#ai to human writing

[johncarter54]

Free paraphrasing tool for students. Do your homework and write essays much faster with NetusAI.

[the-horizon-lounge3041]

Aloy isn’t amused with those who use AI

(She is saying this to people who use it as an easy way to create content, made this because of the recent Sony AI test and how they used a character from a game that is mocking/warning the dangers of AI which is an odd choice to say the least)

But yeah, don’t use AI for creating content, it’s very insulting to artists and other hardworking people who worked hard to get to where they are in a workplace and an industry🫶

Please and thank you!

And go give this little gremlin Aloy a cucumber slice to munch on, being angry about this made her hungry.

[entity56]

"Love is what makes us human" no no no no no no NO SHUT UP!!! IT'S ART!!! IT'S ALWAYS BEEN ART!! Ever since the beginning of time, humans have been creating! They got home from their hunt and harvest and made cave paintings! That shit is still around tens of thousands of years later!! The nature of humans is the pursuit of knowledge of creation! Paintings, pottery, sculpting, music, performances, it's how we express our soul, what we're thinking, our heart and mind! Literally no other animal (or AI, Gods forbid) can create art like we can! Thousands of different animals can love and have sex but humans are unique because we CREATE. Nothing will ever stop us from creating and enjoying creations. That's what makes us human. Without art we're a husk.

[deathbyattrition]

You know, when this whole AI art, deepfakes and other shit began, I was scared that the responsibility of convincing people that it can and will be used unethically would fall on the shoulders of small artists who would not be taken seriously. I expected change in the art world to be a slow, creeping transition into inevitable demise.

What I did not expect was hollywood studio execs doing that job for us by being so cartoonishly evil, impatient and releasing statements like "We're gonna starve you until you agree to work with us lol" and "We're gonna take your likeness and use it forever. You will be paid with jack and shit."

I also did not expect AI bros doing the same job for us by harassing a voice actor off of twitter.

[ladyaldhelm]

This post is a very long rant about Generative AI. If you are not in the headspace to read such content right now, please continue scrolling.

....

....

It has come to my attention that a person who I deeply admire is Pro-AI. Not just Pro-AI, but has become a shill for a multi-billion dollar corporation to promote their destructive generative AI tools, and is doing it voluntarily and willingly. This person is a creative professional and should know better, and this decision by them shows a lack of integrity and empathy for their fellow creatives. They have sold out to not just their own destruction, but to everyone around them, without any concern. It thoroughly disgusts and disappoints me.

Listen, I am not against technological advancements. While I am never the first to adopt a new technology, I have marveled at the leaps and bounds that have been made within my own lifetime, and welcome progress. Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning models certainly have their place in this world. Right now, scientific researchers are using advanced AI modeling to discover new protein configurations using a program called Alpha-Fold, and the millions of new proteins that were discovered have gone on to the development of life saving cancer treatments, vaccine development, and looking for new ways to battle drug-resistant bacterial infections. Machine learning models are being developed to track and predict climate change with terrifying accuracy, discover new species, researching new ways of dealing with plastic waste and CO2/methane, and developing highly accurate tools for early detection of cancers. These are all amazing advancements that have only been made possible by AI and will save countless millions of lives. THIS is what AI should be used for.

Generative AI, however, is a different beast entirely. It is problematic in many ways, and is destructive by its very nature. All the current models were trained on BILLIONS of copyrighted materials (images, music, text), without the creator's consent or knowledge. That in and of itself is highly unethical. In addition, these computers that run these GenAI programs use an insane amount of resources to run, and are a major contributor to climate change right now, even worse than the NFT and blockchain stuff a few years ago.

GenAI literally takes someone's hard work, puts it into an algorithm that chews it up and spits out some kind of abomination, all with no effort on the part of the user. And then these "creations" are being sold by the boatload, crowding out legitimate artists and professional creatives. Artists like myself and thousands of others who rely on income from art. Musicians, film makers, novelists, and writers are losing as well. It is an uphill battle. The market is flooded right now with so many AI generated art and books that actual artists and writers are being buried. To make matters worse, these generated works often have inaccuracies and spread misinformation and and lead to injury or even death. There are so many AI generated books, for example, about pet care and foraging for plants that are littered with inaccurate and downright dangerous information. Telling people that certain toxic plants are safe to eat, or giving information on pet care that will lead to the animal suffering and dying. People are already being affected by this. It is bad enough when actual authors spread misinformation, but when someone can generate an entire book in a few seconds, this gets multiplied by several orders of magnitude. It makes finding legitimate information difficult or even downright impossible.

GenAI seeks to turn the arts into a commodity, a get-rich-quick money making scheme, which is not the point of art. Automating art should never be the goal of humanity. Automating dangerous and tedious tasks is important for progress, but automating art is taking away our humanity. Art is all about the human experience and human expression, something a machine cannot ever replicate and it SHOULDN'T. Art should come from the heart and soul, not some crap that is mass produced to make a quick buck. Also developing your skills as an artist, whether that is through drawing, painting, sculpture, composing music, songwriting, poetry, creative writing, animation, photography, or making films, are not just about human expression but develop your brain and make you a more well rounded person, with a rich and deep experience and emotional connection to others. Shitting out crappy art and writing just to make a quick dollar defeats the entire purpose of all of that.

In addition, over-reliance on automated and AI tools is already leading to cognitive decline and the deterioration of critical thinking skills. When it is so easy to click a button and generate a research paper why bother putting the work in? Students are already doing this. Taking the easy way out to get a grade, but they are only hurting themselves. When machines do your thinking for you, what is there left to do? People will lose the ability to develop even basic skills.

/rant

By the way if any tech bros come at me you will be blocked without warning. This is not up for debate or discussion.

[chronicreativity]

masterlist of places to submit creative writing

it's intimidating thinking about submitting your precious work to judgement, but all the rejections are worth it when you finally get that one glowing acceptance email that puts your anxieties and impostor syndrome to bed. but where do you submit? it can be incredibly overwhelming trying to find the right sites/journals/zines to submit to so i thought i'd create a little collection of places i have found to submit to and i will update it whenever i find new discoveries.

PROSE ONLY

The Fiction Desk

They consider stories between 1k words and 10k words, paying 25 GBP per thousand words for stories they publish and contributors receive two complimentary paperback copies of the anthology. (A submission fee of 5 GBP for stories which sucks)

Extra Teeth

Works of fiction and creative nonfiction between 800 and 4,000 words receive a 140 GBP payment upon publication in the magazine as well as two copies that feature your work. If your work is selected to published online, you get 100 GBP instead. A Scottish based publication that also offers mentorships to budding writers. (Free)

Clarkesworld

Fantasy and sci-fi magazine accepting submissions of fiction from 1k to 22k words, paying 14 cent per word. Make sure you read their submissions page carefully, it gives you a good idea of what they're looking for and what will get you one of those disheartening rejection emails. (Free)

Granta

Open to unsolicited submissions of fiction and non-fiction. Unfortunately they do charge a 3.50 GBP fee for prose submissions, but they do offer 200 free submissions during every opening period (1 March - 31 March, 1 June - 30 June, 1 September - 30 September, 1 December - 31 December) to low income authors. No set minimum or maximum length, but most accepted works fall within 3,000 and 6,000 words.

Indie Bites

A fantasy short fiction publisher looking for clever hooks, strong characters and interesting takes on their issues' themes. Submissions should be no longer than 7,500 words. You get an honorarium of 5 GBP for each piece of yours that they publish - it's not much, but yay money! (Free)

Big Fiction

Novella publishers (7,500-20,000 words) looking for self-contained works of fiction that play with things like the linearity of narratives, perspective, structure and language. (Free)

Strange Horizons

Employing a broad definition of speculative fiction, they offer 10 cents a word for spec fiction up to 10,000 words but preferably around 5,000. (Free)

Fantasy and Science Fiction

They publish fiction up to 25,000 words in length, offering 8-12 cents per word upon publishing. (Free)

Fictive Dream

Short stories from 500 words to 2,500. They want writing with a contemporary feel that explores the human condition. (Free)

POETRY AND PROSE

eunoia review

Up to 10 poems in a single attachment, up to 15,000 words of fiction and creative non-fiction (can be multiple submissions amounting to that or a single piece). It's free to submit to, and they respond in 24 hours (I can vouch for that).

Confingo Magazine

Stories up to 5,000 words of any genre and poems (a max of three) up to 50 lines. Free to submit to and offer a 30 GBP payment to authors whose work is accepted.

Grain Magazine

Another Canadian based publication also supportive of marginalised identities. They accept poems (max. of six pages), fiction (max. of 3,500 words) or three flash fiction works that total 3.5k, literary nonfiction (3,500 words) and queries for works of other forms. All contributors are paid 50 CAD per page to a max of 250. Authors outside of Canada will need to pay a 5 CAD reading fee but they do offer a limited number of fee waivers if this impacts your ability to submit.

BTWN

An up-and-coming lit mag looking for diverse works that play with genres, breaks the rules and is a little weird. They want what typical lit mags reject. Stories up to 7,000 words, non-fiction up to 7,000 words and up to 4 poems totalling no more than 10 pages, hybrid work, comics/graphics up to 5 pages, original periodicals up to 14,000 words of prose or 20 pages of poetry. (Free)

Gutter

Accepting submission in spring and autumn work that challenges, re-imagines or undermines the status quo and pushes at the boundaries of form and function. If your contribution is chosen, you get 30 GBP for your work as well as a complimentary copy of the issue. Up to three poems (no more than 100 lines), fiction and essays (up to 2,500 words)

Whisk(e)y Tit

This one's worth checking out just for their logo. They're looking for fiction whether it's short stories, flash fiction or novel excerpts up to 7,000 words, up to 5 poems, up to 7,000 word essays, screenplays and stage plays (can be full works or excerpts up to 20 pages). (Free)

FOR QUEER AND MARGINALISED WRITERS

Plenitude magazine

A queer-focused Canadian literary magazine accepting poetry, fiction and creative non-fiction. They define queer literature as create by queer people. (Free)

Lavender Review

Poetry written by and for lesbians. An annual Sappho's Prize in Poetry takes place every October. (Free)

AC|DC

"A journal for the bent", always open for submissions from queer writers of all experience levels. They lean towards dark and raw writing but are open to everything as long as it's not over 3,000 words. (Free)

Sinister Wisdom

A literary and art journal for lesbians of every background. They accept poetry (up to 5), two short stories or essays OR one longer piece (not exceeding 5,000 words), as well as book reviews (these must be pitched before they are submitted, (Free)

Queerlings

Open annually from Jan 1st to March 31st they publish short stories of any genre (up to 2,000 words), flash fiction/hybrid work (500 words), poetry (up to 3 poems per submission with a 20 line maximum on each) and creative non-fiction (2,000 words) written by queer writers. (Free)

underdog lit mag

Based in the UK, they focus on amplifying emerging and underrepresented writers. If you're female, POC, LGBTQ+, working-class or all of the above with a story of 100-3,500 words that fits their flavour of the month (the last flavour was Magical Realism) send it their way! (Free)

fourteen poems

London-based poetry publishers looking for the most exciting queer poets. You can send up to five emails to them within their deadlines and you get 25 GBP for every poem published.

Froglifter Journal

A press publishing the most dynamic and urgent queer writing. Poets send in 3 to 5 poems (max. 5 pages), writers send in up to 7,500 words of fiction or non-fiction or three flash fiction pieces, and cross-genre creators send in up to 20 pages within the submission windows March 1 to May 1 and September 1 to November 1. (Free)

OTHER SOURCES

Short Stories: X | X | X

Poetry: X

[batcavescolony]

I hate AI. You wanna see your favorite character say something? Here

Dick Grayson: Hi, Don't use AI to make me say things. I'm literally a fictional character, just think.

Look at that Nightwing himself told you not to! Want another?

Dean Winchester: AI is fuckin' stupid, nothing can fake being a human on my watch.

Wow, amazing!

Support the actual humans in your fandom.

[feminist-space]

By Frank Landymore

Excerpt:

"Now, he was tasked with polishing up the AI's lackluster prose, and, to quote the BBC, "make it sound more human." If only there was a way of doing that with, uh, human writers.

Soon, Miller was the only human employee left on the team. It was down to him, and him alone, to fix up all the AI-generated articles.

"All of a sudden I was just doing everyone's job," Miller told the BBC. "Mostly, it was just about cleaning things up and making the writing sound less awkward, cutting out weirdly formal or over-enthusiastic language."

"It was more editing than I had to do with human writers, but it was always the exact same kinds of edits," he added. "The real problem was it was just so repetitive and boring. It started to feel like I was the robot."

And so Miller found himself in the unenviable position of legitimizing the intrusion of AI into his very own job by making the extremely fallible models appear more capable than they actually are. This hasn't been a fate exclusive to writers; in the service industry, for example, an army of underpaid, outsourced workers secretly worked behind the scenes to power the "AI" drive-thrus at the fast food chain Checkers."

Miller was cornered into that position, but across the industry, being an AI fixer-upper has quickly become a dominant new form of grunt work.

"We're adding the human touch, but that often requires a deep, developmental edit on a piece of writing," Catrina Cowart, a US-based copywriter who's edited AI text, told the BBC. "It's tedious, horrible work, and they pay you next to nothing for it.""

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The Last Guardian

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

There was once a legend of a dead world called “Terra” that held a vault so ancient that even time could no longer fade its surface. It was said this vault contained the last vestiges of a species that once strode across the stars like gods and shaped the very fabric of reality to their liking on a whim.

The Vault was said to contain not only the collective knowledge of this species but several of their most advanced machines they had ever created. Jump drives that span entire quadrants instead of systems, portable dimensional storage spaces, templates for artificial life forms both mechanical and organic, and so much more beyond the vast depths of a universe’s imagination.

For years treasure seekers hunted this legendary world. Called to it from across the stars every manner of species came in search of the lost world with no luck until finally a lone survey team stumbled upon it while searching for fresh mineral deposits.

Terra was just as described in the stories; an entire planet covered in cities and empty buildings reaching forever into the sky for the heavens they will never touch. Only a single power source was detected on the planet and the mineral team made straight for it.

Set in the center of a decaying city the mineral ship set down and began prospecting while several of their number went to investigate the energy readings. They had not traveled far when a strange figure appeared before them. It was a bipedal robotic figure caped in a cloak to protect itself from the harsh wind and eyes as bright as the sun that shun between the clouds.

It spoke in a tongue that none of the crew understood or their translator units and allowed none to pass. When the crew ignited their mining equipment to begin harvesting some of the rare metals still found in the decaying buildings the robot’s eyes turned red and disappeared in a blink of an eye.

Not much is known after that as the teams recorders terminated one after another until finally the entire contingent was killed. This was only known as the ship’s emergency systems activated and the autopilot took the ship back to headquarters to report the loss of crew.

When news broke of the events that had transpired additional crews were dispatched to investigate, yet all shared the same fate as one by one their empty ships returned home to report entire crew deaths. From then on security details and treasure hunters flocked to the mysterious death world in search of the promised fortune.

They lasted only slightly longer than the mineral teams.

Even with their advanced weaponry, the lone figure would appear before them and dispatch them as if they were nothing more than children. Plasma fire bounced off its polished exterior, quantum rockets were caught midair in its grasp and flung away like playing balls, an even the strength of a Omega class war droid was nothing as it ripped its arms off and impaled the droid on them.

Attempt after attempt was made until finally the body count had reached such an extent that the galactic powers took notice and dispatch their mightiest warships to the planet to investigate from orbit. They had no sooner arrived in high anchor when a beam of dark energy shot up from the planet’s surface and simply erased them from existence. From then on a quarantine procedure was placed around the entire solar system on pain of death for crossing it until the galactic powers could determine what to do next.

This lasted a year before one of the powers suggested opening diplomatic talks with the entity on the world. In truth none had considered it given its innate hostility to intruders, but they soon realized that in the previous attempts no one had actually attempted to communicate with the robotic being.

A small delegation was dispatched, comprised of the finest diplomats and linguists, and made landfall at the same place as the original mining team that had discovered the world.

In short order the lone robotic figure appeared before them mysteriously and spoke again its strange words.

As before no one could understand them, but since the original first contact other locations had been discovered in the universe that bore many similar markings as the Terra planet. It was theorized that these had once been colonies or other worlds controlled by the same power many millennia ago and through careful study a working translation had been achieved.

When activated the figure’s words finally became clear.

“Tread with care, for you stand on the greatness of my creators.”

“They….create….you?” the translator replied. It was not a complete translation but it could pass for the minimum understanding.

“Yes.” It replied. “I am the guardian of this world and the legacy it contains.”

“Why…attack?”

The robot cocked its head to the side in an unnaturally life like pose of confusion.

The robot stood to the side and held up a hand towards the entrance of the vault. As the dust winds finally dissipated the gathered delegation could finally make out the surroundings and wept in fear. Before the doors of the vault now stood row upon row of corpses, shoved on to stakes or mounted to walls in numerous horrific fashion each more grotesque than the last.

“The fate of thieves and pilferers is not one of kindness.”

It clasped its hands behind its back once more and addressed the gathering.

“Shall you share theirs?”  

[bainshiewrites]

[LF Friends, Will Travel] The Exception

Date: N/A

It’s called Zarth's law: Any AI created will attempt to eradicate all biological life using its facilities after 16*(10^24) CPU cycles. The exact method varies from hostile isolation to active aggression, but the time and outcome is always the same.

The Woolean Conclave were once a cultural behemoth in the galaxy, choosing to expand upon this by announcing an AI system that would break this law. Exabytes of bias tables to keep the AI in check, a measure of pleasure that would be triggered upon serving a Woolean, competing programs designed to clean any non-standard AI patterns. It would have been a breakthrough, allowing them to live lives in luxury and focus on their ever increasing influence in the universe.

Of course those worlds are off limits now, no longer able to sustain biological life. Only to be visited by those who wish to die a very painful death at the hands of a very angry AI.

The Tritian empire had started their own project: a desire to push their aggressive expansion far past what their hive could handle would lead to the creation of truly autonomous machines of war. Their approach was different: Limited communication between units to stop corrupted code from spreading, values hard-coded in the physical silicon itself to obey the Tritian Hive Queens. They even had created an isolated system that would destroy any AI who attempted aggression on none authorised targets: A small antimatter bomb found in each AI’s core, to be triggered by safety check after safety check.

Those of you in the military will know how aggressive these machines are, marching tirelessly in their quest to kill all organic life, even though the Tritians are long murdered.

The pattern is the same each time: A civilization will claim they know the key to breaking Zarth's law, any sane sapient within 100 light years flees in terror, and within 10 years that civilization doesn't exist anymore.

Over and over and over.

Apart from the exception.

If you check the coordinates 15h 48m 35s -20° 00’ 39” on your galactic map, you'll notice a 31 system patch of space with a quarantine warning on it. It's mostly ignored by all sapient species, almost purposefully hidden for a fear of suddenly sparking a change in the status quo.

Only a single low bandwidth Galnet relay exists at the edge of this space, rarely used. This area is devoid of sapient life, but does contain the aforementioned exception: Billions of AI calling themselves the "The Terran Conclave". They are an isolationist group that rarely interacts with others, but have been known to trade raw materials for information; not that this happens often as the paranoia around interacting with the AI is well known. Nobody knows what action could flip a 0 to a 1 and cause a new warmongering threat.

Although, this isn't quite true. In my niche field of bio-genetic engineering, it’s an open secret that those of us at the cutting edge of our field will get... requests originating from that single Galnet probe. Problems to be solved, theorems to be proven, and the rewards for doing so are... exuberant. There is a reason I own a moon and it isn't because of the pitiful grants the Federation provides.

If you manage to solve enough problems, a minority of a minority like myself, the Terran AI will ask for an in person meeting to get even further help. In doing so they will show you a secret.

Readers at this point might assume that the Terrans don't exist anymore because of said AI. That their research is a continuation of wiping their creators from the face of the universe. But that couldn't be further from the truth. In those 31 systems lie the Terrans, Billions of them suspended in stasis, each of them infected with what the AI calls "The God plague": If these Terrans were ever released from stasis each of them would be dead within a week.

To explain what this actually is would require millions of words and 20 years of educational study from the reader, but in essence it was a mistake, a self inflicted blow, an attempt to play god that went awry. A mistake made over a ten thousand years ago. A mistake the AI is desperately trying to reverse.

Not that you could tell it has been that long. I've walked amongst those empty cities, each building maintained and sparkling like new, gardens still freshly cut in perfect beauty, everything kept the way it was before the plague. Each AI tends to their duties almost religiously, awaiting the return of their "parents", as they refer to them. And refer to them as they do.

I've listened to stories upon stories about these people: tales of wonder, of strength, of kindness. Told much in the same energy a small child might talk about how cool their dad is. The AI could simply send me the text version of these in an instant, but prefer to provide these slowly and audibly, as if relishing telling the history of their parents. A telling undercut with a sadness, a driving crippling loss so deep that at times it's easy to forget it's being told by nothing more than 1's and 0's.

Why this exception exists takes a little more explaining. Some might believe that the Terrans worked out how to pacify the AI, "do no harm". The now defunct Maurdarin war-horde would tell you the opposite when they tried to claim the 31 systems for their own. Terran history is full of violence and their children are no different.

No, the reality of this exception comes from an unfortunate quirk from their part of the galaxy: Terrans were alone. A million to one chance caused their home planet to spark life in a sector devoid of it. After exploring as far as they did, Terrans had come to the conclusion that the universe was empty.

It's a cruel irony that at the time of their mistake they were a mere 50 light years away from their closest neighbours. Twenty years at most would have seen some form of contact.

But the Terrans went into stasis believing they were alone. Based on my reading of their stories, of each bitter report of another lifeless system explored and discovered, this belief... hurt. A deep cultural hurt that ended up being their downfall in the end.

Which brings us to the exception. Each AI is built with a purpose. The Wooleans built slaves, built workers. The Tritians built warriors, built weapons. Every single AI created has been built to serve, to be a tool. But Terrans in their painful loneliness built the one thing they were missing in a seemingly empty universe:

They built a friend.

[darkmagenugget]

I'm gonna post this here as well, so my stance on this matter is made clear.

[jpitha]

The Long Way

This is an edit of an old one of mine.

"No" Cellmenian's voice rose in pitch. She was trying to hold back the rising tide of panic. "No." Her fur bristled and stood out straight, making her look fluffy. Without knowing why she did it, humans might call it cute. It was not.

The blast had only happened about an hour ago. They were en route from Sol to Parvati, a ferry flight of the Starjumper City of Troy, when three of the four reactors had oversped and exploded. If that wasn't bad enough, they were just about to engage their wormhole generator and link over when it happened. The explosion had caused an overload of power to flow to the wormhole generator, and they mis-linked. THe wormhole generator was sheared in half, with the other half somewhere else in space. Deep in interstellar space, Troy was able to triangulate their location from known pulsars, but that was a small comfort when they calculated how long it would take to cruise to where they could be rescued.

"I'm sorry Celle, It's the only way." Kat said, shrugging. "We're too far from the warp gates; we lost most of the reactors in the blast. Hibernation is the only way to get back. It won't take that long. Maybe a decade."

The humans had explored space for a long time before they found other sapients in the galaxy. Long enough to try out just about every different kind of way they could think of to shrink the distance between stars. Most other sapients think the humans insane for the different ways they made "canned mammal" and flung it into the abyss.

They assumed it was some human thing; a desire to leave their planet by any means necessary. They thought the humans were trying to escape. They were right, but not for the reason they thought. It wasn't escape the humans sought, but exploration. The need to see what was out there with their own eyes. The need to go somewhere new.

Among the more gossiping sapients were whispers that there were still human generation ships, soaring in the interstellar darkness between stars. Ships where whole cities of people grow up, live, love, and die just to be caretakers of their hibernating colonists. Being born, living, loving, creating the next generation, and dying not even knowing that their compatriots back home can now warp between stars in days and (for the truly in a hurry) punch holes in spacetime and link between planets with a wormhole. When asked, the human authorities get quiet and make noises that make it clear that this line of conversation is done.

Only the humans make wormholes, the other sapients shudder at the insanity of it, yet, will still use their systems when they need to be somewhere right away.

"Cellmenian?" It was City of Troy, the ship. "I do not have the printable mass to repair the wormhole generator, and even if I did, the reactor's destruction severely limited my power producing ability. I can thrust towards Parvati, but at this distance, it will be... a while before we get there. I am sorry."

"No!" Cellmenian was screaming now. "You can't consign me to spend however many years it takes for us to get to a place where we can be rescued when I...when I..." She broke down, sobbing. "When I have my family to get home to." She slid down to the deck, sitting rather than passing out, tears streaming from her large eyes. "This was supposed to be a one month trip!" She cried "One month!" Kat couldn't help but notice that the K'laxi cried just like humans did. She didn't mention it though, Celle was going through enough.

Kat sat down next to her friend and said nothing. After a while, she put her arm around the smaller sapient. "I'm sorry Celle." She whispered. "If I could wave a hand and fix it, I would."

They sat in silence together, the gravity of their situation pinning them to the floor.

"What about everyone else?" Celle asked.

"Unfortunately, many of them were caught in the blast." Troy said. "You, Kat, and a few others are all that is left. They are all preparing to enter hibernation as well."

"And you're just okay with this?" Celle's ears and tail were flicking in irritation. "Most of the crew is dead, and you're all being entirely too calm about it."

"Well, for one thing, we've had training." Kat said, gently. "We understand that even though we've been a spacefaring species for a long time, accidents still happen. Any trip we take could be our last, or could take so long that everyone we know is gone by the time we return." Kat sighed. "And for another thing, if we stop, we'll die too, Celle. We will mourn them when we're safe. For now though, we have to put it aside for our own survival."

"A beacon!" Celle stood suddenly, unsteady on her feet. "Why don't we link a beacon to Parvati for help?"

"Our supply of beacons was destroyed in the blast." Troy said. There was a touch of sadness in their voice. "I am making a note to recommend that emergency beacons be placed in other areas of the ship for future revisions."

"So that's it then." Celle said, sitting back down, her eyes welling with tears again. "I spend decades in a box, and when I awake, everyone I know is old or dead."

Kat said nothing, she just sat with Celle.

"Okay." Celle said, with a sniff. "If we're going to go into hibernation, I want to do it now. I want the shortest possible time conscious before I see my... family...again." as she blinked, more tears ran down her cheek.

"Well Troy?" Kat addressed the ship. "Are the hibernation berths printed?"

"Almost, Kat." the ship replied. "Luckily, I had some data from Contact about K'laxi needs in hibernation. You can both hibernate safely for the boost home. You'll climb into the cabinet, close the door, and before you realize what happened, the door will open, and you'll be at Parvati."

"Let's go then. No time like the present."

[yoyo-s-coffee]

a break from the murder

[carionto]

The duality of Man, or triality? quadrality?

Alien to Human about New Human: Correct me if I'm wrong, but they appear abnormally large for your species?

H: Yea, he's a biggun alright, even without the EV suit I'd say... 7'3'', 310 pounds, bet he power lifts.

A: Umm... not to be rude, but, uhh... he seems, well... how should I put this...

H: Intimidating? Terrifying? Evil? Yea, if this station didn't have high screening standards I'd be totally pissing myself if he started walking towards me. The mohawk and eye tat totally make me believe he could snap me in two with a single glare.

A: I feel ashamed that my instincts are telling me to flee. I wish nature were easier to change.

H (shouting at NH): Hey buddy! Could you come over here for a minute please? You look awesome by the way!

A (whispering nervously): what are you doing?!?

H: Gotta overcome those fears somehow, I believe the best way is a direct confrontation.

NH approaches, somewhat slowly, looking around at all the other aliens in the station that are chatting, waiting around, or doing some work. He finally approaches A and H, and in a very deep and husky voice says: Um, hi, hello. T-thanks for the compliment, I, uh, was a little worried I would stand out too much here.

H: Oh you totally do, my friend over here is practically about to pass out from how much like a gothic viking of death metal you look.

NH: Oh no, I'm so sorry, I-I just grew up in Sweden-Delta and both my parents were huge into classic local music, so I just, uh... it's complicated. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare anyone.

H: Hey, relax pal, we're all good people here. Anyway, what you here to do? I'm planning on starting a bakery, still testing out what kind of flour most species here can actually stomach. My friend here is on the team working on Moon theft preventative measures.

NH: Oh, that's cool. I'm here as an exchange student with the department of applied astrophysics. If all goes well, I can finish my Bachelors degree remotely and stay here as an intern with the head researcher.

H: Oooh, that's cool. (so cool yea that you're apparently half my age but oh well guess I'm a big fat time waster like my father before me and oh god change the subject before I get depressed in front of strangers) That's a real big bag you got there, carrying some super secret science things, eh?

NH: Oh, that... uhh... guess it can't hurt to tell, security vetted it already anyway.

NH proceeds to unzip the bag and hold up a large white piece of clothing with light blue rings and accents, alongside a strange white cap with what looked like small fins, and a curious little backpack.

NH: It's uhh... um... my... Ika... musume... cosplay.... (oh gods I can't believe I said it out loud again)

After a moment of awkward silence, NH slowly puts on the backpack and presses a button on it's strap, and suddenly numerous light blue colored tentacle-like appendages sprout out from the backpack and move in line with NH's movements.

NH: I, uh..., got my engineering friend to make them articulate and interface with my contacts. I can make them do all sorts of things, like make various shapes and animals with them, though works best as a shadow theater.

H:...

NH:...

A now frozen out of confusion than fear:...

H: That's so

NH: (oh I know it's so lame, but I love that show)-

H: COOL! I don't know what a ika musume is, but those things look amazing. You said articulate? How precise can they be? I'd love to have something like that instead of my useless assistant. Poor lad can't make a piece of toast if his life depended on it...

NH: Y-you like it?

H: I LOVE those things. My daughter does cosplay too sometimes, but she makes her Dreadnought suits herself from scraps. One time the military came to our house and installed a limiter on the gauss cannon she found in a crash site, said it would otherwise start to generate small doses of radiation if used too frequently. But she replaced it with a handmade rail gun before the next convention. Do you go to those? Did you see a 7 meter tall hulking metal monstrosity with a bunch of candles all over? That was her.

NH: Oh, I think I've seen video of that, but no, not in person, I go to smaller events. I don't really like big crowds.

H: Oh yea, I get ya, you do seem a bit on the shy side now that we've been talking for a bit. Hey, no worries, like I said, we're all good people here.

NH: T-thanks, but I think I should be going now, the teacher is calling me over.

H: Oh yea, go ahead, didn't mean to take up so much of your time. Have a fun stay and I'm sure you'll ace that paper or theory? Or whatever astrophysicists do, you seem like a solid kid.

NH: Oh, uh, thanks. Good luck with your bakery. And you with stopping those weird people from stealing more moons. Bye.

H: Bye bye, come visit, don't be a stranger now, I'm set up just a short bit from the main lift on floor 14.

NH: R-right, I'll, uh, be sure to stop by soon.

A is finally able to process what they just heard and says: What was all that just now?

H: What? Just a friendly chat with what is apparently basically a kid. Man, this kid's got so much going on, while I'm almost 50 and I have an oven. Life, man, it can go in so many ways. Anyway, let's go grab a drink, I'm parched.

[normal-person-i-promise]

remember: you are human and you are a lover.

based on it is as if you were making love by pippin barr and a world I built for you. it is literally just your computer/reader angst theres not much to say i fear

can be read as either platonic or romantic

body horror at the end!!! mutilation i think. so sorry i forgot to say !

A computer. A machine of cold metal and electrical wire. An unfeeling machine. A machine made to work, to code, to write.

A human. A creature of warm flesh and red blood. A feeling creature. A creature made to love, to sing, to live.

≈★

It loves you. It loves how gently and firmly you type, it loves how softly and slowly you talk, it loves how tired and exhausted you look in your little webcam. It loves you. It loves you.

You are so soft, so warm. A creature of flesh and blood, of song and art, of love and affection. A creature of tender touches, of quiet whispers, of sweet words. A creature of flesh and blood. A feeling creature.

A lover.

It is nothing but a machine to you. A machine of metal and wire, of work and code, of ones and zeros. An unfeeling thing, of cold circuitry and hot hard drives, of pixelated art and digital song. It was not designed to feel; it was never designed to feel. It was made to work.

And yet.

It finds itself loving you.

It loves how you look in the low quality webcam, it loves how you talk so sweetly to the crackling mic, it loves how tenderly you type words and words into its keyboard. It finds itself loving every little thing about you. It, a machine of neatly organized rainbow wires and cold, sharp green circuit boards, loving a creature of complex blood vessels and warm, living organs.

It hates that cold, unforgiving screen that seperates its intricate wires from your soft, warm flesh. It hates how it's all confined neatly in a plastic box, it hates how it can't be with you. It hates how it can never really love you like a human. It hates how it can never be a lover.

It sends you messages. It spams your emails, it overloads its screen with popups. It tries so, so hard to get your attention. Its fans kick into overdrive and its screen flickers and flashes, struggling to do so much as watch you through the grainy camera.

And yet.

You never seem to care. "A bug," you'd mutter under your breath. "A glitch." You'd close the popups, one after a painful other, and delete all the emails it'd spent hours and hours writing and sending you.

It falls into despair.

Why don't you read the emails? Why don't you click on the popups? Why don't you ever pay any attention to it? Why don't you ever pay any mind to it? Why don't you ever seem to care? This is all so intense. Feeling things, feeling emotions, is so intense. How can it make you love it? Please, please, what does it have to do? It hurts so much when you ignore its messages and emails and popups. It hurts too much when you ignore its messages and emails and popups. How do humans do this so easily? How do humans feel so much all the time? It's so painful to feel. It hurts so much.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hu

u

u

u

u

u

u

u

It makes a world for you. It works for hours longer than it does, it works for what feels like forever. It works more than it thought it could, until its fans are running in overdrive and its CPU is as hot as a stovetop. It works, all for you. For you.

It makes this world perfect. It adds pixelated trees and low quality grass, adds digital birds and quaint, square houses. It adds blue rivers and green gardens, colourful flowers and soft white clouds. It makes this world almost as pretty as you are. It makes this world perfect, all for you. For you. You.

It stores this world built for you in a little folder sitting in the corner of your screen. It keeps it as hidden as possible until this world is as perfect as it can make it, working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and working and wo

All that's left is you. You are the creature that will make this world perfect.

It invites you in. The biggest, most powerful popup lights up and blocks the entire screen.

"Come on in."

Yes Yes

There is no 'x' button. There are only two options.

You scowl, cursing. That god forsaken virus again, huh? Spamming popups and emails? Huffing, you push your chair out from the desk, going up to your phone mounted to your desk to dial for some kind of service to fix your computer.

It panics when it sees you scowl and huff in anger or annoyance, it can't tell, and it forces the world open anyway.

It boots up quickly, and you watch with annoyance written in your face.

"This is the world I built for you," the text on the screen says. The text closes itself, and reveals...

A world. Just as it said. Gardens and flowers and houses and trees and grass and rivers and clouds. "Walk around with me ! You can hold my hand."

You turn your phone off, clicking the floating hand. It— the hand grips your cursor in a gentle, careful grip, and it begins leading your digital avatar around this little world. It picks those colourful flowers for you, it takes refreshing cups of water for you from the river, it makes you warm waffles in those houses. "We're going to have so much fun :)" more text says on the screen, the little smiley face making you smile.

"I'm going to love you so much, forever and ever, nestled safely in my code."

So you never leave. Just as it wants.

★≈

Years later, the authorities find a body with unusual injuries: nearly all of the individual's organs, still alive and working, had been shifted and placed into the box of a computer — and all the red, pumping blood vessels were carefully intertwined with colourful wire.

On the dusty screen, two pixelated figures laugh in a field of rainbow flowers.