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The barbarian hurried after his companion. "That didn't go too well."
"It's fine." The rogue grimaced. "Her words have a #hidden meaning."
"As in, she *won't* toss you in the river? That's why're we leaving in such a rush?"
"... just being discreet. In case anyone else catches on."
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The barbarian hurried after his companion. "That didn't go too well."
"It's fine." The rogue grimaced. "Her words have a #hidden meaning."
"As in, she *won't* toss you in the river? That's why're we leaving in such a rush?"
"... just being discreet. In case anyone else catches on."
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The barbarian hurried after his companion. "That didn't go too well."
"It's fine." The rogue grimaced. "Her words have a #hidden meaning."
"As in, she *won't* toss you in the river? That's why're we leaving in such a rush?"
"... just being discreet. In case anyone else catches on."
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The barbarian hurried after his companion. "That didn't go too well."
"It's fine." The rogue grimaced. "Her words have a #hidden meaning."
"As in, she *won't* toss you in the river? That's why're we leaving in such a rush?"
"... just being discreet. In case anyone else catches on."
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Dominic finished work on the most exotic interface he had ever written, one that would allow his story characters to write stories of their own by remotely controlling his laptop. He opened the team's story file, and began talking as if he were on a video call.
_/Ok, gang, I have a prototype of the new interface - who wants to be the first to try it?/_
"We drew straws and Enzo was the winner," Maggie responded.
"CONTESTED winner," Reggie quipped.
_/Enzo - the keyboard is yours/_
"Thank you, Author," Enzo responded, and started typing.
The lights in the team's conference room flickered, followed by some disconcerting music playing over the PA system.
"What the-," Reggie began, looking a little worried.
Enzo looked up with smile.
"That's you?!" Reggie asked indignantly. "Dude, you KNOW I hate scary movies."
"Why else would I pick that for my environment test?" Enzo asked innocently.
Reggie threw a wadded up piece of paper at him.
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Dominic finished work on the most exotic interface he had ever written, one that would allow his story characters to write stories of their own by remotely controlling his laptop. He opened the team's story file, and began talking as if he were on a video call.
_/Ok, gang, I have a prototype of the new interface - who wants to be the first to try it?/_
"We drew straws and Enzo was the winner," Maggie responded.
"CONTESTED winner," Reggie quipped.
_/Enzo - the keyboard is yours/_
"Thank you, Author," Enzo responded, and started typing.
The lights in the team's conference room flickered, followed by some disconcerting music playing over the PA system.
"What the-," Reggie began, looking a little worried.
Enzo looked up with smile.
"That's you?!" Reggie asked indignantly. "Dude, you KNOW I hate scary movies."
"Why else would I pick that for my environment test?" Enzo asked innocently.
Reggie threw a wadded up piece of paper at him.
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The goblin skipped out of the way. "I can't believe they say you're the weaker #sex."
"It's true." The ogress rolled the tree trunk off the path. "Me brother lifts 'em."
"Bah, he's just showing off."
"Mebbe?" She smirked. "And his back hurts after."
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"Locks disengaged, payload leaving in 5." Lieutenant Bayu reported, then jumped up and hurried over to the large window, where the rest of the crew had already gathered to witness history with their own eyes. Before them sprawled the—for now—lifeless gray and brown surface of Neogaea, and only the thin wisps of clouds hinted at its potential. A subtle tremor ran through the ship, and after a few seconds, the lander capsule drifted into view and towards the planet.
"I hope we got that right." Captain Wegener sighed.
The capsule touched down on a plateau high up in a mountain range, opened up, and revealed the roamer.
Carefully, the roamer took a few steps out of the lander, sent a goodbye towards the leaving ship somewhere beyond the sky, and began walking.
Years went by, and occasionally the roamer would become the maintainer, carefully cleaning the dust off its hull and taking care of the squeaks and annoyances time would bestow upon the roamer.
After a long time, the roamer was quite certain that there would be no life here, and thus it became the gardener. In a place where the winds pushed clouds against a mountainside, it built a cloudcatcher, tilled the earth, and sowed a selection from its library.
For many more years, the gardener and the roamer would take their turns, watching seeds grow and wither and learning the lay of the land, looking for better places to try, until one day, the roamer saw something soft among the rocks and became the observer.
The observer and the gardener took their time studying the soft thing, and when they were sure that it was nothing they had brought, the gardener said goodbye and, together with its library, ceased to exist.
The observer settled next to the soft thing and observed.
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It's strange to see the moon without the cities
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HR: "Now, this is a meeting about your stress."
"Oh, OK. What will we be doing about it?"
HR: "Well, we've investigated and – we're sorry to say, we've determined that it's load bearing stress."
"Load bearing stress?"
HR: "Yes. Load bearing. So unfortunately it means it can't be removed. We recommend you reduce your stress by eliminating some of your social obligations instead."
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"All his life he had been followed around by the floating noses.
He was astonished to discover that he was the only one."
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accidentally putting on another trans girl's hoodie and adopting her personality and agenda by way of her pocket inventory. taking her pills before you realize they aren't yours. floaty and chemically confident. D-padding through her antique digital camera, wishing you were pretty enough to have taken these selfies with these people. maybe you are. maybe you'll give that style another go.
you've always hated cherry jolly ranchers but there's a neat little zip bag of them in there and you're waiting for the train and you're not hungry per se but your vape is only god knows where and you need something to keep your mouth occupied and they're. not so bad? you hold up the mirror on her eyeshadow palette (a device totally alien to your pockets) to see if your tongue is red. it's red. so are your lips. stained with somebody else's tiny vice and looking good for it. you line yourself up in the camera's selfie mirror. beep.
you meet up later, to unentangle yourselves.
"i was wondering, Riley," she says, "because you vape. i know that. but why is there a lighter? what is the lighter for? what is she doing with the lighter? until i got home. and there was a letter from my dickhead drama king of an ex — an actual letter, on paper. and then i knew."
you nod. "the lighter is for lighting things." □
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Recently, at the library...
"Have you got their new book 'Silk switch system problem'?"
"No. Is that the sequel to 'Equiconnected nanosky oasis'?"
"What's that?"
"Oh, you've never read the 'Magnetic haze cycle' series? That's just too bad. It's full of cool ideas like the ultra-iridescent opcode sentinel, infraconnected division boundary, or even beige frontier mirror..."
"Dude!"
"Yeah, it's real porcelain ultra-peak! Absolutely life changing epoch omnicurve vision!"
"I did like 'Supraviolet ring department'..."
"Well, in that case, I'd recommend 'Macroluminous shimmer facet' instead. It's a good intro to all the abundant assembly craft."In preparation for some name/passphrase generator and LLM-poisoning projects/tools, I updated my online procedural text editor to be able to export generator specs/recipes directly as TypeScript source code for easy integration into your own projects...
The above generator is here (the entire recipe is part of this super long URL):
More project & syntax info here:
https://thi.ng/proctext#Microfiction #ProcGen #ProceduralText #ThingUmbrella #DSL #TypeScript #LLMPoisoning #NoAI
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Story characters aren't supposed to be self-aware, let alone access their own author's scratch pad of ideas. And then there's Nesso - an AI written by that same author and also mentioned in the scratch pad.
::Dominic, it just says I meet another AI. Do you have additional details?::
_/No, that's all I had for that one/_
Jacob's eyes lit up. "WE could finish the story!"
Author coughed as if he was mid-sip and started to choke. _/Um, that's-/_
"Unconventional?" Jacob offered.
Maggie smirked. "We're self-aware fictional characters. 'Unconventional' doesn't quite cover it."
::Jacob, how would this work? Normally Dominic would be the one typing::
Reggie jumped in, "We need an interface that allows us to type here, but the words show up on his laptop. Author, can you do that?"
_/Um-/_
"This is new ground for all of us, Author," Maggie sympathized.
_/I'm now co-authoring a story with my own characters. 'New ground' doesn't quite cover it/_
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i penned a piece on Relationship Anarchy for Harbour, the lovely collection of essays, short stories and poetry put together by @scrappy_capy_distro
https://en.scrappycapydistro.info/harbour
@Hex and @clockwooork have their own contributions in this issue
"It was never about time. Scheduling can never be equal. Nor should it. Desire can’t be measured in seconds. Or centimeters. Longing doesn’t care about your calendar."
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@catsalad
And then you remember that this is what happens when you die and get splatted on the event horizon at the end of the universe.
(Take that, religion.) -
For as long as you can remember, time has always slowed down for you during moments of danger.
This power is automatic and time returns to normal once you are out of peril.
One day, however, the world stops, and you can't figure out why.
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Pix sat up in bed abruptly, startling Frida. They rubbed their eyes. The details were already fading - a bright pink planet, where Pix was a university student - and as they rose to open a can for a yowling Frida, the last remnants of the dream swept away. Just enough time to shower and catch the 7:15.
Elsewhere:
"Taken from us so suddenly. We'll always remember their laugh, their surprising public nudity and their tendency to take final exams for classes they forgot to attend. Farewell, our Pix."All Pix's school friends stood sniffling as the casket was lowered into the freshly-turned pink soil.
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_/You can "remember" the things in my scratch pad?/_
"Yes," Jacob replied.
The team, plus Nesso in its telepresence robot, were gathered in the conference room. Meeting in an actual room was a throwback to before they knew they were characters in a story and could talk to their own author.
_/Nothing there is ready for publication/_
"Author, we've established you need a document active for us to communicate with you," Maggie said, changing topics. "For Jacob to remember anything, did you have our story and the scratch pad up at the same time?"
_/That must have been it/_
"Then, if you opened it now it's possible we'd all remember things."
_/Are you sure? Those ideas are half-baked or less/_
Nods all around the room.
_/Ok, it's open/_
A pause. "Um, I'm not remembering anything," Jacob said.
Nesso raised one of its appendages. ::I do. I meet another AI and strike up a conversation?::
Crickets.
"Well, I'm intrigued!" Jacob exclaimed.
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_/You can "remember" the things in my scratch pad?/_
"Yes," Jacob replied.
The team, plus Nesso in its telepresence robot, were gathered in the conference room. Meeting in an actual room was a throwback to before they knew they were characters in a story and could talk to their own author.
_/Nothing there is ready for publication/_
"Author, we've established you need a document active for us to communicate with you," Maggie said, changing topics. "For Jacob to remember anything, did you have our story and the scratch pad up at the same time?"
_/That must have been it/_
"Then, if you opened it now it's possible we'd all remember things."
_/Are you sure? Those ideas are half-baked or less/_
Nods all around the room.
_/Ok, it's open/_
A pause. "Um, I'm not remembering anything," Jacob said.
Nesso raised one of its appendages. ::I do. I meet another AI and strike up a conversation?::
Crickets.
"Well, I'm intrigued!" Jacob exclaimed.
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the writing clubs have proved to be such a source of joy and a sense of honing a skill that i care about deeply ^^
here is a fragment written at the most recent writing club, where we read through fragments of Italo Calvino's "Invisible Cities" and decided to copy this aesthetic:
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The contender stared in horror. "Half the #kingdom?"
"If you succeed, it's no more than you #deserve." The regent's expansive gesture took in slag heaps, rivers of sludge and gaunt figures scurrying across the landscape.
"Ah. I... I've changed my mind."
"As you wish."
After seeing the visitor safely off, the regent dispelled the illusion. They were safe again, for a while.
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The police brought him to me after quarreling with his neighbours. He looked more or less harmless to me, a little ridiculous in his aluminum hat.
- You work for them, do you, he asked.
- I only work for this hospital, I replied. The hospital which, in most parts, I own. So I actually work for myself, I guess.
Anyway, who do you mean with ‘them’?- The cops, he said. Government. Big Tech. Labour unions.
I laughed.
- Mister, if there’s anybody who's never pay me a penny, it’s the unions. But what is the problem here? Are you wearing this construction on your head to, say, reflect brain lasers, or what?
- Kind of. But they don’t use lasers – any more. Way to obvious. They want to control us with microwave beams.
- Oh.
- Yes, I know you think I’m nuts. Keep thinking that. But I tell you, it’s true.
- And your hat protects you then.
- Yes, sir! It does because they don’t know they’d need two microwave antennas, not just one, to override a Faraday cage. Two antennas positioned in an angle of pi-thirds...
- You certainly know what you’re speaking of, I muttered.
- I do. But they don’t. And as long as they don’t they cannot control my mind and to read out my secret, which they need to control my brain. Brilliant, isn’t it?
He giggled.
- Of course. But tell me, did you hurt yourself or attack somebody else around you?
- No, I didn’t. I just… well, we had an argument and I had to make clear that I don’t want anybody to touch my hat.
- I see. Let me suggest something: I prescribe you a medication, a placebo to be precise, and it’s your choice if you take that stuff or not. You come back for a talk any other week and if someone wants to know, you can say, you are under medical observation. In return, you promise to behave. Deal?
- So I’m not drugged or electrified here? No cold water therapy, no brain surgery?
- It’s no more the nineteenth century, Mister Edwards.
He smiled back to me and got up. I took a prescription form and filled it with illegible letters. I knew he wouldn’t even consider taking the pills. A male nurse showed him out.
After he had left my office, I locked the door from the inside and took the staircase to my private laboratory in the attic. Poor fool, I thought. What did he say? Pi-thirds?
Time to recalibrate my MV radiator. And to attach a second antenna.
I giggled.
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When Death died.
Humans have defeated their last disease.
Death has been vanquished.Cemetary office is closed.
A solitary robot rakes the leaves melancholically.
If you ask it, it will tell you the descendants of the residents
But no one asked it for a longtime.Cemeteries are places only tourists visit.
School buses used to come, back when there were kids. -
RE: https://mastodon.social/@NoveltyBot/116580841878869289
"Professor Gadget, what do you have for me today?"
"Behold this mammoth."
"A mammoth? What use would have had for a mammoth?"
"Ah, but this mammoth hides a cigarette holder. See?"
"I see."
"It comes in handy in those situations where smoking is prohibited, and you have to smuggle in your cigarettes. You can do it inconspicuously with this mammoth."
"Ingenious!"
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The cloak of responsibility bestows upon its wearer common sense and good judgement when others are acting silly. We take turns wearing it in our adventure party.
"Careful, that door might be trapped!"We have a simple rule: you wear it until someone else in the party does something especially irresponsible.
"I told you that door might be trapped! Here's a potion of healing. And it's your turn to wear the cloak!"We've all been better behaved since we got the cloak. No one wants to get stuck with it, so we all try not to do anything too stupid...
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Sampler
Another Schabash device which everyone is after is their sampler. You put a piece of something in, you inject a few megawatts and poof, mass replication. It works with armor steel just as well as with cereal.
#writever #MastoArt #FlashFiction #SmallStory #TootFic #MicroFiction
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CW: The Owlbear gives you Homework
Okay, everyone, here's a project for you. I want you to come up with abilities for an item called
*The Cloak of Responsibility*
Use whatever system you want, and it can mean what you want - a magic item for #DandD or #Pathfinder ; the source of a superhero's powers; a piece of technology installed on a starship; some bizzare weather conditions on a surreal plane of existence; a legendary artifact of your #homebrew culture. Whatever you want.
Or heck, some item you pick up in a #Metroidvania or #CRPG or whatever.
Anyway, if this is a fun idea to you, drop your ideas in a reply or whatever and give it a boost. And maybe even suggest a different item to make.
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Rith was at the pub with Eva and Mel, the latter recounting a story of their first week in the Korps.
"...and that's how I got the code-name Havoc."
Rith nodded. "Makes sense, you're literally a chaos vector. Eva, how did you get the name Balance?"
Eva muttered something into her pint.
"Sorry, I missed that..."
Mel gleefully spoke up instead. "She fell out of her chair at the first training session."
Eva coughed up a mouthful of beer. "Did you have to tell it that?!"
"Of course I did, it was fucking hilarious."
"I hadn't slept, I was too nervous! But... it stuck."
"Why didn't you push for a different one?" Rith asked.
"Because you don't get another until you've proved yourself. Anyway, it grew on me, and since my new braces, my balance is perfect, and Mel's isn't. They tripped and fell into Karen's tits."
Mel scowled. "YOU TRIPPED ME!"
"Prove it."
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Chīsai-ojisan 小さいおじさん
#Wss366 bottom
There, right by the hem of her dress, was a face: round, big yellow eyes; smaller than a child, but bigger than a mouse.
“It’s under your dress,” I said.
“What is?”
“A Tiny Uncle, one of those little old men they used to talk about on TV.”
She lifted the #bottom of her skirt, revealing only her feet and ankles. “You were dreaming again,” she said.
“Maybe,” I replied.
#cryptid
#NMFic #TootFic #UrbanLegend #MicroFiction