooth dark brown hair, slicked back at the top, but has curls at the back. Then you notice his cheekbones. His face looks like it was chiselled perfectly by the Gods. However his intense glare also matched the power of the same Gods who apparently made him in your mind.

He’s so tall! Must be nearly seven feet, you think to yourself. You’re about the average height for a woman. You wonder how this lesson is going to work with such a height difference...

“What happened to Mr. Gomez?” you ask this intense looking man.

“Sick - last minute. You’ll have to make do with me - Miguel.” His answer and introduction was short and to the point.

You feel his eyes search you, judging you? No, perhaps sizing you up for dancing with you. Yes, that’s more like it - you hope.

Earlier you chose to wear a simple white sleeveless shirt, a short-ish black skirt that hugs your hips, nude tights and Cuban heels - the shoes were the recommendation of Mr. Gomez. Your heart flutters at the thought that perhaps he was checking you out, but his lack of enthusiastic expression killed that idea pretty quickly.

Miguel leaves you standing in the middle of the dance floor. He saunters to the edge of the studio, hips swaying and his slightly heeled dance shoes clicked against the wooden flooring with every step.

“No partner?” he asks stiffly as he approaches his phone resting on another table and connects it wirelessly with the sound system.

“I’m single,” you reply, however you thought that was a strange question.

His eyes snap up to you from his phone.

“I meant no dance partner…” he explained flatly, thinking your response was a lame attempt at being funny with him. 

Your face suddenly feels hot. Of course he meant that! You wish the floor would swallow you whole after your words echo embarrassingly in your mind. You shudder and try to save yourself in this awkward conversation.

“I felt I would learn better in a one-to-one session.” Is your response in hope to smooth over your blunder a moment ago. 

The sulky man sighed as he scrolled through a playlist, searching for some music to use with a beginner.

“I usually teach two people partnered together.” He sounds annoyed as if this was an inconvenience.

Eventually, he asks you if you have any experience with the tango. To which you reply you have none, however you have learned other ballroom dances to an intermediate level. He nods at your answer and taps his thumb on an appropriate track to use for teaching you the basic steps.

“Tango,” he begins as he lazily saunters back to you, “a dance that is very intimate and sexual. As its popularity grew, more conservative groups considered this dance as highly controversial. Dance partners get exceedingly close to each other, having a lot of body contact.” Despite his grumpy appearance, during his little speech, his voice became soft and velvety as if the tango was a passion of his.

He stops right in front of you as the music begins to flow from the speakers. It sounds like typical tango style music, a piano accompanied by an accordion. The notes teasing the listener’s ears like a lover teasing their partner.

His intense gaze falls upon you again as you stand rooted to the spot. Your heart flutters once more as you realise you’re going to have to touch this guy, feel him close to you and smell him. Oh God… You subtly squeeze your legs together as an ache deep inside your core emanates in a short series of pulses.

Without warning, his large, warm hands take yours which were idly hanging by your sides. He pulls you close; seizing one hand in his left, while he perches your other on his right shoulder. With the big height difference, this meant your arms were up higher than they were supposed to be. However, he tries to accommodate you by slouching slightly.

The material of his shirt was soft and toasty, his body felt like a furnace underneath. Your fingers rest on his large trapezoid muscle between his neck and shoulder. Another series of needy pulses deep within your core. Swallowing hard, you try to focus on him and not how he’s making you feel.

Now that you’re up close to him, you finally spy the first three buttons of his shirt are undone. Just teasing a slight glimpse of his solid looking pectorals. Did you just salivate?

As the fiery music starts to build up, you feel a pleasant warmth pressing into your lower back, his right hand rests there while his arm supports your left in the hold. He looks down at you and pulls you in even closer - he wasn’t kidding about the dance’s intimate and sexual nature. Your bodies press firmly against one another, his heat making your temperature skyrocket and your cheeks flush. You only hope that the bright ceiling spotlights flood out the pink hue across your complexion.

Miguel explains some basic steps to you, using his grip on you to manoeuvre your position. He calls the basic steps by their proper names, cruce (cross), ochos (figure of eight) and giros (turns). As the man, he uses his strength to lead and direct you. His body becomes a wall, moving you, pushing you expertly into tight turns and exquisite leans. All the while his voice remains unemotional but soft.

Your heart works overtime, fluttering like an oversized butterfly trapped in your chest; however you have everything mostly under control… Up until he takes a stride, leading you backwards unexpectedly. His leg goes right between yours, the material of your skirt offering no line of defence, his muscle driving firmly against your nether region making you gasp and tighten your grip on his shoulder. Miguel stops suddenly as he hears your shock and looks down at you. Stepping back slightly to give you space, you feel his intense heat deserting you.

“I told you, dance partners get very close,” he says in a slightly annoyed manner.

You’re panting, breathless at the experience of his leg accidentally bashing against your sensitive bud. The material of your underwear dampening at your arousal creeping in.

“I wasn’t expecting you to push me backwards when you did,” you reply nervously, as you tug the hem of your skirt back down after his leg disturbed it.

A small smirk turns the corners of his lips as he watches you get all flustered. He finds himself enjoying watching you mutter your words with nerves, and fumble about getting your clothing back in order. And that blush on your face makes him want to play with you. To see just how pink you can really go. At that moment he reminds himself why he usually teaches couples…

Before you’re ready, he takes you in hold again. His hand firmly pressing against your lower back, you feel he’s deliberately pulling you in even closer. His heat re-igniting your core once more. You get the impression Miguel is toying with you now.

“Pay attention and feel me move you - hermosa…” he whispers.

Hermosa… A moan almost escapes your lips. Any space that might have been between your bodies now no longer exists as he pulls you totally flush against him. Something hard prods your stomach but you naively assume it was his belt.

The dancing begins again and you try to listen to his advice. You feel him and his little hints. He squeezes your hand, indicating he’s moving you to the right, or presses his hand against your back to move you left.

A new music track starts to play, he holds you still as he counts in his mind when to resume the basic steps. You hear him mumble, “Five, six, seven, eight,” before beginning that powerful drive against you. Steering you expertly across the wooden flooring. He can tell you’re picking it up, learning to feel the flow of the music and his guidance.

“Good,” he comments, although not sounding overly enthusiastic about it, but you’ll take whatever you can get with this guy.

As time passes, you receive more apathetic praise, but praise nonetheless. It’s actually going better than you expected! Getting more confident with your movements now, you decide to initiate eye contact.

Miguel peers down at you in his hold. Has he been watching you this whole time? His serious expression only slightly displays a hint of fun, but you get an inkling that it was at your expense - somehow. He turns you on the spot as you step from left to right in time to the music. Your ochos were fluid and perfect, a tiny smile tugs at his lips.

“That’s it. Yes... Like that,” his praises start sounding slightly more genuine.

Eye contact suddenly became too hot to handle. His praises and proximity to you makes you feel like you are burning from the inside. You melt at his touch and the fiery stare bores into your soul. The strong scent of bergamot in his cologne distracts you and that thing prodding your stomach seems to be getting hotter and is starting to throb… With wide eyes, you suddenly look away as you realise what’s going on.

He jerks your body in his grip slightly.

“Look at me,” Miguel demands in a low growl.

Your heart pounds harder as your mind becomes more foggy. You hesitate. His hand leaves yours and grips you under your chin, forcing you to look at him. Hot air fans across your face as his lips almost graze yours when your eyes lock onto his.

“Look at me…” His voice a desperate sultry whisper.

Loose strands of his beautiful dark, soft brown hair tickle your face. His wide eyes search yours, almost like he is waiting for something more than just a stare into each other’s eyes. The throbbing that was against your stomach a moment ago was a big indicator of what he wanted exactly. His grip around your back and chin was strong and unrelenting. You were in his grasp, exactly where he wanted you and there was no way out.

The sexual tension between the both of you is approaching breaking point. Your heart is thumping at a thousand beats a minute. Another ache and fresh wave of arousal soaks your panties. His hand that was pressed against your back travels down to your ass and squeezes firmly, a lusty moan escapes his lips as you squeak nervously in response.

Adventurous fingers crawl down to the hem of your skirt, lifting it slightly as he feels the thin netting of your nude tights stretched around your thighs.

“I hope these aren’t your favourites,” he mumbles with a dangerous smile.

You gulp as his fingers begin to grasp and tug at the material. The hand gripping your chin pulls away, five white spots left behind on your skin returning to your normal colour. Both of his hands meet between your legs, tugging and pulling until a ripping sound fills the air. A dirty smirk grows across his lips as he watches you silently processing his steamy advancement. Your eyelids are heavy with arousal. The anticipation of a good time to be had makes your breath falter over and over.

You whimper the moment you feel his fingers disturb the soaking wet panties, massaging your clit through the sodden material.

“My, my… someone’s excited” his soft coos tickle your ear.

“I bet you taste so good too…” he continued as his fingers pressed harder through your ruined underwear.

Another squeak erupts from your lips while your body remains pressed close to your dance instructor as he teases you tenderly with slippery fingers. The mere thought of him pleasuring you with his mouth sends you into another plane of existence. That hot mouth clasping around your swollen clit, his tongue swirling and flicking around your sensitive bundle of nerves. You grind your hips against his fingers as you close your eyes and moan.

“Look at me,” you hear him tell you again.

Opening your eyes reluctantly, you stare back at him. He’s loving every second of this. His fingers move faster before growing tired of feeling you through your underwear. They hook around the elastic and pull to one side before diving completely inside your pussy. Tilting your head back, you howl in ecstasy as you ride his fingers and feel his thumb rub heavily on your sensitive bud.

His free arm snakes around the back of your head and brings you in close so he can kiss you. A hungry mouth latches onto your lips, while an eager tongue pushes through and dances with yours. You both moan as the sexy scene continues to unfold between you.

With his fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy, the room is filled with your whimpers and heavy breathing.

The moment you feel you are getting close, he pulls out of you. A long line of your arousal stretches between you and his glistening fingers. You gasp at his sudden departure from you. Muscles tense as you groan, mourning the lack of pleasure fuelling your building climax.

“Fuck, I need you…” he growls hungrily.

You hear his zipper as his free arm goes under your shoulder and across your back, gripping onto you tightly. He lifts you with ease and pulls you close. He’s panting heavily as his other hand takes his achingly stiff member out from his boxers and trousers. Miguel lowers you until you feel the tip greet the lips of your entrance.

Swallowing hard, you prepare yourself for him penetrating you. The memory of the large bulge that prodded into you as you both danced replayed in your mind. He was going to take every inch of your pussy, filling it completely.

Two loud moans coming from the both of you filled the entire studio as he entered you. Your slick arousal makes it so easy for him to take you entirely in one swift thrust. His hot, thick twitching cock filled every inch inside you. Wrapping your legs around him helps you remain in place for him as he holds you in his highly defined, sculpted arms.

He starts off slow and sensual. Dragging delicately in and out with every thrust. He watches you melt in his arms and even forgives you for closing your eyes in this delicious moment.

“You’re so fucking tight, mi hermosa…” he grits out with more gentle and sensual thrusts.

You feel him press his head against yours as he fucks you slowly. Sometimes he pulls almost all the way out, the tip of his cock teasing the tight ring of your entrance before delving balls deep again. Another loud groan erupts from his chest, accompanying your soft mewls. A symphony of pleasure drowning out the music playing from the sound system.

His gorgeous narrow hips allowed him to fit nicely between your shaking legs. His pelvic bone hits your clit with every slow thrust, but you need more than that. Your body is craving speed and aggression and you know he has that in him.

“Mmmiguel~” you moan desperately, your pussy aching for more stimulation.

“Si?” he responds between heavy pants, his body rising and falling as he fucks you while standing.

“Harder… please…” you beg before another moan escapes your lips.

Miguel takes a moment to respond. You feel his arms grip you tighter, preparing you for an onslaught of thrusts.

“Make sure you keep your pretty eyes on me then,” he grunts, “or I’m slowing down again.”

You nod after he gives you his terms. You prize your eyes open eventually and lock onto him.

“Good girl,” he mumbles as he pulls almost all the way out again.

A loud grunt filled the room as you watched him grit his teeth and thrust hard into you. His eyes fixed on yours the entire time. With that first slam, you almost close your eyes with immense pleasure but you remember your promise. You squint as you cry out for more.

“Such a needy girl you are,” he groaned, before slamming into you again with another grunt.

Miguel knew you were going to ask him to speed up, so he didn’t give you the opportunity to. Once he had found the intensity he knew you liked, he started building up his tempo. Your pussy squelched with every powerful thrust as his balls slapped into your ass cheeks. Tension and tingles build up within you as his pelvic bone rubs against your clit while your core gets the stimulation you so desperately craved.

Sweat drips down his face as he grips you tighter. He pants heavily and grunts into your ear as he focuses more on making you cum and clench hard around his cock. Your arms wrap around his shoulders. He buries his head into your neck, peppering it with kisses and nibbles. Your pleasure fueled moans echoes around the studio while your fingers grip onto the back of his shirt. Your climax draws nearer.

“Ah, fuck!” he groans against your neck, his orgasm getting close too.

Your entire body shakes with the pressure of the building climax, and your entire world is rocked with every powerful thrust and grind into you. Hearing Miguel - who grumped and sulked when he met you, now moaning uncontrollably in your ear continued to heighten your arousal.

“Cum with me.” You suddenly hear him grunt, as his relentless fucking continues.

You couldn’t get any closer to each other as you are now. He has pulled you right up against him. His head firmly nestled against your shoulder and you do the same. Every moan and grunt was muffled. Your arousal dripped onto the dance floor as he fucked you deep and hard. His hands grip onto you tightly as you were both on the precipice. Teetering on the edge of that ultimate pleasure.

You let out a shrill shriek as you start cumming. Feeling you clench and hearing you enjoy yourself pushed him over the edge too.

“Good girl! Ahh fuck - take it all, every last fucking drop…” he groans feeling your pussy clench more, milking him for all he’s worth.

He slows down as both your orgasms subsides; but you still feel the odd throb and twitch inside you as he stands there, staring at you while you’re still wrapped around him.

You feel his hand reach behind him and remove your Cuban heels from your dainty feet, while his other arm supports your weight still. Your shoes drop to the floor, clattering loudly against the wood. Your ripped tights were then tugged by his hand, slipping slowly down your legs, one after the other.

“I’m gonna pull out in a minute. I want you to clench real tight, okay?” he asks you, almost returning back to his serious tone.

You nod as he starts to pull you off. He feels you clench, giving his cock a final squeeze as you slip away. The moment he leaves your walls you hold your thighs together as your panties return to their normal position between your legs. You watch him roll up the remains of your silky tights into a thin organised bundle. To your surprise, he lifts your skirt and pulls your underwear open from the front, stuffing the smooth material inside, right under your pussy. He winks at you, making you blush immediately.

“To stop the evidence running down your leg when you head home,” he explains with a dirty grin.

You’re left speechless as you watch him grab his softening cock and seal it back inside his boxers and zipping up his trousers. You can’t help but think he’s done something like this before. You feel his cum already starting to drip from you and onto your ruined tights.

“As I said earlier, I don’t usually teach one-to-one sessions,” he paused, “but I think I’ll make you an exception. I’ll see you next week.”

Another lesson? Or another fucking session? You ask yourself. Probably both… A smile spreads across your face at the thought of having him all over again…

…part 2?…

----------

I hope you enjoyed your first tango lesson with Miguel, will you come back for another?

Thank you for reading!

I'm open for commissions! If you have a scenario you would love written about your OC and our lovely Miguel, please consider getting in touch.

If you wish to support me on Twitter, you can find me here.

Many thanks,

Love, Rose Celeste xx

#fanfic #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #smut #short story #commisions open #fem reader #female reader #reader x character #dance

[nation-of-bros]

Hot Bromance – First Part

—

Hot Bromance 2

You still feel his beard bristles tickling your face. After you became intimate for the first time in the woods, Bro suddenly looked at you kinda differently.

His gaze is so much warmer now. You give him a short shy glance back and enjoy his smile for the rest of the day: The two of you are so obviously in love with each other, which neither of you would have thought possible, considering that just a few years ago you were regularly dating the opposite sex. But living all this time with other men away from the cities in your own self-sufficient settlement has changed you and triggered new sides deep within both of you that would otherwise have remained hidden your whole life.

He and you feel this even deeper bond between you, and from now on you both no longer want to live without this connection and feeling for each other. It's too beautiful.

You have found your destined partner for life, your closest brother. Since today you are finally truly like the other men with whom you have already experienced and built so much together, which has made them all your real bros. Like them, you now feel that deep connection needed for true brotherhood, which can only flourish when you are a man who prefers his equal, as real men have always been meant to do but have been denied. Now you both understand!

After you arrive home, you sit arm in arm at the table with your brothers and enjoy the evening. They all smile as they watch the two of you. No one will blame you if you retreat to your house shortly after dinner to continue together what happened in the forest.

#strong #hairy #big #bearded #androphilic #bear #bro #love #closest bro #brother #bushy beard #full beard #cap #androphilia #masculinity #straight #straight to androphilic #short story

[cxndiedvi0lets]

"You're leaving me?" I asked with diamonds, glistening in my eyes as I stared at his shadow.

"Yes," He says, then, the sun began to shine.

#gaslight gatekeep girlblog #just girly things #girl blogger #im just a girl #mean girls #manic pixie dream girl #girly #girlcore #gossip girl #cinnamon girl #girl blog #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #girl hysteria #girl interrupted #girl interupted syndrome #girlblogger #girlblogging #girly stuff #hell is a teenage girl #girlblog #this is what makes us girls #this is a girlblog #tumblr girls #quotes #quotes and poems #poems and quotes #short stories #short story

[reidiot]

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude

#× reader #fan fiction #tumblr writing community #tumblr writers #fics #fanfic #wattpad #stories #fandom #booklr #reading #fangirling #spencer reid x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #rafe cameron x reader #spencer reid #stiles stilinski #rafe cameron #imagine #short story #one shot #author #ao3 #recommend me stuff #female hysteria #girlblogging #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #girl interrupted #x reader #writers on tumblr

[whereserpentswalk]

You work with people from other dimensions for a living. While you can travel to other dimensions, it's much easier to just connect your computer to computers from other dimensions. You end up finding out about a lot of strange places, alternate earths where things are diffrent in ways you could never imagine. Most people don't even know other dimensions exist, but to you it all feels so normal, so very distant but so very normal.

Because the company that you work on interdimensional technology for needs to outsource some of its dimensional work you end up very quickly having to contact people from other dimensions with a similar skillset to you for one project. And since it's easy to contact them you end up talking to them afterwards.

There's this one girl you end up messaging a lot. She seems so nice and sweet. You talk a lot about programing, and mathematics and magic (which are all very closely connected fields), she's one of the only people who seems to really understand the beauty in it the way you do. She's obviously from a very diffrent culture, and you never sent eachother images, but you like eachother a lot.

You end up messaging this girl more and more. She's the first to comfort you when one of your freinds turned on you, she was the first to support you when you came out to your parents, even though she didn't fully know what coming out was. She messages you "I love you" in the mornings sometimes. And even though she's far away, further way than anything in the universe, you understand her so well. You've seen her art, drawings she's done of buildings and structures around where she lives, they're like nothing you've ever seen before.

You start to talk about being in a romantic relationship. It's hard but you decide it's what you should do, almost what you have to do. You want to be her girlfriend, you want to know how it feels to hug her, for her to rest her head on your breasts on a warm summer night, to be inside eachother, to touch in a way you don't get to touch. But you can still message eachother, it's just one small contact but it means so much. You want to move in with her, it might never happen but there's something inside of you that wants to wake up next to her every morning.

Eventually you decide to build a portal to eachother, so you can see eachother, and if all goes well, you'll actually move in. You both need to talk to a lot of people, and get help from a lot of programmers and spellcasters from several dimensions, but it's done. The money that was supposed to let you move into a bigger apartment ends up going to a doorway sized portal, stored one of the few buildings in the city that can store such things. You need to get a ticket to go, even though the portal is yourse it needs people to operate it. But you can go. And if all goes well, you'll live together.

When you get to her dimension the first thing you feel is fear. It's dark, you think your underground, only a few bioluminescent organisms light the way. The city you're in is wet, and cold yet humid, everything is made of either moist steel, or dark wood that's covered in some strange layer of material that feels like wet cardboard. The creatures here aren't human at all, they're all strange bug like and fish like beings.

You eventually go to your girlfriend's apartment. Afraid of what you'll see. It's completely dark inside, and decorated like no human would ever decorate anything. When you see your girlfriend for the first time the horror breaks the love you want to feel. Her body looks humanoid, though she's so thin you can see her ribs, and pale in a way only corpses are useally pale. Her face was almost pretty, but her eyes were one solid pinkish color, and her moulth was just a tiny hole, like a jawless fish, it couldn't move at all. And massive fleshy tentacles came from her back, four of them, with razor teeth at their ends, for chewing her food outside her body so that her tiny slit of a mouth can lap it up. You both just stand there, you realize that this is the girl you love, you realize you look as horrifying to her as she does to you. You begin to weep, and she doesn't understand what your eyes are doing.

You spend the night in her apartment. There's no way you're moving in together. You're not sure what this means. You don't want to look at her at first, but eventually you do. You realize if you have to go back to your world you do want to spend time with her. Your languages work so differently that you still need to use computers to talk to eachother, but you can talk to eachother. And you tell her that you're sorry, that you still want to be together.

You let her hug you, and comfort you, her body is so strange, but it becomes less scary when you fully realize that it's her your looking at, that that's who you've messaged all those nights. Despite her eyes and mouth her face is pretty, and though her body is much thinner then you expected she still moves gracefully. You let her touch you, every way she wanted to touch you, let her tentacles wrap around your body. She shows you her computer setup, and her favorite video games, and she even gets to introduce you to some of her freinds, and her little isopod like pet who really likes being pet by you. You can't help but feel uncomfortable in her dimension, but you feel safe with her, and despite everything you enjoy being held and touched by her. At the end of your stay you make love for the first time, you don't have the same genitals as her species, but you make it work. You fall asleep in her arms, and she would do the same to you, but her kind does not sleep.

When you go back home, because you do have to go back home, you don't tell many people, even people who know about dimensions, what happened where you went. But you still message her a lot, and when you can you visit her, and very rarely she'll visit you. Your mother would never approve, and no priest would marry you, but you can't help but fall into the feeling of her body next to yourse.

#196 #my thougts #worldbuilding #writing #my worldbuilding #my writing #fantasy #urban fantasy #lesbian #wlw #queer romance #paranormal romance #monster fucker #monster lover #monster girl #magical realism #short fiction #short story #flash fiction #original fiction #tentacles #eldrich horror #eldritch #eldrich #eldritch horror #scifi #science fantasy #science fiction #sci fi #dimensions

[strangelittlestories]

After the occupation, the princess was confined to the palace.

Once a month she'd be taken on a walk around the city, heavily guarded of course, to show the people that she still lived. It also served, of course, as a reminder of what they stood to lose if they made trouble. The princess did her best go wave and smile and give the people what encouragement she could.

The rest of the time, her life was spent in musty rooms and dusty towers. She filled most of her time scouring the castle for materials which she would sew into more and more elaborate outfits, which she would show off on the days when she was allowed outside.

Indeed, the public loved their princess and her dresses so much they'd often sketch or paint them along the route and pass the images on so that all could see the princess at least was well.

This pleased the occupiers for two reasons. First: it kept the princess out of trouble. Second: it gave them a reason to sneer and they did love a good sneer.

"What a vain creature she is!" They would remark.

"Doesn't even care we murdered her brothers so long as she gets enough satin to make her little dresses!" They squawked.

This was unfair, of course, for to call her creations "little dresses" was to call Queen Murderfun the Needlessly Genocidal "a tad piquey". Her dresses were gravity-defying wonders lace and pearl. They were thunderstorms captured in velvet and waterfalls summoned in silk. She was a wizard with silk.

Still, she bore their mockery with a tight smile and careful deference.

"Please, good sirs, my home, my people and my city now belong to you. Let me keep, at least, this one last joy."

And they sneered and they crowed most unpleasantly, but they let her keep her sewing room.

Of course, they would have known their mockery to be doubly unfair had they realised the true purpose of the princess's elaborate designs. For hidden in the intricate embroiderings across her gowns, jackets and fans, the princess had encoded secret (and very detailed) messages. When she would go on her monthly walk, the city's loyalists would line the route, sketching down the patterns to decode later.

Thus did the princess transmit all the occupiers' secrets (unearthed while supposedly 'searching the castle for old fabrics') to the city and thus did she build her resistance.

On the day the revolution finally came, she girded herself in armour of thick spider silk and whale bone. She cut a fine figure with a lacy handkerchief in her top pocket and a razor sharp knitting needle keeping her hair up.

As she waltzed through the castle to open the door for her army, the Usurper King tried to stop her and she simply unfolded her handkerchief and showed it to him.

Upon seeing the impossible arcane pattern emblazoned across it, he fell to the floor with blood streaming from his eyes.

She always had been a wizard with silk.

---

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to support my writing, you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

#writing #microfiction #short story #flash fiction #wrote this a few years back and finally got round to posting here

[agirlwiththoughtsandnegativity]

”oh so how did you get into writing?-“ no, writing got into me. Actually it infiltrated my brain, starting with the slow takeover of my room with books to the extremely fast claiming of my notes app and now there’s no way to stop it and no way for me to stop.

#short story #writing #poetry #books #fiction #orginal writing #writer #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing memes #writing humor #writing problems #writer problems #writer stuff #writers life

[bearsockz]

Part one

#artists on tumblr #artwork #digital art #digital illustration #digital painting #drawing #painting #portrait #sketch #furry #comic #comics #comic art #mini comic #short story #short comic

[thestuffedalligator]

The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin. They both looked down at the crumpled shape of the Overlord, His Unholy Majesty, in his obsidian armor.

His final spasms had been mesmerizingly acrobatic. The fall down the steps leading up to his iron throne had pretzelled his body quite impressively, both arms folded behind his back and one leg bent at a jaunty angle.

The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.

"Shit," said the goblin.

"Shit," said the orc.

"We're likely to get blamed for this," the goblin said. She walked over to the head of the glittering mangled heap and started pulling the helmet off.

"It's not our fault," the orc said. "It's hard to help someone choking when they wear two-hundred pounds of spiked armor at all times."

"Yeah, well," the goblin grunted. The helmet came free, and the bald head of the Overlord bounced on the stone with a hollow, coconut noise. "You know how it is in this bloody country - thieves get their heads cut off so they can't think about thieving, and all that." She fished in the Overlord's mouth with a finger and pulled out the obstructing olive on the end of her claw.

She popped it into her mouth and chewed. "What do you reckon they do for a regicide?" she said.

"We should run," the orc said. She had started bouncing her leg. "I hear that there's some places in the Alliance where they just kill you and let you stay dead. That's got to be nicer than what'll happen if we stay here."

The goblin started to nod - and then her gaze fell on the helmet.

It looked like a pineapple designed by a deranged blacksmith. It was all thorns and spikes and hard edges, as though the maker had been very determined to not let pigeons roost on it. The only bits that weren't solid iron were eyeholes. Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face.

She held up the helmet and squinted from it to the orc. One of the thorns had been bent badly in the fall.

Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face...

"Right," she muttered. "Right. Could work - or."

The orc had a sudden vision of the immediate future. "No," she said.

"I mean you're about his height-"

"No."

"It would just be for a-"

"Absolutely not."

"Just hear me out," the goblin said. "Outside of this room are two-thousand men and orcs and goblins who are absolutely gonzo about this man, and there's a whole country of them outside of the castle, and at any moment someone's going to walk in that door and see one dead tit in black armor and two unbelievably dead idiots next to him.

"Or." She tossed the helmet up like a basketball to the orc, who fumbled and tried to find somewhere to hold it that wasn't a knife's edge. "We chuck him out the window now, walk out the door in the armor, and ditch the armor as soon as nobody sees us."

The orc had started bouncing her leg again. "They'll know something's up the second I walk out of the room."

"No worries," said the goblin. "Leave that to me."

---

It had been a very strange year for the Empire.

Change had rolled across the land as slow and inevitable as a glacier. Roads and bridges carved the gray, blasted wildlands, and a number of social reforms had made the country a place where you could be miserable, yes, but miserable in comfort and safety, and that was an improvement.

Barely anyone got boiled alive in molten metal, and even if the disgusted sun never rose to light the Empire, at least you had a roof over your head to protect yourself from the acid rain.

"Your empire flourishes, Your Unholy Majesty," the magician said over her wine glass. She looked down from the tower's balcony over the gleaming stone battlements. Some work had been done to line the castle and surrounding city with sizzling, crackling alchemical lights at night. The whole thing glowed like something dangerously radioactive.

The suit of armor waved a languid, glittering gauntlet over to the goblin, who bowed.

"His Abominable Gloriousness Thanks You," the goblin recited. "The Prosperity Of His Empire Can Only Be Achieved Through The Prosperity Of His People."

"If I may be so bold, I am quite pleased that you had chosen to take my counsel under consideration," said the magician. "We have accomplished many things together."

Another wave. Another bow. "The Overlord, May His Presence Swallow The Sun And Stars, Thanks You As Well."

"It was quite gratifying to see you change your mind, after so many centuries of denial." The wine was swirled. "Tell me, what was it that finally gave you cause to listen to me?"

There was the slightest hesitation. The goblin's eyes flicked to the armor, then to the magician. She puffed out her chest. "Do you question the wisdom of His Austere Lugubriousness?" she asked.

The magician looked at the goblin. She looked at the armor. She tipped her head back and drank the wine too quickly.

She looked back at the armor. "I know you're the orc, you moron," she said.

The room went deathly still. An alchemical light fizzled.

The orc pulled off the helmet, sending long, untied hair down tangling, and said: "How could you possibly-"

"Because you're both idiots!" the magician said. The goblin jumped. The orc jumped with a noise like a dropped stove. "What kind of a plan was this?! If it wasn't for me, you would have been turned into fertilizer months ago."

She closed her eyes. She took a long, dramatic breath. She set the wine glass down on the balcony rail.

"How did the Overlord die?" she asked when she seemed like she had gotten a hold over herself.

"Choked on an olive," said the goblin.

"Threw his body out the window," said the orc.

"You don't have to mention the window," said the goblin.

"Right," said the orc. "Sorry."

The magician looked out over the city, hand curled thoughtfully under her nose. "Who knows about this?"

"Just us. And, uh. You. Apparently."

"And why did you accept my counsel?"

The orc blinked. "Sorry?"

"Why did you accept my counsel?" the magician repeated.

"Well," the orc said. "Well - you seemed like you had good ideas-"

"Great ideas!" the goblin said with an edge of desperation. "Don't know why the old bastard didn't listen to you!"

"Right - right," said the orc. "And when we figured we were stuck doing this - well, it just made sense, really."

The magician seemed to absorb this. She nodded. "All right," she said, striding between the two and grabbing the crystal decanter.

"Um," said the orc. "Sorry. What happens now?"

"What happens is that you two will continue to serve as Overlord," said the magician. "You will continue to take my counsel. We will continue to reform this bloody country, and gods willing, we will turn it into the crown jewel of the world by next Midwinter."

The orc looked at the goblin. The goblin looked at the orc.

"Really?" the goblin asked.

"Oh yes," said the magician. "I've worked hard to be counsel to the Overlord, and I have no reason to stop now. And besides-"

She looked the orc up and down with a deliberate slowness, poring over every microscopic detail, eyes tracing over every jagged line, and grinned like a panther.

"You look much better in the armor than he ever did," she said. Dark robes swirled like a becleavaged thundercloud, and she strode out through the high iron doors, decanter in hand.

The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.

"Shit," said the goblin.

"Shit," said the orc.

#short story #fantasy writing #narrativia #10k