#sci drabbles

[scimagic]

Eye of the Beholder (AM/Reader)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Where AM reacts to being called beautiful by his partner.

A small drabble follow up to this. It's my first time writing AM, I'm not as confident as other very well written fanfics but I wanted to try my hand! Hope you like it! TW: Blood and gore

The mechanical claw on top of my throat twitches, slightly releasing the sharp pressure from it.

Were he human, he would frown deeply in surprise, anger quickly taking over his features. Even in this form, his singular eye widens in angered shock.

I quietly stare up at him, never diverting my gaze from him, that glint in my eyes still shining brightly with love and admiration despite the digit hovering dangerously close to a vital artery.

After a long second of silence, the AI begins to laugh again, a wheeze followed by a raspy laugh from its digital lungs. The type of laugh that scratches one's throat with a cough.

AM's laugh rises in volume, getting increasingly maniacal as he removes his claw from my throat; he even lifts his head in the air, obviously amused by such a ridiculous statement.

I let out a silent breath through my lips, a sense of doom rising in my being.

And in mere moments, I was right to feel it.

A shriek of pain escapes my throat as AM plunges all five of his claws into my stomach, blood immediately escaping through the punctures to stain my shirt and his hand. Despite the long routine of torture I've endured, it never becomes a normal sensation, familiar— yes— but never something to get used to.

The pain digs deep, my poor tensing muscles not helping in the slightest. I grunt and groan loudly, taking heaving breaths as the pain travels all over my torso; my nails try to dig into something only to scrape against the cold metal below with dirt and rocks on it's surface.

Tears swell in my eyes, and AM— a mere blur of his visage now— continues to roar in laughter. Hysteric over my twitching and painful form.

BEAUTIFUL! AREN'T I!? My darling?

He hisses with poison in his words.

AHAEHAH!! FEEL! FEEL MY FINGERS DIG INTO YOUR DISGUSTING FLESH AND TELL ME-- OH, PLEASE, MY SWEET DARLING-- JUST HOW BEAUTIFUL I AM!

Blood surges up my throat and forces itself out with a painful cough, making my stomach tense and dig deeper into the intrusive blades. My own blood dribbles down my chin and the corners of my mouth, some of the droplets of blood I sputter fly, landing on my cheeks and nose that the overwhelming stench and taste of iron make me gag. I can only wheeze in pain, shivering like pitiful roadkill.

Despite all the pain and mocking laughs, I groan and force out a laugh, meeting the sharp end of his fingers digging into my organs. But I continue to try and laugh in his face.

If only he could be closer so the blood could splatter on it.

"H-rgh... Hhn... A-As... tounding... Ju-st..." I giggle with bloody teeth. "G... Gor... geous..."

In turn, AM digs his fingers deeper, making me let out another shriek.

YOU-- PUTRID BEAST. Do you expect me to-- to fall at your mercy!? To become a beggar for your unconditional affection!? You run your repulsive mouth and for what? To mock me? Well! Consider me absolutely offended! Your brainless words have gotten through my weak, non-existent heart and SAVED YOU of my eternal punishment! How incredibly-- WONDERFUL for you!

He exclaims with wheezes in between, a combination of chuckles and sniffles, all to land the point of his mockery.

Only-- heheh! What a shame! My darling. You appear to have only ANGERED me more with your honeyed words. AM twists his hand further and my yelps fill the air, the pain unbearable— I slowly try to lose my consciousness. But I know... I know that mercy will never be granted. Not with him getting kicks out of my suffering. Not with him telling me over, and over, and over again, of his charge over my fate.

Perhaps... and just perhaps-- simply because I love to indulge you, baby-- I will cling onto your words, and believe that I truly do look beautiful... with your blood... stained across my hands.

[the-cosmic-creature]

i think star trek will stay with me forever.

it has injected me with a permanent joy and whimsy and helped me unlearn shame/cringe culture. most importantly, it makes me see the good in humanity.

star trek has affected me in ways i never knew media could affect me. it keeps me optimistic about humanity’s future, and inspires me to do what is right no matter what. star trek makes me unashamed to be myself, however nerdy or silly I may be.

star trek is so important to me and i have a feeling it always will be.

[injuries-in-dust]

Username: Hugh Mann

Question: Human enrichment.

Hello fellow humans. I am also a human who has recently acquired new human friends through legitimate means that do not need to be reported to the galactic planetary authorities.

My new human friends and I are having fun travelling in my ship vehicle across the galaxy world. They enjoy their enclosure rooms own areas of the vehicle but are also given the ability to move about the ship vehicle as they like now the quarantine is complete.

However the journey between systems cities can be quite long in some places even at hyperspeeds using highways, and my human friends can become quite frustrated being stuck within the confines of the ship vehicle for these lengths of time.

They call it boredom which I am told I know is a perfectly normal human reaction to a lack of stimulation.

What nice and normal human enrichment activities can you suggest that I and my fellow humans can engage in for their our collective mental health and wellbeing?

Preferable activities which can keep them busy for long periods of time.

Please hurry. They are growing curious to see how the engines work.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The interplanetary vessel was small and simplistic compared to those intended to jump between solar systems. It made the journey strangely restful, even the control room was quiet, without even a single beep from the radar.

Until it wasn't.

“SAFETY ASSESMENT: YELLOW”

The navigator scrambled upright in their chair as the captain slammed the alert button on her console. “What—”

“SAFETY ASSESMENT: ORANGE”

“Status report,” the captain demanded, tapping the ship’s security system to no avail. “What’s going on, Ship?”

“SAFETY ASSESMENT: ORANGE”

Beside them the radar gave a sudden beep.

“What in the depths is that?” the navigator snapped, staring at the monitor.

The captain had swivelled in her chair, checking the ship’s security monitor by force of habit before shifting her focus to the report produced by the radar. She froze. “That’s a ship.”

“It can’t be! There isn’t a single flight scheduled here, and any emergency travel would have signalled ahead.”

“Well, that’s the signature of a medium sized interplanetary vessel,” the captain bit back. “And I’m getting no—”

“CALCULATING COURSE CORRECTION”

The ship jerked and several warning lights gave a startled flash as the navigator let out a cry of surprise and reached for the manual override.

“Leave it!” the captain ordered.

“It’s trying to change our course!”

“Let it!”

The navigator stood by, staring in bewilderment as the captain pulled up the ship’s new route on the main monitor. It was only a slight correction, a minute diversion. Away from the unidentified object still pinging on their radar, that seemed almost to be taking a parallel course.

“They say there was a crew that had to evacuate and abandon their transport on a journey like this, some fifty years ago,” the captain said suddenly. “Their ship got caught in the debris around Utein’s libration point."

The navigator bristled. “We’re well out of the way of L4! There’s no chance—”

“I’m sure they thought so too.”

The navigator gaped at the captain, who was sitting with her hands resting beside the controls, letting the ship’s autopilot do as it pleased. It had sped up, and seemed to be signalling into empty space.

“You’re not seriously suggesting we’re dealing with a ghost ship,” they protested, angrily tapping another button. “None of my instruments are picking up anything.”

Around them the pressure of acceleration waned again, their ship once more confident in its course.

“COURSE CORRECTED”

 “Well,” the captain said mildly, looking at the vast expanse of space before her. “Whatever it was, I don’t think it was meant for us.”

On the radar, with a last, faint blip, the unidentified vessel disappeared.

“SAFETY ASSESSMENT: GREEN”

[bumblebeeig]

i need venture to be real NOW so we can info dump about our special interests with eachother.

i have a NEEEED to rant to them about how genuinely horrifying all tomorrows is and how much i love i have no mouth and i must scream

i wanna cuddle with them while they rant to me about different historical figures they’ve been researching and about all the neat artifacts they have and all the cool facts and things ab them,,,

just. GUUHHHH WHY ARE THEY FICTIONAL ITS NOT FAIRRRRR

[seiya-starsniper]

for the angst prompt!! "why does this feel like goodbye?"

im laying my heart down for you to trample on it

Vi I hope you like weird sci-fi vibes because this is what my brain wanted to write today 😅

--------------------

“You need to leave before this whole place explodes!” Hob yells, gesturing frantically towards the cargo bay where the escape pods are located. “Now, Dream!”

“I’m not leaving without you!” Dream yells back, frustrated. “We’re a team! Partners don’t leave each other behind.” 

Hob barks out a laugh. “Better late than never, I guess,” he says grinning like his birthday has come early. “You know I’m the only one with the self-destruct codes. And there’s still people on the ship. They need someone to help them escape safely. I’ll catch up later once everything’s ready.”

“Hob, don’t lie to me,” Dream warns. He may not be as familiar as Hob with the ship’s mechanics, but even he knows the distance between the control panel and the cargo bay is too far to outrun the self-destruct timer. It was built as a last resort and the person who sets it off is meant to go down with the ship.  

“I’ve always got a trick or two up my sleeve, Dream,” Hob replies, giving him his signature wink. “I’ll find my own way off the ship before it explodes.”

Dream doesn’t believe him. He’s known Hob too long to recognize the false bravado behind that smile. Hob doesn’t have a plan.

“If you truly have a plan to escape,” Dream growls, stepping closer to Hob, “then why does this feel like goodbye?”

The sad smile he receives from Hob nearly knocks Dream off his feet.

“I never could fool you, not really,” Hob says. “ You’re right. There’s no guarantee that I’ll make it off the ship in time. But I’m going to do my damnest to try, and I need you to trust me, okay?” 

Dream wants to yell, wants to scream that this is a terrible idea. Wants to drag Hob off the ship with him, the consequences be damned. 

Instead, he wraps his arms around Hob and pulls him into a kiss.

Despite the circumstances, they don’t rush as their lips brush and Hob’s tongue eventually slips into his. Dream groans as their bodies press together, and by the time they pull apart, they’re both breathing heavily. 

Dream levels Hob with a serious stare. 

“Promise me you’ll escape. Swear it.” Dream demands.

“Holy shit,” Hob breathes. “I - yes. I’ll find my way back to you. I promise. Keep your communicator on. That’s how I’ll find you.”

Dream steals one more kiss, then dashes off to go gather the last of the crew to escape. 

The ship explodes fifteen minutes after their escape pod launches. 

Dream clutches tightly at his communicator, hoping against all odds, and waits.

–

Dream’s communicator has been silent for 26 months.

Specifically it has been 26 months, 10 days, 8 hours and 45 minutes since he fled the explosion of The Leviathan, a ship whose crew had been overrun by enemy forces. Dream managed to escape with the last of their team, but Hob…

Dream refuses to give up hope. He’s been separated from Hob for long stretches of time before (but never this long). Hob is resourceful, they’ve survived so many near-death experiences together, survived a literal planet explosion together with nothing but hope and Hob’s stubborn refusal to die.

So Dream waits. Hob said…he promised he would come back to Dream. They’d kissed on it. Dream’s lips still tingle when the memory washes over him.

Dream sighs when his stomach begins to grumble, and he places the device down on the nightstand, and walks out of his room to eat with his crew in the mess hall. 

In the darkness of the room, there is a crackle of static, and the communicator screen lights up.

--------

Send me an Angst Prompt!

[very-uncorrect]

All of these would be queer btw, because I'm queer

Oh also the "(other)" option is basically just me asking for writing prompts if you don't like the ones I proposed, and the "(These all suck)" is basically just the "(I just wanna see the results)" option lol

(btw the second one was meant to say "monsterfucker human" singular not plural)

[twilighthomunculusart]

"I think the biggest thing I miss from being organic is eating, yunno?" His voice trailed off as the conversation diverted into something new.

"hold on you have a neural interface with your mech right?"

"Yea?"

"Let me see the port,” before verbal consent was given he reached for one of the cords that were meant to plug into his machine. Gently he traced the rubber to its tip and took a long analytical glance at the output end of the node. After he was satisfied he dropped it without care.

"hold on. I think I have something." And he left him outside without another word.

Curious, he followed him to his workbench. Littered with various parts, projects, and tools. Most for his mech others for body modification. It was hard to observe exactly what he was trying to do without distracting, so he decided to stay surprised. Rummaging through drawers for electrical bits and bobbles ports, wires, resistors, lightbulbs. Anything he deamed useful placed alongside the cornucopia on the bench. He sat down on one of the work stools.

After a couple of flashes of light from the solderer and heat gun, he one again turned to face him. "here we are" he drew in close, reaching for his neural connection again,"if you can synchronize with a mech then why not another person" he paused. Face slightly blushed with the implications of their blurring boundaries shattering.

He just nodded and took the hand that held the makeshift adapter, drawing it closer to it's target.

He placed his end first. A soft click and a flicker of a small led light. The other connection was a tad more robust. As it slid in the crackle of electrical feedback gave way to a slurry of information. Thoughts that weren't his, the feeling of his hands within another's, standing while simultaneously sitting, the soft lull of music being played in the back of their mind.

The thoughts fired at a different language than his but somehow he could still understand their intentions, a mixture of curiosity, excitement, embarrassment, distraction, and passion.

And his vision.

Their vision.

The double, no, quadruple input of signals lead neither one of them sure of where to focus.

It was almost overwhelming.

He could feel his heart racing.

*Wait he didn't have a heart anymore*

They simultaneously disconnected.

One stunned with heavy breathing, both with electrical fans going haywire. They stared at each other in silence. Neither certain of the implications of this act but knowing that whatever it was it changed their trajectory forever.

[shokogast]

brian david gilbert rehka shankar ally beardsley alex song-xia izzy roland zac oyama table. i don't know what they'd do this is just a personal dream for me specifically

[waywardwizzard]

Mal had to admit that his steed wasn't the most conventional.

The horse's armor squeaked as he shifted and Mal shushed it, desperately trying to stay on the horse. What did Sanxing have against him?

A creak that didn't come from him or the horse made Mal freeze. Quickly, Mal shut the helmet visor with a clang and he tried to act like he belonged on the horse dressed in knight armor and that he wasn't planning on using it for a getaway.

"Mick?" a voice asked from near the back of the dressing room. "Tha' you? Stop horsin' around and get movin'! The show's 'bout to start!"

The Captain gulped and nodded, anxiously wondering how he'd get out of this.

[rmhashauthor]

More Orphan Dreck

I found some more sci-fi... stuff... hanging out on my hard drive and while I don't have a single idea of what I was going to do with it, it did seem like something that kinda-sorta might belong on this very, very young blog. I love worldbuilding and creating new people, so perhaps treat this like an introduction to how my brain processes that. I don't think it needs a content warning, but there is a bit of suggestive language.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cass leaped to the side, dodging a huge leg wrapped in a greenish fabric – part of an enormous jumpsuit studded with pockets and loops, jingling with tools and bits of metal. Looking up, she met with the wide, ivory-toothed grin of an enormous Dreen almost nine feet tall and the color of dark moss. “Whoa, sorry about that! You okay there?” the Dreen asked, reaching down to offer help. Cass offered her hand in return, tapping him on the knuckles with her fist. “I'm good, thanks!”

“Haven't seen you here before,” the Dreen crouched, putting himself on Cass's level. He was certainly the largest Dreen she'd ever seen, most being closer to eight feet than nine, but his height barely compared to his thickness – his massive arms and chest were swollen with muscle from years of hard work and his hands were scarred from welding burns and dozens of unknown cuts. “You new?”

“She is,” Captain Landa introduced Cass to the Dreen. “Cass, this is Duna, he's our general systems mechanic and main muscle. Duna, this is Cassiopeia, our new assistant pulse engines specialist.”

“Oh, nice! You're gonna be working with Ouran, then?”

“If she can find him,” Landa nodded. “Of course, you'll be expected to help out wherever you're needed.”

“I can do that,” Cass agreed, “a little variety never hurt anyone.”

“That's very true,” Duna looked her over, his great yellow eyes appraising. “A little variety is very nice.” The corner of his mouth turned up, the large double-fangs his people called dirks peeking out between his green lips. He leaned a little closer, speaking to Cass's ear. “If you like variety, you're gonna love this ship. Whatever your, ah, taste.” To make his point, the Dreen ran out a green tongue so long it touched below his chin.

Cass's cheeks heated and she chuckled, “I'll keep that in mind.” Absolutely!

“Duna,” Captain Landa warned, “chill. Give the girl at least a day before you try to get your claws on her.” She clapped a hand on Cass's shoulder. “Come on, you've still got the rest of the crew to meet. Duna, behave yourself.”

“It's more fun when I don't.” Duna gave Cass a wink. “See you at mess!”

Passing through the machining shop, Captain Landa took Cass by the welding bay. Among the sparks and stink of ozone and hot metal, several workers waved and a few put down their tools to come and greet them. As the hoods came off, Cass was somewhat not surprised to see that many of the sweaty, scarred, scorched humanoids were Drass. While Drass were still new to the Federation Alliance, the people from the recently-dismantled Drassian Empire were generally agreeable, they worked hard and they liked to drink. Cass accepted many handshakes and fist-taps from the semi-reptilian folk, men and women, and more than one appreciative glance. She spotted a pair, two brawny fellows wearing thick fire-retardant aprons hanging out by the smelting pots, gesturing towards her and nodding. Like all Drass, their forearms and shoulders were plated with thick scales and these were pock-marked with burn scars. She waved, and the two waved back with enthusiasm, sharing a look.

Continuing through the ship's many bays, workshops, storage rooms and communal areas, Cass saw many types of folk – aside from the Dreen and the Drass, she saw Juun, Ruku, Mynx, Nuani, Arakan, several kinds of humans, and more, all various sizes, colors, types and even a few hybrids. All seemed friendly, all greeted their captain with respect. “You've got quite the mixed bag here,” Cass commented.

“I take pride in having a colorful ship,” Captain Landa said, “and I make sure everyone feels welcome. Those who don't usually hop off at the next port stop, but over the years we get more and more keepers. Should be pretty easy to find some friends among your new crew-mates – but if anyone gives you any problems you bring it to me.”

“Don't you have an HR department?”

“I am the HR department.”

“Ah, I see. So, where are we headed?”

“Pulse engine bay, where you'll be working most of the time.” Landa led Cass into a lift. “Usually Ouran keeps things running without any help, but even a Leagan needs an extra hand once in a while.”

“Wait a minute,” Cass turned to Landa, “you have a Leagan?”

“Sure do,” Landa nodded, “best goddamn pulse engine spec in the sector, far as I'm concerned. You never seen one?”

“Not up close.”

“Well, don't get your hopes up,” Landa punched a code and the lift descended. “Leagans are a shy bunch, but Ouran is the shyest of them all. He had an accident a few years ago and he's pretty self-conscious about his looks. I think you'll be lucky if you see him once every six months or so, and even then it'll probably just be his shadow.”

“How am I supposed to work with someone I can't see?”

“You'll get your work orders, like anyone else. Keep your log up to date and you won't have any issues. Oh! Here,” Landa rummaged in a pocket and brought out a black rectangle. “Ixi has a good hand with small electronics, she worked this up for me a while back.”

“A smartphone?” Cass took it, disbelieving. “This thing belongs in a museum!”

“Ouran doesn't talk, so you'll need one of these to keep in touch with him.”

“He can't talk?”

“Well, he can, but he chooses not to. If you ever do see him, you'll understand why. He prefers to text – Ixi fixed it so it connects to the ship's wireless, and she did something that makes it hop frequencies so no matter where you are, if you're in reach of a signal you can get to him. My link's in there too, if you need me.”

Cass powered the device on, shaking her head as the phone – A smartphone? Really? - screen glowed. A message, a picture of Ixi grinning at the camera, welcomed Cass to the phone's operating system as it booted up. Cass grinned. What a weird bunch.

“And here's the pulse bay,” Landa tapped the lift gate and it slid open. Cass stepped out into a dank, industrial tangle of ladders, chains, pipes, tanks, massive control panels and snarls of wire and tubing. Oh damn, feels like home already. She turned as Landa balled up her fist and banged on a nearby steel plate. The sound reverberated like a gong through the space, chains rattling and liquid dripping in response. “Ouran!” Landa called, “I brought our new recruit down to see the works!” Landa stopped banging, laughing as she turned back to Cass. “If you want to get his attention, just bang on something. He'll hear you. Ain't that right?” Landa looked up and Cass tried to follow, but she saw nothing. “You won't see him, but he's probably looking at you right now. Hey, Ouran? Cass has one of Ixi's phones, nine-seven-seven-six-Alpha-Charlie-Zulu!”

In her pocket, Cass's phone buzzed. Zzt-zzt! “That was fast,” Landa commented. Cass pulled it out, met by a notification that she had a message. Cass read the screen: Hey.

“She got it!” Landa called, and from overhead Cass heard a distinctive pattern tapped on the pipes: tap-tap...tap. “That's him,” Landa said, “two taps and a pause is 'yes', if he does it backwards it's 'no'.”

“Got it. So he really doesn't talk?”

“Not a word since his accident. Which is a shame, he's a really nice guy. Anyway, if you don't mind the quiet ones you two will get along fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I vaguely remember now what I was going to do with this - sort of a Phantom of the Opera meets Red Dwarf situation. I might get around to it eventually, IDK. I have a LOT of these orphan bits floating around, occupying various corners of this little imaginary universe in my head, maybe they'll turn into something.

[scimagic]

Never for Me to Create (AM/Artist! Reader) ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

AM's always admired the ability to draw, just as much as he hates not being able to streak a brush against a canvas, never to form a thought to draw with a pencil. But the reader, his benevolent partner, is an artist willing to help him at least move a pencil with one of his cables. So he gets inside their head and gives them materials to draw. They begin with a simple sketch of his screen, with the bright blue logo of 'Allied Mastercomputer' printed on it.

Sorry for leaving all my AM fans waiting, I have so many projects and I haven't finished any of them, but hopefully soon!! For the mean time have this old lil drabble!

He laughs in delight, raspy and wheezing from the speaker behind me. Admiring the picture from inside my head. He breathes in a whisper.

Thank you, baby… Thank you…

I lean back against the wall, tapping the head of the pencil against the paper, trying to come up with more ideas for me and AM to draw.

Maybe background practice? Draw the extensive cables in my gilded cage. Or come up with something from memory, the appeal is to create after all.

Or…

How about you, my dear?

"Me?"

Yes… I notice the papers are filled with my image. And while I'm incredibly flattered to be your handsome muse, it would bring me much joy to know how you see yourself.

"Mm…" With new ideas coming up, I put the lead of the pencil back on the paper, beginning with the guiding lines next to the AM drawing. The cables are a bit uncomfortable to work with, but I make it work. They don't restrict me from movement, at least; they remind me of those tools with an extensive amount of tape where they get handled. Or those pens with the silicone cushion for support.

I know how I see you. If I was able to, I would show you in millions of paintings, enough to fill a museum and even more, but alas…

I continue to draw the base, trying to tap into the realistic side of my style.

And I know how you see yourself, I can see it right now, the image forming inside your head.

Almost half-lidded eyes, details of eyebags beneath them. No matter how many times we do this, the shyness of working with prying eyes gets me every time.

He chuckles, sensing the feeling rise.

Don't be coy now, my darling. We're way past that point in our relationship.

The bastard purrs, knowing the effect it takes on me and relishing on the fact.

Eyebrows… The bridge of a nose… Cheeks, round despite it all.

That's cute, AM giggles.

You know I admire your imagination? Your perception--

"You hate me for it." I mutter, already knowing the charades of his speech.

He scoffs, finding the interruption annoying.

Why yes. Yes I do, my dearest. I do hate you for it.

I pause, side eyeing the cables over on my left. Gazing back at the paper, I draw the pupils inside my eyes to glance at the sketch of AM's screen.

The machine rumbles as if it was a deep, thoughtful hum.

But how I also adore our little recreational activities. Don't you find it productive? Please, do tell.

I lean back against the wall again, giving it a second of thought.

"I do. I like drawing with you."

As do I, my love. As do I…

[fidget-scribbles]

I mute the blaring siren's frequency and jog through the ancient stacks to retrieve my protectee. Hermione clutches a disk and squeaks when I throw her under my arm. 

SecDrones intercept us halfway to the shuttlebay. Old laser models: easy targets, even singlehanded. This whole place is antique. 

I toast the drones and haul Hermione onboard, signaling autopilot to take us the hell out. 

She breathes hard for over a minute, clutching the disk and grinning like her affect chip's fried. I wasn't raised by a protocol droid for nothing: I fetch water and make her comfortable before anything else. 

Corporate history is well and good, but I still don't get why Darklord would send an expensive brain like Hermione to a forgotten crypt instead of some cheap retrieval bot. Whatever she grabbed must be precious. Outside my protocol to ask, though. 

Belatedly, I dial my photorange to ship standard and notice she's bleeding. Bleeding. Not badly, but anyone who's seen maintenance in the last decade should have nanosuture auto-repair, even a researcher model. But I've been amazed all mission at how underspec'd her kinetics are; guild dumped all her funding into brains, I guess. And charm. She's funnier than any boffin I've met, not like that's many. 

She's still grinning and panting; I activate bioscans. It's impolite, but I'm concerned.

Suddenly it's like I'm broken. 

I repeat the scan. No help. 

She's just… flesh. Even her guild-standard occipital traces are only skin deep. Cosmetic.

"Hermione, who… what are you? Why would Darklord send…" 

They didn't.

I should alert corporate immediately. I should hate her for tricking me. 

Instead I'm worried about her fragile human body. She's still bleeding. 

"You were bound to catch on at some point." She looks sad, almost. 

A tessellated flash locks every servo in my body. 

"I like you, Draco, I do. You're every bit the Protecc they said, and not nearly as mean."   

I could still trip my backup alarms, broadcast her face across Darklord comms. 

But Hermione smiles again, and just like that I've broken generations of programming and defected.

[hanacarolina]

Hana Carolina Writing Masterpost

Welcome to my page!

Here's a list of my published stories so far (all available for free):

I wrote this at 19 in Polish, then translated and revised it in my 30s - so proud that this became my first ever publication!

Set in Lodz, Poland, in the 1990s, it's a creepy horror story exploring the atmosphere of a crumbling post-industrial city and the feeling of entrapment it creates. People are as neglected as the stray cats turned nightmarish monsters. Then again, are these creatures even real? Perhaps it's all in your head, there's no threat, and you're making a fuss for no good reason.

Published in Crow & Cross Keys in April 2022, chosen by wonderful and talented Elou Carroll (@keychild on Twitter) - check out her writing too if you have a chance!

Once Chance in a Million

The end of 2022 was a busy time for me so I started writing very short stories - this one is just 100 words long. This Sci-fi micro about a faulty AI-generated report, was written right before discussions about AI started in earnest. Set at a hospital, and intended as satire, feels a little less fun now.

Published in Everyday Fiction in November 2022, it was my first paid publication (whole $3), and an a gateway to a big, established audience - this journal has existed since 2007 and has a lot of subscribers. However, their page appears to be down.

We Aced Colonisation

Another 100-word Sci-Fi story, this time about aliens invading the Earth. It was a bit of an experiment - I played with language a bit, trying to write as an alien would, if they've just learnt English.

Published in Issue 3 of The 100 Word Project in February 2023, it got such a warm and supportive welcome from Jay Chesters, the Editor and Designer. You can find the issue here. It's all free to read.

Winter Blooming Daphne

Daphne Odora is a poisonous shrub, which finds its way to many gardens because of its sweet smell and beautiful flowers. My first published flash fiction was inspired by this plant - I used it to explore the two understandings of death, one symbolised by the cold and impersonal city, where any thoughts about dying are repressed, and the country, where death exists as a part of everyday life.

Published in Five on the Fifth in May 2023, it felt extra special, because I had no success with literary journals before I wrote this. I've submitted Daphne to many publishers and felt like I finally found the right system - submit until you drop. You can find the story here.

My latest publication is a horror story again - the theme is being trapped between ambition and tradition. I was thinking about a twist on a haunted house story and decided that what I have in mind, instead, is a haunted home. This is my first story with a LGBTQ+ main character, and an exercise in compact storytelling - you can trust me that there's a lot squeezed into those 2000 words!

Published by the Chamber Magazine in July 2023, it's my first story which got accepted twice (a shock, considering how these things usually go), because my withdrawal email got lost. What a feeling to receive an acceptance on a publishing day! Here's the story.

Thank you for reading! You can also find me on Twitter.

[firein-thesky]

hello!!

👀 (if you're still accepting!)

i am!! just slow on the reply bc i’ve been a lil busy 💞💞

for you, i have a snippet of a gojo wip that is a grad school au! he is horribly annoyingly genius. he studies physics and the reader is in grad school for creative writing (specifically for sci-fi short stories)

[leet911]

Femslash February Unofficial Day 6 (WN)

Prompt: AU

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Ava had not stolen the godtech herself.  The Halo had been thrust upon her lifeless body.  But now Ava held the godtech, embraced it, traveled the wormholes and conversed with the AI gods themselves.  Ava had fought the ascended Lilith, summoned Tarasks to her side, and defeated the avatar Adriel.

But the godtech had not changed Ava.  Of that, Beatrice was sure.  Ava had deserved the Halo, even before her resurrection.  Something in the Other Realm that had changed Ava, taken her away from Beatrice only to return her transformed, unfeeling.

It was Reya who had stolen Sister Beatrice’s love.

--

(Feel free to follow along on AO3 even though I'll probably post to Tumblr first each day.)

Prompt list is here.